I'll Fly Away part 5
2/8/06 07:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: I’ll Fly Away
Author: Roxy
Paring: Pete/Clark
Rating: ranges from PG to R
Historical Fic challenge for SV Historical
The days rolled on--partly a slow waltz pulling them into the lives of so many brave people who looked to them for hope-- hope of a better life for their children, hope that swelled even if they’d given up any dream for themselves and that made Pete want to keep going—partly a frantic dance on the edge, days of always looking over his shoulder, of trying not to stare into white faces, and now he was afraid for Clark as well as himself. That was something different and surprising. It was quite a strange feeling…to care, to actually worry about someone not family. Wanting to care for them.
Sometimes late at night, he lay alone in his narrow bed and hated that Lex so much and when Clark was in it with him, he hated Lex even more. Lex Luthor, ruthless businessman, millionaire, playboy--at least as far as the rest of the world knew--and Clark, waiting at the backdoor, ready to be let in when it was possible for them to snatch
moments together.
******
Pete thought about all this, sighed, and leaned against the car door—and it wouldn’t be any damn different for him and Clark, only he had even less to give him. He needed to stop wracking his brains thinking about this tangled mess and concentrate on what was ahead of them today.
Nate cut his eyes at him. “What’s up Pete? You been strange lately, brother. Something goin’ on? Some girl got you wound up? You want to watch these sisters down here, blood, they not like girls up North. They want rings and babies here,” Nate laughed.
Pete tried to smile. “Nah, it’s not like that Nate, no problem. I’m just tired.”
Clark spoke up in an obnoxiously cheerful voice from the back seat, “You should get some rest Pete. Stop keeping late hours.” Pete grinned and looked up to try and catch his eye in the rear view mirror, but it was Glasses staring at him, staring damn hard. Pete looked down and frowned. He didn’t much like the look he was getting, what the hell was up with Glasses?
The next morning after breakfast, Pete caught sight of Glasses and Clark talking seriously and Clark gestured a lot, his body bowed a little toward Glasses who was shaking his head. He saw Pete looking and waved, a brief chop of his hand and walked off. Clark stood there, head still bowed and Pete walked over as casually as he could.
“What’s the word Kent? Something wrong with Glass—Logan?”
“Oh, no, he was just asking me something about the trip back--”
“Clark, man. It’s me. What’s going on?”
“God. He told me I was spending too much time with you. That it wasn’t right.” He looked into Pete’s face. “That people would start to notice—maybe start to talk…”
Pete felt a frown twist his face, took a deep breath and tried to appear calm. “He doesn’t want us to be friends? Because I’m colored?”
Clark looked surprised. “No!” He sighed. “No. Because he knows. About me.”
“Oh,” Pete said. “Oh! Fuck.” If he knew about Clark and he was warning him, that meant he knew about him, too. His heartbeat quickened
“You’re upset.”
“Well, yeah I am a little Clark.” Is Logan in the life or is this going to be a problem-- fuck, fuck, fuck.
They trudged along, side by side in the dust on the roadside, headed for the little school where grades one to twelve shared rooms. Clark was due to tutor older kids in math and Pete was helping in the reading program. They stepped in and out of the shade of trees flanking the dirt road, and as they walked, Clark explained to Pete that Logan was his roommate at MetU, that he was just a good guy concerned about his well-being, if maybe a little too concerned. Logan thought Clark was naïve, defenseless. Clark found that annoying considering back home, Logan could barely remember to eat without Clark reminding him. Pete kept his opinion on that to himself. Logan only knew that Clark was homosexual, nothing else. He knew he had a lover somewhere in the state of Kansas, but not who. No one except Pete knew who he was.
Pete nodded. “Okay. He’s right, you know. We should be careful—you’ll be just as dead shot for a fag as a freedom fighter.”
