Fic: The Dark Side
Jun. 17th, 2007 12:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bagheera_sanSo I said this would have two parts, but this one got too long. Anyways, I'm sorry the first part was so confusing to most people. This one is set in Smallville and should be less confusing.
Title: The Dark Side
Rating: R
Pairing: Clex
Warnings: Mild horror, Lex doing creepy, wrong things.
Fandom: SV/Sandman/Good Omens/Buffy crossover, AU
Summary: This is how Lex became a demon hunting chaos mage.
Part One
II. Smallville
Clark wished his parents would just let him run to Metropolis instead of making him take the train. He was sixteen, almost seventeen, he really didn't need the Rosses to fetch him from the station in Metropolis. But if you listened to his Dad, the city was about one step removed from hell on Earth, and besides, his Mom insisted, people would ask questions if Clark ran got there without a car or a train ticket. So when Clark wanted to visit Pete, he had to take the truck to the train station in Smallville and then take the horribly slow train there and back again. Well, at least they let him stay overnight.
Pete's family had moved to Metropolis two years ago, after a long time of hesitating to leave Smallville. But Smallville's economy had pretty much broken down when the fertilizer plant was closed by LuthorCorp. His parents blamed the young heir for it, some guy called Lucas Luthor who wasn't that much older than Clark. Since then, only farmers like the Kents had been able to make a living in their rural town.
Other people were thinking about moving away, too. Lana, for one thing. Nell had met a man from Metropolis and wanted to move there. Clark guessed that would be the end of his attempts to win Lana's affections. She did notice him from time to time; when he saved her from one of the meteor freaks, and when he ordered a cup of coffee at the Beanery, she always smiled nicely at him, but then Clark would suddenly become tongue-tied and awkward and she'd go to the next table, probably thinking about what a dork he was.
Clark hadn't really made any new friends since Pete left. His parents worried about that, he knew, but they never pushed him to socialize. No friends also meant no one asking about Clark's secret, about the spaceship in the storm cellar that didn't work, about his powers. When Clark asked his Dad to let him play football, he still said no and his Mom would helpfully point to such great activities as the chess club or the debate club.
Clark finally got off the train at Smallville's tiny, one-track station. There were few other passengers getting off, Mrs Lennox who bought produce from them, and an elderly couple with sunglasses and hiking boots and heavy backpacks, probably tourists come to stay on a real farm. A throng of teenagers got into the train and when Clark had manoeuvred himself and the bag with his overnight clothes past them, he nearly bumped into a guy who must have gotten off the train on the other end.
He wore sunglasses, too, but he didn't look like a tourist at all, more like the kind of guy his parents were probably afraid he'd run across in Metropolis. Under a black leather jacket, he wore a dark purple shirt, and his black jeans were tighter than what anyone in Smallville would wear, clinging to slim hips and lean thighs. He had a bag which didn't seem to be very heavy slung over his shoulder like Clark. As he reached up to take off his glasses, Clark saw a couple off rings glint on his fingers in the sunlight. The look his gave Clark once the glasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his shirt was long and scrutinizing, and it ended with a minute lift of one corner of his mouth, not quite a smirk. He had a little scar on his upper lip that only added to his roguish and untrustworthy look.
Only then did Clark notice that the man was bald, not like someone clean-shaven, but like an old man, completely hairless. He couldn't be older than twenty-five, though, probably he was younger.
Clark was just about to mutter a hasty excuse for staring so long, when the stranger said, "You've come to fetch me, haven't you?"
Clark nodded. The stranger's eyes were grey and unfathomable, and clearly very familiar. Yes, he'd seen them before, and those coppery lashes… He probably had come to fetch the guy and take him home. Yeah, that made sense. Just - ,"Who are you?"
The stranger quirked his brows ironically at him. "I'm your long lost cousin. And who are you?"
Clark smiled. Hey, his long-lost cousin! "Clark Kent." Only Clark couldn't have cousins, because he was an alien foundling child, so they probably weren't real cousins. Why hadn't his parents ever told him he had aunts and uncles? It was like when he found out about his Mom's Dad.
"I'm Joseph Alexander." They shook hands. Clark found the other's grip surprisingly strong for such a sleek, almost fragile hand. "But since we're cousins, you can call me Lex."
Clark hadn't let go of Lex hand, and Lex hadn't let go of his. Clark's lids felt oddly heavy. He could just stand there on the platform that was completely empty no except for the two of them and doze for a while...
"I can see we'll get along just fine, Clark," Lex drawled and dropped his hand. "Now how about you take me home?"
"Sure," Clark shrugged, and they walked together to Clark's truck. Lex eyed the car with a somewhat pained look.
"You're a farmer?"
"My parents are." Clark got behind the wheel and waited for Lex to put his bag in the backseat and get in. "What about you? You don't sound like you're from Metropolis."
There was a split second, when Clark saw Lex out of the corner of his eye and it felt like breaking through a wall and getting a glimpse of something more real behind it, of someone very young and very tired. Lex smiled wryly, then turned to Clark. "Actually, I am from Metropolis. But I've lived in England for some years."
"You've got an accent," Clark agreed. "What did you do in England?"
Lex glanced down at the dashboard, and Clark felt suddenly very self-conscious about the messy interior of the car. There was dust and even some pieces of straw. "I studied," Lex said. "You're going to college in Metropolis?"
Clark laughed. People always thought he was older. "No, highschool. Sophomore year. I just visited a friend of mine in Metropolis." He decided he liked Lex. Clark had always envied Pete his cool older brothers.
"So what's there to see in Smallville?" Lex asked as they drove through town, past the few stores and the one remaining café, the Beanery.
"Nothing." Clark shrugged. "Well, meteors, I guess. Sometimes people come to see Crater Lake. And we've got the only haunted castle in all of Kansas, at least if you believe the Ledger."
Lex was playing absently with one of his rings, but Clark didn't miss the odd frown he wore. "Haunted castle?" he asked, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
"The guy who used to own LuthorCorp – that's, uh, the company that built the fertilizer factory here, but it was closed down – he was a billionaire. He had a castle shipped over from Scotland and rebuilt stone by stone, but halfway through he had an accident and they never finished it. So now we've got a bunch of ruins and a closed down factory. People say the Luthors are bad luck."
"Bad luck," Lex said, in a tone that clearly said he didn't believe in bad luck. "There's no such thing as luck, Clark. But tell me why they say that."
Something about Lex made Clark want to say the right thing, even if he didn't really know an answer. People didn't ask why when it came to bad luck. Particularly not his parents. The Luthors just were bad luck. And Pete's family completely agreed. Every time Clark visited them, he heard Mr Ross curse Lucas Luthor.
"Well, they sort of ruined the Creamed Corn factory we used to have before the fertilizer plant. They cheated the Rosses out of their business the same day the meteors struck down." He glanced sideways at Lex and caught a peculiar expression on his cousin's face. "Yeah, I know. It sounds like we're all superstitious hicks. I'm not saying I believe in it."
"No, go on," Lex said softly. "Some things are becoming much clearer now… go on, Clark."
For a fleeting instant, it felt like a command, but that thought was forgotten as soon as Clark had it. "Well, then Luthor himself died. The Ledger did a big story on the family when the plant was closed down – I read that his wife and one of his sons also died, and another son went missing. And since then, the company has been struggling, and the guy who inherited it, Lucas Luthor, is involved in lots of scandals. That's really all."
