Clouds Up

by Rednih

The world is a scary place, even if your name isn't 'Luthor.' A spin-off of CFMWH, Lucas POV.

Going for a walk was nice. He stepped off the property sometime after 2:04 in the afternoon, and walked to the town on foot.

Lex always used to give him funny looks when he wore sneakers, but these days he gave him funny looks if he didn't wear them. He liked sneakers, though, especially the blue ones Lin had bought him.

After he'd just crossed the main street, several cars and trucks came driving down it from the direction of the school. Their school day must have been over, and he assumed the students were now done until Monday. Kids didn't go to school on Saturdays or Sundays. He remembered that much.

Reaching out, he gripped the door handle on the right side and pulled. The door came open, and he stepped around it and went inside the coffee shop. He liked the smell of coffee, and the Lady would usually have a large pot of the stuff already made when he came down to the kitchen in the morning.

He looked around, and then moved up to the counter where you were supposed to order the drink you wanted made for you. There was a long list posted high up on the wall behind the girl who was working, and he read it silently. Then, leaning forward a little like Lex did, he asked, "Could you make me a large White Mocha please?"

The girl tilted her head to the side. She punched some buttons on the cash register between them, then smiled at him warmly.

"Did you want that for here or to go?" she asked in return. Then, not waiting for his answer, she went right on ahead and asked him, "If that's all for you?"

"I'm going to stay here and read the local newspaper, so. . . for here," he told her, not forgetting to smile, and her own smile became wider in response. "Just the coffee for right now," he added, answering her other question.

She chuckled a little, then moved a piece of hair behind her ear. "Um, so that's $4.00 then," she told him, glancing between the screen attached to the register and his face.

"Here you go," he replied, holding out a five dollar bill and then leaving his hand up on the counter while she got ready to give him back the change. She laid a one dollar bill across his palm, and he thought maybe her holding the underside of his hand with her other one wasn't entirely impersonal. He smiled at her again, and she tried to tuck her hair back behind her ear, even though it was still back there from when she'd done it a minute ago.

The door chime went off as several people came inside the shop. He recognized one of the boys as being the driver of the black Ford Ranger outside, and guessed this group was the one that had come down the street just a few minutes ago. They looked to be about his and Lin's age, and he moved farther down the counter.

The same girl who had taken his order took theirs also, and then all but two or three of the group went and sat down in the other room. He took the opportunity to walk over to the magazine rack and pick out the most recent edition of the Smallville Ledger. It was a small paper, not nearly as much to it as the Daily Planet or the Gotham Globe, but he liked reading about the town in which he was now living. He liked knowing what was going on.

"Mr., uh, Luthor?" someone called, and he turned around with the paper in his hand to see the girl behind the counter holding out a mug towards him. Her face was red and she was smiling, but he thought it more likely a nervous gesture than an actual smile. She kept glancing between him, the countertop, and the group of teenagers nearby.

"Thank you," he said, tucking the Ledger under his arm and coming forward to take the mug from her hand. She didn't try to touch him any more than necessary this time, and he thought it had probably just been his imagination that had made him think she'd done so earlier. He waited until she looked up at him again, then smiled and told her, "My name's Lucas Dunleavy, though, not Luthor."

She bit her lip, and turned even redder, but he thought she didn't mind the correction all that much. She smiled back at him and he raised his coffee to her before turning and walking into the other room.

The group of teenagers were all sprawled out across the sofa and nearby chairs, so he went over to one of the small tables by the windows and sat down. As he started in on the front page articles, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a few people looking at him. They looked confused, and he thought it probably had something to do with the fact that his last name wasn't Luthor and they'd just learned that.

Soon enough, though, the three teenagers who'd been waiting at the counter came over and joined the rest of the group. They passed out drinks and sat and perched and all of them talked loudly and laughed.

He got through the first page of the paper, then moved steadily through the rest. There was a section towards the back that he always liked. It had people write in to thank members of the community for this or that. His favorites were the letters thanking people for their well-wishes during an illness. Somehow that made him feel good about Smallville, that it was a place where people sent you cards and food and helped out when you were sick. It was a nice town, he thought. He liked it here.

Suddenly there was a shadow across the table, and when he looked up he met the eyes of a couple of the teenagers. The rest were still sitting down, but all of them were looking this way.

"Excuse me," the girl said, and he turned away from looking at the others to focus on her.

She was very pretty, and very small. Her voice was pretty too, and her clothes. She was, in every way he could see so far, a very attractive person.

"My name's Lana, and this is my boyfriend Whitney," she said, gesturing to the equally attractive blonde boy standing next to her. "We saw you sitting over here, and were wondering if you were a new student in town?" She smiled at him, and it was just as lovely as the rest of her. "You're welcome to join us, you know."