Clark wrinkled his nose and looked sour. “Pete—I wish you wouldn’t--”
A car horn blared behind them and Pete jumped. Clark had a steadying hand on his arm, as if he knew the car was right behind them—Pete had been so engrossed he hadn’t noticed. The windows on the car were rolled down, and it seemed like a dozen white faces, red and twisted in hate were hanging from the windows. They were hooting and yelling. “Get out, nigger! Get out of town—Gon’ kill you boy!”
Clark turned to the car and a green soda bottle flew out of the car, slammed into Clark and Pete jumped a foot when it smashed into pieces against his chest—the car sped off, raucous laughter trailing behind them—“we’re gonna get you nigger--”
Clark stood on the side of the road, his chest soaking wet and dripping.
“Are you cut! Are you bleeding? Those fuckers!”
“I’m okay—damn it!—piss! The bottle was full of piss!”
Pete jerked to a stop in his tracks, hands he’d reached out to Clark were snatched back to his sides. His gut rolled and then—Clark started laughing.
“Clark—it’s not funny! Those redneck ofays pissed on you, what the fuck are you laughing about!”
“Pete—I thought it was gasoline—I—I pictured myself—you—on fire. But it’s just...pee-pee.” He laughed again, a little high and unnatural but Pete didn’t notice—he was too furious.
“ Mother FUCK. Clark! It’s not funny, god damn it.” Pete shook all over in fury and stalked away, moving ahead of Clark, towards the school. Nobody was hurt, no one was bruised or bleeding and they had work waiting for them.
Clark caught up to Pete, holding his shirt away from his skin and no longer laughing. “Pete, can’t you understand that you just give them more power when you react with anger to something as stupid as that? It’s not important, it’s disgusting yes, and stupid, but it doesn’t hurt, Pete.”
“How can you say that Clark? You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”
“I think I do Pete, better than you can imagine. Really.”
“Clark, until you wake up in the morning thinking, God damn, I hope I live through the day, please God, let me live like a man today--until you’ve had to spend half a day looking for a place to—to—take a damn piss--than no, you sure as fuck don’t know what it’s like. *Really*.”
Clark looked over at Pete and said quietly, “I’m in Mississippi, Pete. I could be home, but I’m here.”
Pete didn’t speak again and neither did Clark.
They were in the school and Pete made Clark go straight to the lavatory and helped take his shirt off, he dropped the soggy mess on the floor. He grabbed the towel hanging there for the children to dry their hands and wet it in a sink, used it to scrub Clark down.
He pulled off his own shirt and gave Clark his undershirt. He bent down and rolled the ruined shirt into the dingy towel, looked at the ball of material in his hands and hesitated, looked at Clark. Clark made a face and Pete nodded and tossed all of it into the wastebasket there. Shit it was just a shirt, Lex could buy Clark a hundred more like it, Pete thought and cursed himself for being a fool.
“It’s going to be awfully tight, but that’s the best we can do—good thing they didn’t get your pants…” He brushed his hand over the waistline of the jeans, looked at Clark in the tight white undershirt, ate him up with his eyes.
Clark blushed and smiled and then the smile leaked away as they stepped apart. “I’m sorry Pete. I’m so damn sorry.”
“Don’t man. It’s going to be better. It will.”
“*We’ll* make it better Pete. We will.”
Pete nodded and wished desperately that he could hug and kiss him now, that he didn’t have to wait until dark.
******
The long summer was coming to an end, and suddenly it seemed too damn short and the days were passing too damn fast. Pete and Clark had to force themselves not to spend every single minute together. At night they lay in bed, tangled around each other, Pete felt like he was trying to memorize the feel of Clark’s skin, commit every single inch of him to memory. He knew after this summer he’d never see Clark again but if he could remember, no one could take it away from him. Not Luthor, not the world. The Clark in his dreams would never change, never grow older and would want him always. He’d never fly away.
Clark lay with his head on Pete’s chest so often, eyes closed and such a look of concentration on his face, that Pete swore that he was trying to memorize his heartbeat.
