SV: Out Of A Foreign Land

[roxy]

Title:: Out Of A Foreign Land
Author:: Roxy
Pairings/Characters:: Lex/Clark
Rating:: varying to nc-17
Word Count:: 33,522
Summary:: Captain Trips has destroyed his world, but gives Lex one more chance to alter fate.
Notes:: written as an answer to the sv_renaissance at Live Journal's "Steven King Challenge" 2008. The link will take you to wikipedia's entry for The Stand, and explain everything that I've left out of the story, hopefully make the ending sensible to those of you who don’t know the original story. And those of you who do. *g*

The characters I've taken from the book are Mother Abigail, Stu Redman, and Trashcan Man. And of course, Randall Flagg. The character of Adam, I took from SV, and combined aspects of him with that of Julie Lawry and a pinch of The Kid. The nice parts of that character Adam were all from SV's Adam Knight, who really was a fairly decent guy.

Steven King's The Stand


Cover by danceswithgary




You know the story. Captain Trips killed three quarters of the world in no time at all.

Captain Trips ate cities, states, continents, like brie on a cracker. Chewed them up, slurped the people down and spit out the husks. Born one bright summer day in the heart of the old west, it brought death to all corners of the world, but no one knew right off.

It took a few weeks….

They walked around, the dead people, worrying, working, laughing, fighting, fucking…life as usual only…it really wasn't, not at all.

There were a lot of stories out of that time. This is one that might have happened.

******


Week one

John Alman yanked his carry-on bag from the overhead, and sighed, the sigh curling and fluttering in the back of his throat until he coughed, trying to quell the irritating tickle. God damn summer cold had been bugging him ever since he left Texas…he coughed on the steward, coughed on the guy selling coffee in the ubiquitous Starbucks coffee kiosk on the concourse…to make a long tale short, he brought a dose for death for everyone he met.

He got out of the taxi, tossed the fare and a big tip to the driver. After killing him, he walked the short block to his place of employment, swinging his bag along, whistling--spewing death. Later that evening, he planned to relax—a few drinks, a hot shower, and bed—hopefully not alone.

He turned through the big glass doors of LuthorCorp and headed for the floor his office was on. Along the way, he touched, jostled, coughed on…

One potato, two potato, three potato, four,
five potato, six potato, seven potato more…

Week two….

"Sir, there's a fax here from the CDC. They're recommending that all air traffic in and out of the city be blocked. And railways closed, and…"

Lex stood in front of the large office windows that looked out over his city. He crossed arms behind his back. He nodded. "Right. Bottle us up. Lock us in until we eat each other." He turned and stared at his aide, who blushed on cue. Lex had hired him because he found his tendency to blush bright red when he leveled an intense stare at him attractive. That and his cocksucker mouth, but he'd never attempted to find out if Ron would. Ron was preternaturally effective an aide and Lex would rather have efficiency than sex any day. There were dozens and dozens of competent sex workers available to him. Paying for it was simple, erased possible complications, and the last thing he needed to do was ruin a valuable working relationship…"Ron, what the fuck is going on here? The hospitals are filling up, people are sick everywhere. The death toll from this—this—*flu*, it's astronomical." He walked towards his desk. "If the city knew the actual count, there'd be rioting in the fucking streets." Lex was worried, worried enough to lose his self-censor and Ron was blushing right on clue. Lex apologized but his attention was on the news cast, on the files Ron brought, on the fax from the CDC…

His secretary interrupted him. "Call on line twelve, your fiancé, Lex."

Jesus. "Thanks Mell, I've got it." He gestured to Ron to keep on working, and Ron crossed the room to the other desk, prepared to coordinate the various streams of information, to ready them for Lex's consumption.

"Lex…" A dry scratchy whine assaulted his ears. "When are you coming home? I'm sick…"

"That's what the staff is for, Victoria. To get you meds and soup and whatnot—"

There was a disgusting noise, Victoria was retching, and gasping…"I'm really sick, and no one's here to take me to the hospital," she complained. "If they haven’t run off they're sleeping." She sounded like a sick child about to break into a tantrum, and Lex broke out in a cold sweat.

"Sweetheart, isn’t anyone there at all?"

"No, they're all asleep and even if I kick them, they won’t wake up. Wake up!" she shrieked and through the phone, Lex heard a sound like a melon being hit with a baseball bat.

More retching, more gasping, and Victoria's voice sounded weaker and rougher. "Come home."

"Of course, right away. Go to bed, and wait for me, I'll bring you chicken soup."

"No soup!" she squalled. "Just—just come home—I'm afraid."

"All right, darling, you get in bed, cover up warm and I'll be home soon. I'm leaving right this instant, promise," he soothed, and hung up the phone. Ron looked at him and he said. "Ron, get me the governor on the phone. We have a situation that's equal to terrorist attack--I want to know what I can do. And get me the chief of police, and…order some food, and coffee, this will be an all-nighter—again."

He knew Ron had heard Vic. And he didn’t give a damn. His city was more important than any one person.

He spoke to the media, vowed that even with massive sick outs and the hospitals beginning to fill up, the city would continue to go on, business as usual. He invited the city's hero to make an appearance, "any day now, Superman. The people of the city need your show of support, a vote of confidence as it were. You know how much the people of Metropolis, the *kids*, depend on you, admire you. We're waiting."

The conference ended, and he stalked away. "Super Bastard," he hissed under his breath.

Mercy glanced towards him and grinned. "Mom always liked you best…" she murmured.

"Go to hell," he snapped. "Free will is very much overrated…"

She chuckled, and held the door to his office.

******


Mell went home the third day.

"My family needs me, and I need them. I quit," she said, smoothing her hand over a permanently wrinkled suit. Her eyes were bright red from lack of sleep, she looked haunted. "Bill called and the kids are coughing and…and…" a tear slipped down her cheek. Lex shook his head and said, "I can't let you quit, Mell. Just--get out of here. There's nothing else we can do right now. Go on home, come back when you're ready."

She nodded. "Thanks, Lex. I—thanks."

"Sure, see you in a couple of days, right?"

Boys and girls, come out to play.
The moon doth shine as bright as day!
Leaves your supper and leave your sleep,
And come with your playfellows into the street.

Week three

"Boss, they're gathering up on the Avenue of Heroes. They're screaming for Superjerk to come save them…the dumb fucks."

"Now, now, it's not nice to refer to the public as dumb fucks, Mercy," he scolded gently. Superman…gone. Disappeared. Maybe he caused this, Lex thought. Didn't have to be on purpose. Maybe some alien disease that mutated, attacked humans. A pandemic. It happened. Hell, it was happening now. Dogs. Cats, birds…maybe he caused it, and went to ground out of fear, or shame--or waiting for the rest of his kind to take over a nicely cleansed planet….

They'd been holed up in the Towers for four days straight, and it seemed like a lifetime. He was getting no reports from police, from any local news—the national news they got was spotty and bad when they got it—listening to it was like listening to a death knell. The last he'd heard from the governor, the National Guard was taking over. At first, it'd seemed like a god send to Lex, but they were watching when the Guard broke in and slaughtered the plucky little crew of station WBC, Bruce's toy broadcasting network. Not even Wayne Broadcasting could hold out against the government in all its glory. The world was falling apart. Freedom of the press was a luxury of the state in comfort. The State under duress was an entirely different animal, and the point was hammered home in the shrieks and agonized cries of men and women who'd left for work one day, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in their briefcases, travel mugs with amusing slogans on warm in their hands, to become Americans murdered by other Americans at the order of their government. If only WBC had stuck to gossip and the weather…reporting about the arrest and execution of the Daily Planet's editorial staff and the subsequent fire that killed many more employees was in hindsight, stupid.

This was no longer America; this was the end of the world.

Lex watched Mercy stalk around and around the room like a tigress in a cage. Hope sat on Lex's desk, tossed them bags of chips and warm sodas looted from vending machines and described what she'd seen on her recon of the building. Death, death and more death. Lex shook his head. His building, *his*, and they were barricaded in his suite like—like animals in the zoo—in his LexCorp Towers, built out of his sweat and blood…well, not his blood alone but still. What kind of justice was this when a man had to hide—hide!—in his own home?

"You know what," he said, and cared not one bit that he sounded drunk, fuck, he was drunk. "There *aint* no fucking justice. TANJ, indeed…" Lex shook his head, and leaned back in his desk chair, tossed back the rest of a glass of scotch, his…he wasn't sure how many already. Drinking himself into a stupor was something he hadn't done since Superfucker took to the skies. He lit a cigarette from the pack Hope tossed him, (smoking again because what the fuck, they were all going to be dead soon), and hummed "it's the end of the world as we know it…" just a catchy tune he'd heard playing over a pirate radio station for a few hours a day or two ago. The towering cloud of black smoke that he could see from windows on the north side of the office was all that remained of the station. He shrugged and tipped the glass back. If he'd been in charge, he'd have done the same thing.

"Lex, Lex…" His feet hit the floor with a thud; the glass missed his desk and spilled into the thick nap of the rug unnoticed. Ron was calling.

He was in the interior office, balled up on a pile of blankets turning his office couch into a sickbed. Deathbed. Ron looked horrible, looked like he was being eaten from the inside out. His eyes burned in black eye sockets. Lex wet a cloth and pressed it to his mouth but Ron shoved it away. "No, don't…Lex." He grabbed at Lex with a weak, white hot hand and begged him, "Am I going to die?"

Lex wiped his head with the lukewarm cloth. "Yes."

"I know, I knew it…I just thought…more time. I need more." Ron stopped, leaned to the side and retched up black mucus, streaked with red, and the smell of blood filled the room. "Time," he gasped.

"Shh…rest, rest."

"No! I'm dead. I need to know…you to know. I loved--" He coughed, gargled phlegm and blood. He stared at Lex with eyes no longer bright, but the milky color of old jade and the light in them was fading and Lex said, "Yes, I know. Always did. Wanted to tell you, but I was afraid to." He touched Ron's cheek gently. "Loved you from the first moment I saw you," he lied. Ron made a move meant to be a smile, closed his eyes and was gone.

Lex stood and wiped his hands. Competent help deserved acknowledgement. It deserved respect. It was the least he could do, he thought, and covered Ron with the blanket, covered his face. He walked back into the now empty office, dropped into his chair. Should he refill his glass, he wondered, looking at the crystal lying in a dark ring on the carpet.

Hope ran into the room. "The National Guard's coming up the fucking stairs. God damnit Boss, I told you we should have left—we're trapped up here now. Why the fuck am I head of your security if you don’t fucking listen?" she raged as she ripped through the drawers of Lex's desk. She pushed his legs aside and as he swung in his chair, she pulled out the guns they weren’t allowed to carry in the building. "Fucking hell, why didn't I do this days ago? We should have been armed; we should have been out of this glass and steel coffin days ago…" she muttered angrily and Mercy took a gun from her and patted her arm.

"We'll get them. We're going to leave this place now. We…we couldn't before."

"Oh." Understanding flooded her eyes and she glanced towards Lex. "He's—he's gone than. Lex. We have to run for it. Do you hear me? Lex?"

Lex watched her mouth, nodding slightly; hoping at some point something in all this would begin to make sense.

"BOSS." She took a step towards him and the world fell back into place. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his tie…his tie.

"All right, all right—what do we do?"

Hope headed for the doorway. "They'll be here in a moment. They've been moving up while you been fucking around playing Florence Nightingale to—"

"Hope. You overstep yourself," Lex said quietly and she paled.

"I'm sorry, Lex. I didn’t know he was that kind of important—"

"He wasn't. Come on."

He was adjusting the gun in a shoulder holster, was almost clear of his desk--Hope, his head of security, was just beginning to open the door--Mercy, his personal aide and bodyguard, was stooping to pick up a butterfly knife she'd fumbled--the door blew in and LexCorp was under siege.

Things might have gone differently if one of the young soldiers hadn't startled and drawn on Mercy when she came up from the floor. Hope shot him dead, gunfire filled the air and Mercy threw Lex on the ground, covered him with herself. For what seemed an eternity, the office was full of bullets and flying glass…

Noise almost as loud as the gunfire filled the office—Lex realized it was his ears, ringing. The air was sharp, the odor of blood and other much less pleasant smells made him scrub at his nose. "Fucking…"

Mercy rolled off of him, checked him for injury thoroughly and impersonally, totally in job mode. He stood as soon as she released him, his breath thunderously loud in the quiet. Mercy crawled over to Hope and held her. Hope's eyes were black as coal, the scorched hole between them nearly bloodless "Ah. She's dead." Mercy sounded unreal, her voice cracked in disbelief, heartbroken.

Lex stared down at her. "Mercy? Mercy…" He reached out slowly and touched her shoulder.

She flinched from his touch and dropped Hope. "Let's go. We've got to get out now." She walked to the door, stepping over the bodies of the soldiers on the floor. "We're dead if we stay."

"We're dead anyway."

"Boss. You know you’re not going to die of *this* stuff. Shit, you might not die ever. Think."

The elevators were all locked down, emergency lighting flickered and he could hear the air shutting down—the building was dying and their choice was definitely made.

"Let's get to the stairs, Lex. I don't think…I hope you've been working out. It's going to be a hell of a walk." Lex groaned inside. It was going to be a long, long, nightmare of a walk, and he had one warm bottle of orange juice in his pocket….

He thought all the way down the stairs…when he wasn't vomiting, when he wasn't trying to breathe thick fetid air, when they clawed their way over the bodies jammed like lemmings against the doors, he was thinking. There was no damn way this thing could kill this fast—right before radio silence, the CDC was saying it took a few days. All these people, they should still be walking. Dead, yes—but they shouldn't know it yet. They took another turn in the stairwell, and here the lights were out---blown or broken, he couldn’t tell. From somewhere on her person, Mercy produced a flashlight. Its thin beam managed to point out where the most body clogged portions of the stairwell were. Lex took a step and something thick and squishy gave beneath his foot--he stumbled, and let out a high pitched yell…he'd stepped in an upturned palm…Mercy whipped around, halfway through the door to the next landing, gun out and cocked. "Fuck! Boss—you scared the piss out of me!"

It terrified Lex, more than the awful squishy feeling under his heel, or the corpses piled in the stairwell. He'd seen Mercy look a lot of ways, but never on the edge of screaming panic.
Something about that flicked the switch. He stared around himself, stared at her. The vision he'd been hiding from ever since Smallville filled his mind. Cassandra got most of it wrong. He pressed a fist to his mouth, hard, biting down on a giggle. Not his fault. For once, something gone bad that was not his fault, but still…he saw himself all in white and standing on a field of bones and ash, as far as the eye could see…

It's the end of the world.

"Boss…Mr. Luthor…Lex!" Mercy was shaking him. "Come back damn it!"

He was staring into green eyes, black curls framing them. "Come back now—damn it, I need you!"

His cheek stung and his ears rung—she'd smacked him—Lex yanked out of Mercy's grip and staggered back. No…no bones, no corn, no wind, nobody but his bodyguard and…"Let's get the fuck out," he gasped.

"Now you're talking," she growled and went through the door.

Cut thistles in May
They'll grow in a day
Cut them in June
That is too soon.
Cut them in July
Then they will die

It was so fucking quiet that Lex kept driving Mercy nuts trying to draw her into conversation. He wasn't the kind of person usually given to pointless small talk, but…he *had* to talk. He was driven to fill the empty spaces, to cover the lack of sound that meant death. "Mercy, maybe you're right. I think…this mutation of mine is protecting me. Maybe that is why I haven't gotten sick so far. So far."

She nodded, eyes jerking right and left. "Unh-hunh. And maybe there's not enough human stuff left in me for me to get sick. I don't know. I sure don't feel so good right now."

Lex felt sympathy for her loss and her…condition. He winced and as if reading his mind, she waved it off. "Boss, you never lied to us. Hope and I know—knew--we were rebuilt from day one and we're always been grateful for the second chance. In fact, we…we always…" she stopped talking, swallowed with a dry click. "We kind of thought of you as a father, y'know? I mean, you raised us, taught us…made us." She shook her head. "See? That's why I don't like talking. I say all kinds of stupid shit."

She jumped over a huddled mass of bodies, frowned when Lex's smooth leather soles slipped on them, on the fluid slick wool carpet. She reached out for him and he grabbed her hand like a life line, squeezing until a fully human being would have cried out. "I wish we had the leisure to mourn. I feel that need like a—a brick in my stomach. But right now, I need you to save us, Mercy. If you can."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She said, "I was born for this." But her eyes glittered with unshed tears and Lex wondered just when they'd have time to properly mourn her sister.

PART ONE

Now I lay me down to sleep…


They shoved through the doors of LexCorp and out to the Avenue of Business. The avenue swept majestically up to the horizon, the blue sky and fluffy white clouds overhead mocking the fires, the thick black clouds that rose up from the streets and tried to blot out the sun. He watched the white clouds pull apart like cotton wool in the gentle breeze and wondered for the hundredth time, just where the fuck was Superman? It drove him nuts that he had no Kryptonite with him...what if this was a plot? What if…maybe he should head back to Smallville, get the reserves he had under the castle basement. The shades of the Kents couldn’t keep him out of Smallville anymore. There were bigger things at stake than hurt feeling and shame. He wondered if Martha was okay, and felt strange about wondering. He hadn't thought of her in years…He turned to head east on the avenue.

"Boss, where the hell are you going?"

"Parking garage—we should get out of town." He picked his way fastidiously around overturned garbage cans, cursing quietly when he slid in something thick and gluey. He felt her hand on him, nearly as strong as Clark's….

"Okay but…look around. Car's not going to help us."

He stopped, looked up and down the avenue, and his stomach clenched hard. In the time they'd barricaded themselves in LexCorp, Metropolis had died. She was dead and in pieces like a corpse on a battle field. Smoke wreathed the Daily Planet Globe, it lurched and screeched as it tried to rotate, the multi-screen display plastered over the Galaxy Media Group building was going crazy—the screens flashed no news, no ads, they shrieked and stuttered in violent colors, or were black—dead. Fires sputtered here and there, cars were nose to ass in the road, piling up, spilling over onto the sidewalk. The air stank of fuel and burning tar, and…bodies. Bodies everywhere. He licked his lips, watched the last death throes of his city. The faces of the dead taunted him. "Ah. The car is useless."

Mercy looked at him, her eyebrows a visual equivalent of 'duh.'

They walked through the choked roadway, farther and farther from the city center. He looked back once, to see the Planet's globe lurch around once more, and stop.

At about the point that Lex was ready to scream, Mercy did. It was full of wild glee, and Lex relaxed—a bit. "Come on, Boss! A motorcycle!" his bodyguard yelled. "While you've been moping, I've been looking for transportation." She yanked the body of a cop from his motorcycle, plucked his helmet free and tossed it to Lex. "Wear it," she growled when he pulled a face. "I can’t worry about you and me too."

Whether it was crawling with contagion or not hardly made a difference now. No point in worrying. He was either dead, or his mutation was working to save him. And Mercy…he supposed she had as much chance as he did of survival. What was meat, human, was mostly built from his DNA. The nagging thought in the back of his mind whispered her lungs, her trachea, her heart, still human, still susceptible... but it *had* been more than three days—in the time they'd been blocked in LexCorp, everyone but Mercy and he had died, and if that fucking soldier hadn't got off a lucky shot, Hope would be here with them--he plopped the helmet on his head.

Lex managed to convince her to slip the leather jacket over her lightweight blouse. "I can probably heal better from road rash than you, so don’t argue. If I have to wear this horrible thing you have to wear the jacket." He wrinkled his nose as he buckled the helmet on. "Smells. This guy's hygiene left a lot to be desired."

"Boss—the guy is right here dead. Show some respect."

"Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn't give a damn what we're saying." But the flat clouded eyes followed him, looking reproachful, so much so that Lex tipped him onto his face, and ignored Mercy's little sneer.

She started the bike, and waited for Lex to settle himself. "Been on the back of a bike before?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he said, and smiled wickedly.

She held her hands up, "God. Don’t tell me any drug fueled sex addict stories, I don’t want to ralph."

They argued on their way out of the city, but it was mostly a way of distracting themselves from what lay on every foot of the road. People had tried to get out, and it hadn’t been easy or nice. Like rats in a box, the citizens of Metropolis had gone down fighting each other, fighting over an inch of road, a sip of water…an illusion.

They stopped once before leaving the city, at Mercy's insistence. She ransacked a camping outfitters, once a big name, now an upscale equipment filled graveyard. Dragging a couple of backpacks through the aisles, she stuffed them full of camping equipment while Lex followed, bemused. She was muttering, "We'll need this…and this…" She yanked off her skirt, as totally unconcerned about stripping in front of him as he was completely uninterested, and shimmied into cargo pants. "Here," she snapped. "Take off those stupid loafers and put these on." She tossed him a pair of hiking boots.

"God…"

"Wear them, or I'll leave you a blistering, screaming lump on the highway. Boss."

"If this ever gets better, I'm going to fire you."

She turned and smirked at him, and thrust a backpack at him. "Load up, Mr. Luthor."

On the way out, they stopped to spit in the fake lake in the center of the store.

******

They stopped at the freeway exit leading to two possible destinations—outside to the suburbs, farming country—and east, towards Gotham. Mercy straddled the bike and watched Lex stand at the crossroads. "Where to, Lex? The estate, or west to Smallville or—?"

He stared westwards, towards the big blue expanse of cloudless sky, towards where the sun beat down, yellow and hot…"Gotham."

"The fuck--Gotham? Why? It's not going to be any different than Met. The castle can at least provide us with some protection as a base until…until…whatever. Mr. Paranoid Senior filled it with supplies, and now Junior wants to go practically naked and unarmed into unknown territory instead of going where it might be SAFE."

"It's not unknown. Bruce is there—Batman. Dick and the new one, Jay, Jason, something…it'll be different. They won’t let it be all—like this.

"Lex." She wanted to reason with him. He could feel he was going off track again…"Lex, most of the damn world is like this. Gotham—the Bats—they might all be dead."

"No," he said firmly. "I'd know it if he was dead. We…share something. We are. Were friends." He fucking *knew* he was jumping the track, but he couldn't stop….

Mercy sighed, kicked the bike in gear. "Boss," she yelled, "I think you’re making a big mistake. Smallville. We need to go there. But if you want we'll go to Gotham. Pray something is happening, something good." She muttered, "And if it turns out we headed there for a pity fuck—I'll kill you myself." She coughed a little…"fucking dust."

Lex sat behind her, arms tight around her waist, slowly let the weight of the helmet pull his head forward until it rested on her back. He refused to look at the road, trying not to—to cry. He gasped with the effort, squeezed his eyes shut against the looking and prayed hard as hell that Bruce was alive.

*****

Ring around the rosy
A pocket full of posies
ashes, ashes, we all fall down

For miles and miles there was nothing—no cars, corpses, no sign that anything was wrong and if he chose to he could pretend that nothing *was* wrong, that he and his bodyguard were out for a drive on a lovely afternoon. He felt like he was barely connected to the body on the bike, he was soaring, flying—he closed his eyes for a moment to pretend…Clark held him in his arms, he had his own wrapped around Clark's waist and they were flying, flying…

"Boss, hey Boss, fuckin' hell..." The bike wobbled to a stop, the elevated road bed in front of them casting shadows—and between the huge art deco supports bed sheets hung, splashed with paint.

ABADON ALL HOPE YEE WHO ENTRE HER

Great swooping swirls of red paint spelled out a message--or a warning--trailed like blood the length of the sheets. The shadows did little to hide the humped forms scattered under the el.

Mercy wiped her sweating forehead, and her streaming eyes. "Jesus. I told you, I told you it'd be bad."

It stank. The air was thick with the smell of rot, the smell of charred meat. Lex guessed that here were the cars they didn’t see on the way. Tangled vehicles completely blocked access to the road into the city. They had to dismount, Mercy cursing creatively all the while…

"Cap it, Mercy. What are you going to protect me against—zombies?"

"Lex, shit—that's not funny at all." Lex silently agreed with her—he'd scared himself, but no way in hell was he looking over his shoulder. He was *not* waiting for one of those bodies to rise, he wasn't….

"Oh. Fuck." Mercy stopped abruptly and Lex grabbed her shoulder.

"What fuck? What--oh."

Corpses hung like fruit from the art deco struts of the roadway underside. Crows mumbled and creaked and flopped away from their meals. The corpses swayed under their departing weight and Lex almost screamed—it looked like they were moving purposefully.

"Something's weird with them," Mercy muttered.

"Jesus, you think?" Lex snapped but as they came closer to the underpass, he saw it. Crows flew up in big black clouds as they approached; Mercy had her guns out, snarling.

The bodies were hung upside down, each had one leg tied twisted behind the other…ignoring the arms, they looked like figure fours hung underneath the roadway, or bats, giant bats. Lex shivered. This was worse than not good. Hell grew in Gotham—

"You see? They're all smiling," she whispered. "They're all cut. See?"

Great big grins stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone. The scene was a stage set from an advent-garde horror movie out of the last century, heavy on atmosphere. Grins, grins, everywhere—Lex nearly shrieked when an ululating moan tore the silence. The heavy flap of crow's wings filled the air as well as the sound of Mercy cursing, and a single emphatic shot…silence fell thick again when the echoes died away.

"One of them—it was still. Alive," she said. Lex felt weak and sick himself at the sight of Mercy, dark purple under her eyes, snot unnoticed on her upper lip. "I had to."

He came close, ripped off his tie and wiped her nose and kissed her wet, burning forehead. "I know. It was a kindness."

"Yes, that's what I meant it as."

The forest of hanged men and women thinned as they walked on and Lex found himself counting the corpses…he lost count quickly. Mercy was saying, "What the hell, is the whole city out here?" and then they were at the end of the overpass and both of them froze—Lex felt his heart skitter, heard Mercy whisper,"Shit."

On the final arch into the city, he was hanging, swathed in black and gray of course, flesh blue and mottled and loose on his bones. He hung by a boot heel, and his arms were spread over the entrance to Gotham, a welcome sign. A warning. Under him, a tall, thin, figure dressed in crusty green and purple rags sat. Black streaks ran from the crown of his head to his shoulders, over his laddered white chest.

He looked up and smiled. His smile wasn't as horrible as the one on the corpse above him, but it was very close. "I know you." He moved, unfolded, draped the bits and pieces of a long frock coat around himself and smiled. "He's beautiful, isn't he? At peace. The shades of his parents haunt him no more. By the way, *I* had nothing to do with that," he sniffed. "It wasn't me…I'm fairly certain…" He tilted his head back, and the long ears of the cowl hanging over him brushed his forehead. "He's happy like this. Watching over the city he loved. This is the way he'd have wanted to go. And he has his entourage, his helpers and servants into the other side. As it should be. He was a prince among men." He bowed, deep and seemingly sincere. "Goodnight sweet prince, flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." He whirled until he was bare inches from Lex, his breath warm and rank and in a low deep voice growled, "Helloo, Lex. Come to play?"

Other creatures came out of the shadows, creeping, crawling, to arrange themselves around the green and white scarecrow. "Behold, the world turned upside down—and here I am. A king in the country of the blind…heh heh. And you, Lex Luthor. Come for him, have you? Well forget it, sunshine, he's mine. You can take your narrow white ass and you little fairy princess the fuck out of my town."

"God." Lex stared up at the nightmare, looked into the fires of hell. "You did it. You killed him."

"NO! No, *I* didn’t kill him, if I'd done it, it wouldn’t be like this…" He reached up a pale thin hand and caressed the face over him. "He kissed me, and then he died. Just like I imagined it." He threw back his long head, closed his eyes and smiled into the rising sun. He refocused on Lex. "Well. He would have but he was like this when I found him. All of them." He cast his eyes down modestly and shyly said, "I added the smiles, though."

Lex sucked in air and backed up until he and Mercy were back to back—she was like a furnace, and so tense it was like leaning against a board….

"Hell of a joke, don't you think? Such a long courtship, leading to this. Me on my throne and him on his back…now the end of the world is come and we'll never know for sure. Just like you and the Boy Scout. Neither of us will ever know. It was supposed to be me and--and--who killed him? The little bird killed him."

Lex was staggered, disbelieving. "Jason? Why?"

The lean figure swayed slightly. "Don’t you mean Tim…oh, riiight, not in this version, you don't." He snapped his fingers, seemingly deep in thought. "Who, who—oh. Jason. Right. He was fun—would have been fun--" He waved his hand, impatient at Lex's refusal to understand. "Not him either. The real one." He pointed over Mercy's head. "That bird. Duck."

"A duck—" she started to say--"Shit!" and jerked Lex to the dirt with her. The rag-tag shambling crowd melted back into the shadows and on the struts over Batman, Nightwing crouched.

"Get out of Gotham."

"I'm fucking sick and tired of people telling me what to do." Lex snarled. Mercy muttered, "Yeah, Boss, piss off the murderous lunatic. Good game plan…" He heard the slide of metal on fabric.

Lex snapped his fingers at her, demanding silence and stared at the grinning man hanging from the corpse. "How could you—to him--*why*?"

"Because the world is dying, and when the world is dying, you have to make sacrifices," he said with the air of an adult explaining something weird and grown-up to the children. "Give them everything you've got, and when you think you've given it all, give more. So I gave all I had."

"Where's Jay—where's Robin? Why are you here?"

"Dead," Dick moaned, "dead of the plague. Everyone's dying…" He flipped up along the struts and cart-wheeled on a ledge no wider than Lex's palm. Wheeled back to come to rest over Bruce again. "All dead except those who should be dead. It's okay. I'm going to make it right again," he grinned.

Joker appeared in the shadows, and raised his hand to point at Mercy, then at his own head. Dick inched closer, climbed down Bruce's body like a lizard on a wall. "You can keep him company," he told Lex, "He'd like that."

Nightwing tensed. Mercy took a breath; Lex squeezed her shoulder and stepped back. "Go." She put a shot between Dick's eyes.

The voice in the shadows cracked, "Go--go away now, *go away*. Leave us all alone."

Lex took Mercy by the arm, and led her back between the bodies, and the cars, back out of Gotham, back to the bike. There was silence between them, silence that ran on for miles—Lex's grip on her waist was as impersonal as a grip for dear life could be…it went on until they came to a crossroads. One way went back to Metropolis, and from there to Smallville, the other to Colorado—on to Nevada….

Mercy came to a stop. "Boss. I don’t give a fuck what you want. I earned the right to make this decision. We're going to Smallville, hear me?"

"Mercy, I agree. Whatever you want. Just…let it be."

She narrowed her eyes at him, nodded briefly. "Let's go." Lex felt a shiver of unease. Her eyes were burning in the purple smudges of her eye sockets.

******

There's a wind in the underpass, it whips through throwing grit and trash against his mostly bare legs, but he doesn't feel it. He's busy, gloved fingertips tapping against his chin, elbow planted solidly on a bare knee. Concentrating. He's trying to hold the threads of the world together. That's part of what he does, weave the fabric of reality---though he's finally been forced to admit, he's just not very good at it. It's full of snarls and knots….he waits. And weaves. Until he gets bored and makes things happen. Sometimes, what happens surprises even him. Like now—not that he's sure he wove this pattern. He wasn't insane like *this*…gotta admit, the joke *was* pretty damn good. Thing is, now that everything's different, he feels no need to make things happen, oh no, not at all. Not when there's little difference between the outside of his head and the inside.

He considers, nervous fingers twitch at the lapels of his frock coat and he decides—no sir, he doesn't like it. He hopes Lex Luthor finds what he's looking for. It'll go a long way towards fixing this.

There's a sound like a tall ship under sail, the creak that rope makes, swinging, burdened by weight. The light in the underpass shifts, undergoes changes like light underwater. The sun is suddenly blocked out by ebony wings, there's the faintest 'pock' of beaks hitting soft stuff.

But not where he sits.

The crows are wise enough to give him a wide berth. They understand a vast variety of crazy and bow before this one.

He watches and waits. He thinks. Waiting, thinking…and then…"I think…I won't believe in him. I think I won't believe in myself.

And, I won't believe in *you*."

A bat swoops into the dark, and there's a white, white grin there. It fades.

******


They rode on, until Gotham was a distant point on the map, and finally stopped when Lex swore he was nearly unconscious with exhaustion. They camped back from the road in a stand of weed trees, and Mercy insisted that Lex sleep first while she took watch. "I'm too fucking wired anyway," and that was all she'd say in reference to the fact that she'd not too long ago shot dead one of the ex-nation's heroes. Lex assumed she was experiencing what he was—the feeling that Dick's death was the end of all hope. He rolled up in the sleeping bag she'd tossed him, and stared at the stars, flung across a sky that was fucking clear and Hollywood beautiful, just like the last few nights had been, and pretty much as they'd been since the end of the world really settled in….

Lex shook all over, something was crawling over his skin—he peered between his lashes and saw a spider crawling up his chest. 'Shit!'

Trying to smack it off was a like hitting a brick wall--he opened his eyes fully and the spider was a black gauntlet, tracing scars on his body.

'A bullet hole, two. In your shoulder, and in your gut.'

The finger curled around the wounds, pressed gently into the slight depression that not even his healing ability could erase. The cool touch made him shiver, heat bloom in his groin…'Lucky shot…obviously, since you aren’t dead. Looks like burn scars…someone tried to set you on fire? I understand the impulse.'

Wet smile in a wet mouth--'You can't be here,' Lex gasped.

'I'm here. Not here. In the in-between where it doesn’t really matter. Everything happens here, all at once. Alexander Joseph Luthor, you need to go home, quick. They need you—she's dying.'

'I am trying to go home...I'm sorry. If I'd gotten here sooner, I might have saved you. I'm sorry.'

Hand waved casually, a small grin flitted over the perfect lips. Lex remembered how deceptively soft those lips were. 'The plague, a junkie, a mugger, a lover—it could have been anything. Go west.'

Bruce turned and walked into the landscape behind them. It was static, a crudely executed backdrop of farmland… 'Go west young man….'

He woke up fighting the hold of the bag, the dream dissolved but he remembered Bruce was in it, demanding he go home—wherever that was. It took him a few seconds more to identify the sound that'd made him wake--agonized coughing, retching. It brought him to his feet and quickly to Mercy's side. He threw more sticks onto the fire and bit his lip as the flames rose and cast light.

She looked bad. She looked very damn bad.

"Lex," she gasped and rolled her eyes up to meet his. "You better take the watch, I don't think I can—" she broke off, coughing for long, long moments. She was whiter than chalk, obviously weaker when the fit passed. "Aw fuck. So much for being safe, hunh? Shit Boss. I'm sorry. If I'd made you leave sooner, I might have saved you. I'm sorry."

It felt oddly like his own words being thrown back at him before the feeling passed…"Hey, we're going to be okay, you hear? The blame doesn't lie with you. I should have given the order to leave at the first sign things weren't going to get better." He held her hand and sighed. "That's my greatest fault—I never know when to let loose."

She laughed. "Are you kidding? That's one of your more endearing traits." Another harsh fit of coughing shook her, her voice came ragged and weak when she could talk again. "Where would I've been 'thout you? Body bag number what? And Hope…loved her. So much…" her voice trailed off, and rose again. "You saved me…the both of you…" Her grip tightened on his hand. He winced, and hoped she wasn't going to break bones, but didn’t move, didn't give voice to his pain. As long as she could talk, she told him about her life, how good it'd been, how he'd made it a happy one…by the time the sun was rising, she'd forgotten that her lover was dead, and was making plans for when she saw her again. By full sunrise, she was gone.

******


Lex buried her in the median strip, left the bike to mark her grave. Not out of sentimentality. It was useless to him, the tank was dry. He glared down the long black strip of the road. Miles to Smallville. Days. "Fuck!" He shouted, "Why me? Why me, god damn it?"

Startled cawing made him jump and he whirled with Mercy's gun out and ready in his hand--a few black shapes burst out of the trees and into the sky. He laughed. He hadn't expected an answer, but there it went. "Why me? Because the crows need fresh food," he muttered. He hefted his sleeping bag, and left her's next to the bike. No sense taking more than he needed.

He walked from sun up to sun down, grateful for the boots she'd made him wear but the straps of the pack were beginning to rub, and he needed to fix that before he blistered. He wasn't about to survive the plague and die of an infection, like some stupid Twilight Zone episode. There was another stand of weedy trees KDOT had planted in scattered islands along the road side. He flopped down in the shade to drink and cram down an energy bar, to think. He'd been carrying Mercy's pack, wearing his and he decided now was a good time to combine them. He was burning too much energy carrying the both of them.

He pulled an undershirt out of a tangled ball of clothing in Mercy's pack--he could rip it into strips and pad the straps of his pack with it--dumped out what was left. "Hunh. More energy bars—could she have picked lousier flavors?" Socks…good. No underwear in either pack.

"What the hell Mercy, what did you have against underwear? Oh. Heh. A survival book. Ah, firestarter. Good thinking —" He stopped talking because the sound of his voice was beginning to weird him out. The overwhelming silence was driving him slowly crazy, and he was reminded how much people depended on each other to keep themselves tethered to reality—feeling the awful silence pressing against him was a familiar and totally unwelcome sensation. A few times during his march, he'd even thought there was something moving, just out of sight, movement he could only catch in the corner of his eye. It was sometimes tall and dark…or thin and white…his imagination was torturing him. Right before dawn, he'd woken to the sight of Clark crouched by the dying fire, silently watching over him in his sleeping bag, big green eyes full of sorrowful reproach…Lex snorted. At least the silence helped him identify it as an apparition—the hell Clark would *silently* chastise him about any damn thing…he was all about yelling, and man-handling him. Clark liked throwing him against things like walls, and his desk, and railings, and knocking him down and…he refused to think of the boy—man--anymore. Besides, Clark had to be dead, he was sure of it. He'd never come, never responded to any pleas from any quarter. The fucking alien was too much of a show boat to pass up the chance to look gloriously unselfish and giving. Had to be dead.

Lex wiped his eyes and swallowed against a lump in his throat—damn dust. He uncapped one of his precious bottles of water, moistened his mouth.

Poor little self-esteem plagued alien boy…all alone, just like him. Not even Lois Lane to warm his bed and oh yeah, he had plenty of information about *that* subject, or more properly, the lack of *that*. Only because—because--it was good business to know what your enemy was doing. And now he was going to stop thinking of things that had nothing to do with his survival—"that way madness lies."

This time the shapes he imagined he saw resolved into crows, they settled heavily back in the trees, and he could heard them muttering to each other. He was willing to believe they were real….

Madness. There was plenty of time to consider madness over the next few days of endless walking…the constant sapphire blue sky forced itself into his eyes, the dry warm air clawed at his lips and made them crack and split, his skin itched and peeled until he looked like he was unraveling in spots. The sun was constant, the heat was constant…any rare breeze crammed the smell of rotting meat into his nose…the empty landscape slowly changed. Hell surrounded him once more —cars again, and people, tumbled and scattered across the roadway. Crumpled, blistered metal, bloated, roasted meat.

He tried hard not to see mothers and fathers and babies on the road and in the cars, but tears he couldn't hold back spilled. He cried from the frustration and the exhaustion, the horror and. The loneliness. Just a couple of days on his own and he felt like being alone was killing him. He trudged on, drowning in self pity, disgusting himself, but he couldn’t stop crying….