The boy beside her wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and he knew what was being said without it being said at all. She'd said 'boyfriend' when introducing the other boy, which meant he could look at her, but he couldn't touch her. The boyfriend was the same boy who'd been driving the black truck, who'd been waiting up at the counter. He also wore some kind of special jacket with logos and symbols on it. It wasn't a very attractive jacket, by any means, but he supposed it was important. All the other boys in the shop were wearing one too.

"Yeah," the boy said. "Come on over, man. You from the city?"

He looked down at his finished paper, and closed it. Then, with a quick smile, he pushed his chair back and stood. He braced himself on the backrest of the chair and smiled at the couple.

"I'm not actually a student here, no. I live up in the castle," he told them, and watched in confusion as their happy expressions vanished. "My father used to own it, but Lex basically gave it to me. They don't really like it," he confided, still trying to get those happy, young smiles back. "But it's nice. Big." He shrugged, remembering Lian did that when he ran out of things to say.

The boy had a funny look on his face, like Lex's when he saw the sneakers, but the girl looked intrigued. Curious. She smiled again, if a little nervously, and asked softly, "Your father, he was. . . Lionel Luthor?"

He knew he should smile at that point; everything always went better if you smiled.

He nodded, moving his lips up and trying. The boy looked vaguely sick, and the girl looked sad.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm already certified from secondary school, though, so. . . no Smallville High Crows for me."

The girl, Lana, she laughed and he found himself smiling back in return. The boy nodded at him, not overtly rude in any real way, but uncomfortable. He knew how he felt. Talking about Lionel made everyone uncomfortable.

"Well, you'll have to come to a game sometime," Lana said, giving them all a way to change the conversation. "Whitney's the point guard. He could probably tell you which team we're most likely to beat." She smiled up at her boyfriend, and Whitney grinned down at her affectionately. It was nice. They were nice.

"Granville's always easy," Whitney said, turning back to him. "That one's a home game too, so you'd see the school if you came."

"Thanks," he offered. "Probably wouldn't hurt to get out a little more." He glanced around the coffee shop, noting the teenagers over on the couches staring their way, as well as the girl behind the counter and a couple other customers. He huffed a little laugh, then said, "Let myself be seen, since everyone's so. . . curious."

Lana laughed again, bright and girlish, and even Whitney smiled a bit.

"I'm Lucas, by the way," he told them, suddenly remembering he'd never introduced himself.

"Well, Lucas," Lana said, sliding an arm behind Whitney's back. "You're still welcome to join us. No better time than the present to dive on into Smallville society." She raised her eyebrows at the last and he got that she was mocking everyone for staring.

"Sure," he said. "Although the only things I really know about are books and cars."

Whitney did a double take when he said 'cars,' but Lana just rolled her eyes as they moved and started walking back over to the others in their group. He followed behind, leaving the paper, but taking his coffee.

"You'll do just fine then," she said. "Talk about cars with the boys, then come over and you and I can actually use our brains a little. You read poetry at all?"

"Does Plath count?"

Lana smiled, laughing. She reached over and smacked him on the arm, and now it was Whitney's turn to roll his eyes.

"Better you than me, man," he told him, and Lucas sat down next to him on the sofa and smiled back.

***

The tour was scheduled for a Friday.

It was to be the first tour of the Plant given since the company had changed hands. It was the first public exposure of ELD Inc. period. Lex had to be there, and as acting chief of all western Kansas Plants, Lucas had to be in attendance as well.

They'd started meeting about it three months ago, in the large office in Metropolis. Normally, that room was used for board meetings, which Lucas was allowed to attend but never did. But Lex was determined this event would be a success. He'd brought in a lot of people to consult: planners, board members, different department heads. He'd planned out every detail, every step.

At first, Lex's perfectionism was just annoying, but soon it became infuriating and actually somewhat worrying. If something did go wrong, however minute in the overall scheme of things, Lucas had no doubt Lex would blame himself.

Or he'd somehow blame Lionel, and then blame himself.

"I think the schedule is just fine the way it is," Lucas had offered at the final meeting. "There are no conflictions. What's wrong with it?"

"No," Lex had responded. He'd shaken his head and stood up. "It's not looking how I want it to. Something's. . . something's missing. I'm not sure, can't put my finger on it, but something's not working here."

"It will be fine. We're going through the practice run, just like you wanted. If there's a problem, most likely we'll see it then."

"I hate this," Lex had told him quietly. He'd paced over to one of the walls of windows, and had put a hand out to touch one pane. The board room had been empty by that point, only Lex and Lucas still there going over and over the agenda repeatedly.

"Hate what, exactly?" Lucas had asked in response. "Planning?"

"No," and Lex had shaken his head again, his reflection showing the sadness on his face. "I hate all this pandering, the talking and schmoozing and bullshitting. These photo-ops, they're disgusting."

Lucas had then set his pen down, had taken in the way Lex was standing and the set of his jaw and shoulders.

"They're necessary," Lucas had said. "You don't follow the rules, and you'll end up regretting it."

That was when Lex had turned around. He'd still had a hand bracing himself against the window, but he'd been looking back at Lucas over his shoulder.