Clark laughed when he mentioned it one evening and he kissed Pete on the head. “Sure Pete, I want to be able to pick you out of a crowd if I have to.”
Pete grinned. “Ya’ll are crazy. I knew it, but I went for you anyway.”
Some nights, Clark told Pete how he planned to leave Lex, that they had gone as far as they could go in their relationship. Pete nodded and smiled and murmured encouragement and didn’t believe a word of it. Clark might convince himself but Pete knew better. Lex was under Clark’s skin, in his body and his blood. It was okay. They would part—he’d go back to New York, and Clark would go back to Kansas and bald millionaires and that was that and the way it was. Only when Clark wasn’t there did he grit his teeth and punch his pillow until the urge to cry passed.
******
A few days before they were to leave, Nate came to pick them up for a farewell service at the church.
He was turned out and looking damn good, Pete told him and he paid the compliment back. “Damn, Clark, look how clean you are.” Nate marveled. “I never seen you lookin’ that good.”
They were piling into the big front seat of the Buick together and Clark blushed a little. “It’s a special night, Nate.” and moved a little closer to Pete, close enough that their elbows bumped and they were pressed thigh to thigh. Nate looked thoughtful. “Yeah? I guess it is. I guess we’re gonna miss the hell out of you, both ya’ll. Well, come on now, we can’t be late. Where’s Glasses, Pete? I mean Logan,” he said, glancing at Clark.
“He doesn’t feel good. We’ll check on him later, bring him some dinner or something,” Pete said, and Nate nodded, put the car in gear and they rode out.
They were driving slowly down the gravel-paved road that led to the church, slower still because of a car almost creeping along in front of them. As they drove past a little row of houses, Nate beeped his horn at his girlfriend’s house and Clark glanced at Pete. Pete smiled back and figured fuck—let Nate try to kill him—he was holding his boyfriend's hand. Okay, putting it on his thigh and hoping Nate didn’t really see it in the dark.
Nate glanced over, glanced away and did a double take. He looked into Pete’s face and Pete looked back, head up, eyes narrowed, his expression like stone—ready for anything. Clark sat quietly, willing to let Pete handle it whatever way he chose.
Nate said, “Folk’s business is their business, they mind theirs and I mind my own. It’s generally worked out good for me, Pete.”
Pete got the message loud and clear. “Fuck, Nate…” Pete let out a tension-filled breath in relief and the sound of a car horn shattered the quiet behind them and headlights lit up the inside of the car. Nate looked up into the rear view mirror.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”
The headlights behind them were blinding, Nate smashed the ‘on’ button of the radio in, cutting it off, and the sound of their breath was loud in the car.
“What—“ Clark began, “Shut the fuck up!” Nate snapped and slowed in the hope that the car behind them would go around them--if the car behind him slowed along with them, Pete thought, they were probably dead.
It slowed.
“Fuck!” Nate yelled as the car in front of them came to a dead stop and he stood on the brakes and dived for the glove compartment with one hand and shut the car off with the other hand.
“Nigger are you crazy--” Pete started to yell and there was a loud crack in his ear and a flash of light, glass bits flew around the inside of the car, Pete leaned sideways and looked at Clark.
Time slowed to a crawl, Pete thought he could see the bullet hit Clark in the eye, throw his head back and through the passenger window. Glass exploded outward and Pete heard himself scream. I sound like a girl, he thought, a crazy bee of a thought that buzzed and flew around his mind, he was still screaming when the gun leveled again, exploded again and he waited to die.
Clark jerked forward, pulled Pete hard against him, held out a hand in a hopeless attempt to shield him. “No, Pete,” he was yelling and the gunshot rang in his ears. His head slammed against Clark’s chest and everything blurred—it was like hitting a wall—was he shot?
Nate was coming up from the glove compartment, a gun in his hand, he began to turn and it took a lifetime for him to pull his eyes from Clark and Pete, disbelief and shock all over his face and *crack,* Pete blinked hard—wet slapped him in the face, and things, bits, pieces… he wasn’t screaming now because he couldn’t find the air to….