******

It was full dark, and marginally cooler than the day. He stripped off the shirt he'd been wearing and threw it away from him. He didn’t give a damn—walking dead or not, he wasn't going to wear that reeking repellent piece of shit one more day. He dropped the backpack and sleeping bag under a tree, pulled the gun out of his waistband and tossed it into the pack. He ate another fucking energy bar. The next town, he was ransacking any house he could find for edible food. After he ate, and carefully drank his allotted amount water, he unrolled his bag and laid down, arms and legs spread wide, unprotected and not giving a shit. Hell, everyone was dead. Who was going to bother him, the zombies? Fuck, he'd almost welcome a god damn zombie at this point. If it had a tongue, if it could talk, than fine, sit and have a …a…

'Hey. Son. Wake up.'

'Who…oh. Wow. You're looking good for a guy dead ten years.'

'Yeah. So, doing the same as usual? Lying here and feeling sorry for yourself?'

'Fuck you Jonathan Kent. Fuck you so much. Fuck you coming and going, you puckered tight ass, fuck you with fucking bells on, you mother fucking hypocrite—'

'Feel better now?'

'God, yes. I've wanted to say that for years. Years. You bastard, I never could hurt you the way I wanted to—the way you hurt me. I was a kid, barely a man, and you treated me like shit.'

'Can we have done with your pity party now? Because you've got stuff to do. Get your butt back to Smallville. You have to save my son, and between the two of you, you're going to help save the world.'

Jonathan Kent was coming closer and closer, and Lex shivered. Was he coming to punch him? If he was, it was going to hurt—the man was all muscle, not gym rat muscles, real hard working muscle—Jonathan grabbed him, and smothered him in a hug, 'You can do it, son. Promise.'

Lex woke up all at once, tears streaming. "Crying again, just what I need," he sobbed. "I'm going to dehydrate my self, damn it."

God, that was all about wish fulfillment, a damn odd dream. He lay on the bag, stared into the dark and felt like he was spinning in circles. Bruce said west. Jonathan said Smallville. Smallville was more or less west.

Okay.

PART TWO

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

About fifteen minutes after Lex decided he should keep moving, try to manage a few more hours and maybe get into Smallville by the next nightfall, *he* came around through the trees, so quietly, Lex didn’t even realize he was there until he entered the circle of light the fire threw. His tall, lean body looked taller still in the flickering glow, firelight made wild eyes rimmed by the blackest lashes glitter, that gaze so intense that Lex felt impaled. Lex dropped his eyes, and then, all he could see was the red, red mouth.

"Hi."

"Hi? Hi? What the hell are you doing here?"

The guy smiled a little. "You say that like I've got some place to be." He stopped and raised his eyebrows, his hands. "Look around, my friend. Nobody here but you and me."

Lex tensed, and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah." He was kicking himself mentally, picturing the fucking gun in the bottom of the pack a couple of feet away. What the fuck…if he survived this evening, swear to God, he was sleeping with the gun in hand. He was eating with the gun, pissing with the gun—

"So, can I sit? I saw the light of your fire and I figured on the off chance it wasn't a car or part of the road burning…and okay, this will sound nuts but, can I…touch you? I'm not trying--" He stopped and took a deep shaky breath. "You know, I--I thought everyone was dead."

Just like that the guy changed, from a threat to a fellow castaway. Lex held out his hand, and the guy took it and they just shook like they were meeting over a boardroom table, but the naked, burning hunger in the guy's eyes betrayed what it meant to him—to both of them. Touching beautiful warm living flesh, blood and bone and skin…alive. "My name is Adam," he said, still holding Lex's hand.

"I'm Yves."

Adam cocked his head and frowned. "You're fucking kidding me." He tried to yank his hand away.

"Yes, actually, I am," Lex grinned and tightened his grip a little so that Adam stopped trying to pull loose.

"Aw, you fucking jerk-off," Adam grinned. "You always been such a jerk?"

"I suppose so," Lex smirked. "At least I've been told that many times, in many different ways. Lex Luthor." He said, and this time Adam did let his hand drop.

"Luthor, hunh? Fucking unreal. *The* Lex Luthor? Well, I guess you *have* heard it before. It's…this is all a long way from home for you, isn't it?"

Lex looked down at himself, aching feet shoved into already worn looking Timberlands, dirty legs exposed by pants torn off at the knee and a stinking t-shirt, skin freckled like it hadn't been since he was a little boy. He laughed. "I guess so. What about you? Where are you headed?"

"I'm…not sure. Just walking." But there was a familiar look in Adam's eyes, a look Lex knew pretty damn well. The guy wasn't answering the question, he was lying. Fine, he'd figure out what he was lying about—later. Right now, he just needed another person near, someone to keep him tethered. Adam seemed to pick up on what Lex was feeling. "Let me travel with you, if you don’t mind. I've got supplies; I won’t be a drain on you. And in times like this someone at your back is just good business, right?"

"Um. Right." Lex watched Adam run back in the direction he came from, with a promise to be back shortly, with real food, and more water…Lex wished for him to be a good guy so hard that it was almost a taste in his mouth. Please, please be normal, decent, help me, for god's sake—please be decent

"I had to be sure you wouldn’t just make me dead and take my stuff," Adam was back, grinning, a serious monster rig of a backpack loading him down. At Lex's lifted eyebrow he said, "I had a little time to shop before I left town. I went for the best." Lex nodded. Of course.

"So…we're going to…?"

"Smallville, Kansas, USA, former creamed corn supplier to the world. Now, the safest place in the world I can think of, which if you knew my history, you'd find screamingly funny…."

******

Lex walked alongside Adam, and for the first time in days, was aware that he smelled. Not just smelled—he stank with a fury. It bothered him, almost more than anything else…Adam laughed and nudged him. "Will you stop fretting about it? We both stink."

"Fret? Victorian ladies fret, men, especially Luthor men, don't fret. And what makes you think I'm *worrying*," he said, with a heavy emphasis on 'worrying', "about that? Stinking?"

"Well, let me see, you keep looking my way, you keep wrinkling your nose and making this little face, you lean closer to me and try and sniff stealthily…" Adam smiled, and it was like…a full moon rising, beautiful, glowing…"we stink. Both of us. I say our mutual stinks cancel each other out."

"I say you're full of shit, but I'll act like I buy it."

There was a small town off the next intersection and Adam convinced Lex their first stop should be there, they could scavenge for supplies, and, maybe there'd be someone there alive to help…That night before they hit the town, Adam offered him what he called an MRE, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Lex had a hot meal. Beef stew. At his first bite, a deep ache cramped his jaws, the explosion of flavor made him groan. Food. God damn. Hot food, carrots and peas and…he swallowed hard. "Jesus, I love you just for this. Whatever you want, it's yours, anything I have," he moaned and shoved his hand back into the bag. He pulled out chunks of meat and vegetables, crammed them into his mouth and sucked his fingers clean. Adam watched him with gleaming eyes.

"Oh yeah? I'll remind you you said that," he chuckled. He fished about in his pack and crouched next to Lex. With a terrible sitcom French accent, he handed him a bottle of water "For monsieur's enjoyment, zee house wine. Pedestrian perhaps, but I sink you'll find it compliments zee meal perfectly."

"God, that's awful," Lex snorted, "really awful," he snorted again, and suddenly found himself howling with laughter. Laughing, really laughing, it felt…wonderful.


*****

"Lex. Are you asleep?"

"Not now. It's okay, I'm glad you woke me--I was having a rather vivid nightmare. A former…friend…was eating me alive. And spinning some kind of cocoon around his dad. Wonder what the hell that meant?"

There was a long, weighty silence and Adam said, "I was going to ask if I could move my bag closer, but I think I'll just stay here, thanks."

Lex snickered. "If my friend had had a sense of humor, we'd probably still be friends. Come on. Move over."

Adam shifted his bag over, and the night being so warm, he lay on top of it, arms behind his head, eyes locked on Lex like he was afraid that he might disappear. He said nothing, just looked, so Lex looked back. Out of the long sleeved shirt and baggy pants Adam wore, he was surprisingly built. Long legs and a narrow torso supported lean muscle, like a swimmer. He was very good looking, and noticing that was surprising to Lex. He'd gotten out of the habit of looking way before the end of the world. Sex had devolved into a quick relief brought by a little Astroglide and his hand. Shit…he squirmed under the bag and was thankful of the thick quilted cover. Adam's eyes narrowed a little and he gave Lex an insinuating smile.

Lex looked away and flushed hotly. He hated to think he was so transparent. Adam shifted, and even the sound of his skin moving over nylon made Lex stiffen a little. He licked his lips, was about to try and defuse his growing arousal with blather about anything at all and Adam said, "I read a lot of stuff about you, tabloid stuff. Was any of it true?"

"Meaning?"

"Are you bisexual? I read that," he smiled.

Lex pulled both his arms out of the bag and turned to his side, facing Adam. "Go you for reading the big words. No, I'm not bisexual."

"Oh," Adam said, and Lex's heart beat faster at the look on the other's face. It was unmistakably a look of disappointment.

"I like boys pretty much exclusively," he said, and tried to keep a light sarcastic tone, but his voice cracked, and he felt like he was about to fly apart or faint or--something.

"Thank god…I'm coming over there," Adam warned.

Lex fell back and opened the sleeping bag. "Good, that will save me dragging you over here."


Laughter was the second most wonderful thing, Lex decided. The *most* wonderful was a wet warm mouth sucking your dick like it was candy. Adam was good, but truthfully, he could have been fucking awful and it would still be the best blowjob in the world, any sex was the best in the world when you never expected to have it again. Lex twisted handfuls of flannel lining and pulled until he thought he'd tear the bag, he wrapped his legs around Adam and tried not to let go. "Oh, oh, oh, oh…" the sound rolled out of his mouth over and over, he couldn’t hold it back, not with Adam shoving strong hard hands under his ass and lifting him up and cramming his dick into his throat--Lex was so close to screaming, to coming, it was welling up in him like a tsunami made of fire…and Adam stopped.

"Oh no, no nooo…please don’t stop" Lex whined. He grabbed Adam's hair to pull him back and for a moment his palm told him that he was holding a handful of feathers even as his eyes told him, no, it was just hair in his hand, thick, black, warm, and just a little greasy…

"Hold still," Adam said, his voice raw and thick, "hold still." He moved higher up Lex's body, and pushed his legs to his chest. "Yeah," Adam said, and rolled the tip of his finger in the grasping pucker there and pressed. "You're going to eat me up," he sighed.

Oh no—

"Oh yes." He leaned down and put his mouth over Lex's in a deep, smothering kiss. Lex's fight for breath was completely lost when Adam shoved inside in one sudden motion. He screamed, filled Adam's mouth with his pain—

"Relax. Relax, breathe, it'll pass; it'll get better…promise." Adam moved slow and steady, relentlessly and Lex gasped, "fuck you, fuck you—", he was going to kill Adam as soon as he was able--and just like that it was better, in fact, it was so much more than better,* impossibly* quick he was climbing that wave again, burning again. Having him inside doubled, tripled Lex's need to come, when Adam nudged that spot inside of him, fireworks filled him, he wondered that he'd forgotten just *how* good it could feel.

"Lex, Lex, god, I can't wait. Are you ready? Come now—"

Ripples of sensation began in his fingers, his toes, his palms were tingling, the soles of his feet. His arms, his legs—tingling and flowing with warm electricity, his dick jerked and slapped against his belly and not even touching himself, he came—orgasm flowed over him and out of him, and it was like nothing he'd ever felt before—so beyond good he was almost frightened. my heart is going to stop-- For the longest time, he only heard himself moaning, felt his come hot against his skin and Adam dropped on him, he felt him sliding against the hot slick on his chest . Dimly he heard Adam growling, almost howling in his ear. He was vaguely aware of a deep pulse inside him, a wave of warmth…he was already crashing while Adam came and was almost asleep as he slipped out. Adam chuckled thickly against his chest. "We'll be nasty if we don't clean up now, Lex."

Lex threw an arm around his neck. "Tomorrow, close to Smallville, river, water…I wish…I wish…"

"What? What do you wish?" and Adam's voice was sharper, more alert than Lex expected after coming so hard.

"I wish we'd fucked in your bag instead."

Lex could hear Adam laughing and he slipped into sleep with a smile.

He pushed stalks of corn out of his way, seemed like millions and millions of stalks and they were so thick together, as if they'd been weaved to make a solid wall. He wasn't walking through them; he was fighting to get through them, throwing his body through the stalks, fighting hard. His breath was nearly a shriek in the heavy air and he was desperate to get out of the corn, oh God, had to get out now because something was behind him, something whose hot breath he could feel on his heels.

Sweating, gasping, cursing, he pushed on what seemed for miles, every time he thought, I gotta stop now, take a breath, just rest a second, a little voice said, don’t lose again, you have a fresh chance, if you stop now, you're lost forever. All he could see was corn, corn, no ground no sky…He was feeling shredded now, his hands were beating at the stalks, sweat burned his eyes and then, no more resistance, and he was stumbling, falling across a clearing in the middle of the field. Moonlight shone in the clearing, turning the sand white and shadows black as ink. There was a house squatting there and its windows yawned black and open, curtains white as bone fluttered behind the panes. If the house had been unoccupied, he'd think it was watching him, but it wasn't empty.

There was a wizened old woman on the porch---she was Black, and old--wrinkled as hell, worn to the bone, and he felt he knew her. "Cassandra," he gasped and she shook her head with a smile.

"No, no. My name is Abigail Freemantle. You can call me Mother Abigail, and you're standin' here with me in Hemingford Home…" she stopped and looked puzzled. "Son, where's the other one? You're not supposed to be here alone. Where's your brother?"

"My…my brother? He's long, long dead, Mother. Unless you mean the other one, he disappeared from my protection years ago…" Lex felt dry, he wanted to ask for water, but he was afraid to. He was afraid of her…or, no, not afraid….

"Not brother like that," she said and folded her arms over a guitar in her lap. Lex suddenly realized she'd been playing it; when it went silent he missed the sound of it. She said in the tone of voice reserved for babies and the perpetually innocent, "I mean brother like Alexander and his general, like them Greek soldiers and their brothers in arms."

"Theban Band?" He was on solid ground now. She was speaking his language now. He smiled, a sardonic slash. "They were more than 'brother-in-arms'." He cocked his head, sneered at the ancient crone. "You know. Faggots," he said.

"Don’t you get smart with me, boy. I know darn well what they meant to each other. You can't offend me, and you can't hold me off. Now you go get your brother, and come back here. You both got some fresh work to do. Mind me now, you hear?"

His bravado evaporated, he felt like he'd been scolded for a tantrum. He looked at his feet and mumbled, "But I do have some one here. He's my lov—he's traveling with me."

"Oh no, not that one. Not that one."

"But Adam—"

"Hah. Don't call him that. Call him Lilith just as well—" she broke off and looked back to the corn and there were red eyes burning in the stalks, and he felt the hot breath on him again, right over his heart.

A wolf the size of a Buick Roadmaster came out of the corn, and stopped.

She fixed him with a glare a basilisk would envy. "Honey, you go home, you hear? Don't you let anyone tell you different. You go home and come back here with—"

Lex woke up to Adam licking his chest, licking loops around his nipple and teasing it to a stiff, tingling peak.

"I was wondering what I'd have to do to wake you up," he grinned. His hand was curled around Lex's awakening dick, and he swooped in to kiss him again, and Lex almost forgot what he'd dreamed of.
Almost.

******


Cloverdale wasn't any deader than anything else Lex had seen, it just felt that way. Even so, he felt like he was being watched, from the dead windows, the gaping doorways; out of the inky alleyways…his skin crawled. He thought he heard shuffling, snuffling, some odd sound on the very edge of his hearing, like quiet moaning. He felt an oppressive weight on him the minute they'd entered the little town. The town hated them, he felt it wanting them dead…Lex shook himself, and looked for his tether. Fucking Adam. Adam was jumping and jittering about like they'd discovered Shangri-La, so ridiculously upbeat, Lex longed to kick him, slap the grin off of his wide, red, plush mouth, warm wet mouth…Lex shook his head. It was getting to the point he couldn't look at Adam without getting hard, and the bastard knew it…Adam suddenly stopped and winked at him, licked his lips…Lex shuddered.

The sun was coming up over the low skyline, they'd hiked all night after Adam woke him up, begged and whined and pouted until Lex agreed to get up and move. They'd arrived outside of Cloverdale before dawn, and Lex supposed it wasn't a bad thing—it put him a day ahead of schedule. Schedule—he laughed. It *was* a pretty funny word when it had no real meaning anymore.

They walked along in the lightening gloom, Adam in the street and Lex on the sidewalk, flinching whenever he caught his reflection in a store window. Every few feet, from a window ledge, from a fire escape or a bank of dumpsters, fat black crows rose into the air, disturbed by their passage, to flop down again a few more feet in front of them. They'd cock their heads and watch them move and Lex swore they were smiling.

Adam stopped short and Lex jerked to a stop, fear sparking in him like electricity. He whirled around searching for whatever had startled Adam.

"Look at that!" There was a handbill pasted on a store window, several…in fact, the entire block. Blood red bills were pasted to windows, stapled to poles, fluttering in the empty street…Lex blinked.

Empty. Very empty. Clean. Like someone'd come through with a street sweeper. There were no cars, no broken glass, no…"Smell," Adam demanded, breaking in on his thoughts.

"What?" Lex almost lifted his arm, but Adam was darting glances up and down the empty street. He spread his hands.

"Smell, Lex. What's missing?"

Lex took a tentative sniff…them, he smelled Adam and himself…and lilacs, grass, roses…"oh God."

"Yeah. No dead things."

There was no smell of corruption. There were no bodies. Adam ripped a bill from a pole. "They left. They were alive, and they went someplace better. Safer. Look." He shoved the paper at an unresponsive Lex. Lex shook all over at his touch.

"They were…alive? They left? Oh my God. Oh my God." Lex tried to imagine people, a lot of people, all of them healthy, alive, clean. "Adam."

Adam caught him before his knees hit the road. He chuckled and kissed Lex on the crown of his head. "Let's see what they left behind for us, okay?"


How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten
Can I get there by candlelight?
Aye, and back again
If your feet are nimble and light,
You'll get there by candlelight.

Candlelight flickered from every flat surface, pillars and votives and candles shaped like cats and apples--every god damn candle they could find in the shop below them. The lap, lap of water against porcelain wove through the sound of laughter…

"I could almost come just from this," Lex groaned. "Ah…who'd think a fucking bath could feel so damn gooood?" Adam laughed lightly, rubbed the sponge over Lex's back, water ran off him in wide grey rills. "Aaaah…"

Adam was still naked and wet from his own bath, freshly clean, gold and gleaming in the candle light. He made Lex come up to his knees in the tub and poured clean water over him, and Lex grabbed Adam's hips and took his half hard dick into his mouth.

"Hey, if you do that we'll never get clean." He rubbed soapy hands across Lex's bare scalp, soothing circles around the bump on the back of his skull, down his neck and began to rock his hips. "Mmm, Lex, don’t…" he sighed and cupped Lex's head and pumped."Don’t stop…"

Lex sucked Adam until he came before he let him rinse the rest of the soap away. Lex shivered hard…he was clean, but damn the water was cold…

After, clean, dry, and dressed again, they ate real food, and drank real wine, and that evening, fucked in a real bed. "Perfect," Lex sighed, and stroked Adam until he pushed his hand away.

"Sleep. We need to talk in the morning." Adam said and turned away from Lex to sleep.