"What does that mean?" he'd asked, almost angrily. "Or do I not want to know?"

"You probably don't want to know," Lucas had agreed. "But we have to do this, so stop complaining."

Lex had given a short chuckle to that and had then pushed away from the windows. He'd come back over the table, but hadn't sat down.

"Sometimes you scare me, Lucas."

Lucas remembered looking up at Lex and smiling.

"Sometimes that's the point," he'd confided, knowing he'd been right to admit it when Lex had grinned back at him.

***

"How are the troops?" Lex yelled over the loud spinning of the helicopter's blades.

"All assembled, and awaiting your command," Lucas retorted.

Lex laughed delightedly, slinging his arm around Lucas' shoulder as they ran across the landing pad towards the Plant entrance.

"Great," Lex said. "Everything's going well so far. I see the press is already chomping at the bit."

One of Lex's assistants had gone ahead of them and was holding the door open. Lucas let Lex go in first, then said when they were both inside, "The first van showed up two hours ago."

"Which group is that?" Lex asked.

"Channel 5," Lucas answered. "Metropolis," he added redundantly.

Lex smiled again, then, as they'd reached Lucas' office, took a right and went inside. Lucas followed, as did the same assistant who'd opened the door for them out on the landing pad.

"Thanks, Lanie," Lex told her. "Why don't you go check on the reception area? Make sure all your hard work has paid off."

Lanie nodded, going back to the door and closing it behind herself as she left the room. Lex turned to Lucas.

"Ready?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

Lucas nodded. "I was born ready," he said deadpan, smiling when Lex snorted and his cheeks turned red as he laughed.

"You've been watching action movies again, haven't you?" he asked rhetorically. He shook his head and took off his suit jacket, folding it inside out and laying it down on Lucas' desk. "Diehard?" he guessed.

Lucas shrugged. "Terminator, actually. I like the villains."

"Machines, right?" Lex asked, even though he knew perfectly well what the plot was. Lex always did that with him, though. He did that with all of them to a certain extent, but most often with Lucas.

It wasn't a game, or a ploy, but almost like a test of some sort. He always waited to hear what Lucas thought before volunteering any information. In meetings, especially for this big tour and expo, he'd always asked Lucas his opinion before asking anyone else's. It was strange. Something about it bothered Lucas, but he couldn't say what exactly.

"Yes," Lucas said. "Skynet and the T-1000 and Arnold Schwarzenegger. And Linda Hamilton."

Lex smiled, but it wasn't really genuine. Lucas could tell the difference. This one was just a reflex, just Lex trying to play normal. It was confusing sometimes. Lex acted more than he just was most of the time, and trying to take cues from him was tricky. Sometimes Lex laughed and smiled when no one else would have, and when Lucas imitated him people gave him funny looks.

But Lex was strange like that, and it seemed like most people expected it. Lex did it and people found it interesting and acceptable. Lucas did it and people moved away or grimaced awkwardly.

"So did you like the first movie or the second movie more?" Lex asked, sitting down in the chair behind Lucas' desk. Lucas took that as a sign and carefully lowered himself into one of the other chairs.

"I liked both movies," he replied, confusedly. "Am I supposed to prefer one over the other?"

"No, not necessarily," Lex answered. "It's just a lot of people do. I myself always liked the first one, but most seem to think the second's better."

Lucas shrugged, looking away from where Lex was staring at him, and instead focusing on his hands.

"I think both movies are entertaining," Lucas finally offered. "They're different. I don't see how it's possible to compare them."

"Interesting," Lex said, and Lucas could hear the smile in his voice.

Again, like a test. Lucas often wondered if he were passing.

***

"Mr. Luthor!" shouted one reporter, louder than the others. Lucas saw Lex's head turn, that calculating look in his eye as he looked towards the man who'd just shouted. "Mr. Luthor!"

"Yes," Lex acknowledged, pointing to the man. "You, there."

"Do you consider today a success? And what was it you were hoping to get out of such an event?"

"Besides your goodwill, Mr. Layton?" Lex joked, and the room laughed. He waited a moment or two for the laughter to die down, his expression turning serious. Then Lex gave a sigh and briefly chewed on his lower lip, his hands curling around to grip the edge of the podium tightly. "Truthfully," he said, looking at the reporter, Layton, but then also making eye contact around the room, "the goal was distancing, distancing ELD Inc. in the public's mind from that of my father's company." At those words, the cameras began flashing more, and chatter started up on the floor again.

"Distancing from Luthorcorp itself," another voice shouted out, "or you from your father?"

Again, Lex chewed on his lip before answering. Lucas had never seen him do that before.

"Both," he said quietly, and suddenly the room was virtually silent. The clicking and snapping of the photographers' cameras was still quite loud, but all the people were quiet. Everyone was focused on Lex.