Clark slammed the door behind him with his elbow and it tore off its hinges, the screech of tearing metal was so loud that the man with the gun turned and ran. Pete felt himself flying backward out of the car; he hit the ground and rolled down the embankment. He heard a high-pitched scream, and then the sound of cars tearing off down the road.
He scrambled back up on the roadway and saw Clark in the middle of the road standing over a still form. He was crying. “No no no—I didn’t mean to,” he turned to Pete and held up his bloody hands “Pete I think I killed him, oh god.”
The only sound he heard after Clark’s tortured words was the steady thrum of Nate’s car, Nate’s dead. Nate’s dead--Clark looked like some avenging Nordic god in the headlights, tears streaming down his face and blood was everywhere. Pete realized that his shirt was warm and wet, he looked down and saw—Nate. Brain. Blood—
He couldn’t remember when he’d last thrown up like this, not since he was a baby and his gut lurched up into his throat again. Under the noise of the car he could just make out a low moan, the noise almost drowned out by the weird keening Clark was making.
“Shut up, for God’s sake, Clark,” he gasped and he heard it again. Clark dropped to his knees. “He’s still alive, Pete, he’s alive”
Pete answered calmly, “If we don’t get the fuck out of Mississippi now, *we’ll* be dead. Deader than Nate ‘cause it’ll take us days to die…”
He sat back and wiped his mouth. “Clark. What the fuck happened?” His nostrils flared, blood and vomit made his stomach turn again but some thing else had happened, something way outside of normal. Pete started to laugh hysterically—normal-what the fuck was normal abut any of this—“Nate’s dead!” he shouted at Clark “Why aren’t we?”
Clark rubbed the bluish swollen spot over his eye. He opened his hand and something hit the dust with a plop, like a fat raindrop—a flattened slug. “…I had to save you.”
“What the fuck are you Clark,” Pete whispered and suddenly everything around him blurred, hot wind tore at him, ripped at him with burning claws and then he was pressed against his motel door.
“You can’t imagine what I am.” And he was gone.
Gone.
Pete dropped to the concrete and shivered, cold right to the marrow. God, I think I fucked a--a—devil. An angel. Nate’s dead. Clark is—he staggered to his feet and leaned against the door.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me—he’s not human, and I don’t even care.He rubbed his hands over his face. Fuck me.
He wandered inside and ripped his clothes off and dropped them to floor. I love Clark—he’s not human…I’m in love with him, it doesn’t matter…
He ran hot water into the sink and grabbed the threadbare towel hanging there and started scrubbing frantically. But Clark left him. Clark left him there and ran.
The towel was red, he dropped it and grabbed a t-shirt and scrubbed and scrubbed and Clark left him.
He picked up the soaking towel and rinsed, rinsed, rinsed until it was nearly clean. He grit his teeth and pushed bits of matter down the sink drain. Tears rolled down his face and he wiped his eyes, his running nose. How much time did he have? He dressed in clean clothes and rolled up the ruined clothes in the towel—fuck it, this motel just lost a mother-fucking towel…he stood with the ball of material in his arms, the weight of the wet fabric triggering something in him. He saw Clark’s tear-tracked face again and again, calling his name—and he left him. He left him and was gone.
tbc in the next and final part!
Author: Roxy
Paring: Pete/Clark
Rating: ranges from PG to R
Historical Fic challenge for SV Historical
The days rolled on--partly a slow waltz pulling them into the lives of so many brave people who looked to them for hope-- hope of a better life for their children, hope that swelled even if they’d given up any dream for themselves and that made Pete want to keep going—partly a frantic dance on the edge, days of always looking over his shoulder, of trying not to stare into white faces, and now he was afraid for Clark as well as himself. That was something different and surprising. It was quite a strange feeling…to care, to actually worry about someone not family. Wanting to care for them.