*****


"We want to go to Las Vegas. A new beginning, that's what the flyers say. We need to be there too. All these people have gone there." Adam was staring out to the street. He had the curtains pulled back to do so, and twisted the fabric of the curtain as he spoke. Lex's attention was drawn to the motion and he noticed that the curtains were dotted with little cherries. They matched the cherries on the duvet thrown across the bed he was sprawled on. There were cherries on the tiny toss pillows he'd shoved to the floor, and on the border near the room's ceiling, red and green and black. It was meant to be cheerful, he imagined. He wondered if the person who'd decorated the place was gone to Vegas, or dead somewhere on the highway out of town. He looked at all the little cherry dotted items and stuffed animals they'd also heaved to the floor, and he was willing to bet they'd gone to Vegas.

Vegas was not…what he wanted. What he needed.

"You're going to have to go by yourself. I have to go home."

Adam stalked towards him. His eyes were flashing, bright spots of red glowed on his cheeks. "Home? What's home? Back to the Met? You know what's there." Adam's voice was louder, and he looked angry and Lex felt, somehow familiar. "You want to go to Smallville? What the fuck for? You fucking tried to do good for them and they threw it in your face. Fuckers."

Lex felt a chill trickle down his back. His voice softened as he talked to Adam and it was the way he used to speak to Dad, back when he still cared…"Well, I have things there we might need—weapons, medicine—" he hurried on when Adam looked doubtful.

"We don't need that stuff; besides, we have the gun in the bottom of your pack."

The trickle down his spine exploded into ice in his gut. "How do you know about that?"

Adam cocked his head and grinned at Lex. "Lex, Lex, Lex…I know more than you can imagine."

Lex backed up and Adam growled. "I know you, I know your type. There was you, fancy ass CEO of a big fucking corporation, and then me, one of the peons your kind ordered around—" he crowded against Lex. "Now there's no difference between you and me, hunh? We're exactly alike. We're the same." He pressed his hard length against Lex, pushed between his legs and rocked up into him until Lex began panting. "Oh wait—not the same. Without me, you'd be dead."

"I know, but I have to go—home, I—I—"

"That old woman told you to go home? What does she know? Crazy old bitch, squatting in a shack in the corn--I'm the one who'll save you, not her. Bitch." He unzipped, and Lex caught his lip in his teeth. He was burning, he didn't even want Adam but he was burning…Adam smirked, and stroked himself, "Yeah, you like that. Go ahead, put it in your mouth…"

Lex dropped to his knees and opened his mouth. He was prepared for Adam to be rough, hurt him ( and that wouldn't be a new thing for him, once upon a long ago time, he'd even liked it that way.) but he cupped Lex's head, stroked the bare crown of his head and whispered, "Swallow it."

It was…weirdly gentle, Lex was thrown off by just how gentle it began, but by the end, all gentleness was gone. In the end, Adam was bent over him, panting, and Lex was on bleeding knees with a mouthful of come he was about to swallow. Adam had other ideas—he gripped Lex's jaw, held the other hand under his chin and said, "Spit." He looked up and Adam's eyes were red and bottomless, just like the alien's. "Spit," and Lex spit come into the palm of his hand. Adam was hard again, eyes glittering as he sneered at Lex.

"See what you do to me? Get up, spread your legs." Adam yanked the back of his pants down, and then his fingers were invading him, slick with his own come, but not slick enough. He had two fingers in him, three, and Lex was grunting with the pain. Slowly, he gave, opened enough that he felt something else besides raw pain, and the come slick head of Adam's dick was pushing inside, this time slowly, dragging in and out, growing hotter, stabbing him with jagged bolts of pleasure…

"You were made for me…no one else ever got in here before me, hunh? Virgin," he snickered. He pushed deeper, and Lex whined when he twisted, lifted, hit that spot. "Aaaah," Adam groaned, "you didn’t even know you were dreaming about me fucking you, did you…

Lex shook his head, sweat dripped and little drops that fell between his spread feet made dark dots on the wood…wood…he smelled hay, and sunshine, he felt cool breeze blow over his back, a big hot palm rested above his ass, and a clear sweet voice called his name—fingers bit hard into his shoulder, he felt the dick inside him swell, and he was back in the room of cherries, and his feet slid a bit on the cherry red rug and sweat made dark spots on the duvet—Adam was hissing, "mine," and Lex was coming too, and thinking 'Never. Never never never…'


Adam left him on the steps outside of the shop to check what he could scavenge for the journey to Nevada. Lex sat gingerly on the cool granite and lit a cigarette, sticking the pack he'd found into the top of his boot. He blew a long stream of smoke out, and thought about what had happened to him. And what Adam had said. He knew about the lady out there in the corn. How? …Lex smoked and watched Adam walking toward him with a grin…Lex felt his dick twitch and Adam grinned even wider….

He stood and stamped the butt out. Not looking Adam in the eye, he said, "I'm not going. I know what I'm going to do, and I'm not going to Vegas."

Adam was bristling. He shouted, "What the fuck—don’t you get it, if we don’t go there, we die! We're going to Vegas, you hear me? Stupid cunt—I'm not giving up everything for you." He jerked towards Lex, and Lex waited, ready for it, ready to fight back—

Adam dropped back, held his hands up, "Man, Lex—I'm sorry, I'm--god, so sorry." He dropped his hands, dropped his head. "I've just—just gotta damn short fuse, and I can be a horrible dick sometimes. I'm sorry. What do you say we start this afternoon over, okay?" He looked at Lex, his expression sweet and sincere and Lex dropped his hands too, but he didn't relax.

"Un-hunh, start over, okay—let's pretend like you didn’t try to hurt me this morning."

"Hurt you—" Adam cocked his head at him and frowned. "I would never hurt you on purpose. I love you, I need you. We need each other."

Lex nodded. He backed down, and Adam came up to him, folded him into his arms and held him. "We'll be okay, you'll see, everything will be perfect."

******


Adam separated out the packs, piled the food in one corner and had Lex help him sort through medical supplies he'd cleaned out of a pharmacy. "See, I paid attention, you say we need medicine, I got you medicine, okay?" Lex let him talk, agreeing with everything he said, smiling, smiling—lessons he'd learned at his father's knee.

They had sex in the shop that night, on the duvet dragged down from the room of cherries. In the bright moonlight pouring in through the shop window, the cherries looked like drops of blood, Adam's eyes were black pools under the ivory bow of his forehead. Lex bit his lip and let Adam do what he wanted, and kept his eyes on his backpack, thought about what was in the bottom of his pack.

When it was done, they were both wet and sticky and Lex was shaking all over. Adam wanted to cuddle, something he hadn’t done before and that prevented him from getting to the backpack, and the gun. Bastard!Adam's arms were locked around him, legs tightly wrapped around his own. All he had to do was wait until Adam fell asleep, wait just a little, soon Adam would sleep, just relax and wait…

'Wake up, you idiot.'

'I *am* awake and I'm not very pleased to be called an idiot, thank you.'

'Well, I don’t know son, you're sleeping with the enemy. I'd call that kind of idiotic.' Jonathan rubbed his knuckles over the faded knees of his jeans, smiled a little to take some of the sting out. Sunlight made his hair even blonder, his eyes bluer, as blue as the sky over head. A hawk sailed through the blue, floating on a breeze. Jonathan tilted his head back to watch; Lex tilted his back too, and sighed. 'I haven't seen a damn thing but crows since I left the city.'

Jonathan nodded, held his hand out to Lex and pulled him up to sit on the fence rail next to him. 'Not surprising, they're his eyes and ears.'

Lex looked at him. 'His?'

'That bad man in Vegas.' He shook his head. 'Lot of people who aren’t necessarily bad are out there. You know what they say about good intentions, but folks will generally take the road that doesn’t call for sweat and blood and hard, hard work. It's not always the right road to take—heck, it's seldom the right road to take. Lex, you've always had the desire to do right--there's a lot of good in there.' He touched Lex with his finger, in the middle of his chest, pressed against it softly. It was like having the sun light him from inside. 'There's a knot here, it's all snarled up, it just needs to be let loose, for all that good to come pouring out. My boy can pull that knot loose, just give him a chance. Be patient this time.' He reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. 'Listen, that guy you're clinging to is a lie. Got to get away from him, okay? You run, and don’t take a damn thing, nothing you hear? You just run straight on home boy. You hear me Lex, wake up and run—wake up Lex---'


Lex woke with a gasp, his hand pressed in the middle of his chest. There was a dime sized spot in the center of his chest that burned, but it was a good burn. Adam was curled on his side, as always facing away from Lex. Moonlight glittered on his back, picked up the trail of fine hair running down his spine, made it seem coarse and thick, like a ruff of fur—he shifted and it glittered like tiny black feathers…Lex rolled away quietly, crept off the duvet. He yanked his clothes on, his breath sticking in his throat> He watched Adam, hyper aware of his every twitch and catch of breath, easing away, easing away….

His back to the door now, Lex shoved his boots on, his eyes flashed to the pack—just some water, he should stop and take some juice or--or just a bit of food, band-aids—Mercy's gun… You run, and don’t take a damn thing Adam mumbled in his sleep and Lex backed out, not taking his eyes off the sleeping form once.

Outside, he leaned against the door, closed his eyes for one second ready, set, go… he trotted down the steps to the sidewalk, trying to be quiet, a little faster, down the block, looking, looking over his shoulder, afraid—suddenly afraid of Adam like a kid afraid the Frankenstein Monster was going to burst out of his bedroom closet—he was running, and the moon lit the way. Lex ran, ran and old memories crowded into his head, lent his feet wings. He ran down the squeaky clean main street, dashed between buildings, and began to hope a little. Old skills weren't forgotten, he was the fastest boy at Excelsior, outran nearly everyone, was twisty as a ferret and slippery as an eel—he laughed out loud, and in the next second was falling—

He hit something hot and soft—it squelched under his hand and burst open. His nose was filled with rot and death and he vomited violently, suddenly. He was backpedaling, trying to vomit and breathe and hold in a scream all at once. He'd found the townspeople who couldn't leave.

The smell…how did they not smell it before, how did they miss this…he tripped and fell and he was eyeball to eyeball with an empty socket white with maggots. He had nothing in him to give up, he gagged violently and leaped up and over the pile of dead, through the alley and back out into moonlight… once again he was thirteen and running for his life…

Outside of Cloverdale, he swore he heard howls of rage behind him, and put everything he had into a final burst of speed. By the time he felt safe, his lungs were twin bags of fire and his throat was lined with razorblades. He ran until it was a physical impossibility…'Jonathan I can't do it anymore Bruce God help me please where are you Clark Clark Clark.'

There were bushes on a hill looking over the roadway, and he made for them, gratefully threw himself under them. Branches raked his face, ripped at his clothes and he was grateful for that too. His chest rose and fell; he panted desperately for air, and listened with all of his body. 'What am I going to do if he follows, he's got it all—I'll have to kill him, some how, have to…' Lex was gone without being aware of falling asleep. Still as death under the bushes, oblivious to the small insects that crawled over him, an owl that settled in the upper branches of the bush waiting for something to come out and die.

Adam woke up; moonlight shining on him alone…Lex was gone. "SHIT! Run you little motherfucker, I'm going to kill you—dead or not, I'll still fuck you, I don't give a damn either way," he howled.

He burst out onto the sidewalk, sniffing hard. He could smell Lex on the air, he smelled him, sweet and funky, copper bright and dark chocolate and when he found him he was going to eat him up, all up…"Lex, you pussy, we’re going to kill you, pull your arms and legs off, faggot, faggot, kill you—" words that made no sense to him echoed over and over in his head. He was running hard, depending on the taste and smell of Lex to guide him, his hands were clawed, just itching to get hold of Lex, he kicked off his shoes to feel the road, to run better, faster…"I'm going to kill you, cock sucker, I'm going to rip you open from asshole to pie hole," he laughed wildly, whooping as he ran, and swinging his arms--it was funny, what he said, funny—he ran into a wall full tilt, felt his cheek split open, he tasted blood and felt it running hot over his chin.

"UNH!" He sat with a tailbone jarring crunch on the sidewalk. Oh god, oh fuck, that hurt…"Lex? Lex, shit, sorry…I didn’t mean it, you know my temper." He rubbed the blood away and moaned. "Come back, I'll be better, promise. Lex." He'd fallen at the mouth of an alley. He could make out a huddled shape in the darkness. "There you are little one, there you are," Adam crooned, "Come here, I just want to kiss you, just hold you a little, come on baby, you know you need me." He thought he heard shuffling, snuffling, some odd sound on the very edge of his hearing, like quiet moaning. "Don't cry little one, little honey bun, little cupcake, delicious scrumptious baby mine, don’t cry—"

The air exploded with sound, growling, barking, howling. Adam screamed as something ripped through the muscle of his calf and yanked him back towards the street.

A cocker spaniel crunched through bone and tendons, made his foot into a bloody mangled mess. "FUCK!" A poodle launched itself at him, fastened on his ass and pulled. A Doberman and an English sheep dog argued over who was getting his liver…. Adam screamed and screamed and disappeared under a fluffy pile of hungry, hungry canines, totally oblivious to the miracle of survival….

PART THREE

If I should die before I wake

The Smallville sign came as shock. His mind had fixed on the image of that thing, from the second DreamBruce told him to go home and he began this descent into hell. He'd walked from Metropolis to Smallville, and it'd only cost him everything he had; the only person in the world who'd really cared about him, his sense of worth, his mind…he still wasn't entirely sure that Adam wasn't his old friend, Imaginary Louis, in disguise. He sucked in a deep breath and clenched his jaw, if he started laughing he might not stop and he needed to be here, he needed to know he was alive and real and there it was, proof that it really happened. The sign, *the* sign, proudly proclaiming Smallville the meteor capital of the world—assholes. He shook his head and kept walking.

Corn growing green on either side of the road startled him…he'd expected drought, dead plants, but the stalks were bright, healthy, and already head height. He kept walking, listening for the sound of irrigators, of tractors, even though logic told him it was impossible. Why should it be different for Smallville than for Cloverdale? And yet…"hope is a thing with feathers," he muttered and on a wire over his head a crow dipped its beak and cawed.

He was bloody and dirty, his face itched and burned from dozens of little scratches, he felt exhausted and dispirited. The high he'd felt escaping Adam had evaporated, he felt like a whipped dog. Head down, trudging forward, trying to think of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, one foot, one foot, he didn't realize where he was until the surface of the road changed, and he heard the slap of water against the pylons…the bridge, water…"Water," he smiled. He remembered Loeb Bridge, he knew the water was dark and not all that clean but—his shirt went flying, he hopped from foot to foot and kicked off his boots, tossed off his shorts and dashed down the bank. He was about to jump in, shrugged and kicked off his underwear--with a hoot, he leaped into the cool, cool water.

He went straight down like rock, sank so quickly it startled him. Underwater he flailed his arms, trying to swim up, but he just kept sinking, darker and darker and darker as he sank…he closed his eyes, let go of the breath he'd been fighting to keep. Yeah. This seemed…right. This *was* right…back where he started. He smiled and his body stopped fighting. He let it go, and it felt…good.

Seconds later, he was choking and snorting water out of his nose, floating on the surface of the river. "*Damn* it," he coughed, "Make up your mind!" He was thrashing, bobbing in remarkably clean water. "Hopefully I won't get sick—" he stopped and laughed, "Right. Okay." He floated a bit, enjoying the feel, just letting go.

He climbed out and rinsed some of the dirt from his clothes, spread them out over grass to dry and sat naked on the bank to dry himself. He heard the distinct sound of a hawk in the distance, and smiled. okay, Jonathan, here I am

Across the road, crows flew out of a stand of trees, cawing crazily and wheeled in a cloud to the east. Lex leaned back on his elbows in the sun-warm grass to watch them go. He was spread out to let the sun touch every bit of him. He felt clean. In fact, if it wasn't corny or possibly blasphemous to think so, he felt…cleansed. Washed in the water. He grinned, eyes tracking the bird's flight. "Fly away, fly away, fly away home…" he murmured. The sun was warm, and it was tempting to close his eyes and fall asleep on the river bank, but he had things to do. Places to go.

******

The main street of the town was a reminder that yes indeed, the world was dead. Smallville hadn't died any easier than Metropolis or Gotham. Maybe not as dramaticly, but it was just as dead. This time when he thought he heard snuffling, and thought he saw movement, it revealed itself. Walking down the main drag, he counted four, possibly five mutants—he wasn't entirely sure about the pudgy old woman in a faded Warrior Angel sweatshirt and a hat with the tags still on, she was leaning on a shopping cart crammed to the brim with bulky plastic bags and might just have been what the people in town politely called eccentric, certainly her hat was. It was just the way she looked at him, like he was dinner or…worse. He needed to get to the castle as quickly as possible. Weapons, he had weapons there…he backed away from her and her shopping cart seemed to be…heaving.

He walked along the streets, looking for cars with keys in them. This was Smallville after all, where all the neighbors looked after each other; it should be easy to steal a car. He found a truck with a spare set under the floor mats, and headed out to the castle. He passed a few other probable mutants, wondered how that could even be. He was certain he'd swept Smallville clean of GreenK, purely for research purposes and if he'd shot the majority of it into space, it was only because it was good business to be the owner of the only supply of a certain commodity, and he was all about business. And a hot shower, fucking hell, he was taking a HOT shower, and sleeping on down, and whatever happened after that, he didn’t give a good god damn.

******

Generators were running; the place was clean and had been shut up carefully since the last time he'd been in Smallville. He wiped a finger along the piano in the study. There was only an accumulation of maybe a week or two of dust. He smiled ruefully. If his security in Smallville had been as efficient and dedicated to their jobs as his household staff, there would have been a great many less concussions. He sighed and dropped his hand. At least, he would only have suffered the ones Clark gifted him with.

The place looked unreal, as perfect as a memory. He could imagine the sound of Clark's footsteps, the unexplained little breezes that used to accompany so many of his visits. Lex hummed. Well, unexplained back then. All known now. It still amused him that no one ever pointed at the man in the primary colored suit ands shouted, 'that boy used to bring me my rutabagas' or whatever the fuck they yanked out of the ground there. He expelled a long breath, "Okay, okay, this is a new me. Hatred has no place in here. Besides, Jonathan would be mad and I'm not having him knock me out in my next dream," he muttered.

In the kitchen, he found the food in the freezer was still edible—the freezer functioned as it should, and he could hear the steady chug of a generator under the stairs to the basement, one of many the castle used in the event of power loss. He was surprised they were functioning at all--imagined fuel for them must be low; he'd have to check the underground tanks. He sent a short appreciative mental note of thanks to the paranoia that led his dad to outfit the castle to survive almost anything including a nuclear attack. May he rest.

A hot shower, alone and safe, was nearly as orgasmic an experience as he hoped it would be. Dinner was simple, a grilled chop and some re-heated frozen vegetables, but it was…wonderful. Sitting in the pool of light the stained glass fixture cast over the kitchen island, he picked and nibbled at dessert, a slice of the pie he'd found in the freezer. Music played softly in the background…the smell of spices and apples the only scent wafting on the air…the castle felt like home for the first time in a long, long while. He could almost pretend that ten years hadn't passed, that all was well, that the Kents were tucked into their beds and maybe, maybe this was the night that Clark would finally sneak out of the little yellow farmhouse and come to him, tell him everything, and then have spectacular sex with him by the light of the plasma TV….

Lex threw the plate across the stainless steel counter to smash on the quarry tile floor. "Fuck!" He sagged in his seat. "Fuck." He'd clean it up in the morning. He needed to sleep. He needed to—not think for a little.

'Hello, Alexander. Feeling cozy? Feeling…loved? I watched you bathe in the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river…well, it doesn't exactly flow by the throne of God, does it? Just kind of trickles out of Lowell County and dumps into the reservoir. Which right now, is chock full of dead things getting the long baptism. See Lex, it all sort of ends up there—all dead things.'