Lex gave one of those fake smiles. "We all know today was more than just a school fieldtrip. This was the culmination of months of hard work and planning, and, to answer Mr. Layton's question: I do consider it a success. I trust we all learned something today, both about the goings-on in a fertilizer plant like this one, and also something of how this company functions at its basic level. ELD Inc. is not Luthorcorp. It is neither run by the same men, nor does it conduct business in the same manner. We pride ourselves on ethically and efficiently achieving our goals. I may be CEO of this company, but I'm not the only person in the boat. I like being able to sleep at night. I like being certain that the company I'm a part of is not in the business of ruining lives for personal gain. I think we all like that. In the business world, it's something quite new and refreshing." Lex chuckled, and several of the other people on the platform followed suit. Some of the reporters on the floor applauded, and when Lucas looked at their faces, he saw openness and curiosity there, not doubt or derision.

The reporters began shouting out their questions again, and Lucas caught one familiar voice amongst them. He was standing behind Lex, to his left along the back wall, but when he heard that particular man, he rushed up and put a hand on Lex's shoulder.

Lex startled, but turned his head and covered the microphone. Lucas moved close enough so that what he was about to say wouldn't be overheard.

"It's time to go," he whispered into Lex's ear. "No more questions."

Lex frowned, but nodded. Lucas moved back to the wall, just as Lex started speaking to the room again.

"I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short," he said lightly. "It is Friday, after all. I'm sure I'm not the only one looking forward to getting out of here." More laughter, and Lex stepped back with a final congenial wave to the press. Everyone on the platform started moving towards the exit, but Lucas stayed put, taking in the faces of the crowd. Reporters and photographers were all gathering up their things and making for the doors, but he caught sight of the one he was looking for easily enough.

With one last look in the man's direction, Lucas crossed the stage and exited back out into the hallway. Several people were standing around talking, but he made his way past them towards his office.

When he opened the door, it was just Lex and his assistant Lanie again. Lex finished what he'd been saying, and then Lanie left the room without him even needing to tell her.

"Well, what was that about?" Lex demanded. "I trust your judgment, but I'd appreciate knowing why-- "

"Thom Aerson was in that room," Lucas interrupted. "Fourth row, left side, third seat from the center aisle." Lex was silent, his mouth downturned and his forehead furrowed in anger. "I thought it prudent to leave on a high note before he turned it ugly."

"Jesus," Lex whispered, stunned. He brought a hand up to his chin and rubbed it back and forth across his face. "That was a close one then."

Lucas nodded.

"Thank you," Lex suddenly said, meeting his eyes. "I had no idea he was there. No one else did either, obviously."

"That's my job," Lucas replied. "I know what goes on in this Plant. I know what goes on in all the Plants in my area." He waited, but Lex didn't say anything. "That's what you hired me for," he gently reminded him.

Lex's mouth twitched, but he didn't really smile. "That, and other things," he eventually said.

Lucas smiled at that. "That's what family's for," Lucas offered. "I'm supposed to look out for you. We're all in that same boat."

"And thank God we all know how to swim," Lex added.

***

It wasn't until Julian actually said it out loud that Lucas realized he wasn't normal. But then, of course normal people didn't walk around when they were asleep, and certainly a normal person's dreams didn't come true.

Normal people had nightmares, though. That was a fact. Lucas had looked it up in encyclopedias, and he'd asked Julian's head doctor just to be sure, but he'd already remembered that from when he'd been young. The old couple with the cats, well, the old lady actually had told him not to worry about bad dreams. He remembered that even now, how she'd touched his back and smoothed his hair down and how she had always put a glass of water on the little table next to his bed.

Having nightmares was okay. It wasn't normal, but normal people had them. There was a distinction there, and Lucas knew it, even if he couldn't understand it. Animals had nightmares too, and even aliens. Lucas was positive of that.

But normal people did not wake up in places different from where they went to sleep, and normal people did not float when they slept, and normal people most certainly did not dream things that came true after they dreamed them. Julian was adamant about the 'sleepwalking,' but Lucas knew enough to infer about the rest of it.

When Julian was 13 years old, he told Bruce and Alfred that he didn't need to go to therapy any longer. That always puzzled Lucas because Julian chose to make his announcement in the middle of Christmas dinner, and it seemed a very inappropriate time to discuss such a topic. It seemed especially inappropriate for Julian, considering he was always so sensitive about manners and protocol.

But apparently, for normal people, there was always a hidden meaning to everything as well. Normal people never just explicitly said whatever it was they wanted to say. They played games, word games, and layered words upon words like cake frosting on top of cake.

So when Julian was 13, and he looked at Bruce and Alfred and told them he didn't need to go to any more sessions with Dr. Daniel Tucker, it took awhile for Lucas to understand what was going on. Eventually he made sense of it, with a little help from Lin.