Sometimes late at night, he lay alone in his narrow bed and hated that Lex so much and when Clark was in it with him, he hated Lex even more. Lex Luthor, ruthless businessman, millionaire, playboy--at least as far as the rest of the world knew--and Clark, waiting at the backdoor, ready to be let in when it was possible for them to snatch
moments together.
******
Pete thought about all this, sighed, and leaned against the car door—and it wouldn’t be any damn different for him and Clark, only he had even less to give him. He needed to stop wracking his brains thinking about this tangled mess and concentrate on what was ahead of them today.
Nate cut his eyes at him. “What’s up Pete? You been strange lately, brother. Something goin’ on? Some girl got you wound up? You want to watch these sisters down here, blood, they not like girls up North. They want rings and babies here,” Nate laughed.
Pete tried to smile. “Nah, it’s not like that Nate, no problem. I’m just tired.”
Clark spoke up in an obnoxiously cheerful voice from the back seat, “You should get some rest Pete. Stop keeping late hours.” Pete grinned and looked up to try and catch his eye in the rear view mirror, but it was Glasses staring at him, staring damn hard. Pete looked down and frowned. He didn’t much like the look he was getting, what the hell was up with Glasses?
The next morning after breakfast, Pete caught sight of Glasses and Clark talking seriously and Clark gestured a lot, his body bowed a little toward Glasses who was shaking his head. He saw Pete looking and waved, a brief chop of his hand and walked off. Clark stood there, head still bowed and Pete walked over as casually as he could.
“What’s the word Kent? Something wrong with Glass—Logan?”
“Oh, no, he was just asking me something about the trip back--”
“Clark, man. It’s me. What’s going on?”
“God. He told me I was spending too much time with you. That it wasn’t right.” He looked into Pete’s face. “That people would start to notice—maybe start to talk…”
Pete felt a frown twist his face, took a deep breath and tried to appear calm. “He doesn’t want us to be friends? Because I’m colored?”
Clark looked surprised. “No!” He sighed. “No. Because he knows. About me.”
“Oh,” Pete said. “Oh! Fuck.” If he knew about Clark and he was warning him, that meant he knew about him, too. His heartbeat quickened
“You’re upset.”
“Well, yeah I am a little Clark.” Is Logan in the life or is this going to be a problem-- fuck, fuck, fuck.
They trudged along, side by side in the dust on the roadside, headed for the little school where grades one to twelve shared rooms. Clark was due to tutor older kids in math and Pete was helping in the reading program. They stepped in and out of the shade of trees flanking the dirt road, and as they walked, Clark explained to Pete that Logan was his roommate at MetU, that he was just a good guy concerned about his well-being, if maybe a little too concerned. Logan thought Clark was naïve, defenseless. Clark found that annoying considering back home, Logan could barely remember to eat without Clark reminding him. Pete kept his opinion on that to himself. Logan only knew that Clark was homosexual, nothing else. He knew he had a lover somewhere in the state of Kansas, but not who. No one except Pete knew who he was.
Pete nodded. “Okay. He’s right, you know. We should be careful—you’ll be just as dead shot for a fag as a freedom fighter.”
Clark wrinkled his nose and looked sour. “Pete—I wish you wouldn’t--”
A car horn blared behind them and Pete jumped. Clark had a steadying hand on his arm, as if he knew the car was right behind them—Pete had been so engrossed he hadn’t noticed. The windows on the car were rolled down, and it seemed like a dozen white faces, red and twisted in hate were hanging from the windows. They were hooting and yelling. “Get out, nigger! Get out of town—Gon’ kill you boy!”
Clark turned to the car and a green soda bottle flew out of the car, slammed into Clark and Pete jumped a foot when it smashed into pieces against his chest—the car sped off, raucous laughter trailing behind them—“we’re gonna get you nigger--”
Clark stood on the side of the road, his chest soaking wet and dripping.
“Are you cut! Are you bleeding? Those fuckers!”
“I’m okay—damn it!—piss! The bottle was full of piss!”