"And why do they say that the castle is haunted?"
"Lucas Luthor is trying to sell it, but no one wants to buy it. There've been a couple of accidents. Children and teenagers who snuck onto the premise. People have been attributing all kinds of strange stuff to it." Like meteor mutants. The haunted castle made for a good excuse. Most reasonable people in Smallville probably knew it wasn't true, Clark guessed, but they'd much rather laugh at some superstitious explanation than think about what was really going on.
Lex didn't seem to think it was funny. He only smiled when they drove up Hickory Lane and the farm came into view. "You're not serious," he muttered under his breath.
Clark grabbed his bag and banged the door of the truck shut. Lex followed him, eyeing the barn and the cow pasture with the amused and slightly superior smile of a tourist. "Do my parents know you're coming?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder. Their eyes met and time seemed to slow down like honey dripping from a spoon.
"No, they don't," Lex replied. "It's a surprise visit."
They walked up the porch and through the unlocked door. "Mom?" Clark yelled. "I'm home. I brought a guest."
Martha met them in the kitchen door. There was a look of confusion on her face when she spotted Lex, but it smoothed out immediately. Lex stepped forward, suddenly all charm. "I'm your nephew, Mrs Kent," he supplied. "Lex."
"Oh," she said, then put down the dishrag she'd been holding. She looked a little lost. "Nice to meet you, Lex."
They shook hands. Clark went for the fridge and used the momentary distraction to steal a can of soda while his Mom wasn't looking. There was a pitcher of homemade lemonade on the table, which she would want him to drink first, but Clark wanted soda.
But it wasn't him she chided. "There'll be dinner in a few minutes, young man," he heard her say sternly but with an edge of amusement, and turned around just in time to see her slap Lex's hands away from the bowl of apples on the table. Lex looked utterly nonplussed to be treated this way. Clark smirked at him and earned himself a narrow glare.
"So, Lex, what brings you here?" Martha asked as she turned back to her mashed potatoes and stew.
She had her back turned to them, but Lex didn't look at her as he answered, instead his eyes caught Clark's and held them. "Family, I suppose."
There were steps on the porch and the thump of Clark's Dad pulling off his boots and dropping them in front of the door before coming in. The screen door rattled as he shut it.
"I saw the truck," he yelled from the living room, even though it was just a few steps from there to the kitchen. "Is Clark back?"
Clark and his Mom shared an amused look. "Yes, Jonathan," she said sweetly. "Behave, we have a guest."
"A guest?" he grunted as he stepped into the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad," Clark said and waited curiously for his reaction to Lex. Lex had to be a relation of his Mom's, no way he was a Kent. He didn't look like someone Jonathan would approve of.
Lex was leaning against the kitchen table, sleek and slightly insolent in his leather jacket, but his voice was all soft politeness as he spoke. "Good evening, Mr Kent."
Clark's Dad nodded at him, even as he wore a puzzled and slightly disapproving frown. Martha turned around and put the stew onto the table. "Lex is my nephew, Jonathan. Melissa's side of the family, right?" she asked Lex.
Lex just nodded at her question, his eyes straying to the pot of steaming stew.
"And what is he doing here?" Clark's Dad questioned as he washed his hands in the sink. Clark felt slightly embarrassed. His Dad could be horribly rude without even trying. In Junior high, Clark had brought over a girl from school whose Dad had managed the LuthorCorp plant for two years until LuthorCorp had him sacked. His Dad had grilled her at least twenty minutes about her Dad's connection with LuthorCorp, and it had taken homemade pie and a tour through the barn to cheer Chloe up again. Clark thought wistfully back to that time when it had been Pete and Chloe and him, almost like a small clique. She had moved back to Metropolis a year before Pete.
"He's just visiting, Jonathan," Martha said patiently. "It'll be nice to have someone over. Especially for Clark."
Lex was suddenly there as Jonathan turned back around from the sink. His expression was apologetic, almost demure, but his voice had none of it. It was low and firm, and suddenly that tone sent shivers down Clark's spine. "I hope I'm not imposing on you, Mr Kent."
Clark's Dad shook his head, like a horse chasing away flies. "No," he muttered. "'course not. Let's have dinner."
They sat down and Clark stated heaping food onto his table. Pete's parents were awesome, but they were both working full-time jobs, and just couldn't cook as well as his Mom. After the first few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, Clark glanced across the table at Lex. Lex was examining the food on his table with great fascination.
"What is it?" Martha asked worriedly. "Is something wrong with the food? Would you like something else? You look like you could use a decent meal. You're a little pale."
"You're not one of those vegetarians, aren't you?" Jonathan demanded mistrustfully.
"It's good," Clark helpfully added.
Lex glanced from one of them to the other, an odd expression on his face that Clark couldn't pin down exactly. Whenever Lex looked straight at him, he seemed confident and straight-forward, but once the eye-contact broke, Clark thought he saw slivers of someone far less certain and self-possessed.
"I'm sure it is, Mrs Kent," Lex said politely. "I'm sorry, it's just been a while since I've eaten something real. I've been travelling for a while."
He ate, then, and seemed to like the food well enough. Clark had to agree with his mom, their guest was decidedly too pale, almost like that guy Byron who had been kept in a cellar by his folks for being a meteor freak.
"Travelling, huh?" Jonathan asked after a few moments. He pointed his fork at Lex. "You do look a little familiar, son. Ever been to Smallville?"
Lex hesitated for a fraction, then shook his head.
Both of Clark's parents claimed they were tired after dinner. Martha told them that Lex could sleep in the guest room and Jonathan reminded Clark of the chores he had to do in the morning, stressing that he had to get up early. Of course, Clark remembered. With a guest in the house, he'd have to do them normal-speed. They stayed behind in the kitchen, Clark doing the dishes and Lex sitting at the table, looking a little stunned still from all the food.
Clark told him about the farm, about life in Smallville, whatever came to his mind that he thought Lex might find at least a bit interesting. He wondered what Lex's family was like, if they were like Grandpa Clark. Probably not. Clark had to admit that he liked Lex's leather jacket and the shades he had worn on the train platform, but he only thought that in the somewhat shameful little corner of his mind that was occupied by the part of him that had rebelled when he wore the red meteor rock class ring. If he'd known Lex then, he'd probably have gotten himself a jacket just like that.
"I could show you your room," Clark offered when he was done with the dishes. It wasn't dark outside yet, but he didn't really know how to entertain Lex now.
"I'm not tired," Lex said, contrary to appearances, and got up gracefully. "Why don't you show me that barn loft you told me about?"
Clark blinked, but nodded his agreement. He'd expected Lex to be tired of him and his boring conversation by now, but Lex's expression said none of that. Instead, he was eyeing Clark like – well, like what? Something interesting, no doubt, as if Clark was… he flushed and turned away. A few people had looked at him like this when he wore the class ring. Jessie for example. And Clark knew what she had wanted. But that couldn't be it.
Lex walked close to him as they crossed the yard and walked over to the farm, close enough for Clark to catch the scent of his leather jacket, mixed with something acrid and burnt, like smoke, but not like the cigarettes a lot of the guys in school smoked. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, just strange.
"So, that's the barn. Our tractor," Clark said with a grand, self-mocking gesture, "and our wood chipper. Fascinating, huh?"