The man came out of the shadows, and Lex saw his face and instantly recognized him. He turned to water inside. He'd seen this man's face a thousand times in a thousand nightmares. All his life, he'd been trying to give it a name--alien, monster, mutant. Sometimes it was Fine, sometimes Zod. He'd seen those hot eyes boring into his, felt his hands on him, his mouth biting and tearing…

'Except for you, Lex.' Lex turned, and he was staring out of a set of French doors, sunlight or some acidic bright light, flooding in, making the white suit he wore glow. Warm hand on the back of his neck, soft lips at his ear whispered. 'Bones everywhere…but not yours…do you know why? Say it, Lex and you can have everything you've ever wanted. Respect. Love. Power, Lex. Greatest of all these, power…'

He was standing on that hill again, and all around him things shriveled and died at his touch. 'You don’t need anything but this. I'll set you here; you'll rule all—for me. With me.' The hand on the back of his neck burned, and he felt a hot hard length digging into his back and he wanted to press back… 'What I want from you is so little, so small, you'll never miss it.' Lex closed his eyes and groaned. He was heavy, hot…so hard…'all you have to do is say yes.' Lips brushed against his cheek, coarse hair tickled and scratched the sensitive skin of his scalp. 'Say yes, son, and let me take care of you.'

Lex turned and twisted in the sheets, moaning…'no, no, go away…' he flailed against the hold of the sheets and cried in his sleep….

He threw open the doors of the castle and ran down the drive out to the road. He leaped over the drainage ditch in the roadside and ran on across an open field, through the grass. After a bit, he was running through corn, taller and more mature than the corn he'd passed on the way into Smallville. He thought it looked familiar and then he remembered. Mother Abigail, he tried to yell out her name but his mouth was too dry…

'There you are, we've been waiting for you.' she was sitting on the porch again, gently rocking in an old fashioned rocking chair and plucking out a tune on her guitar. She hummed, the occasional word floating free. It was soothing, the rocking, the playing; so much that it took him a minute or two before he noticed she had company. When he did, she stopped playing.

A big man in a bright white tee-shirt and new jeans sat next to her. He had a big steel bowl of peas clasped between his knees and he was busily shelling them, his big bare feet tapping in time to music only he could hear, apparently. His head was bent over the bowl and a fall of dark hair hid his face.

'You did so good, honey. I'm proud of you. Now you're home, and you done finish the first leg of your journey.' She dropped her hand and cupped frail brown fingers over the dark head next to her knee. 'This one got impatient waiting, but he'll be with you when you're ready.' She smiled a sweet, kind smile and the man next to her lifted his head and smiled too, and the sun came out.

Lex woke, words echoing in his head. "I'm waiting for you." He fell flat on the floor, and finally came fully awake and the first thing he felt on waking was wonder, and warmth. From his toes to the crown of his head, he felt filled with it. He knew the feeling, remembered it from a lifetime gone past. Love, sweet, unconditional, asking for nothing in return, love. That dangerous thing. The sense of being filled with love faded so slowly, and the feeling as it slipped away, hurt. He wanted desperately to hold it in—he thought, I can't keep that feeling in this place.

"Shit." He staggered upright, flung open his closet door and dressed quickly, not even appreciating the fine materials, ignoring the dust that flew as he hastily threw on his clothes…he grabbed a pair of shoes from the dozens and dozens on the shelves and stopped. He dropped them to the floor like they were garbage. "Fuck that—I need a real pair of shoes," he muttered.

Dressed, his scuffed and dirty timberlands on his feet, he took the truck to the road again, one goal on his mind. The Kent home. He had to be there—even if it was just to sleep on the porch. There was no way he could spend another night in the castle. The castle was full of bad things, bad memories and spirits. At least at the farm house, the spirits would be kind. Martha always liked him, well, she had used to. Maybe her spirit would forgive him—Jonathan seemed to have, at least the Jonathan in his dreams. And even…maybe even Clark had found forgiveness from beyond the grave, and he relived that shining moment from the dream.

******

The truck engine died with a shudder on the farmhouse driveway. The moon silvered the front yard, the main house was dark, but there was a light on in the barn. The generators must be running here, too…he hoped the light in the barn hadn’t attracted anyone—anything.

He stepped out of the truck; nerves sent him trotting quickly up the porch steps. He'd have to break the glass in the door to get in. He pulled off the lightweight sweater he wore and wrapped it around his fist, prepared to knock the glass in--on a whim, he tried the door handle and the door swung open. "That's either a bit of luck or a sign that it's finally run out."

He slipped the sweater back on and walked into the house, holding his breath as he carefully traversed the black maze of the living room and headed for the kitchen. The kitchen, what he could see of it, was exactly the same. Some small cosmetic changes, sure, but basically the same—the same table that he'd shared pie with Clark, the same couch he'd flopped on at the end of that day he'd worked on the farm…he wondered if Clark's room was the same, he remembered jerking off quietly and carefully in his bed while Clark slept on the couch below him. He sighed, and was about to head for the stairs when he realized that the refrigerator was humming. The fridge was working…he flicked the switch near the door and the kitchen light blinded him. 'Damn'!

A rising moaning swell of sound rolled down the stairs and Lex jumped a foot--felt pretty good he hadn't screamed—the ghastly croak became words, and a voice he recognized.

"Who—who's there—"

He ran up the stairs two at a time and looked for the door not to Clark's bedroom and burst through it, and there she was, a small thin shape swaddled in blankets in the middle of a queen sized bed.

"Oh, Martha, oh my god…" There was no smell, and the water next to her bed was clear and clean, she was sweating profusely, but her bedclothes were clean—just damp. If she was sick, it hadn't been long.

"Who is it? Who's there—I have a gun." She peered out into the darkness of the bedroom.

"That's good; please don't use it, Martha. It's me. Lex. I came to help. Can I help?"

"Lex? Lex is dead. Everyone is dead," she fretted. "It's just me now. Everything else is dead." She plucked at the cover pulled up to her chest. "The cows died first and Clark buried the dead animals. All of them died, you know? No eggs, no milk…she laughed thickly. "No people to sell it to…did you say Lex? I thought Lex was dead." She seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep, and it was obviously an effort for her to stay awake.

"I'm here. Go back to sleep." He pulled a chair away from her vanity and sat it next to the bedside and took her hand. Her palm was dry and warm and so very soft. Her fingers trembled just a bit in his hold and then relaxed. He listened to her breath even out, deepen…..

*****

"My *goodness*, what are you doing here, Lex?"

Lex jerked awake with a groan. His neck and shoulders were one huge aching knot from sleeping in the chair. He was completely off guard and embarrassed, he scrubbed quickly at the trail of wet from the corner of his mouth. "Sorry," he apologized, not really sure for what.

"Lex Luthor, what in the world are you doing here—I thought I dreamt it. I…I dreamt you and Clark were here, and we were going to market, all of us…" she trailed off wistfully.

"I came home because...because…"

She nodded and seemed to know what he was trying to say. "It's instinct to want to be home when things go…go wrong. This is home for you, isn't it? I'm. I'm glad to see you." Her eyes looked bleak, but she smiled. Lex knew what she wanted to say was, 'I don't want to die alone.' He knew she must also be thinking 'even if it's just you, I don’t want to be alone'. And he was fine with getting even that much from her, really.

He stood. "Wait here, I'll be back in a few minutes. I promise," he said when she reached out to grab his hand. He took the water glass from her bedside, and went down to the kitchen.

He was able to throw together an omelet from odds and ends in the fridge and found bread in the freezer—he made toast for her, put the food and fresh water, and coffee for them both on a big tin tray and went back up the stairs. She looked so pleased, and also, very surprised. He set the tray down. "Martha, I'm not sure if I should feel insulted or flattered. You look positively shocked," he teased.

"I had no idea you could cook," she laughed breathily. "I just can't imagine you rummaging about in my tiny old kitchen."

He sat next to her, spread a tea-towel over her lap and handed her a plate. "Well you forget, I was a college student, and in fact, a penniless student—Dad paid tuition but nothing much else, he was angry with my choice of major. My roommate was skilled at all kinds of things," he laughed, and then blushed, and neither of them remarked on it. Gratefully Lex went on. "Bruce taught me how to cook, how to sew lost buttons back on…he was a good guy." He stopped, and his mouth twisted. He looked down until he was sure of control again. Martha was looking at him with too much sympathy. "So. How's your stomach handling this invasion of foodstuffs?"

"Good thanks, it's good." She nibbled on her egg and toast, and Lex sat. It was quiet but not uncomfortably so.

After she finished, he brought water to wash her face, and he brushed her hair and braided it. "No," he said to a teasing question. "Bruce did not teach me to braid hair. An employee of mine taught me, when she broke her hand…" he smiled fondly and Martha smiled at him.

"You look good with a smile, Lex. I remember when you used to smile a bit more."

"Well…" he set the hairbrush on her bedside table. "We all did once."

She coughed hard, but not as hard as she would. He grimaced. "Martha…Clark…" his voice failed.

"Clark? Clark…" she took Lex's hand to borrow strength from him and his heart froze. "He died. It happened so fast--he was okay, he came home to help me, and then he was sick and in the blink of an eye, he was gone." She covered her mouth and shook.

Lex felt his own eyes fill, and ground his teeth. He knew it; he'd known Clark was dead. Superman never came back to Metropolis, and he'd only abandon the city if he was dead.

She went on, voice shaky and distant with remembered pain. "One day, we were outside, he was checking the fuel tanks out by the truck shed, and I was in the root cellar, checking stores, and I heard him coughing. It startled me so much—Clark coughing, you know? By the time I got to him he was all folded up, and then—he was gone. Gone. And, and I thought—I don't want anyone cutting him into bits to find out what had made him tick', you understand?"

Lex nodded through a thick wave of guilt and murmured agreement. She didn't even try to pretend—or question that he knew. The truth was there because after all what did anything matter at the end of the world? Her dead son was the world's most perfect superhero and the arch-enemy of the world's most perfect superhero was sitting in his mother's bedroom, feeding her tea. He could feel tears gathering….

"So. I wrapped him in a—a—tarp, a big blue plastic tarp, and took him down to the root cellar, and I was going to bury him. I was. I came down day after day to bury him". She raised hands to her face. But I couldn’t because—he never changed." She lowered her hands again, and said, "He never changed. No…no rot. No corruption. I couldn't. And then, there was so much to do, trying to make sure I was safe, fending off attacks," she stopped at Lex's gasp. "Mutants. Clark said he thought that the virus was changing and effecting people who had the meteor induced mutation dormant in their bodies. Like the virus was unlocking it, or something…anyway, I got sick next, and my son is still laying on the dirt floor down there wrapped in a tarp. Lex, will you bury him for me please?"

What could he say?

He went down the cellar stairs, the beam of the flashlight he carried bobbed and dipped and picked out a long shape on the cellar floor. He doubted Martha remembered it right, he was fully prepared for a horrible stink, but there was none. He gingerly pulled back a corner of the tarp, ready for the same sort of horror he'd fallen over in the alley…

He looked like he was asleep. His hair was a little longer, looser, his mouth was faintly, faintly curved, still plump, full. He'd gotten used to seeing Clark's---Superman's—slash of a mouth, pale and compressed with hatred, anger, he only remembered his eyes tight and lined at the corners. He'd put it down to maturity, but here he lay and yes, he was bulkier than Clark his friend had been, and his skin was not as porcelain smooth, no tawny blush on his cheeks, but…long thick lashes brushed the tops of his cheeks, he looked sixteen again and about to wake up. Lex laid shaky fingers at his throat and of course, there was no pulse. He laid his cheek against Clark's broad still chest and hoped for a heartbeat. Nothing. He hadn’t really expected a beat but he understood why Martha couldn't do it, Clark's body didn’t have that empty, blank lifelessness that corpses had. He picked up the shovel on the floor and took a chunk out of the hard packed dirt. He kept glancing at the body as he tried to dig a hole big enough to put it in. He stopped, and wiped at his face.

"I'm not crying for you. I'm not, damn it." He put the shovel down, twitched the cover back over Clark's face and went back to the house

*******

Martha didn't seem to be getting worse, but she certainly was not getting better. Some days he'd think, this is it, she's beating it—she'd already lasted many, many more days then he'd thought possible. She might not even have the super flu, maybe it was something else entirely. Something she was going to survive. He stirred the pot of soup on the stove, not really thinking about anything special—just breathing, doing things to keep him going. He'd cleaned her house from top to bottom—not that there was much cleaning to do. He'd cleaned the barn, and chased out every bit of dust and abolished all spiders living in the loft that was Clark's place once and it almost looked like it had when Clark used it, and he used to fantasize about semi-innocent hand-jobs in the hay…Lex sighed.

He was running out of things to do….


"Hi. I just finished bringing your mom some soup. I'm worried. She's not really eating anymore." He rocked back on his heels and let his eyes roam around the root cellar. The open doors flooded the shelves full of preserves with light. He rarely turned on the electric lights in the cellar. He always left the double doors open, it felt warmer—safer that way. "I'm going to bring her some peaches. Maybe that will help." He crossed the cellar and picked a jar full of golden fruit from the shelves. "I'm going to bury you, tomorrow. But not down here. I'm going to bury you in the field. Don’t worry, no one will ever find you. But you should be under the sun, not down here in the dark."

He turned with the peaches in his hand and stared at the bundle on the floor. "Tomorrow. I mean it."

Tomorrow came, and Lex was busy, making sure Martha ate something and was comfortable as possible, thinking…what was he going to do? He was here and now, what came next? Jonathan's dream demand to take care of his son apparently boiled down to putting him in the ground. Lex felt massive disappointment. In his fantasy return to Smallville, he'd pictured a homecoming involving Clark, and mutual forgiveness--magnanimous forgiveness on his part, seeing how deeply Clark hurt him, a little attempted murder on his part aside. He smiled. Clark had to have known Lex couldn't kill him. It wasn't in him to do that—but torture, as much as Clark had tortured him all through their Smallville years, all through the Metropolis years…that was a different story. "But I never wanted you dead, you idiot. Even when you were trying to put me through a wall, I cared for you. We couldn't leave each other alone, that was the problem. We just couldn't keep far enough apart—" He shook his head. Insane. He needed to stop talking to Clark before it got to the point he started answering.

******

He was downtown on Main Street, looking for supplies, looking for Smallville's story of the end. Remembering the mutants he'd seen earlier that week, he came prepared. He had Jonathan's shotgun resting over his shoulder, a knife tucked into the top of his trusty tims, and a handgun in the waist of the shorts he wore. He felt a little like an over-dressed debutante, but it was probably better to be over prepared than to be something's meat. His head swiveled this way and that, searching for unwelcome movement, checking out doorways, and open windows, eyes trained on every alley way…He skirted debris when he could, kicked through the rubble blocking doorways and on the street when he had to.

This town died differently than Cloverdale had. He had a feeling very few people left Smallville to go to whatever was promised in Las Vegas. More likely, they went outward, to the mysterious place in the corn, or to the mountains... He stopped and looked at the shelves. Bottled water…fat chance he was going to find that. The place had been picked through rather thoroughly. He found some dried fruit, and a few cans of pineapple chunks, tossed them into his backpack. He grabbed a handful of beef-jerky packages with a moue of distaste, but he reminded himself, these were harsh times, and called for sacrifices. He glanced up over the register at the rows of cigars and cigarettes…what the fuck. He reached up and grabbed a pack, humming a song old before he was born, some song about love and the end of the world. He stopped to light a cigarette, and to laugh.

He worked his way down the street, entered what was left of Fordman's to hunt for clothing, maybe another pair of boots and raingear. The store was a nightmare inside. Piled against the counters, under the racks--in drifts like snow bodies lay huddled together and Lex wondered what had made so many of them come here to die? God, what was truly horrible was that the sight of so many dead was becoming unremarkable. He dropped the cigarette and shuddered as he ground it out, taste for it gone.

He stepped around a family in the middle of what was the stationary aisle and was about to head for the pharmacy section he dimly remembered Fordman's having when he heard a noise not made by himself, and whirled around, shotgun ready. He heard the shuffling noise again, and eased back the trigger.

The crazy old woman he'd noticed when he first came into town was standing in the aisle. Her cart looked like it was supporting her; she peered about as if slightly confused to find herself in Fordman's. Her eyes sharpened when she caught sight of him, and she pointed at him. "Ladybird, ladybird fly away home," she croaked.

"What?" he snapped, distaste making him back away, his mouth curled in a snarl. She wasn't right, this crazy old lady. She was…

"Your house is on fire, your children." She shrugged and turned to walk away.

"Hey, where are the others? Who else is here?" he shouted.

She grinned. "Nobody but you and me, and I'm not sure about you."

The punch line to a hoary old joke, he thought. Howling in the street broke him out of his horrified trance, he jumped through the smashed out remains of Fordman's front window, and didn’t stop running until he was in his truck--he drove like a maniac back to the farm. His heart was pounding crazily, mouth dry—he was terrified he'd left Martha alone to the mercy of mutants who shouldn’t even be alive. fly away home, fly away home--

She was fine—the farm was quiet, Clark was undisturbed in his bright blue plastic shroud. He looked down at the long bundle in the shadows ands thought, "He'd like that blue." His shoulders shook with semi-hysterical giggles. He wiped at his eyes. Why he let that crazy old woman rattle him, he didn’t know. Crazy was crazy…old bitch and her stupid hat.

******

He and Martha spent a long time talking that evening. They talked about the old days, Clark, and Jonathan…Chloe and Pete. She talked about things that tore his heart, things about Clark and his friends she seemed to think he knew, like what movies Clark's friends liked, or where they ate, what they ate, music they liked…Lex tried to tell her his friendship with Clark was more compartmentalized by Clark than she was aware of but she didn’t seem to hear that, and right before she drifted off into the heavy sleep that took her more and more frequently, she murmured, "We shouldn't have held him quite so tightly, he loved you so much and then…it was all gone. Feel guilty for that. Such a small thing it was. But we couldn’t handle it...love. Stupid to fear it…" She was sound asleep, and Lex stood at her bedside, mouth open, fists clenched and shaking in fury. He did not have to know that. She must not mean what it sounded like. It couldn't—must not—"No," he snarled. "It's not fucking fair, not fair…"

He went to Clark's room and lay on the bed. After a few minutes, he sighed deeply, and pushed his hand under the waist of his boxers, and held himself. Fuck…he closed his eyes, and stroked lightly, just touching really, and willed images of Clark into his mind…Clark throwing bales of hay, Clark leaning against the side of one of his cars, and laughing at some joke…Lex smiled a little, and stroked just a bit firmer. He sighed again, ran his fingers over the head of his dick and pictured Clark on his knees…mouth parted in a teasing smile. "What will you do for me, if I do this?" he was saying but his eyes were warm and full of--fuck. Lex's arousal died completely and all he felt was lost.

He sat up and threw on pants and a tee shirt and made his way quietly down the stairs. He walked through the kitchen, grabbed a candle and walked out to the root cellar. Down the stairs in the dark, and he didn't look left or right. He sat cross-legged in front of Clark's body, sat the candle down and lit it, and the wavering flame made a flickering circle in the darkness. He felt like he was thirteen again and sneaking around Excelsior in the dark…looking for a place to hide. To be safe in. He wasn't going to whine about it—what happened to him wasn't special, or horrible…He didn't believe in feeling sorry for himself—self-pity was weak, bad strategy. He dropped his head and hot tears splashed against the plastic. "Why the hell couldn't you have trusted me enough? Why didn't you—" his voice broke. "Why didn’t you see how much alike we were?" He wiped his nose against the back of his hand and tired to still his sobs. "Shit. I liked it better when I was trying to kill you." He leaned back and pushed a foot against the tarp. "God. You know I wasn't trying to kill you. I—I don't know what I was trying to do. I'm a fucked up, fucked up man." He stood. "Clark—tomorrow. You need to be in the ground, and I need to be gone. I won't leave as long as your mother needs me, but after that…I'll find some place else to go."