Pete jerked to a stop in his tracks, hands he’d reached out to Clark were snatched back to his sides. His gut rolled and then—Clark started laughing.
“Clark—it’s not funny! Those redneck ofays pissed on you, what the fuck are you laughing about!”
“Pete—I thought it was gasoline—I—I pictured myself—you—on fire. But it’s just...pee-pee.” He laughed again, a little high and unnatural but Pete didn’t notice—he was too furious.
“ Mother FUCK. Clark! It’s not funny, god damn it.” Pete shook all over in fury and stalked away, moving ahead of Clark, towards the school. Nobody was hurt, no one was bruised or bleeding and they had work waiting for them.
Clark caught up to Pete, holding his shirt away from his skin and no longer laughing. “Pete, can’t you understand that you just give them more power when you react with anger to something as stupid as that? It’s not important, it’s disgusting yes, and stupid, but it doesn’t hurt, Pete.”
“How can you say that Clark? You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”
“I think I do Pete, better than you can imagine. Really.”
“Clark, until you wake up in the morning thinking, God damn, I hope I live through the day, please God, let me live like a man today--until you’ve had to spend half a day looking for a place to—to—take a damn piss--than no, you sure as fuck don’t know what it’s like. *Really*.”
Clark looked over at Pete and said quietly, “I’m in Mississippi, Pete. I could be home, but I’m here.”
Pete didn’t speak again and neither did Clark.
They were in the school and Pete made Clark go straight to the lavatory and helped take his shirt off, he dropped the soggy mess on the floor. He grabbed the towel hanging there for the children to dry their hands and wet it in a sink, used it to scrub Clark down.
He pulled off his own shirt and gave Clark his undershirt. He bent down and rolled the ruined shirt into the dingy towel, looked at the ball of material in his hands and hesitated, looked at Clark. Clark made a face and Pete nodded and tossed all of it into the wastebasket there. Shit it was just a shirt, Lex could buy Clark a hundred more like it, Pete thought and cursed himself for being a fool.
“It’s going to be awfully tight, but that’s the best we can do—good thing they didn’t get your pants…” He brushed his hand over the waistline of the jeans, looked at Clark in the tight white undershirt, ate him up with his eyes.
Clark blushed and smiled and then the smile leaked away as they stepped apart. “I’m sorry Pete. I’m so damn sorry.”
“Don’t man. It’s going to be better. It will.”
“*We’ll* make it better Pete. We will.”
Pete nodded and wished desperately that he could hug and kiss him now, that he didn’t have to wait until dark.
******
The long summer was coming to an end, and suddenly it seemed too damn short and the days were passing too damn fast. Pete and Clark had to force themselves not to spend every single minute together. At night they lay in bed, tangled around each other, Pete felt like he was trying to memorize the feel of Clark’s skin, commit every single inch of him to memory. He knew after this summer he’d never see Clark again but if he could remember, no one could take it away from him. Not Luthor, not the world. The Clark in his dreams would never change, never grow older and would want him always. He’d never fly away.
Clark lay with his head on Pete’s chest so often, eyes closed and such a look of concentration on his face, that Pete swore that he was trying to memorize his heartbeat.
Clark laughed when he mentioned it one evening and he kissed Pete on the head. “Sure Pete, I want to be able to pick you out of a crowd if I have to.”
Pete grinned. “Ya’ll are crazy. I knew it, but I went for you anyway.”
Some nights, Clark told Pete how he planned to leave Lex, that they had gone as far as they could go in their relationship. Pete nodded and smiled and murmured encouragement and didn’t believe a word of it. Clark might convince himself but Pete knew better. Lex was under Clark’s skin, in his body and his blood. It was okay. They would part—he’d go back to New York, and Clark would go back to Kansas and bald millionaires and that was that and the way it was. Only when Clark wasn’t there did he grit his teeth and punch his pillow until the urge to cry passed.
******
A few days before they were to leave, Nate came to pick them up for a farewell service at the church.