"It must be nice, having this kind of privacy," Lex commented. They mounted the stairs to the loft, Clark going first.
He shrugged. "Yeah, it's cool. I can make all the noise I want here. Not that I make a lot."
"My guardians were very… protective. I didn't get a lot of time alone as a teenager," Lex replied, surprising Clark with his serious tone.
"Your guardians? You didn't grow up with your parents?"
"They died early. I went to boarding school in Britain."
"Oh. Sorry." Clark felt bumbling and tongue-tied all of a sudden, like he did whenever he talked to Lana. But Lex's smile was natural, not as forced as hers usually got when things became awkward between them.
"It's not as tragic as it sounds," Lex assured him, but something twisted in his smile. He walked around the loft, taking in the books and the telescope. "You're adopted, aren't you?"
The unexpected question made Clark tense up. Few people ever mentioned it, and even though Lex couldn't possibly know about Clark's secret, having known him only for a day, Clark felt an irrational surge of fear. "I don't really remember anything but this. I was just a little kid."
Lex walked over to the couch, but sat down only when Clark did so, and then much closer than Clark would have expected. "You don't look like your parents," he said, but although the words made Clark catch his breath, the tone went straight to his stomach, warm and tingling.
"N-no?" Clark croaked.
Lex smiled, quick and secretive, like something just between the two of them. "Well, for one thing, you're a lot more pleasant to talk to than your father."
Clark laughed nervously. "Dad's a bit weird with strangers, sometimes." He thought they were back to safe territory, but there was no such thing.
"This place looks like it is ideal for having a girlfriend over. I hope I'm not in the way of a hot date tonight?"
Clark swallowed convulsively, nearly choking. Oh God, what if he was right? Was Lex coming on to him? What if he was just making certain that they'd be undisturbed? How did you know for certain if someone liked you like that? He felt rooted to the spot, unable to say anything intelligent at all but, "No."
"So it's just the two of us," Lex said silkily. "A bit quiet. Do you have some music?"
Clark was utterly terrified, but at the same time thrilled. This was weird, freaky, Lex was a guy, and older, and sort of a relative, except they weren't really related. But he liked Lex, more than he'd ever liked anyone after just knowing them for half a day, and Clark had this problem where his body didn't really make a difference between guys and girls, well, it was mostly Lana and the rest of the world, but he'd never have a chance with Lana – what was he going to do? Pick music. He didn't have anything cool, and he told Lex so, but Lex just waved a hand.
"Try me."
Try him. Clark pressed play on the CD player, nearly breaking the button. He'd chosen a mix CD at random, something Pete had burned him. Try it. It wasn't like he was a girl, like anything could happen that he didn't want to happen, or like he wasn't a freak already, and this might be the only he chance at trying it he'd get, at least in Smallville. He sat down where he'd sat before, close to Lex, torn between hyperventilating and holding his breath.
"So, uh, do you have a girlfriend?" Clark rushed out, knowing that he was just demonstrating what a big dork he was.
Lex did look surprised for a second, almost baffled, if a minute widening of his eyes could be called that. Then he chuckled. "No, not at the moment."
Okay, that was it. Now Clark really didn't know what to say anymore. The silence would just stretch endlessly until he died of shame or Lex rolled his eyes and gave up on him for being a hopeless bore. Or made up some flimsy excuse for leaving, like Lana would.
"Relax, Clark," Lex said, and oddly, Clark did relax almost instantly. It was okay. No one was going to hurt him. No one could hurt him. He leaned closer, hoping that Lex would do something that wouldn't require them to talk. Like kiss him maybe. Or touch him.
Clark's breath hitched when Lex reached up and touched his chest, just the tips of his fingers searing him through his shirt, soft pinpricks of electric contact. Lex came close until their faces nearly met and Clark lowered his lashes and shivered as he could feel breath not his own stroke over his wet lips. Then suddenly Lex pushed, not hard, merely a suggestion of a push and Clark tumbled backwards, finding himself on his back on the couch, Lex crawling over him, straddling his belly, his weight barely felt but the warmth and hardness of his thighs all the more tangible to Clark. He was suddenly and painfully hard and at the same time terrified, his heart hammering in his chest.
He forced himself to look up at Lex's face and his heart nearly stopped. Lex's expression had turned from a sly smile to an inscrutable mask and his eyes were a sharp, cold grey, almost silver.
"Tell me the truth," Lex said calmly, his hand still on Clark's chest, just over his heart.
"Lex?" Clark stuttered, and it took an effort to make himself say that, to get past the haziness that was threatening to fall over him. Only his fear and his unrelenting desire kept his mind sharp and frantic.
"You're special, Clark. You're different. Tell me what you are."
Clark lifted a hand. It felt like lead, worse than lead, like something that didn't even belong to him. He couldn't make it lift. Something held him down more effectively than a meteor rock chain could have, only it didn't hurt, it just felt warm and dull and heavy. He tried to raise his voice, call for help maybe, but he could even make himself heard over the soft music.
Lex's lips thinned. "Don't make this harder than it needs be, Clark. What are you? I can feel no magic from you. That's very peculiar. All things have magic. All human things."
Every burning word Lex spoke tore at Clark's throat. His own words spilled out heavy and hot like blood. "I'm not human."
Clark keened, tried to struggle, tried to unsay it, but he was paralyzed.
"Good. Now tell me what you are."
Clark's eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and sobbed out, "Alien. I'm… I'm an alien."
No further questions came, and the stifling warmth abated. Clark's eyes snapped open. Lex was looking down at him with slight disbelief. Then he reached inside his leather jacket and procured something – a small knife, like a letter opener. A dagger. He took one of Clark's sluggish hands and ran the blade over his palm. It should have been dulled by Clark's skin, but instead it cut, drawing blood. Clark stared at it in horror while Lex lifted the hand to his face and sniffed the blood, frowning. Then he whispered a few words, his breath ghosting over Clark's palm, cooling the cut and the pain, and Clark couldn't help but twitch, the sensation going straight to his groin and to the roof of his mouth, a trail of tickling pleasure.
The tickling didn't stop. His palm grew very warm, then hot. The blood started to bubble as if it were boiling, then a faint mist rose from it, glittering in the after sunset twilight of the barn. Lex was still whispering, the strange words caressing the mist. It formed something, not a ring, but a sphere, and smaller spheres circling it slowly. A star system.
Lex exhaled in soft surprise and the mist vanished. The cut on Clark's palm was gone as if it had never been there.
"You are an alien," Lex said slowly. "I've never met one. But then it's not you who I came looking for. I thought it might be you, that maybe you were powerful enough to hide your magic from me."
Clark tried to form a question, but could only gasp helplessly. Lex's frown returned. "So the haunted house story wasn't just a distraction." He put the dagger back into his jacket and slipped off the couch to stand next to it. Clark squirmed, but he still couldn't move properly. Lex knelt down, putting his face close to Clark's.
"I'm a wizard. I could take your memory, Clark. Your parents', too. But I don't like doing that. It's been done to me too many times, and I've spent too much time recovering my stolen memories. Let's have a deal instead. A mutual agreement of silence."
He wasn't really Clark's cousin, and he knew his secret, and he'd lied to him all night and forced him to tell the truth right now, and Clark had wanted him to kiss him, and he was a wizard. Clark wanted to scream, but he still couldn't.