When he'd first come Outside, and lived in Bruce's house with all those Luthors and those Waynes, Lucas had been afraid. He hadn't liked Nature, or the Dark, or even television much. He could remember always having to reach for Lin when they stepped across the threshold of Bruce's house. And he remembered being asked, by all of them, how he was sleeping. And that, there, was another example of the conversation layering normal people just effortlessly did. They never just asked, 'Are you sleeping the whole night through?' or, 'Do you have nightmares?'

And no one ever, ever asked Lucas, ever, what it was he dreamed of at night, not even Lin.

People always stacked their conversations on top of each other. They were always really saying twice as much as it seemed they were saying.

And Lucas just could not understand how normal people did that.

He was intelligent, and he had a wide vocabulary, and he was usually confident that he had all the facts, but when he talked to people he knew he came across as weird and simple. He blamed it on the hidden conversation layer he was missing.

His cake had no frosting. Lucas didn't even like frosting, but normal people did apparently. Apparently, normal people were only normal if they could have more than one conversation at a time.

Lex was normal. He and Bruce were so normal, the two of them could hold several conversations at once. Their cake was one of those tiered ones people ate at wedding receptions.

Julian was normal, and so was Lin. Lin, who wasn't even Homo sapiens, was more normal than Lucas.

It made Lucas feel bad. He felt jealous, and insecure, and wrong.

But even if he couldn't talk like a normal person, he knew he looked like one, and he knew how to act like one. He didn't sleep right, but his smile worked on everybody just fine. His smile sometimes worked better than Lex's, sometimes, and he could be proud of that at least. He could use that, work with it, distract people when he needed to. That's all talking was really, distraction. Since normal people never really said what they thought, what they did say served as a disguise. They hid the truth in their layers of words and hoped no one would be able to find it.

Lucas certainly couldn't. He just showed his hand to everyone, and when they gave him weird looks he smiled at them. Most times, they forgot easily enough and gave him one of their own little smiles in return.

Lucas never slept with anyone besides Lin. He started locking his bedroom door at night once he figured out unlocking it was too complex a task for his sleepwalking self to muddle through. So far, it had worked. He had a fear that one night he'd jump out the window or something, but he'd deal with that when, and if, it came up. For now, he was relatively certain that none of the house staff knew anything about him not being normal, and that was the way he was going to keep it.

***

He'd woken himself up at six o'clock that morning, and had completed the normal ablutions before dressing. His eyes hurt somewhat, a stinging ache, but there was no redness or swelling so Lucas determined it couldn't be anything very serious. He'd decided since today was a Friday, he would wear the dark purple shirt with the dark grey suit. People most often looked twice when he wore the purple, and Fridays meant friends with no school for two days and dinner somewhere else every night.

He descended the stairs, and received the double takes like he'd expected. They weren't the right kind, though, and as he proceeded towards the kitchen and the Lady's waiting coffee, Lucas realized his hands were. . . sweating.

The faces weren't happy, or envious, or lustful. No one greeted him, and they all rushed past, no lingering to try and gain his favor. Not even the Palmers gave more than a few awkward nods before quickly moving away down the hall. The Palmers always said hello, and the girl always, every single time, tried to somehow touch Lucas on his arm or his shoulder or once on his hand.

Lucas eventually reached the kitchen, and he straightened his back and took a deep breath in before going inside. The Lady was there, Martha, and she did have coffee sitting hot on the counter for him. He put on a smile for her, not one of his best but. . .

And then she smiled back, and he released the air he'd been holding in his lungs.

"Good morning, Lucas," the Lady greeted him.

He sat down on one of the stools surrounding the center counter, taking his suit jacket off and laying it carefully on the stool next to him.

The Lady looked at him again, before chuckling a little and shaking her head.

"What?" Lucas asked, gulping at the coffee and trying to ignore the fact that not only were his hands sweating, but now they were also shaking ever so slightly.

The Lady just kept on smiling, but he noticed it starting to wilt around the edges. She was trying to be cheerful just like he was, but wasn't doing any better job of it.

"Just, not often do you see a man wearing a three-piece suit these days," the Lady observed. She took a sip of her own coffee before lowering it again. "It's wonderful. You look very. . . dashing, Lucas."

This time, her smile was more genuine and he thanked her by imitating it back to her.

"Well, thank you," he replied. "I've never been called 'dashing' before." He tilted his head like Lex often did when thinking, saying, "I rather like it, I think."

The Lady laughed briefly, but soon it too faded.

"Martha," Lucas said, "what's going on? Everyone is acting so strange this morning. Did. . . something happen?"

The Lady took a deep breath, Lucas could actually hear her lungs expanding without even trying, then looked him square in the eye and said, "Someone, or someones, unknown graffitied the castle last night." She stopped then, still looking at him very closely, and he realized she was waiting for some sort of response from him.

"Where?" he asked, molding his face into the mask of confusion normal people wore at times like this, times when they weren't sure what was happening around them. "And what is it? What was. . . graffitied onto the castle?"

The Lady sighed, looking very sad. Then she stood up from where she'd been leaning on the counter. She set down her coffee mug and so he did too.