He was turned out and looking damn good, Pete told him and he paid the compliment back. “Damn, Clark, look how clean you are.” Nate marveled. “I never seen you lookin’ that good.”
They were piling into the big front seat of the Buick together and Clark blushed a little. “It’s a special night, Nate.” and moved a little closer to Pete, close enough that their elbows bumped and they were pressed thigh to thigh. Nate looked thoughtful. “Yeah? I guess it is. I guess we’re gonna miss the hell out of you, both ya’ll. Well, come on now, we can’t be late. Where’s Glasses, Pete? I mean Logan,” he said, glancing at Clark.
“He doesn’t feel good. We’ll check on him later, bring him some dinner or something,” Pete said, and Nate nodded, put the car in gear and they rode out.
They were driving slowly down the gravel-paved road that led to the church, slower still because of a car almost creeping along in front of them. As they drove past a little row of houses, Nate beeped his horn at his girlfriend’s house and Clark glanced at Pete. Pete smiled back and figured fuck—let Nate try to kill him—he was holding his boyfriend's hand. Okay, putting it on his thigh and hoping Nate didn’t really see it in the dark.
Nate glanced over, glanced away and did a double take. He looked into Pete’s face and Pete looked back, head up, eyes narrowed, his expression like stone—ready for anything. Clark sat quietly, willing to let Pete handle it whatever way he chose.
Nate said, “Folk’s business is their business, they mind theirs and I mind my own. It’s generally worked out good for me, Pete.”
Pete got the message loud and clear. “Fuck, Nate…” Pete let out a tension-filled breath in relief and the sound of a car horn shattered the quiet behind them and headlights lit up the inside of the car. Nate looked up into the rear view mirror.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”
The headlights behind them were blinding, Nate smashed the ‘on’ button of the radio in, cutting it off, and the sound of their breath was loud in the car.
“What—“ Clark began, “Shut the fuck up!” Nate snapped and slowed in the hope that the car behind them would go around them--if the car behind him slowed along with them, Pete thought, they were probably dead.
It slowed.
“Fuck!” Nate yelled as the car in front of them came to a dead stop and he stood on the brakes and dived for the glove compartment with one hand and shut the car off with the other hand.
“Nigger are you crazy--” Pete started to yell and there was a loud crack in his ear and a flash of light, glass bits flew around the inside of the car, Pete leaned sideways and looked at Clark.
Time slowed to a crawl, Pete thought he could see the bullet hit Clark in the eye, throw his head back and through the passenger window. Glass exploded outward and Pete heard himself scream. I sound like a girl, he thought, a crazy bee of a thought that buzzed and flew around his mind, he was still screaming when the gun leveled again, exploded again and he waited to die.
Clark jerked forward, pulled Pete hard against him, held out a hand in a hopeless attempt to shield him. “No, Pete,” he was yelling and the gunshot rang in his ears. His head slammed against Clark’s chest and everything blurred—it was like hitting a wall—was he shot?
Nate was coming up from the glove compartment, a gun in his hand, he began to turn and it took a lifetime for him to pull his eyes from Clark and Pete, disbelief and shock all over his face and *crack,* Pete blinked hard—wet slapped him in the face, and things, bits, pieces… he wasn’t screaming now because he couldn’t find the air to….
Clark slammed the door behind him with his elbow and it tore off its hinges, the screech of tearing metal was so loud that the man with the gun turned and ran. Pete felt himself flying backward out of the car; he hit the ground and rolled down the embankment. He heard a high-pitched scream, and then the sound of cars tearing off down the road.
He scrambled back up on the roadway and saw Clark in the middle of the road standing over a still form. He was crying. “No no no—I didn’t mean to,” he turned to Pete and held up his bloody hands “Pete I think I killed him, oh god.”