Lex waited for a moment, then got up with a sigh. "For what it's worth, thanks for dinner. Be more careful with strangers, Clark. Particularly if they're family."
Then he turned, and with each step he took down the stairs something lifted off Clark. By the time Lex had left the barn, Clark managed to sit up shakily. He was trembling all over with panic and terror and felt like he might be sick and he was still panting at the memory of Lex's breath brushing over his palm.
He needed to tell his parents, wake them up right now – Clark stumbled off the couch, but before he made it to the stairs, there was a fluttering noise behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and flinched. A raven had settled onto the window frame by the telescope, black as a piece of night, its talons clicking against the wood. Clark moved towards it. It didn't fly away, just opened its beak and gave a hoarse cry.
Clark turned off the music and switched on the light. It was almost dark, and this was creepy. The bird didn't fly away. It just stared at him with small, fathomless black eyes, tilting its head from side to side as if saying, "I can see you."
Clark sank back onto the couch. The raven was watching him. Watching to see if he'd tell anyone. He drew a shaky breath. But he was an alien. And there were odd things happening in Smallville all the time. People turning into monsters because of space rocks. Was magic really that more unlikely?
"Okay," Clark said. "Okay. I'm not telling anyone."
The raven tilted its head a few more times, hopping left and right on its wooden perch, then spread its wings and flew off into the night with a witch-like cry. Clark let himself fall back onto the couch. He lifted his hand and looked at his palm, where the knife had cut him as if he were human. He traced the spotless skin. For a second it had felt so good… he groaned. How could he think that? Lex was a monster, some kind of criminal, and Clark should be scared to death that Lex would expose him, which he was, but that alone wasn't enough to quench the desire Lex had roused.
Closing his eyes in shame, Clark touched the heel of his hand to his groin, pressing it against his half-hard erection. He arched into the touch and whimpered. God, no. He was a freak. The low sound of Lex's voice echoed in his ears as he rubbed himself through his jeans, and the fleeting impression of the surprise on Lex's face when Clark told him the truth, the utter lack of fear or disgust, sent a first wave of raw pleasure through him. The scent, that inhuman scent of something burnt, alien, just like Clark. The touch of his fingers, Lex's weight on him, the knife cutting his palm – Clark came violently and painfully and for a second as he lay panting and spent, felt as weak as a human being.
The night air cooled the wet stain at his groin, and Clark turned to lie on his belly, pressing his face against the crook of his arm. His head felt foggy with sleep and he gave into it for the sake of forgetting.
But the night seemed to last no longer than a few minutes. Sunshine tickled his nose, and the air was full of bird-song and morning sounds. Clark got up, blinking, but he felt fresh and awake now. Then he startled.
He wasn't alone. There was a girl sitting on the windowsill, one knee drawn up against her chest, her heavy boot resting on the window frame, thin pale arms wrapped around her bent leg. She wore black jeans, and a simple white T-shirt, and her hair was the wildest mane of black Clark had ever seen. Presently she rested her chin on her knee and tilted her head to look at him, smiling.
Clark wanted to smile back. "How did you get in here?" he asked.
Her smile showed teeth, an infectious grin. She had a clear, strong voice that sounded as if it was ready to turn into a laugh at any time. "I waited till you fell asleep," she said very reasonably. "It's the closest you will ever get to dying. I'm sure my little brother doesn't mind me borrowing his realm."
"Who are you?"
She hopped off the windowsill and walked over to him, extending a small hand. Her face was chalk white, but her cheeks were full and soft, radiating life even through deathly pallor. Clark took her hand, let himself be pulled up with surprising strength. Standing, he towered over the girl and she craned her head and laughed.
"Let's take a walk."
They walked outside, her hand in his, tiny cool fingers twining with his larger ones. The house was gone, and so was the vegetable patch and the sunflowers, and even the shed and the cow pasture. There wasn't a single piece of the fence left, and the road was overgrown with grass. The tip of every green blade in the endless fields around them was shimmering in a golden hue, and so was the sky.
"I'm dreaming," Clark realized.
"Something like that," she agreed and strode purposefully into one direction. He followed her. "I'm Death, by the way."
Clark walked with Death for a while, trying to find any kind of landmark in the distance. There were clouds up ahead, high in the sky, their fringes tinged rosy and gold. It was very warm, and when the sun came forth behind a cloud, it was huge and red.
"I kind of like you," Death said all of a sudden. "Even though you're a bit glum. Reminds me of my little brother. Too bad you and I are not meant to be. There aren't a lot of likeable immortals for an Endless to hang out with."
Clark stopped still, letting go of her hand. "Immortal?" he whispered.
"Pretty much," she agreed.
"So Cassandra…," Clark couldn't finish the sentence, choking on the words.
"Got it right," she agreed. "Sweet lady. One of the few who didn't complain when I visited. You know that it's rare, don't you? Truly wanting to die. Most people are terribly afraid of me, for no good reason at all. But you're afraid of just the opposite."
"Everyone's going to die before me," Clark said miserably. He'd never said it out loud like that, but who could he tell if not Death? "I don't want to live if everyone I love, everyone I know is dead."
"You want to be like them," she nodded. "You're afraid to be alone."
He nodded. Death nodded, too, curt and decisive. They walked some more, then she flopped down on the ground and patted the short grass next to her. Clark sat down where she wanted him to sit. It felt nice to have the warm wind stroke his face and let the red sun soak into his skin. He felt wonderfully tired.
"The good news is, there are other people with the same problem. Quite a number of them, actually."
"People like me?" Clark said breathlessly.
"Well, that's the bad news," Death shrugged. "Most of them aren't nice people like you. But would that make it better? To have a companion in sorrow?"
"Someone who's like me?"
"Someone who's there with you, until the sweet end, as a friend and as an enemy, but always as a companion."
Clark couldn't really imagine it. People would still die. He'd still go on living forever. Did one person make a difference? But the answer was easy, really. If it was one person or no one at all, if the alternative was solitude, then the difference was infinite.
Death leaned close, glancing around as if making sure no one listened in on them, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Here's a little secret," she whispered into his ear.
*
Clark woke with a start to the feeling of rain on his skin and the taste of blood and ashes in his mouth. He was dry, but outside rain was pattering down. The light was still on in the barn, and the night outside pitch-black.
Had he really just dreamed of Death? The girl in his dream hadn't exactly been the Grim Reaper, but he remembered clearly ever word of their conversation. It wasn't like dreams usually felt. He rubbed his eyes.
She'd told him to go to the ruins of the Luthor castle before dawn if he wanted to meet someone who wouldn't die, just like him. It sounded like some kind of fairy tale. If you want to know who your true love will be… Why there? The place was a magnet for meteor mutants. Maybe it was a mutant. Clark was in enough trouble already, with a wizard who knew his secret running around.
But he couldn't not go. He'd only ever met three meteor mutants who had been friendly. But Cassandra and Ryan had died, and Kyle Tippet had left and Clark hadn't heard of him since. He wanted to meet someone who'd stay, who wouldn't leave like Pete and Chloe and Lana, like everyone else eventually would. And that was exactly what Death had promised him, wasn't it? Someone who'd never leave him. Someone who'd never be part of Clark's endless graveyard.