"Come," she said bluntly. "I'll show you."

Lucas followed her outside, once again marveling at the overwhelming color of the world during this time of the year. It had officially been autumn for three days now, and walking on the ground was now like walking on a sea of dry, crackling fire. The great trees scattered everywhere unfortunately resembled skeletons, but the colorful leaves made up for it. Come winter, there would be glittering snow and clouds so low and thick even normal people would feel like they could touch them.

The Lady led them around to the east side of the castle, not very far in fact from Lucas' bedroom three storeys above. There, apparently burned into the old brick was. . .

Lucas swallowed, and the Lady must have sensed something, for she came closer to him. She set her hand on his arm gently, comfortingly.

"I've already contacted your lawyers," the Lady told him quietly. "They're sending some expert to come and document it, and then a. . . consultant of some kind will speak to you about replacing the brick." She turned to face him fully, both hands coming up to his shoulders, and it took Lucas aback for a brief second to realize she was actually shorter than him. She didn't seem small. . . but she was.

"Now, you listen to me, Lucas," the Lady said sternly. "I know what's burned into that wall, but I also know it's absolute garbage. Don't you dare believe it." She shook him a little. "It's not true. You hear me?"

Lucas dropped his eyes down from the wall to meet hers. He went about reassuring her by setting one of his hands atop one of hers. He put on a weak little smile and nodded none too confidently. He let her see doubt and hurt in his expression, and could tell the exact second she believed it.

"Well," she said, pushing the air forcibly from her body, and returning to his side. She left one hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, but said, "Don't you worry about this. We'll take care of it, and soon it will look good as new. Or, old, considering it's a. . . castle." She shot another smile at him and he caught it out of the corner of his eye, nodding his head as he continued staring at the. . . graffiti.

"I have to go to work," Lucas said into the silence a few minutes later. He felt the Lady's nod, and took it upon himself to start back towards the kitchen first.

When they reached the side entrance from which they'd left, Lucas stopped and turned around, waiting for the Lady to catch up. She walked up to him slowly, that effortless look of confusion on her face, in her posture, radiating from her whole being.

Because she was normal, and normal people didn't have to think about feeling. They just did it automatically.

Lucas was careful not to let his face become too blank because that tended to unsettle people. He scrunched his eyebrows and let his eyes tear up a little, let his mouth turn down at the corners. He looked worried, concerned, like anyone would be.

"I don't. . . Martha," he said in a low voice, full of shock. "Please don't, if anyone calls. . . Lex or. . . Lin. . . please don't mention this at all. I don't want them to know. It'd just make them worry."

The Lady nodded understandingly, reaching up to pat his arm again. "I won't say a word," she promised. Then she smiled a little before going around him and back into the kitchen.

Of all the things that could have possibly been burned into the side of the castle, the word 'FREAK' in 36' block letters wasn't nearly the worst or most degrading. At least there were no pictures.

On his drive to the Plant, Lucas at one point found himself rubbing his eyes again. He quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned the engine off. Then he just sat looking at his right hand, the one he'd been using to maul his eyes.

Well, that would explain how someone had managed to get past and elude security for the time it would have taken to literally burn that word into brick. The culprit had already been on the property, and in fact lived on the property. It also explained the lack of chemical residue and fire spreading that would have been a result of anyone else perpetrating this particular act.

Normal people didn't have to think about how they should be acting nearly every second of every day, and they didn't have to be careful with how they touched someone else for fear they might rip off a limb or cause internal bleeding.

And Lucas was positive that normal people didn't burn 'FREAK' into the side of their own home using only their eyes. Normal people would remember doing something like that.

But Lucas of course wasn't normal.

***

"So, Lucas," one of the guys called out. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Everyone became very still, and very quiet, and Lucas brought up his smile to prove he wasn't upset at all.

"Well, Jeff," he began, in a voice and tone much like that of a newscaster. The kids around him laughed, and even Lucas thought it was kind of funny. "I fully plan on embracing that age-old tradition known as turkey gorging." There was more laughter at that, more genuine and spontaneous. "I will consume roughly a small child's weight in turkey, which will of course be drowned in gravy and smothered in mashed potatoes. And then when that's done, I think I'll eat the equivalent of a year's worth of sugar. That is. . . " and here he paused, looking around to see who'd already guessed what he was going to say. . . and who still had no clue what the joke was about. Jeffrey was unfortunately, but predictably, among the latter.

Next to Lucas, Whit rolled his eyes and leaned forward. "Pumpkin pie, jerk," he called down to Jeff.

"Oh!" Jeff exclaimed, momentarily relieved before turning red in embarrassment. "Yeah," he said after awhile. "I figured that, but-- I mean, are you hanging out with your. . . family?" He glanced at Lucas' face once or twice, but couldn't seem to maintain the eye contact for any length of time.

"Jeff, man, I swear to God if this is some sort of-- " Whit started, but Lana put a hand on his arm. Like always, whenever she made herself known, it was impossible to ignore her. Whitney instantly cut himself off in order to turn and look at her.