******

His mother stood at one of the stained glass windows, watching the rain drip down the multi-colored panes. 'You need to leave here, Lex. You have a lot of work to do. People will be counting on you. You can do something great, be someone great—someone loved.'

He knew something was off—his mother, here in the castle, and he felt full and warm and he rubbed his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his silk shirt, the material slick, warm on his skin. He touched his cheek, felt how smooth and unblemished his face was, roughness that even his accelerated healing couldn’t cure was gone…The desk under his hand felt warm, skin temperature, glassy smooth and he couldn't stop stroking it. The wool pants he wore caressed his legs. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such a sensual reaction to the material before. 'I have work right here, Mother. Things require my attention here.' It was odd…unlike his usual dreams of Mother, he felt only impatience with her, a wish for her to leave him alone…

She turned to him and smiled. 'Alexander. Do what your mother tells you. You're needed--*he* needs you, darling. Stop wasting time.'

He swung his chair away from his desk and tilted his chin up. 'Why? Why should I listen to you? How much did you really care? You left me alone with *Dad*, after all…way before you died.'

The smile dropped away, her eyes blazed blood red, her lips peeled back from sharp sharp teeth. Lex clapped his hand over his ears, trying to block her voice roaring painfully through his skull. 'Don’t question me, Baldy—get your fucking ass on the road NOW.' The single word echoed and echoed and where his mother had stood was a black hole, pouring out heat, and the smell of burning. A fiery red orb burned in the center of the black and screaming, there was so much screaming…


Lex threw himself out of the soaking sheets--without knowing how he got there he found himself across the room, pressed against the closet door, his hands trying to claw through the wood, trying to hide from that eye…"no no no…"

He could hear his mother's voice screaming, he heard so many voices screaming in that burning darkness. He sobbed, "I don’t want to go there, I don’t want that, I don't…" A shriek ripped through the house, and he shot straight up. He laughed wildly--like that cat from the cartoons, man--he was going to end up on the ceiling. Or dead on the floor from a heart attack.

A second shriek brought him out of his fog, propelled him through the door. It was real, raw, and full of fear--worse, it was coming from Martha's room.

Her door was open, and there was a smell like dead things, concentrated and sprayed over everything, and she hung over the side of the bed, and a thing was on her chest looking comically startled by Lex's entrance. One long slim claw was buried in her chest, its eyes glowed a brilliant and poisonous green he knew very well.

"Stop me," it said in perfectly clear English, even though it spoke through a mouth that seemed shattered, and leapt at him, claws extended.

I'm going to die, he thought, and threw himself into a forward roll, twisted and came to his feet behind the thing. He fought down a surge of pride--See, Mercy? and tried to edge around the bed. It cocked its head and turned towards him. "Stop me." It lashed out and knocked Lex off his feet. He tumbled to the ground, and wasted not a second trying to get back to his feet, scuttled backwards on his butt trying to get away from it—and towards the gun he hoped Martha hadn't been lying about.

"Stop me," the thing said and its lower jaw fell off. Lex gagged, realized that it hadn't lost the lower jaw, it had dropped down to its chest, and opened wide, sections of bone and muscle peeling back, it's face was opening like the petals of a flower, and hundreds of teeth seemed to line the exploded flesh. "Stop me hungry…" it groaned.

Lex's shoulders hit the bed, and his elbow slammed into the nightstand—it rattled and the drawer popped loose. "Jesus, what the fuck did you wish for!" he screamed, and ripped the drawer out, dumped it in front of him.


"Wish? Wish…" its jaw opened impossibly wider, its throat swelled…"Hungry…"

Gun gun gun… He pulled out a ridiculous little popgun of a revolver and prayed. Please don’t let Martha be dead. Please let me blow this thing's brain out. His hand shook, he raised it and prayed, Lord, please don’t let that man out there in the desert get me.

The shot seemed so loud, the thing jumped straight up into the air and something thick, black, and liquid rushed out of one eye--it screamed and it was as if every voice he'd heard in his dream poured out of the nightmare jaws of whatever---whomever—the thing was. Had been. "Oh God, oh God, oh God---why now? You listen to me now?" he screamed. "Why not when I was twelve and that bastard was doing everything he could to break me—" he stood over the former person and shot until the chambers were empty.

He came back to himself with a start. "Oh shit, Martha."

She was alive—bleeding a little, a long line of dark blood welled up through the rip in her night gown, her breath was weak and stuttered, but she was still alive. More importantly, he wasn't alone. He bent forward, hands on his knees and gulped in fresh oxygen. "Martha…thank you for that, too."


The wound was long but shallow, and he splashed alcohol he'd found in the bathroom on it, wincing when she groaned. "'M'sorry, we need to do this." He eyed the disgusting remains splashed on the wall and across her bedroom floor as he taped gauze across the wound and refused to feel embarrassed at the sight of her bony naked chest. He sighed, bit his lip as he lifted her up—it was like holding wire and knots and nothing in his hands. He moved her into the guest room, sewing room, whatever. Until he could clean out that…mess, she was not going to stay in that room.

******

Martha and Lex were on the long front porch, she was wrapped in an old fashioned afghan, sipping at tea, or pretending to do so, and watching as Lex nailed a section of plywood he'd inexpertly hacked into quarters over the shattered glass in the front door. He'd checked the lower floor windows out, thinking of covering them all, but in the end, they decided not to board over the windows. Martha said she couldn't live without light, and Lex was pretty damn tired himself of sitting in half darkness. He insisted though that they had to be able to defend themselves, in case mutants weren't warned off by the remains of Flower Face's head on the driveway gate. They'd need to both be armed at all times.

Martha held the gun up to the sun and light danced over it as its weight made her hand shake. Lex winced at the flare of light from the bright metal. She sighed. "Clark hated guns, ever since—ah, since he was a teenager and some certain incidents made him sour on weapons. But Jonathan was a farmer and farmers are ever practical. I never did clean out the gun cabinet. Being alone here, I felt better armed."

"Lucky for us you didn't." Lex sat on the step near her, glancing down at the nearly full mug she'd forgotten on the step. "I never carried a gun after—after moving to Metropolis. Never had to. My security was armed, and I never went anywhere without them…but you know that."

She nodded and a little smile turned up the pale corners of her mouth. "Clark mentioned from time to time that your bodyguards could be…testy." Lex was nearly certain the small exhale was a snicker. Had Clark…downplayed their war, that Martha could laugh? Would he? Lex thought that yes, he might….

"Testy? Clark had a gift for understatement," he smiled tentatively and felt relief when she laughed a weak but proper laugh.

"I think he was somewhat fond of Mercy and Hope. I certainly heard enough about them. And you." She shook her head. "You should just have admitted you needed him, the both of you should have. Balance can be achieved by standing together as well as by standing at opposite ends." She sank down in the porch chair and her eyes drifted shut. "Idiots? Oh gosh, yes, they really were idiots…" she murmured and Lex knew she wasn't talking to him anymore. He adjusted her afghan, rubbed her shoulder and sighed. God, she was just…disappearing. Growing paler and thinner and…and….

She was hanging on by a thread. She was hanging on for him. And he needed to be leaving. He needed to get to Nebraska. "Tell me what to do, Mother. Should I leave, can I leave?" With a faint groan, he stood and gathered Martha up, carried her to her room. She smiled in her sleep and whispered. "Jonathan. Oh, it's too good to see you…" Lex placed her soft as a feather onto the twin bed and sat by her side to wait for morning.


PART FOUR
I pray the Lord my soul to take

Pale yellow sunlight cast patterns on the floor, pressed against Lex's eyes, warmed him…he woke slowly, anticipating his body's disapproval of his sleeping arrangements—his long legs thrown over the arm of a boudoir chair that had to be a family heirloom, a survivor from an era that had no understanding of ergonomics--because if not, than it was designed with torture in mind. He rolled his neck and shoulders, satisfied by a sharp crack and an easing in pain. He reached towards the bed, he meant to wake Martha, and move her downstairs to the living room. He touched her hand.

"Oh."

She wasn't there anymore. Her body was, but her spirit had fled, she was on her own journey now, and Lex was left behind. He dropped his head to the comforter covering her, and made a terrible noise...the pain was sharp, and intense, and totally unexpected. So much death and he could still be moved to grief? A part of him was glad—he was still that human.

******


The sun filled the room fully before he could make himself move. He had to bury her, and her son. He wiped his swollen eyes. That piece by her garden--the flower garden, not the vegetable garden. He sniffed hard and wiped again at his wet eyes. The soil would be soft there and besides Clark used to talk about how much Martha had loved her flowers, loved the time she spent working among the flowers.

He rolled the top sheet around her, and picked her up. It was horrible that she seemed even lighter than she had the day before. He carried her as easily as if she were made of paper, carried her to the living room and laid her gently on the couch. He stared down at the wash-faded sheet. She deserved more, much more.

He left the house, got in his truck and drove back to the castle. Her shroud was there, in Lionel's house.

******


Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels round my head;
One to watch, and one to pray,
and two to bear my soul away.

He stalked across the room that had been his library/office—a room never really intended to be his but it was where Clark met him, and being there with him magically made the castle his, changed it from the place his father decided he didn't want to inhabit into Lex's home. He'd slowly moved his business into that room, the room that was always open to Clark. Or had been. He stared around the space, looking from stained glass windows towering over the dust covered desk, the mahogany wood paneling, teak and granite floor, stone block walls…he contrasted this room to his white and gray suite in the Tower—it was as if two different people held those spaces. Metropolis was a sterile cradle of stainless steel, glass…he snarled at the empty desk and the ghost of the man who'd lived here once, who'd thought that he knew everything about life and how to live it. "You stupid fuck, you ruined everything, everything—"

On one wall a tapestry hung, embroidered with a seal that supposedly had something to do with the 'noble line of Luthor' that Dad had cobbled up out of air and fantasy. He yanked it off the wall. It was shot though with threads of iridescent blue and gold and red, just right for a shroud. He emptied the bar next, tossed a few bottle of liquor onto the bundle, and stopped to take a final look around. He had all he needed from this place. He grabbed a bottle and broke the seal, drank—it burned like fire all the way down. "That's good," he gasped. "That's perfect."

He looked over the desk, the bookcase…idly thought about putting some of the antique pieces in the wall safe but…"What the fuck, all over the world art is rotting, dying…what does it even matter anymore?"

He left the castle's front doors wide when he left. He was never coming back to this place. Let the wind and the rain take it…let it all rot, let the place disintegrate. Nothing here was his, after all.

By the time he got Martha wrapped in the tapestry, and out to the garden, he was very nearly drunk—closer to it than he had been for years—ever since Clark showed up outside his penthouse window, scowling and stuffed in that stupid suit, for God's sake. He tilted the bottle back and drank deeply, feeling the liquid move down his throat in an almost solid lump. He dropped his hand, let the bottle go, and breathed hard. He took up the shovel and stabbed it into the ground.

The rasp of metal against soil filled his mind for a little and then he stumbled to a stop. Shit—I need to bury him too.

He wobbled a bit; his grip on the shovel handle the only thing holding him up. "Bring some clothesline too, must be some in the cellar or the barn…didn't they use line for—for something?" He needed to tie the tapestry closed because she kept…she kept looking at him. Kept wanting him to do *something*. Bury her God damn irritating stupid single-minded Boy Scout. "Fu—freaking Clark Kent."

He was staggering down the cellar stairs, the wide flung doors letting light pour down to the bottom…Martha's jars of fruits and mysterious vegetables sparkled more beautifully than diamonds. "Because they're useful," he muttered. "Just like these flannel shirts, useful." He rubbed his palms over his chest, drying them on the flannel…an old shirt of Clark's he told himself he remembered him wearing. Years ago, when the man didn't hate him quite so much.

Clark lay against the rear shelves—shelves that held buckets, and baskets, crates…netting and rope…he needed that rope.

And Clark.

He took a shaky breath in, and stooped as he blew it out--grabbed the bundle, thinking to pick it up like he'd picked up Martha. He staggered under the weight and nearly fell on top of him. "Fuck! Clark, you weigh a ton. Fucking alien guys built like tanks…" He tried again before giving up.

"Whoosh. Okay, okay, let me think…" He shoved the coil of rope into the back pocket of the old jeans he wore, wished he'd brought the bottle down with him, and inhaled, once, twice—grabbed the tarp in both hands and pulled. Teeth bared with the effort, nose wrinkled in a growl, he managed to slide Clark across the dirt, grunting, cursing. "Damn it, if his mother got him in here, I can get him—out." He grunted, worked Clark's heavy weight up the stairs, one step at a time. "Unh, sorry about your head, Clark—this would probably be easier if I wasn't so fucked up, boy," he giggled.

It seemed forever before he got him up and out of the root cellar, by that time the tarp was snagged on the wooden stairs, and he was dragging Clark by the shirt he was wearing—fist clutched in the material, and screaming at it not to rip, you bastard, why did it always have to be him doing whatever he could for everyone else and not ever getting any thanks even…fat tears ran down his cheeks in an alcohol fueled haze of maudlin self-pity....

By the time he got to the garden he was sweating, streaked with dirt and dust and feeling distinctly less sorry for himself and much, *much* more pissed off. Drunk and angry or not, he was still gentle with Martha's body, tying her shroud as neatly as he could. It depressed him to think that he'd learned to tie a person this way for vastly different reasons—and now it might be a much more valuable skill than he'd thought possible…"Useful," he muttered.

He lay his neat burden in the shade of an overgrown lilac, and attacked the loam with the shovel again, jammed the shovel into the soft soil over and over until he was knee deep in a longish trench, before finally stopping. Climbed out and dropped to his knees next to her—it was time.

"You helped me more than you knew. You were like a mother to me. God—so many times I *wished* you were my mother. I was jealous of Clark sometimes…other times I was stupid enough to hope we could share you—be together and you'd love me like a son because he loved me…" he laughed, until he was sobbing again. "Shit." He wiped his eyes. "I loved you."

He put her in the hole as carefully, as gently as he could, wiped sweat off his head and face with his forearm. Glanced at Clark. Laying there on the grass he looked—normal. He looked like he'd decided to take a nap in the afternoon sun. The way Lex had let him drop, his arms above his head, one hand cupped the other—he looked like he'd stretched and drifted off to sleep.

"You bastard," he growled as he threw dirt back in the hole. "You fucking bastard. You see? You see? Who had to take care of everything after all? Who cared? Me—me, that's who." He tamped the dirt down, and felt a stab of horror—no rocks. Nothing to weight her down with—protect her from the digging things…

"God! God, I'm so tired…"He flopped down next to Clark's body. "I'm so drunk. And tired. Why do I have to be the last? Was what I did so bad God is punishing me by making me stand watch over the corpse of every one I ever loved? I already had to look at your face every time we met. Clark…the hatred, the disgust…was I really that…I need a drink. Fuck me, but I need another drink, and I need to bury your ass and *go*. Before I run out of time—before that Monster finds me." He lay his face against the ground and stared at Clark's arm, so close he could see fine hairs that the sun made gold…a tiny spider crawled over the tops of them, from minute hair to minute hair, slowly, carefully picking its way, heading upward. "Dead. Dead…" He watched it for a long moment, before grinding it under his thumb.

He didn't mean to fall asleep but he did.

'Come on to Hemingford Home, boy. Come on home.' She sat on the porch by herself, the guitar clutched in her fingers. It was dark around her, but he wasn't sure if it was twilight, or The Dark. 'Not much time left, Lex out of Kansas. Bring yourself home.'

'First, I have to bury my…my friend, and I'll be along after that.'

'Kal don’t need burying, you just get ready or—'


Lex jumped up, panting and in a panic—fuck, he'd fallen asleep outside, unarmed, like a suicidal *idiot*. He might as well have thrown steak sauce on himself and tucked a sprig of parsley behind his ear. Drinking and the apocalypse didn't mix—not unless you had a death wish, and he hadn't had that for a long, long time…since he'd stopped drinking.

He grinned wryly--and winced, remembering his dream. Mother Abigail had just about told him directly to leave Clark on the ground and go…God. Leave him…Clark gleamed like alabaster in the moon light, too perfect to be human. Lex leaned down and ran his thumb gently over Clark's mouth, pressed just a bit—jerked his hand back, horrified with himself. He'd actually…he'd almost molested…he'd touched a corpse…like *that.* Dead, and he still couldn't leave Clark in peace. He groaned, "You sick, sick fuck…" He sat up the rest of the night, guilt and disgust at himself keeping him stiffly away from Clark's body—just bent over himself, watching over Clark until sunrise….

******


He had bags packed---food, and what medical supplies he could find, hopefully enough to take him without stopping for more right into Nebraska—hoped he'd be able to take the truck most of the way. He loaded the truck's cab, shoved the gun in the glove compartment, put the ammo on floor and set the rifle in the rack. He looked over his cargo, ran through his mental checklist and finally satisfied, shut the door.

He leaned against the closed door, unsettled, unhappy…the idea of leaving like this got under his skin, gnawed at him. It hurt him to think of leaving Clark there all alone, unburied…unprotected….

He went back to the garden to say good-bye. In the sun, Clark looked almost healthy, alive. Another tiny spider weaved its way across Clark's body, tiny scurrying steps moving it quickly from his chest to his neck, higher. Lex cursed—it was on his mouth now, and he bent to sweep it away—it didn’t matter to Clark anymore, but it mattered to him. The scavengers would have to wait until he couldn’t see Clark to perform their ancient rites. He reached out to pinch the life from it, and felt…warmth. Air. On his knuckles. Like a breath...a twitch, and the spider ran, over Clark's lip and down his chin, away….

Lex grabbed Clark's chin and turned it—the second his fingers touched skin he cried out in shock. The cold, stiff, clay-like feeling of Clark's skin was gone, felt like it *was*skin. Cool, but not cold. Not. Not…with a trembling finger, he pushed Clark's eyelid up and the eye underneath was bright, clear—the pupil shrank in the bright light.

"Clark, oh, oh God…" He wasn't dreaming, it was true. Clark was alive.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
When in the morning light I wake,
Teach me the path of love to take.

He couldn’t leave, there was no way he could drive away and leave Clark to come back by himself. He couldn't leave him alone. He might not be able to help, but he could…be there, as Clark warmed under the sun.

The sun….

Clark's powers were in the sun.

Of course.

Clark needed the sun, like a big fucking alien battery, he needed to re-power. It made a twisted kind of sense. He used to dream about Clark naked and glowing like a god in the rays of the sun, putting out heat and light like a fire--subconsciously he'd always known.

He watched Clark's skin pink up under the sun, all the skin revealed…and knew there was something he had to do. He grabbed a pair of shears from the barn, and cut Clark's clothes away. He worked the heavy shears up one pants leg, and through the other, and pulled the excess material away. The shirt came off easy; he'd nearly ripped it to shreds dragging Clark out of the cellar anyway. Boots and socks came off next, and there Clark was, naked to the sky, with only a pale pair of wash-worn boxers to cover him. They were the sort of thing people gave you for Christmas thinking they were being funny. Penguins or puffins--some ugly, squat bird, marched across the faded navy background and that was just—God, so sad. Clark woke up one morning and put those shorts on—probably everything else was in the wash, knowing Clark--Lex made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh--and he'd had no idea it was going to be his last morning…

Lex watched a faint pinkish flush start at Clark's waist and slowly flow upward. He watched the slow, slow movement in awe and hope--and after a few minutes smacked himself with the hand not holding the shears. "Idiot," he muttered. And cut the ugly boxers off. Clark was completely naked to the sun. The flush quickened, the pinkish color deepened to rose.