Switching off the light, Clark ran out into the rain and let it wash away the last dregs of his strange dream as he ran towards the mansion.
TBC
Title: The Dark Side
Rating: R
Pairing: Clex
Warnings: Mild horror, Lex doing creepy, wrong things.
Fandom: SV/Sandman/Good Omens/Buffy crossover, AU
Summary: This is how Lex became a demon hunting chaos mage.
Part One
II. Smallville
Clark wished his parents would just let him run to Metropolis instead of making him take the train. He was sixteen, almost seventeen, he really didn't need the Rosses to fetch him from the station in Metropolis. But if you listened to his Dad, the city was about one step removed from hell on Earth, and besides, his Mom insisted, people would ask questions if Clark ran got there without a car or a train ticket. So when Clark wanted to visit Pete, he had to take the truck to the train station in Smallville and then take the horribly slow train there and back again. Well, at least they let him stay overnight.
Pete's family had moved to Metropolis two years ago, after a long time of hesitating to leave Smallville. But Smallville's economy had pretty much broken down when the fertilizer plant was closed by LuthorCorp. His parents blamed the young heir for it, some guy called Lucas Luthor who wasn't that much older than Clark. Since then, only farmers like the Kents had been able to make a living in their rural town.
Other people were thinking about moving away, too. Lana, for one thing. Nell had met a man from Metropolis and wanted to move there. Clark guessed that would be the end of his attempts to win Lana's affections. She did notice him from time to time; when he saved her from one of the meteor freaks, and when he ordered a cup of coffee at the Beanery, she always smiled nicely at him, but then Clark would suddenly become tongue-tied and awkward and she'd go to the next table, probably thinking about what a dork he was.
Clark hadn't really made any new friends since Pete left. His parents worried about that, he knew, but they never pushed him to socialize. No friends also meant no one asking about Clark's secret, about the spaceship in the storm cellar that didn't work, about his powers. When Clark asked his Dad to let him play football, he still said no and his Mom would helpfully point to such great activities as the chess club or the debate club.
Clark finally got off the train at Smallville's tiny, one-track station. There were few other passengers getting off, Mrs Lennox who bought produce from them, and an elderly couple with sunglasses and hiking boots and heavy backpacks, probably tourists come to stay on a real farm. A throng of teenagers got into the train and when Clark had manoeuvred himself and the bag with his overnight clothes past them, he nearly bumped into a guy who must have gotten off the train on the other end.
He wore sunglasses, too, but he didn't look like a tourist at all, more like the kind of guy his parents were probably afraid he'd run across in Metropolis. Under a black leather jacket, he wore a dark purple shirt, and his black jeans were tighter than what anyone in Smallville would wear, clinging to slim hips and lean thighs. He had a bag which didn't seem to be very heavy slung over his shoulder like Clark. As he reached up to take off his glasses, Clark saw a couple off rings glint on his fingers in the sunlight. The look his gave Clark once the glasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his shirt was long and scrutinizing, and it ended with a minute lift of one corner of his mouth, not quite a smirk. He had a little scar on his upper lip that only added to his roguish and untrustworthy look.
Only then did Clark notice that the man was bald, not like someone clean-shaven, but like an old man, completely hairless. He couldn't be older than twenty-five, though, probably he was younger.
Clark was just about to mutter a hasty excuse for staring so long, when the stranger said, "You've come to fetch me, haven't you?"
Clark nodded. The stranger's eyes were grey and unfathomable, and clearly very familiar. Yes, he'd seen them before, and those coppery lashes… He probably had come to fetch the guy and take him home. Yeah, that made sense. Just - ,"Who are you?"
The stranger quirked his brows ironically at him. "I'm your long lost cousin. And who are you?"
Clark smiled. Hey, his long-lost cousin! "Clark Kent." Only Clark couldn't have cousins, because he was an alien foundling child, so they probably weren't real cousins. Why hadn't his parents ever told him he had aunts and uncles? It was like when he found out about his Mom's Dad.
"I'm Joseph Alexander." They shook hands. Clark found the other's grip surprisingly strong for such a sleek, almost fragile hand. "But since we're cousins, you can call me Lex."
Clark hadn't let go of Lex hand, and Lex hadn't let go of his. Clark's lids felt oddly heavy. He could just stand there on the platform that was completely empty no except for the two of them and doze for a while...
"I can see we'll get along just fine, Clark," Lex drawled and dropped his hand. "Now how about you take me home?"
"Sure," Clark shrugged, and they walked together to Clark's truck. Lex eyed the car with a somewhat pained look.
"You're a farmer?"
"My parents are." Clark got behind the wheel and waited for Lex to put his bag in the backseat and get in. "What about you? You don't sound like you're from Metropolis."
There was a split second, when Clark saw Lex out of the corner of his eye and it felt like breaking through a wall and getting a glimpse of something more real behind it, of someone very young and very tired. Lex smiled wryly, then turned to Clark. "Actually, I am from Metropolis. But I've lived in England for some years."
"You've got an accent," Clark agreed. "What did you do in England?"
Lex glanced down at the dashboard, and Clark felt suddenly very self-conscious about the messy interior of the car. There was dust and even some pieces of straw. "I studied," Lex said. "You're going to college in Metropolis?"
Clark laughed. People always thought he was older. "No, highschool. Sophomore year. I just visited a friend of mine in Metropolis." He decided he liked Lex. Clark had always envied Pete his cool older brothers.
"So what's there to see in Smallville?" Lex asked as they drove through town, past the few stores and the one remaining café, the Beanery.
"Nothing." Clark shrugged. "Well, meteors, I guess. Sometimes people come to see Crater Lake. And we've got the only haunted castle in all of Kansas, at least if you believe the Ledger."
Lex was playing absently with one of his rings, but Clark didn't miss the odd frown he wore. "Haunted castle?" he asked, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
"The guy who used to own LuthorCorp – that's, uh, the company that built the fertilizer factory here, but it was closed down – he was a billionaire. He had a castle shipped over from Scotland and rebuilt stone by stone, but halfway through he had an accident and they never finished it. So now we've got a bunch of ruins and a closed down factory. People say the Luthors are bad luck."
"Bad luck," Lex said, in a tone that clearly said he didn't believe in bad luck. "There's no such thing as luck, Clark. But tell me why they say that."
Something about Lex made Clark want to say the right thing, even if he didn't really know an answer. People didn't ask why when it came to bad luck. Particularly not his parents. The Luthors just were bad luck. And Pete's family completely agreed. Every time Clark visited them, he heard Mr Ross curse Lucas Luthor.
"Well, they sort of ruined the Creamed Corn factory we used to have before the fertilizer plant. They cheated the Rosses out of their business the same day the meteors struck down." He glanced sideways at Lex and caught a peculiar expression on his cousin's face. "Yeah, I know. It sounds like we're all superstitious hicks. I'm not saying I believe in it."
"No, go on," Lex said softly. "Some things are becoming much clearer now… go on, Clark."
For a fleeting instant, it felt like a command, but that thought was forgotten as soon as Clark had it. "Well, then Luthor himself died. The Ledger did a big story on the family when the plant was closed down – I read that his wife and one of his sons also died, and another son went missing. And since then, the company has been struggling, and the guy who inherited it, Lucas Luthor, is involved in lots of scandals. That's really all."
"And why do they say that the castle is haunted?"