Lucas, in the meantime, kept trying to get Jeff to look back at him. He didn't like the idea that someone as big and confident as Jeffrey McCloskey was somehow anxious about asking him something.

It indicated some level of fear on the boy's part, and Lucas couldn't. . . well, that was just unacceptable. No one was going to be afraid of him.

Lucas stood up from his chair, and quickly but carefully walked around the many scattered chairs, footstools, and backpacks to where Jeff was sitting on the sofa. The spot next to the boy was empty, save a big blue and white coat. Lucas suddenly remembered Jeff was a big Sharks fan, and carefully moved the boy's coat to rest on the back of the Beanery's sofa before sitting down. Lana had started up conversation again on the other side of the group, Whitney playing along perfectly. Lucas appreciated it, and managed to briefly catch her eyes and nod his thanks before turning back to a now even more embarrassed Jeff.

"Uh, hey," Jeff said, surprising Lucas by speaking up first. "Look, man, that was, uh-- I mean, I know that stuff was outta line. Asking about. . . your family and stuff?" He shifted slightly, and Lucas felt sad when he realized the boy was trying to move away subtly. "I'm sorry, dude," Jeff added, and to make things worse he seemed to mean it too.

Lucas was frowning, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. In an attempt not to appear too emotional, he looked at the side of Jeff's face while mentally imagining himself somewhere else.

"I'm not upset," Lucas told the boy. Jeff glanced over at him before quickly ducking his head down again. It'd taken just a few seconds, but it was long enough for Jeff's disbelief to register. "I'm not," Lucas insisted, and this time Jeff openly scoffed. "What, you think I'm not used to it by now or something?"

Jeff just groaned and brought a hand up to cover his face.

"I don't understand," Lucas finally admitted. "You didn't ask anything I haven't answered a hundred times before. Why are you embarrassed? I'm not. I'm just puzzled, really."

Jeff gave a heavy sigh before dropping his hand back to the sofa's armrest. He cast a look over to where Whitney and Lana were distracting everyone else, and Lucas finally managed to drag his smile up at that.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind their help with this, either," Lucas shared, startling a brief return smile out of the kid.

"It's just," Jeff began hesitantly, "asking about your personal life is kinda. . . mean."

"'Mean?'"

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, you know," he said emphatically, "mean. . . cos of-- cos of your. . . history and all." He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable, but Lucas was still utterly confused.

"My family history?" Lucas asked. He thought about it, and added, "Because of-- ?" hoping for more clarification.

Jeff's face started turning red. "Cos o' your. . . dad," he said in something very much like a whisper.

"Oh," Lucas breathed out. "I see."

"Yeah," Jeff mumbled, shifting away again slightly and hunching in on himself. Lucas was reminded of a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

"I'm still not upset," he repeated a moment later. Jeff scoffed again, eyes anywhere and everywhere but on Lucas. "That, too, is a topic with which I'm extremely familiar. Reporters from the tabloids and the internet sites seem especially fond of that one."

"That's the problem!" Jeff hissed, hand once again trying to hide his face. "They ask those things. . . because they're mean and, um, insensitive." He verbally stumbled for a moment, but regrouped quickly enough. "We're supposed to be nice cos you're our friend." Jeff blushed again after saying that, but didn't attempt to take it back in any way. "You're my friend, and it was a stupid thing to do. . . ask you that shit just cos I was. . . curious."

Lucas suddenly had an idea, and although it might end up backfiring on him, the urge to go through with it was just too tempting.

He waited a moment until even the conversation Lana and Whitney had struck up slowly began to stall. Then, looking only at Jeff, Lucas said in a voice that would carry, "Lex would be laughing his ass off at this."

There were many reactions, some quite obvious with others much more subtle. All of them were amusing, though, especially Jeff's. The boy looked like a fish gasping for air.

Lucas leaned back on the sofa and let his smile slowly turn into a grin. "He would," he insisted, as though anyone in the coffee shop now would ever argue with him about knowing what Lex would or would not find funny. "He'd chuckle and grin and probably shamelessly flirt with all the girls." There was startled laughter, like letting it out had been a reflex and completely unintended.

That was Lucas' favorite kind.

Then there was silence, everyone still too nervous and aware of Jeff's situation to ask Lucas to continue.

It was Lana who saved him again.

"I actually met him once," she said from across the room, and as everyone's heads swiveled to her, Lucas met her eyes and smiled at her for real. Lana shifted in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and assuming the storyteller's position. "Actually, not so much met as. . . saw really close-up," she amended. "I was ten, and Nell and I were up in Metropolis for a riding competition the next day. We'd been invited to stay at the, uh. . . " She too fumbled for the right words, eventually just saying, "at the big Luthor mansion. She'd sold. . . them some land and. . . well, anyway, one of the servants told me there was an indoor pool so I went to look."