"Hell, if you get mad about me ripping your clothes off, sue me." He tried not to look, he really did, tried to think of Metropolis, Flower Face, puke on toast…Clark was…beautiful. And he was getting hard just looking at him….

Lex dropped to his knees and put a trembling hand on Clark's belly. He could feel life filling him—he could feel the skin warming, softening, feel the slight movement of breath under his hand. It was unreal. After all the death, it was a miracle. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard. It was a fucking miracle—and why couldn't he have thought of this before he lost Martha? Clark was breathing evenly, naturally, now. He was still the color of a blush from his hips to his cheekbones, but it was fading into a golden hue—his natural skin tone. Clark was coming back fast now, his skin twitched here and there, a finger, a toe…a hand flipped, palm up to the sun. Lex had a hunch and dashed off—he came back with a bag stuffed with protein bars, water, and dropped them on the ground.

How much longer it took after that, Lex was never able to tell later. But when Clark woke up—he woke up with a vengeance.


Lex was drowsing in the hot afternoon sun. The sleeping bag was a pillow under his head; it slipped sideways when he jerked awake. He heard a low sound like a moan, and it kicked his brain into gear. "Clark," he mumbled, "Okay, he's waking, good." He kicked the sleeping bag back out of the way and stared at Clark's still form through narrowed eyes. "I heard, you, I know it. You're alive, damn it, so get the hell up." He walked over to Clark, about to crouch down and shake him a little when suddenly he was on his ass halfway across the little garden, stars dancing in front of his eyes. His mouth was full of blood, and he heard hoarse, pained grunts he thought at first might be himself—

Clark arched and jerked on the ground, his face gone bright red and his mouth worked like he was gagging. His arms flailed every few seconds; Lex realized that Clark had clipped him during one of those convulsions, that's why he hurt from head to toe... He was pretty damn grateful Clark hadn’t broken anything…

Clark jackknifed to a sitting position and threw up. It was so…awful, Lex couldn't bring himself to approach for long minutes. Clark gagged, and gasped, and Lex could only see his aide, burning up from the inside out and throwing up black phlegm before finally dying. A shiver ran across Clark's body, the sound he made was full of such agony that Lex groaned hearing it. Clark's head came up, and he struggled to focus.

"Muuh…um," he mumbled, blearily looking around, confused at his surroundings. He blinked and suddenly a convulsion shook him again, his legs jerked and dug furrows in the soft ground. His eyes rolled back…his mouth opened and no sound came out….

"Clark, Clark," Lex yelled, keeping distance. Clark was dangerous—he was awake but not fully aware—plus there was the possibility that when Clark realized the person with him was his greatest enemy, he might take the chance to put an end forever to this enmity they'd built. *Or* if he misinterpreted Lex being there when his mother died…Lex swallowed hard, but yelled again, "CLARK!"

"Mom—Da--?" Clark tried to focus on the sound. "Whu…what are you. Doing here?" Clark dropped his head; the effort of speaking exhausted him.

Lex stepped closer, and looked down at Clark. "Trying to save you," he sighed. "Save me, save you. Whatever."

Clark licked his lips. "Where…Mom?"

"I'm truly sorry, Clark." Lex shrugged. "There was nothing I could do. I don't know—"

He was trying to suck air back into his lungs, trying to clear the ringing in his head. He felt like he'd been hit by a board and he realized it was he who'd hit the board—Clark had him a foot in the air and pressed against the barn doors. "Luthor! What did you do to her? What did you do, you bastard?"

Lex stared into red, gleaming eyes and thought, 'Holy fuck, he thinks I caused all of this. He thinks *I* did this—' He pawed at Clark's hands and a little giggle slipped around in his mind. All this way, survived all this shit, just to be killed by one of the good guys…he rested his hands on Clark's arms, closed his eyes and waited to die.

When the ground thumped the back of his head, he opened his eyes. Clark was weaving back and forth like a tree about to fall. "Sssshit—Damn, that hurt," Lex rasped, and coughed. His throat burned, his knees shook, too weak to hold him upright. "It's the world over, you idiot—not just Smallville or Metropolis or Kansas, you immortal moron. I had nothing to *do* with the virus." He gave in to racking coughs, when he could draw breath again, he glared at Clark. "Seems I should have been watching the government instead of watching the skies."

Clark said nothing, his hands were clenched in sledgehammer sized fists and he glared down at Lex…suddenly his posture shifted, his hands opened and his face softened. He dropped to a sitting position next to Lex, dropped his head on his knees. Lex breathed a sigh of relief. Clark was back. Kal-El, Superman, whoever that scary being had been--he was gone. "I—I know you didn't do this. Habit, I guess."

"Yes," Lex said shakily and smirked. "Habit—you got used to beating on me, didn't you? I think you liked it, rather a lot…" he sneered and tried to put as much venom into the words as possible. God, old habits. Clark was right.

"No, I—you—you-—Lex, damn it. Shut up! I mean, tell me where my mother is--"

Lex crawled back to his feet, using the barn as support. "Clark, if you can restrain yourself from killing me long enough for me to tell you—"

Clark growled just a little and Lex's breath came faster. Jesus…"I'm so sorry--your mother passed away--I swear to God, I did my very best to make her comfortable, which was all I could do. I'd *never* hurt her. And when you're not hating me, you know it's true."

Clark looked away from him. "Not on purpose anyway. You could have hurt her a dozen different ways—before, with all the stupid crap you—" He jerked his head back. His eyes were cold and hard as emeralds. "You’re just lucky you didn’t."

Lex smiled and focused on a point distant from Clark's eyes. Something inside him broke, and finally, he let go the last bit of the stupid fantasy that he'd been holding on to ever since Jonathan…Jonathan said… "Yes, okay, fair enough. There are protein bars and water in the bag over there. You should eat some now—you're going to need it. Mar—your mother's grave is on the edge of the garden, near that lilac. And I'm glad you’re awake." He started walking towards the truck. Relief felt…sharp. Sharp edged, and what the fuck—you expected a hug? A tearful reconciliation? Thanks? You’re as much an idiot as you were when you left Metropolis. He pulled open the door and Clark was in front of him with an expression he hadn't seen on his face since he was a boy. Fear—panic. And a hellish exhaustion…his eyes blazed in a chalk white face, the hand on his arm trembled, Clark was barely holding himself upright.

"Wait, sorry—I—don't go. Yet. I…just a few days…"

Lex fought down a ridiculous surge of hope. He understood only too well what it was that motivated Clark's apparent change of heart. "Sure, Clark. You don’t even have to ask. But…there is something you need to know. About what's been happening while you were…unaware."

"Okay," Clark nodded, his hand still wrapped around Lex's arm, like he'd forgotten it was there. "But then you'll tell me why I'm naked in my mom's garden? And we'll find Mother Abigail? She--she really seems to like you."

Lex stared at him open-mouthed. "You do know her? And. You like her?" Clark nodded solemnly, and Lex exhaled. Yeah. Of course you like her, and of course *she* likes you. "You're The Good Guy, aren't you?"

Clark looked puzzled for a moment, and slowly, slowly, a smile filled with astonishment, relief and something it took Lex a bit to realize was happiness made Clark's face shine. He said, "Lex, Lex…so are you."

******

Clark showered while Lex reheated leftover soup, and made sandwiches. As an afterthought, he went out and got the rest of the power bars, and piled them on the table next to Clark's bowl. Clark had torn through half a dozen in the garden, and as many bottles of water. He'd zipped away and before Lex could yell for him to slow down and let his body recover, he was back with an armload of rocks. Smooth, round, and still slightly damp, like they'd been taken from some lake, some river, and he stacked them on his mother's grave. Lex had walked away then, and waited for the sound of gentle sobs to die away.

Now, he was on the upper floor, showering. He was alive, recovering and obviously out of danger--and the thought that he was nude and *wet* right above him was making Lex hard. He shook his head. He was really a sick man with skewed priorities. And he'd be much more ashamed of himself but--Clark was alive. He smiled. Alive. And that meant—God, that they had a chance—*everyone* left alive had a chance of survival.

He poured soup into Martha's old fashioned crockery bowls and stopped when a stray thought hit him. *This* is what Jonathan meant by taking care of his boy. This is what Mother Abigail meant. Of course Kal didn't need any burying; he just needed…someone to care for. To keep him on track. Lex dropped onto his chair. His thoughts raced as he tried to remember details of his dreams concerning Clark. Wait…Mother called him Kal. What did that mean?

"Umm…hi." Clark was standing on the stair, shining, clean, and smelling a little of peaches. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, a twin to the pair Lex had on, and an old Crows jersey. Lex tried not to stare. It was a little tight across the chest, but Clark hadn't been as big then as he was now, the year he'd bought those jerseys and equipment for the football team…yes, and hadn't *that* been smooth?

Clark moved closer and the smell of something vaguely spicy along with the peach and a hint of green tea made Lex inhale, he smiled faintly and miraculously, Clark smiled back. "I smell like a girl, don't I? Mom's soap and shampoo." He stopped and when he spoke again, his voice held just the faintest hint of a tremor. "Hey. I'm going to check on how much fuel's available. I know there's enough hot water in the tank now for another shower…but we'll need more fuel to heat water soon."

"It's okay Clark. I'll take one later. Eat now." Clark's shy smile grew into a sharp toothed grin, and he was at the table and attacking the soup before Lex could finish his sentence. "Ah. You know…we can't stay here, right? You've been having the dreams like I have, you know we can't stop here."

Clark wiped his mouth and nodded, barely able to stop eating long enough to answer. "Yeah, I know. Lex—they were good dreams. When I knew I was getting sick, I was so worried about Mom, but Mother Abigail told me I didn’t have to worry, that someone brave and faithful was going to come and take care of her—and she meant you. At first I laughed—"

"Oh, *thanks* for that vote of confidence—"

"Lex! But I'm beginning to remember now, that I got to *see*. You were brave. So brave. And Mercy…she was a hero." Clark shook his head. "You did so many wrong things; I hate to count Hope and Mercy as two more…"

"Clark, please. I know exactly what I've done wrong. And God knows I truly understand the reason for that project's existence was wrong. But I can't feel bad that it produced Hope and Mercy."

"Because they loved you, Lex. If they hadn't...they could have been monsters." Clark fell silent and finished his sandwich, avoiding Lex's eyes.

"Well." Lex stood and took their empty bowls away. "They had to love me, didn't they? They were indoctrinated, trained to do so."

Clark grabbed Lex's hand before he could walk away. He shook his head. "No. They really did love you. And all along you thought it was their training? It's so sad you think no one you love, can love you back."

Lex leaned away from Clark's intense green eyes. "Clark, we need to get ready..."


Clark let go. "Get the maps from the truck, Lex. Is there coffee? I'll make some, you get the maps and I'll show you where we have to go."

Lex paused at the kitchen door. "I know where we're going—Nebraska."

"Umm." Clark wolfed down another power bar and looked thoughtfully at a can of pineapple chunks—he poked a finger through the top and peeled it off. He licked his fingers clean, muttered, "No, not there." He looked up at Lex with a smile. "Boulder. Boulder Free Zone, Colorado. That's where we need to go."

******

They were leaning against the posts on the porch. The night breeze was starting to be crisp, and Lex was shocked that the days of summer were winding down.

Clark gulped the coffee in his steaming cup, hotter than a human could easily drink. "A few more days of sun and I'll be back to normal. Then we won't have to worry about the truck, or food—I can fly us where we need to go."

Lex shook his head. "I believe you'll have to continue re-fueling on the road, my friend. I have the feeling that time is getting short. Snow will be falling soon in the mountains, and it might not be a problem for you, but it will for me, and we have no guarantee you'll be well enough to fly by then. No, we need to leave tomorrow—quick as possible, to get to Mother, and then to Boulder."

"Yeah, you're right."

Lex leaned back and stretched and caught Clark looking, his expression carefully blank. "How much else did you see?" Lex asked, and he could see Clark knew right away what he meant.

"Not that much. You were in trouble in Cloverdale, there was a man there. And you…saw Bruce."

Lex nodded. "Bruce." A cold wind blew over him, and gooseflesh broke out on his arms…he took out the cigarette pack he'd shoved in his back pocket, and started to shake one out. Clark's big hand wrapped over his.

"You don’t really need those, do you?" He was smiling at him, and there was just the barest edge of condescension, and—it made him laugh.

"Okay, I don't need them." He handed the pack to Clark, who smiled liked he'd done a particularly clever thing, and then, threw the pack over the barn, into the sky…"Those filters aren't bio-degradable, you know." Clark looked momentarily horrified and Lex snickered…

******


They were about to part, to go into their separate bedrooms—Lex staying in Clark's old room and Clark sleeping in the cleaned room that had been his parent's. Clark stopped Lex before he opened his door. "Those times you came to see Mother Abigail, I saw you."

Lex nodded. "Once I remembered seeing you. You looked like…you cared what happened to me."

"Lex—it was like being able to look right inside you. At first, you always looked more—dark than light, but the last time, oh, the last time—you were *shining*. So bright, like the sun. You were afraid, but you wouldn’t give up. You never give up." He smiled wide, and Lex felt himself lean—no, more a kind of falling forward, and Clark caught him. Held him. "Lex, we're the only two people in the world who know each other, now. I'm all you have."

How could those rather egotistical sounding words make him cry? The truth shouldn’t make you cry….

Birds of a feather flock together'
And so will pigs and swine;
Rats and mice will have their choice,
And so will I have mine.

Nebraska was cold, gray and it seemed as if they were the only beings moving…there wasn't much to do but drive, and they alternated, one sleeping while the other drove. It wasn't that bad—a few hours driving and the roads were pretty clear, before long, they were where they were supposed to be, and they'd finally see the woman who'd saved the both of them in the flesh.

******

The farm road was rutted and pock-marked with holes. It was obvious that once it had been well maintained, but now—who was there to do it, or care?
They were quiet on the way down what was becoming a track between the fields, anticipation built as the corn thinned and then the little house was sitting in front of them—their dream. "Oh…I remember this; I remember sweeping the porch—shelling peas—it feels like I lived here." Clark looked amazed, distressed, confused. "It was all a dream, but—it was real too." He turned to Lex who shrugged.
"I don’t know what to tell you Clark—but maybe Mother Abigail has some answers." He pointed at a corner of the still neat dirt yard. "Let's park there."
The boundaries of the dirt yard were marked with sumac and chokeberry shrubs, some last few berries still clung to the branches, the wind slapped the branches together and made them chatter. Lex jumped out of the cab and peered around the little brown square with a frown. "It looks abandoned." The house looked more than abandoned--it looked…dead. Curtains flapped at the open windows, the door yawned wide. It was dark inside, and something had torn through the house, left dead things on the porch like a warning. A crow sat at the peak of the roof, and tilted its head curiously. An eye like an opal watched them.
They stood on the porch together and it was by sheer force of will that Lex kept himself from hanging onto Clark's arm like a little boy. "Okay, this is not a problem," Lex said nervously. "I'm sure everything's all right."

Clark looked skeptical. "I'm worried. We haven't had any dreams lately; I can't…feel her, Lex. Something is happening, and it's feels like we're out of the loop."

Lex tried to look confident—he'd been wondering himself lately about the lack of night time visitations. His psyche had sent so much traffic through his sleeping mind in the last few weeks that it felt odd to be the only occupant of his head. He said as positively as he could, "We're probably not dreaming because we're doing what's needed of us, that's all. You'll see, everything will be fine. We'll get back in the truck and head out to Boulder…"

Clark nodded, but looked miserable. "I wish I could heal faster I—I have this horrible sense of urgency, like a—a sword is hanging over us, and we're not going to be fast enough to get out of its way."

Lex threw an arm around Clark's shoulders. "You almost died of a super mutating virus. You've only been awake a few days--go easy on yourself, hero. You'll be fine, believe me. I have complete faith in you."

The crow creaked and preened on the roof ridge as they walked back down the dirt driveway. It lunged into the air and flapped heavily away when they got back in the truck.

******

Mountains rose up in brown and white walls on either side of them, above them the sky was silver grey. It appeared odd, ominous, after so long being a clear swatch of topaz blue over them. A cool wind blew constantly, but the winged shapes riding on the wind were golden eagles, and that at least seemed hopeful. Lex watched them for a while; they were beautiful, slicing through the clouds. He blew into his cupped hands and rubbed them together, pulled up the collar of the old barn coat he was pretty sure had been Jonathan's once. He was sitting on the hood of the truck; waiting…he sighed and wormed a fingertip into a frayed hole over his knees. The worn jeans were beginning to open here and there…he pulled at a soft white thread and winced at the sound of shrieking metal. The sound repeated over and over.

Clark was clearing the road ahead—almost, but not quite able to throw the vehicles tangled around each other, he was pulling them apart and dragging them off to the roadside. Lex sighed. This particular scene had worked itself out more and more frequently as they worked their way higher into the mountains. Clark was going to work himself to a trembling nub, and then come stumbling back, pale and tight-lipped and swearing that he was fine, not let Lex do anything for him and then…in the night, when he thought Lex was asleep, he'd cry.

Lex was constantly astonished that Clark ever survived as Superman, being so thin-skinned…Clark's emotions were too close to the surface—probably came of being raised by normal people, and not a Luthor, he thought with a wry grin. It faded as he remembered Clark asking him about his city. He'd listened quietly, tears fell silently when Lex told him what happened to the Planet staff, his friends…Perry, Jimmy, Lois, executed by a desperate government…Chloe…Lex knew she'd died when the staff of the WBC had been shot and the building torched. The tally of the dead affected Clark terribly, deeply, and Lex could only watch him mourn. Clark was burdened by such guilt, guilt for being selfish enough to want to be with his mother when the end came, guilt that he'd had no way to stop the plague, and guilt for Bruce's death, Dick's death, Jay's…and Lex knew what Clark was doing was punishing himself, by keeping his distance.

He needed contact, needed touch but he wouldn't. Wouldn't let Lex get *close* like that.

******

"Hey." Clark fell to the ground next to the fire, sniffed in approval at the smell of perking coffee, and watched Lex heat up the MREs. "What's that?"

"The only thing good that came out of Cloverdale," Lex said tightly.

"Oh." Clark glanced away. "Lex…what happened there?"

"You didn't see?" Lex sat back and stared at Clark expressionlessly. "I got raped. I ran away. I don’t know what happened to…him."

Clark stared at him open-mouthed. "Oh no, Lex. I'm—I'm sorry. I thought you were. You know. Mourning."

"*That* guy? No. Definitely not mourning. I was alone on the road and craving…contact, God, someone to let me know I was alive and that I wasn't insane…fuck, maybe I was. The island, Clark. Being there changed me. I can't live alone like that. I thought I could but..."

Clark nodded weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He got up and moved next to Lex, dragging his bag. "You can…if you want to hold my hand, you can."

Lex laughed, but took Clark's hand seriously, taking advantage of Clark's need to help. He looked down at their laced fingers, and smiled. "Thank you, Clark."

Clark blushed and said," It's okay Lex. I really don't mind." He looked into the fire for a long time; both of them watched the dancing flames. Clark turned to Lex and said, "Nothing like that will ever happen to you again."


In the night, the temperature dropped, and Lex felt like he was coated in ice. It was so fucking cold it hurt and parts of him felt like they were made of broken glass: his ears, his fingers, toes…but just the thought of getting up, of opening his bag to the icy air made him moan… building up the fire seemed impossible. He lay cramped and frigid in his bag and tried to keep his teeth from chattering, tried to think warm. God, he had to build that fire up…move to the truck, something…

"Here, get up." Clark was pulling open his bag, trying to slide in behind him.

Lex snatched at the zipper—"God, Clark, no! It's—I'm freezing." He dreaded the loss of what little warmth he'd built up.