"Lucas Luthor is trying to sell it, but no one wants to buy it. There've been a couple of accidents. Children and teenagers who snuck onto the premise. People have been attributing all kinds of strange stuff to it." Like meteor mutants. The haunted castle made for a good excuse. Most reasonable people in Smallville probably knew it wasn't true, Clark guessed, but they'd much rather laugh at some superstitious explanation than think about what was really going on.
Lex didn't seem to think it was funny. He only smiled when they drove up Hickory Lane and the farm came into view. "You're not serious," he muttered under his breath.
Clark grabbed his bag and banged the door of the truck shut. Lex followed him, eyeing the barn and the cow pasture with the amused and slightly superior smile of a tourist. "Do my parents know you're coming?" Clark asked, looking over his shoulder. Their eyes met and time seemed to slow down like honey dripping from a spoon.
"No, they don't," Lex replied. "It's a surprise visit."
They walked up the porch and through the unlocked door. "Mom?" Clark yelled. "I'm home. I brought a guest."
Martha met them in the kitchen door. There was a look of confusion on her face when she spotted Lex, but it smoothed out immediately. Lex stepped forward, suddenly all charm. "I'm your nephew, Mrs Kent," he supplied. "Lex."
"Oh," she said, then put down the dishrag she'd been holding. She looked a little lost. "Nice to meet you, Lex."
They shook hands. Clark went for the fridge and used the momentary distraction to steal a can of soda while his Mom wasn't looking. There was a pitcher of homemade lemonade on the table, which she would want him to drink first, but Clark wanted soda.
But it wasn't him she chided. "There'll be dinner in a few minutes, young man," he heard her say sternly but with an edge of amusement, and turned around just in time to see her slap Lex's hands away from the bowl of apples on the table. Lex looked utterly nonplussed to be treated this way. Clark smirked at him and earned himself a narrow glare.
"So, Lex, what brings you here?" Martha asked as she turned back to her mashed potatoes and stew.
She had her back turned to them, but Lex didn't look at her as he answered, instead his eyes caught Clark's and held them. "Family, I suppose."
There were steps on the porch and the thump of Clark's Dad pulling off his boots and dropping them in front of the door before coming in. The screen door rattled as he shut it.
"I saw the truck," he yelled from the living room, even though it was just a few steps from there to the kitchen. "Is Clark back?"
Clark and his Mom shared an amused look. "Yes, Jonathan," she said sweetly. "Behave, we have a guest."
"A guest?" he grunted as he stepped into the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad," Clark said and waited curiously for his reaction to Lex. Lex had to be a relation of his Mom's, no way he was a Kent. He didn't look like someone Jonathan would approve of.
Lex was leaning against the kitchen table, sleek and slightly insolent in his leather jacket, but his voice was all soft politeness as he spoke. "Good evening, Mr Kent."
Clark's Dad nodded at him, even as he wore a puzzled and slightly disapproving frown. Martha turned around and put the stew onto the table. "Lex is my nephew, Jonathan. Melissa's side of the family, right?" she asked Lex.
Lex just nodded at her question, his eyes straying to the pot of steaming stew.
"And what is he doing here?" Clark's Dad questioned as he washed his hands in the sink. Clark felt slightly embarrassed. His Dad could be horribly rude without even trying. In Junior high, Clark had brought over a girl from school whose Dad had managed the LuthorCorp plant for two years until LuthorCorp had him sacked. His Dad had grilled her at least twenty minutes about her Dad's connection with LuthorCorp, and it had taken homemade pie and a tour through the barn to cheer Chloe up again. Clark thought wistfully back to that time when it had been Pete and Chloe and him, almost like a small clique. She had moved back to Metropolis a year before Pete.
"He's just visiting, Jonathan," Martha said patiently. "It'll be nice to have someone over. Especially for Clark."
Lex was suddenly there as Jonathan turned back around from the sink. His expression was apologetic, almost demure, but his voice had none of it. It was low and firm, and suddenly that tone sent shivers down Clark's spine. "I hope I'm not imposing on you, Mr Kent."
Clark's Dad shook his head, like a horse chasing away flies. "No," he muttered. "'course not. Let's have dinner."
They sat down and Clark stated heaping food onto his table. Pete's parents were awesome, but they were both working full-time jobs, and just couldn't cook as well as his Mom. After the first few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, Clark glanced across the table at Lex. Lex was examining the food on his table with great fascination.
"What is it?" Martha asked worriedly. "Is something wrong with the food? Would you like something else? You look like you could use a decent meal. You're a little pale."
"You're not one of those vegetarians, aren't you?" Jonathan demanded mistrustfully.
"It's good," Clark helpfully added.
Lex glanced from one of them to the other, an odd expression on his face that Clark couldn't pin down exactly. Whenever Lex looked straight at him, he seemed confident and straight-forward, but once the eye-contact broke, Clark thought he saw slivers of someone far less certain and self-possessed.
"I'm sure it is, Mrs Kent," Lex said politely. "I'm sorry, it's just been a while since I've eaten something real. I've been travelling for a while."
He ate, then, and seemed to like the food well enough. Clark had to agree with his mom, their guest was decidedly too pale, almost like that guy Byron who had been kept in a cellar by his folks for being a meteor freak.
"Travelling, huh?" Jonathan asked after a few moments. He pointed his fork at Lex. "You do look a little familiar, son. Ever been to Smallville?"
Lex hesitated for a fraction, then shook his head.
Both of Clark's parents claimed they were tired after dinner. Martha told them that Lex could sleep in the guest room and Jonathan reminded Clark of the chores he had to do in the morning, stressing that he had to get up early. Of course, Clark remembered. With a guest in the house, he'd have to do them normal-speed. They stayed behind in the kitchen, Clark doing the dishes and Lex sitting at the table, looking a little stunned still from all the food.
Clark told him about the farm, about life in Smallville, whatever came to his mind that he thought Lex might find at least a bit interesting. He wondered what Lex's family was like, if they were like Grandpa Clark. Probably not. Clark had to admit that he liked Lex's leather jacket and the shades he had worn on the train platform, but he only thought that in the somewhat shameful little corner of his mind that was occupied by the part of him that had rebelled when he wore the red meteor rock class ring. If he'd known Lex then, he'd probably have gotten himself a jacket just like that.
"I could show you your room," Clark offered when he was done with the dishes. It wasn't dark outside yet, but he didn't really know how to entertain Lex now.
"I'm not tired," Lex said, contrary to appearances, and got up gracefully. "Why don't you show me that barn loft you told me about?"
Clark blinked, but nodded his agreement. He'd expected Lex to be tired of him and his boring conversation by now, but Lex's expression said none of that. Instead, he was eyeing Clark like – well, like what? Something interesting, no doubt, as if Clark was… he flushed and turned away. A few people had looked at him like this when he wore the class ring. Jessie for example. And Clark knew what she had wanted. But that couldn't be it.
Lex walked close to him as they crossed the yard and walked over to the farm, close enough for Clark to catch the scent of his leather jacket, mixed with something acrid and burnt, like smoke, but not like the cigarettes a lot of the guys in school smoked. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, just strange.
"So, that's the barn. Our tractor," Clark said with a grand, self-mocking gesture, "and our wood chipper. Fascinating, huh?"