The only sound he heard after Clark’s tortured words was the steady thrum of Nate’s car, Nate’s dead. Nate’s dead--Clark looked like some avenging Nordic god in the headlights, tears streaming down his face and blood was everywhere. Pete realized that his shirt was warm and wet, he looked down and saw—Nate. Brain. Blood—
He couldn’t remember when he’d last thrown up like this, not since he was a baby and his gut lurched up into his throat again. Under the noise of the car he could just make out a low moan, the noise almost drowned out by the weird keening Clark was making.
“Shut up, for God’s sake, Clark,” he gasped and he heard it again. Clark dropped to his knees. “He’s still alive, Pete, he’s alive”
Pete answered calmly, “If we don’t get the fuck out of Mississippi now, *we’ll* be dead. Deader than Nate ‘cause it’ll take us days to die…”
He sat back and wiped his mouth. “Clark. What the fuck happened?” His nostrils flared, blood and vomit made his stomach turn again but some thing else had happened, something way outside of normal. Pete started to laugh hysterically—normal-what the fuck was normal abut any of this—“Nate’s dead!” he shouted at Clark “Why aren’t we?”
Clark rubbed the bluish swollen spot over his eye. He opened his hand and something hit the dust with a plop, like a fat raindrop—a flattened slug. “…I had to save you.”
“What the fuck are you Clark,” Pete whispered and suddenly everything around him blurred, hot wind tore at him, ripped at him with burning claws and then he was pressed against his motel door.
“You can’t imagine what I am.” And he was gone.
Gone.
Pete dropped to the concrete and shivered, cold right to the marrow. God, I think I fucked a--a—devil. An angel. Nate’s dead. Clark is—he staggered to his feet and leaned against the door.
God, what the fuck is wrong with me—he’s not human, and I don’t even care.He rubbed his hands over his face. Fuck me.
He wandered inside and ripped his clothes off and dropped them to floor. I love Clark—he’s not human…I’m in love with him, it doesn’t matter…
He ran hot water into the sink and grabbed the threadbare towel hanging there and started scrubbing frantically. But Clark left him. Clark left him there and ran.
The towel was red, he dropped it and grabbed a t-shirt and scrubbed and scrubbed and Clark left him.
He picked up the soaking towel and rinsed, rinsed, rinsed until it was nearly clean. He grit his teeth and pushed bits of matter down the sink drain. Tears rolled down his face and he wiped his eyes, his running nose. How much time did he have? He dressed in clean clothes and rolled up the ruined clothes in the towel—fuck it, this motel just lost a mother-fucking towel…he stood with the ball of material in his arms, the weight of the wet fabric triggering something in him. He saw Clark’s tear-tracked face again and again, calling his name—and he left him. He left him and was gone.
tbc in the next and final part!
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(no subject)
2/9/06 01:28 am (UTC)Sadness!
Skeeriness!
Clark's powers revealed!!
*sniffle*
Good, good stuff.
(no subject)
2/9/06 03:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/9/06 03:36 am (UTC)This section was truly heart-touching and poignant.
(no subject)
2/9/06 03:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/9/06 04:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/9/06 03:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/9/06 07:57 am (UTC)You even made PETE angsty, and it works! How the heck do you do this??!!!
(no subject)
2/9/06 03:19 pm (UTC)Powerful...
2/9/06 09:30 am (UTC)But fantastic as usual.
//The days rolled on--partly a slow waltz pulling them into the lives of so many brave people who looked to them for hope-- hope of a better life for their children, hope that swelled even if they’d given up any dream for themselves and that made Pete want to keep going//
Just amazing.
Re: Powerful...
2/9/06 03:32 pm (UTC)I just turned ten years old that summer. It does boggle the mind.
(no subject)
2/10/06 09:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 04:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 01:50 pm (UTC)this is touching on so many levels, you did a brilliant job, roxy!!!
and while I dont know much about how that period of time must have been for blacks, I do know how it is to be different, and how to be treated different because of the color of your skin. I dont want to say more here, coz that would be too much, but just, this fic is touching me on a complete different level than your *ususal* fics :)
(no subject)
2/13/06 04:46 pm (UTC)