"I can see that Lex, come on." Clark smiled softly and said, "It's all part of me protecting you." He pulled Lex between his legs and threw his bag over them. He wrapped his arms around Lex and Lex felt heat radiating out of Clark, his back was plastered against Clark's chest and the heat…he slowly loosened, muscles strung tight and painful from shivering eased, and he groaned with the release.

"See? That's better, isn’t it?" Clark worked to rub warmth back into Lex's limbs. He nodded, and thought about the indignity of being petted like a—a cat, but now was not the time to protect his dignity. Later, he would, much later, when he was warmer. He sighed, and pushed back against the warmth--and was startled by a low thrumming vibrating all through him. The minute he stiffened, the noise stopped.

"It's—sorry. I know, it's not….human. I'll try not to do that—"

"Idiot," Lex said, closed his eyes and snuggled back.

After a moment, the thrumming resumed.

******

Lex felt like he was swimming to the surface of a deep warm lake…it was a reluctant rise to wakefulness because something, something good was happening…he was wrapped up in warmth, wondering--when the memory of Clark coming to share his sleeping bag floated up, Lex sighed, content. Sleeping in Clark's arms was something he'd dreamed of for half a lifetime.

The press against his chest, his hips, so gradually became insistent that he thought he was imagining it—wishing for it. Lex prayed not to wake up if he was dreaming because in *this* dream, Clark was whimpering like he was desperate for him, and his hands were roaming all over him, big hot Clark hands were on his hips and on his head, his neck, they were slipping into his pants and trying to grab his dick, trying to feel and hold and jerk him off all at once. Awkward and serious, shy and bold and it was driving Lex insane. He heard fabric rip, and suddenly Clark's grip on his aching dick was perfect, a smooth hot tunnel that he had to fuck. Clark's thumb swept and pressed over the tip and Lex yelled. His eyes flew open and he was an inch away from Clark's slightly panicked, totally aroused face. "This—I'm—okay? Is this okay?"

"*Fucking* idiot—" Lex lunged forward, bit down on Clark's chin, licked all over his lips and inside his mouth when Clark gasped, tried to thrust into Clark's fist. "I thought I'd have to wait for another life before we could do this—"

"Lex…you have no idea..." Confident now, Clark nipped and teased at his throat, sucked hard and Lex felt his grip slide easier, turn slick…He yanked and pulled at Clark's pants, until he could mirror Clark's hold, feeling Clark's thick dick sliding in his own hand was beyond his ultimate fantasy. He used to think of this, how it would feel, what sounds Clark would make, if he'd be shy, or nervous….

Clark in real life was nothing like shy, he watched Lex with a wicked grin, murmured encouragement against his sweating scalp--nasty, filthy, *wonderful* encouragement—he was experienced and damn good, and God, it was so much better than he'd imagined. Everything was so much better. When Clark shuddered all over and the faintest whisper of a groan leaked out between his clenched teeth, when he spurt hot and thick into Lex's hand, Lex felt ridiculously proud--Clark groaning, "Lex, come on me, come all over me," wasn't something he'd ever imagined his virginal fantasy boy would say—but it made him come so hard he saw stars….

*******

They broke camp early, and drove higher and after a while the road leveled out. By the time the sun was high in the sky, they were coming out of the mountains. There were signs along the road now that people were on the move, civilization trying to be reborn—the road was cleared, they could see the tracks of heavy truck treads. Fallen trees, cars…bodies…were gone from the road. Clark grimaced from time to time—"Fires," he'd explain, and Lex didn’t have to ask what was burning.

Clark still needed the sun—when they weren't driving, he spread out in the back of the truck and Lex sat with him. Sometimes he read out loud, or they talked—about the past, speculated about the future--got to know each other again.

They smiled—a lot.

Sometimes he'd catch Clark looking at him, grinning, and when he knew he was caught, he'd laugh and blush, and Lex couldn’t help thinking, this is perfect. Too perfect. He wondered if maybe he was still on the highway in Kansas, and all this was an elaborate hallucination, brought on by dying brain cells—and Clark would sweep him up--"Stop that. I know what you're thinking. It's real, all of it—" and kiss him. Hard, possessive, and then whisper things in his ear that made Lex blush.

******

They were taking a last break, not more than two or three hours outside of Boulder. 'Break' consisted of Lex straddling Clark, and getting kissed…a luxurious, slow, dream-tinged kiss that went on and on…gasp, and breathe and back into wet warmth, the soft push of Clark's tongue against his and a little murmur of pleasure…slick feel of Clark's hair against his palm, the lazy lick of tongue over his, exploring the thin slice of scar on his lip and then Clark's teeth gently tugging, tongue slipping inside again, back and forth over the roof of his mouth, his tongue and teeth and the motion promising to repeat elsewhere, soon…"Clark," he breathed. "I think…we're not on the tailgate anymore…"

"What—" They landed with a gentle thump. "Lex! We were moving!"

"Mmm," Lex murmured. "I thought I felt something move—"

"Oh yeah, I *know* I certainly did," Clark smirked, and then blew it—" I mean not me, I meant you—I meant your co—um." He scrambled off the tailgate, and blushed as Lex laughed.

"Lex! I have to concentrate…" He tilted his head back, and the wind whipped his hair around his face, his cheeks were bright red, the tip of his nose...Lex marveled. Clark didn't feel the cold, but his body reacted like any human's would. He smiled fondly as he watched Clark—his heart was the same as any human's, as full of the capacity for forgiveness, the need to love.

Clark frowned a little in concentration, he whispered to himself…held his arms out wide, tilted his hands this way and that. Lex was about to call him back to the truck when Clark yelped in excitement.

"Look! Look!" He was a few inches above the ground, and with gleaming eyes on Lex, he wobbled a bit higher. "I can do it—almost! Soon!"

"Clark, you're floating! Flying! Oh crap—*falling*!"

Clark hit the ground with a laugh. "Falling now, flying soon—maybe we'll end up flying into Boulder after all." His face fell. "I wish it were now, damn it."

"Clark, we'll make it and in the time we need to, I know we will. Just…believe that."

When the wind lies in the east,
'Tis neither good for man nor beast;
When the wind lies in the north,
The skilful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind lies in the south,
It blows the bait in fishes' mouths;
When the wind lies in the west,
Then 'tis at the very best.

******

Lex opened his eyes to bright sunlight and a wall of spring green leaves, stalks…he was facing a bright field of growing corn. He turned, and behind him in a dusty square, sat an old fashioned house—bright pots of flowers sat on every sill, and lined the steps up to the front door. The last time he'd seen the house, it looked old, empty and about to fall down…now it was shining with care and love—and Mother Abigail sat in her rocker on the porch, her guitar leaning against the porch post. She waved him to her and he ran, across the yard, up the porch steps and dropped to his knees to take her hand.

'Mother! We came for you, but you were gone.'

She nodded, 'I'm gone from there, son, gone from that plane. I'm almost done here; I delivered my message to those who needed it, now I've got one for you. Listen well, Lex out of Kansas and remember: when the time comes, you must tell Kal not to.'

''No to'? Not to what, Mother? What do I tell him not to do?' He was alone on the porch, sunlight sparkling off the bright green corn.'

Fire burned down to glowing coals in the fire pit, tossed shadows over the truck and against the tent…Lex shifted in his sleep and threw a leg across Clark's, burrowing closer. Clark sniffed and sighed in his sleep, pressed his face into Lex's shoulder and sank deeper into dreams.

'Kal, come here son.'

'Mother Abigail.' Clark looked around; he was at Mother's side on her porch, her tiny soft hand in his. Sun made the new corn gleam, it was warm, and bright…he squeezed her hand and gasped. 'Oh! I see. You've left us,' he said, sadness taking an edge from the joy of seeing her again.

She nodded. 'I got one more message, and then my time is truly done. You listen to me, son and remember. You're such a sweet boy, Kal, but you got to get that stubborn streak in hand. Lex is going to do something you won’t understand, but if he drops, you pick him up again.'

Clark smiled. He said, 'Of course I' will pick him up, promise,' and let her hand go, drifted away from her…

******

The wind whistled and pushed against the windows of the truck. Lex could feel the force of it, felt the body rock a little. He glanced at Clark, who looked absorbed…they'd been descending slowly, closer and closer to their goal, but gusts of snow and high winds were making the roads a treacherous place to be. The truck rocked harder, and slowly, majestically, sailed sideways across the road. The rock wall on one side of them came closer and closer--Lex grabbed the door handle with a curse. Clark fought with it silently before managing to straighten out again, with a sigh of relief. "Wow," he gasped. That was…something."

"Far be it from me to question your ability, but maybe we should pull over. Or, maybe you—"

Clark shook his head vehemently and said, "I know what you're going to say and no. Not until I'm certain my flight doesn't cut out. I can't take that chance with your life."

"Clark, have you seen the weather out there …" Clark looked firmly out through the windshield, not willing to discuss flying…ever since the night before, when Mother Abigail finally re-appeared in their dreams, Clark had been quiet, thoughtful. They understood that she was no longer in the world of the living. Mother Abigail hadn't just left the house in Hemingford Home, she'd finally left the world behind—but not without a final admonishment to them separately to "no more lollygagging, there's deeds need completing, witnessing to be done."

"Do you think she was the voice of God?" Clark asked out of the blue, and Lex considered, knowing exactly what Clark was talking about.

"I don’t know Clark—anything is possible and that makes as much sense to me as anything else we've experienced. It seems we are in an age of miracles."

Clark snorted. "Miracles—three-quarters of the world is gone—the infrastructure's evaporated, whatever's left of civilization is certainly going to collapse completely and this Boulder Free Zone is just the last gasp before it's all gone…"

"Clark, such cynicism, "Lex said admiringly."Now you're talking like a reporter. What you say may be true, but it's up to us to do as much as we can to stave that off that final collapse—or soften it. We won't know until we get there, I guess. But I'm betting it’s more than a last gasp."

Clark smiled at Lex. "See? You never give up, Lex."

Lex smirked. "Of course not. Not after all the work I put into trying to save this world."

"Hmm."

Clark looked at him with a ghost of the aggravated expression he used to level so frequently at Lex and he tried not to smirk. "I think we should pull over, Clark—it's really getting too treacherous to drive." He leaned back against the seat and smiled.

******

"Lex, Lex, please…"
The bench seat in the truck couldn't have been more uncomfortable, but with the rising heat of their bodies, at least it wasn’t too cold. Clark put out heat like a furnace, his dick radiated heat enough to warm Lex's hands, cheeks—Lex rubbed the head over his face, his mouth…Clark flicked his hips and the silky heavy weight slid between Lex's lips, over his tongue…saliva pooled up and he swallowed hard. Clark's whispered groan above him sent a hot streak of lust rocketing through him. He smiled around the shaft in his mouth, sucked harder, tried to take more of it in. The taste, the smell…musky, thick…he shuddered and laved his tongue over the smooth warm crown, pressed into the slit—more. He needed more. He breathed deep and relaxed his throat, and Clark slid in deeper. The good feel of fullness, the slick rub against his tongue made him feel hot and loose and wild—his own hips pumped along with Clark's. He pressed his palm against the aching bulge in his pants, scrabbled at the waistband--yanked savagely at his zipper. He shoved his hand inside, ignoring the bite of metal teeth. The touch of his own hand almost sent him over the edge; the moan around the pulsing dick in his mouth wrung an answering moan, and a snap of the hips he tried to hold down.
If Clark was going to come, he was coming with him. Hands gripped him slightly tighter; the tiny groans came louder, faster…He jerked himself and kept up a tight, fast pace on Clark, a little rough, a little toothy. Clark showed his appreciation by arching, flooding Lex's mouth with a soft curse. Lex heard a peculiar popping sound—Clark's fingers punched ten little holes into the vinyl under them. The low frantic curses, the pop-pop-pop of his fingers tearing through the upholstery—Lex shuddered all over and groaned—he came against the seat between Clark's legs.
Lex dropped flat on Clark, and they rode out the aftershocks of bliss together. "I can't wait," Lex panted, "to do this in a bed, with a thick mattress and fluffy blankets and soft cottony sheets, God--stretch my legs out…"

Clark smiled down at him, dragged fingers across his belly and licked the wet away. "Hmm. Yeah, but this is nice too…"

Lex watched him--shivered and licked his own lips. "Yes, but…" he sighed and plucked their clothing off the floor. As they struggled to dress in the tiny space, he went on. "*Sheets*, Clark, fresh washed and smelling of lavender and then after, a hot shower--imagine it--a long hot shower instead of walking around tacky and smelly."

Clark adjusted his clothes. He looked offended, but carefully re-buttoned Lex's flannel shirt for him. "Smelly? You think we stink? Well, *I* think we smell good."

"Clark, you're alien. That's probably why you think we smell good. 'smell good'", he repeated and shuddered.

Clark shrugged. "I like the smell of sex. And you're just hung up about stuff like that. Probably part of that control freak thing you have—oh."

Clark sat up, nearly dumping Lex off the seat.

"Watch out, I'm trying to wipe up the—Clark. What's wrong? Clark? CLARK!"

Clark's eyes were on some far distant point and then—his head flew back and punched the side window out, his elbow cracked the dash and his hand went through the windshield. Lex crouched down, trying to avoid Clark's panicked flailing. Clark's back slammed against the door and broke it off its hinges; he tumbled out of the truck to the ground. Lex threw himself after, climbing up Clark's prone body to lock his hands around his head. "Stop—Clark! Come back—"

"Let me *GO*, I have to go, I have to save them now! They're going to die—Las Vegas is going to die—"

Lex screamed himself, behind closed lips. This was it—the thing. He saw the others—people he knew but didn’t know, the other Good Guys, all that was left of them, caged and in chains, and sunlight played over them—a beautiful day. The sun lit the lawn they stood on, dancing over the lush green grass, the colorful crowd….

The Dark Man was there. His face flashed through changes, changes—Lex watched him change and screamed inside.

"I have to go, PLEASE!" Clark yelled, "I see them, he's coming." He struggled to push Lex off without hurting him, and Lex hung on as if it were the last thing he had to do in life.

They both saw it—Death coming. The Dark Man's puppet was bringing death to him. Lex saw a—a mutant come from out of the desert, bringing fire to the Devil—puking and rotting, barely upright on the seat of a tractor, pulling a nuclear missile behind him. Lex was there with him--could see every pus filled lesion on his blind face, hear the thready song of praise and love as it came, and most horribly, *feel* the terrible, terrible joy as it brought its Master a gift—the LGM-30 Minuteman, just like those he'd seen rise from silos in another vision long ago, nuclear death rising up on thin strands of smoke and suddenly he knew the truth--what Cassandra had misread….

Horror filled him, froze his blood, Lex felt it to the pit of his soul. *This* was why he'd been sent to Clark—not to save him, not to wake him to save thousands of lives and be Superman again. It was to *stop* Clark saving lives. Because only someone like himself, with one foot in Heaven and one foot in Hell—only he could clearly see, that sometimes thousands had to die, so that others could live *free*.

And that was a burden almost too much to bear. He felt his eyes fill and the laugh that ripped free of him was full of bitter amusement. So. He *was* that guy under the bloody rain after all—You funny, funny mother fucker. You fucking cosmic comedian… "Clark you can't, it has to be this way!"

"But I can save them—they don't have to die, I can save all of them and defeat That Man, and—and—no one has to die—not that way!"

"You've got to let it happen." He could feel tears running down his face, his, Clark's….

Clark screamed "I hear them! I hear all of them…" He shouted at Lex, "I hear them dying, why? Why do you want to stop me?"

Lex felt Clark's heart beating crazily in his chest; they were in the air—rocketing upward---straight up. He held on tighter to Clark, and only spoke when he felt his grip begin to slip—"Clark," he said, and let go.

He dropped like a stone into water, he felt the wind tearing at him, and a rushing shriek of sound in his ears…he was too numb to pray, or hope, he just dropped straight down, arrowing towards the earth--

"NO!"

Something hit him hard enough to knock the breath from him, he could feel his body whirling around and then Clark had his arms tight around him and his head was pressed into Lex's neck as they dropped gently to the ground.

"How could you, Lex?" He stared at him, reddened eyes full of accusation. "You don't understand—you can't know what it's like to hear all that and not—not be able to *stop* hearing it…"

Lex stepped away from him, dry-eyed. He'd felt a thousand souls evaporate on a wind of fire. He felt every single one of them—and accepted it. He'd never tell Clark he felt the missile blow—he'd been with them as mothers reached out for their babies, children turned their faces to the new sun, been with lovers together in their last minutes, telling each other how much they loved one another as the wave of light blew over them—blew them to pieces…it was his burden. His penance.

Clark cried. "You let them die."

"Listen to me—if you saved them, the world would only remember that there was a disaster in Vegas and Superman saved some people and That Man would find a way to kill you just as publicly—and he'd go on killing. Imagine a country under his rule; a world…Captain Trips would seem like a week at the beach, Clark. It had to be that way, people had to see the death…I'm sorry but--sometimes you have to sacrifice…everything. After today, no one will ever forget that to follow The Dark Man means death." Lex reached out, but didn't touch Clark. "I don’t expect you to forgive me—just know I did it for you and the world. I owed it." He dropped down on the ground and closed his eyes, and waited for the end of his story.

"I hate it… but I know what you did was…needed. I *hate* that it had to end like that, but…" A big warm hand rested on his shoulder. "This is what we are, what we do. We're the balance that protects the world, don’t you remember?"

******

There was a crowd in the square, just people going about their business like any ordinary day, normal as hell. Greg Rivera shook his head as he crunched through the iced rimed snow. Months ago, he'd been damn sure he was a walking dead man, probably *everyone* in the square had thought that about themselves and now…here he was, heading off to work in the community bakery, and it was a fucking miracle, that's what it was. He tilted his head back—clouds were gathering and for sure they'd have more snow by tonight…he watched an eagle soaring high. It was a good sight. He followed its flight with a little smile…it was dropping through the clouds…pretty damn big for an eagle…real big for—"Holy shit!" He pointed at the man—men—falling out of the sky, dropping like they'd fallen out of a plane—everyone was pointing and screaming now, dashing away from the square and suddenly, the falling bodies just—stopped. In fucking mid-air, they *stopped* and floated the rest of the way down towards the ground.

"Hey—" a cheerful voice called out. "Can you tell us where to get in touch with the Free Zone Committee?"

Greg swallowed, and waited until he was pretty sure he could speak without stammering. "Well…I guess you ain't heard…"

******

Lex stood on the broad steps of the house, conscious of the crowd behind them and the increasingly louder whispers. The door opened and the face of the man who came out was familiar to Lex. Clark pushed closer behind him and whispered, "It's him…"

The man looked puzzled, and limped to the edge of the porch. Lex held his hand out. "Stu Redman?"

"That's me," he said, and his voice was soft, quiet, but Lex knew you'd be a fool to think he was a soft man. "You look familiar—" his hand wavered for a moment "—aren't you…damn." Knowledge widened his eyes; he glanced over Lex's shoulder and did a double take, looked back at Lex "But…you're--"

"Lex Luthor, right." Lex clasped his hand, and said, "And we're damn happy to have finally made it here."

"Yeah, yeah…that's, um—your friend—"

They heard the whispers grow even louder—…who is it--is it really—Superman--Luthor….

Clark reached over Lex's shoulder and said, "Boyfriend. And *you* can call me Kal. I don’t go by Superman anymore." He looped an arm protectively around Lex's chest, his palm resting on Lex's shoulder. "We're here, and we want to help."

Lex leaned back against Clark and smiled. It'd be nice to think that they were finally home.

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.



2-16-2008

Comments

[ellie]

Love this story! You did a great job of combining the two universes.

[roxy]

Thank you so much! I really had the *best* time writing this!