"It must be nice, having this kind of privacy," Lex commented. They mounted the stairs to the loft, Clark going first.
He shrugged. "Yeah, it's cool. I can make all the noise I want here. Not that I make a lot."
"My guardians were very… protective. I didn't get a lot of time alone as a teenager," Lex replied, surprising Clark with his serious tone.
"Your guardians? You didn't grow up with your parents?"
"They died early. I went to boarding school in Britain."
"Oh. Sorry." Clark felt bumbling and tongue-tied all of a sudden, like he did whenever he talked to Lana. But Lex's smile was natural, not as forced as hers usually got when things became awkward between them.
"It's not as tragic as it sounds," Lex assured him, but something twisted in his smile. He walked around the loft, taking in the books and the telescope. "You're adopted, aren't you?"
The unexpected question made Clark tense up. Few people ever mentioned it, and even though Lex couldn't possibly know about Clark's secret, having known him only for a day, Clark felt an irrational surge of fear. "I don't really remember anything but this. I was just a little kid."
Lex walked over to the couch, but sat down only when Clark did so, and then much closer than Clark would have expected. "You don't look like your parents," he said, but although the words made Clark catch his breath, the tone went straight to his stomach, warm and tingling.
"N-no?" Clark croaked.
Lex smiled, quick and secretive, like something just between the two of them. "Well, for one thing, you're a lot more pleasant to talk to than your father."
Clark laughed nervously. "Dad's a bit weird with strangers, sometimes." He thought they were back to safe territory, but there was no such thing.
"This place looks like it is ideal for having a girlfriend over. I hope I'm not in the way of a hot date tonight?"
Clark swallowed convulsively, nearly choking. Oh God, what if he was right? Was Lex coming on to him? What if he was just making certain that they'd be undisturbed? How did you know for certain if someone liked you like that? He felt rooted to the spot, unable to say anything intelligent at all but, "No."
"So it's just the two of us," Lex said silkily. "A bit quiet. Do you have some music?"
Clark was utterly terrified, but at the same time thrilled. This was weird, freaky, Lex was a guy, and older, and sort of a relative, except they weren't really related. But he liked Lex, more than he'd ever liked anyone after just knowing them for half a day, and Clark had this problem where his body didn't really make a difference between guys and girls, well, it was mostly Lana and the rest of the world, but he'd never have a chance with Lana – what was he going to do? Pick music. He didn't have anything cool, and he told Lex so, but Lex just waved a hand.
"Try me."
Try him. Clark pressed play on the CD player, nearly breaking the button. He'd chosen a mix CD at random, something Pete had burned him. Try it. It wasn't like he was a girl, like anything could happen that he didn't want to happen, or like he wasn't a freak already, and this might be the only he chance at trying it he'd get, at least in Smallville. He sat down where he'd sat before, close to Lex, torn between hyperventilating and holding his breath.
"So, uh, do you have a girlfriend?" Clark rushed out, knowing that he was just demonstrating what a big dork he was.
Lex did look surprised for a second, almost baffled, if a minute widening of his eyes could be called that. Then he chuckled. "No, not at the moment."
Okay, that was it. Now Clark really didn't know what to say anymore. The silence would just stretch endlessly until he died of shame or Lex rolled his eyes and gave up on him for being a hopeless bore. Or made up some flimsy excuse for leaving, like Lana would.
"Relax, Clark," Lex said, and oddly, Clark did relax almost instantly. It was okay. No one was going to hurt him. No one could hurt him. He leaned closer, hoping that Lex would do something that wouldn't require them to talk. Like kiss him maybe. Or touch him.
Clark's breath hitched when Lex reached up and touched his chest, just the tips of his fingers searing him through his shirt, soft pinpricks of electric contact. Lex came close until their faces nearly met and Clark lowered his lashes and shivered as he could feel breath not his own stroke over his wet lips. Then suddenly Lex pushed, not hard, merely a suggestion of a push and Clark tumbled backwards, finding himself on his back on the couch, Lex crawling over him, straddling his belly, his weight barely felt but the warmth and hardness of his thighs all the more tangible to Clark. He was suddenly and painfully hard and at the same time terrified, his heart hammering in his chest.
He forced himself to look up at Lex's face and his heart nearly stopped. Lex's expression had turned from a sly smile to an inscrutable mask and his eyes were a sharp, cold grey, almost silver.
"Tell me the truth," Lex said calmly, his hand still on Clark's chest, just over his heart.
"Lex?" Clark stuttered, and it took an effort to make himself say that, to get past the haziness that was threatening to fall over him. Only his fear and his unrelenting desire kept his mind sharp and frantic.
"You're special, Clark. You're different. Tell me what you are."
Clark lifted a hand. It felt like lead, worse than lead, like something that didn't even belong to him. He couldn't make it lift. Something held him down more effectively than a meteor rock chain could have, only it didn't hurt, it just felt warm and dull and heavy. He tried to raise his voice, call for help maybe, but he could even make himself heard over the soft music.
Lex's lips thinned. "Don't make this harder than it needs be, Clark. What are you? I can feel no magic from you. That's very peculiar. All things have magic. All human things."
Every burning word Lex spoke tore at Clark's throat. His own words spilled out heavy and hot like blood. "I'm not human."
Clark keened, tried to struggle, tried to unsay it, but he was paralyzed.
"Good. Now tell me what you are."
Clark's eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and sobbed out, "Alien. I'm… I'm an alien."
No further questions came, and the stifling warmth abated. Clark's eyes snapped open. Lex was looking down at him with slight disbelief. Then he reached inside his leather jacket and procured something – a small knife, like a letter opener. A dagger. He took one of Clark's sluggish hands and ran the blade over his palm. It should have been dulled by Clark's skin, but instead it cut, drawing blood. Clark stared at it in horror while Lex lifted the hand to his face and sniffed the blood, frowning. Then he whispered a few words, his breath ghosting over Clark's palm, cooling the cut and the pain, and Clark couldn't help but twitch, the sensation going straight to his groin and to the roof of his mouth, a trail of tickling pleasure.
The tickling didn't stop. His palm grew very warm, then hot. The blood started to bubble as if it were boiling, then a faint mist rose from it, glittering in the after sunset twilight of the barn. Lex was still whispering, the strange words caressing the mist. It formed something, not a ring, but a sphere, and smaller spheres circling it slowly. A star system.
Lex exhaled in soft surprise and the mist vanished. The cut on Clark's palm was gone as if it had never been there.
"You are an alien," Lex said slowly. "I've never met one. But then it's not you who I came looking for. I thought it might be you, that maybe you were powerful enough to hide your magic from me."
Clark tried to form a question, but could only gasp helplessly. Lex's frown returned. "So the haunted house story wasn't just a distraction." He put the dagger back into his jacket and slipped off the couch to stand next to it. Clark squirmed, but he still couldn't move properly. Lex knelt down, putting his face close to Clark's.
"I'm a wizard. I could take your memory, Clark. Your parents', too. But I don't like doing that. It's been done to me too many times, and I've spent too much time recovering my stolen memories. Let's have a deal instead. A mutual agreement of silence."
He wasn't really Clark's cousin, and he knew his secret, and he'd lied to him all night and forced him to tell the truth right now, and Clark had wanted him to kiss him, and he was a wizard. Clark wanted to scream, but he still couldn't.
Lex waited for a moment, then got up with a sigh. "For what it's worth, thanks for dinner. Be more careful with strangers, Clark. Particularly if they're family."
Then he turned, and with each step he took down the stairs something lifted off Clark. By the time Lex had left the barn, Clark managed to sit up shakily. He was trembling all over with panic and terror and felt like he might be sick and he was still panting at the memory of Lex's breath brushing over his palm.
He needed to tell his parents, wake them up right now – Clark stumbled off the couch, but before he made it to the stairs, there was a fluttering noise behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and flinched. A raven had settled onto the window frame by the telescope, black as a piece of night, its talons clicking against the wood. Clark moved towards it. It didn't fly away, just opened its beak and gave a hoarse cry.
Clark turned off the music and switched on the light. It was almost dark, and this was creepy. The bird didn't fly away. It just stared at him with small, fathomless black eyes, tilting its head from side to side as if saying, "I can see you."
Clark sank back onto the couch. The raven was watching him. Watching to see if he'd tell anyone. He drew a shaky breath. But he was an alien. And there were odd things happening in Smallville all the time. People turning into monsters because of space rocks. Was magic really that more unlikely?
"Okay," Clark said. "Okay. I'm not telling anyone."
The raven tilted its head a few more times, hopping left and right on its wooden perch, then spread its wings and flew off into the night with a witch-like cry. Clark let himself fall back onto the couch. He lifted his hand and looked at his palm, where the knife had cut him as if he were human. He traced the spotless skin. For a second it had felt so good… he groaned. How could he think that? Lex was a monster, some kind of criminal, and Clark should be scared to death that Lex would expose him, which he was, but that alone wasn't enough to quench the desire Lex had roused.
Closing his eyes in shame, Clark touched the heel of his hand to his groin, pressing it against his half-hard erection. He arched into the touch and whimpered. God, no. He was a freak. The low sound of Lex's voice echoed in his ears as he rubbed himself through his jeans, and the fleeting impression of the surprise on Lex's face when Clark told him the truth, the utter lack of fear or disgust, sent a first wave of raw pleasure through him. The scent, that inhuman scent of something burnt, alien, just like Clark. The touch of his fingers, Lex's weight on him, the knife cutting his palm – Clark came violently and painfully and for a second as he lay panting and spent, felt as weak as a human being.
The night air cooled the wet stain at his groin, and Clark turned to lie on his belly, pressing his face against the crook of his arm. His head felt foggy with sleep and he gave into it for the sake of forgetting.
But the night seemed to last no longer than a few minutes. Sunshine tickled his nose, and the air was full of bird-song and morning sounds. Clark got up, blinking, but he felt fresh and awake now. Then he startled.
He wasn't alone. There was a girl sitting on the windowsill, one knee drawn up against her chest, her heavy boot resting on the window frame, thin pale arms wrapped around her bent leg. She wore black jeans, and a simple white T-shirt, and her hair was the wildest mane of black Clark had ever seen. Presently she rested her chin on her knee and tilted her head to look at him, smiling.
Clark wanted to smile back. "How did you get in here?" he asked.
Her smile showed teeth, an infectious grin. She had a clear, strong voice that sounded as if it was ready to turn into a laugh at any time. "I waited till you fell asleep," she said very reasonably. "It's the closest you will ever get to dying. I'm sure my little brother doesn't mind me borrowing his realm."
"Who are you?"
She hopped off the windowsill and walked over to him, extending a small hand. Her face was chalk white, but her cheeks were full and soft, radiating life even through deathly pallor. Clark took her hand, let himself be pulled up with surprising strength. Standing, he towered over the girl and she craned her head and laughed.
"Let's take a walk."
They walked outside, her hand in his, tiny cool fingers twining with his larger ones. The house was gone, and so was the vegetable patch and the sunflowers, and even the shed and the cow pasture. There wasn't a single piece of the fence left, and the road was overgrown with grass. The tip of every green blade in the endless fields around them was shimmering in a golden hue, and so was the sky.
"I'm dreaming," Clark realized.
"Something like that," she agreed and strode purposefully into one direction. He followed her. "I'm Death, by the way."
Clark walked with Death for a while, trying to find any kind of landmark in the distance. There were clouds up ahead, high in the sky, their fringes tinged rosy and gold. It was very warm, and when the sun came forth behind a cloud, it was huge and red.
"I kind of like you," Death said all of a sudden. "Even though you're a bit glum. Reminds me of my little brother. Too bad you and I are not meant to be. There aren't a lot of likeable immortals for an Endless to hang out with."
Clark stopped still, letting go of her hand. "Immortal?" he whispered.
"Pretty much," she agreed.
"So Cassandra…," Clark couldn't finish the sentence, choking on the words.
"Got it right," she agreed. "Sweet lady. One of the few who didn't complain when I visited. You know that it's rare, don't you? Truly wanting to die. Most people are terribly afraid of me, for no good reason at all. But you're afraid of just the opposite."
"Everyone's going to die before me," Clark said miserably. He'd never said it out loud like that, but who could he tell if not Death? "I don't want to live if everyone I love, everyone I know is dead."
"You want to be like them," she nodded. "You're afraid to be alone."
He nodded. Death nodded, too, curt and decisive. They walked some more, then she flopped down on the ground and patted the short grass next to her. Clark sat down where she wanted him to sit. It felt nice to have the warm wind stroke his face and let the red sun soak into his skin. He felt wonderfully tired.
"The good news is, there are other people with the same problem. Quite a number of them, actually."
"People like me?" Clark said breathlessly.
"Well, that's the bad news," Death shrugged. "Most of them aren't nice people like you. But would that make it better? To have a companion in sorrow?"
"Someone who's like me?"
"Someone who's there with you, until the sweet end, as a friend and as an enemy, but always as a companion."
Clark couldn't really imagine it. People would still die. He'd still go on living forever. Did one person make a difference? But the answer was easy, really. If it was one person or no one at all, if the alternative was solitude, then the difference was infinite.
Death leaned close, glancing around as if making sure no one listened in on them, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Here's a little secret," she whispered into his ear.
*
Clark woke with a start to the feeling of rain on his skin and the taste of blood and ashes in his mouth. He was dry, but outside rain was pattering down. The light was still on in the barn, and the night outside pitch-black.
Had he really just dreamed of Death? The girl in his dream hadn't exactly been the Grim Reaper, but he remembered clearly ever word of their conversation. It wasn't like dreams usually felt. He rubbed his eyes.
She'd told him to go to the ruins of the Luthor castle before dawn if he wanted to meet someone who wouldn't die, just like him. It sounded like some kind of fairy tale. If you want to know who your true love will be… Why there? The place was a magnet for meteor mutants. Maybe it was a mutant. Clark was in enough trouble already, with a wizard who knew his secret running around.
But he couldn't not go. He'd only ever met three meteor mutants who had been friendly. But Cassandra and Ryan had died, and Kyle Tippet had left and Clark hadn't heard of him since. He wanted to meet someone who'd stay, who wouldn't leave like Pete and Chloe and Lana, like everyone else eventually would. And that was exactly what Death had promised him, wasn't it? Someone who'd never leave him. Someone who'd never be part of Clark's endless graveyard.
Switching off the light, Clark ran out into the rain and let it wash away the last dregs of his strange dream as he ran towards the mansion.
TBC