Lucas took a moment to look around and saw everyone completely engrossed in the tale.

It was wonderful.

"Well," Lana continued, "imagine my surprise at finally finding the pool, only to see a couple making out it in it." There was more of that spontaneous laughter, only this time with a few more dirty chuckles added in. "Needless to say, Lex Luthor is, uh, pretty recognizable." She paused a minute in mock thoughtfulness. "I think he was teaching his 'partner' the breast stroke?" Lana added, at which point everyone laughed again.

Some people looked back at Lucas to gauge his reaction, and it was one of the rare occasions where he didn't need to act at all. He was grinning and felt like shaking his head a little at a much younger Lex's antics. . . and so he did just that.

And those were the appropriate actions for the situation. He was being right without even trying. He was normal. . . and when he met Lana's eyes again, he realized it was because of her.

"Yeah, that's definitely Lex," Lucas finally said. "Evidently he was quite the, uh, black sheep of the family once upon a time."

Someone snorted in disbelief. Lucas thought it was probably Whitney and, sure enough, looking over, he recognized the skepticism on the other boy's face readily enough. It was the same expression he wore whenever Lana told him his homework was correct, or when one of his buddies declared he was a shoo-in for a football scholarship. In the case of the former, Lucas could attest that Whitney was right to be a little dubious. Most of his essays were truly atrocious. Well, they were prior to Lana getting her hands on them and "proofreading" them. After that, they read like poetry.

As for the latter, though, Lucas had it on quite good authority that a football scholarship wasn't all that farfetched a possibility in Whitney's case. At least, it wouldn't be if Lucas had any say in it.

"He was," Lucas insisted, heads turning back to him like the idiomatic saying declared. It was very much like a tennis match, only he and Lana were actually on the same side. "There was a time his name was always in the tabloids. I tend to think he rather enjoyed it too," he added, garnering a few smiles in response.

It hadn't escaped Lucas' notice that she'd referred to the person Lex had been making out with as 'partner,' instead of the more accurate 'him.' If Lana had been ten years old at the time, then that would have put Lex at 16, and at 16 there would have been only one person Lex would've brought into that house.

Lex may have been many things, but promiscuous was never one of them, and neither was stupid. He'd known to some degree what being in that house had been like, and he certainly wouldn't have brought someone there if he hadn't been confident in that person's ability to. . . verbally defend him/herself against Lionel.

Which, using that criteria, left about one possibility and one only as to the identity of Lex's 'swimming partner.'

Lana, it seemed, had once stumbled upon Lex and Bruce going at it in Lionel's old house, in Lionel's pool, no less.

Lucas was going to tease him about this mercilessly for the foreseeable future. It would be hilarious.

"So," Lana began, "are you all getting together for the holiday then?" She asked it effortlessly, after sharing a look with Jeff that Lucas couldn't quite understand. "The whole Luthor clan?" she joked.

Lucas nodded. "Yes, but I imagine we'll meet in Gotham, not Metropolis. Julian and Bruce are there, and Alfred is easily the best cook in the country." Some of the kids laughed, while others' mouths just dropped open, seemingly in surprise. "Lex swears by this new French chef he's hired, but. . . I think I prefer eating food rather than art."

Lana smiled, but it was a bit strained. Lucas had the uncomfortable feeling he'd said something wrong again.

"Sounds nice," Whitney commented. "Me, I'll be stuck in the house with every relative this side of the equator, all badgering me about school and ball and how much I've grown since the last time they saw me."

"Me too, dude," Jeff piped up. "Do you get the 'what are you going to do with your life' speech? Cos that's about all my uncle ever says to me. Well, that and 'pass the damn potatoes, Jeffy.'"

"'Jeffy?!'" one of the other guys repeated incredulously.

"Oh, shut up," Jeff grumbled, but people were already chuckling. " 'used to be my nickname," he explained tersely. Then looking around Lucas, he glared at the boy, Brian, who was laughing the hardest. "Can it, Wendell," he said, "or I'll go ahead and share that story about fifth grade roll call. The one where the sub mistook you for a girl and called out for a Wendy-- "

"Hey!" Brian shouted, getting to his feet and waving his hands as everyone started laughing hysterically. "No need for that, man. Jesus," he said, sitting back down and returning Jeff's glare with one of his own. "You play dirty, fucker."

Jeff just smiled and relaxed back into the sofa for the first time since Lucas had sat down next to him.

Lucas laughed, and smiled, and. . . he remembered he was 18 years old today.

***

He went in Wednesday afternoon, unable to stand waiting any longer. Alfred answered the door with a smile, and it didn't fade when he saw who it was. Lucas was surprised at that. He hadn't thought Alfred cared for him at all, but the man reached out and pulled Lucas inside by his arm. He patted him on the back and left his hand there as they walked to the kitchen.

As they neared the doors, Alfred said, "It's very good to see you, Master Lucas," for the third time in as many minutes. He still had a smile on his face, but Lucas' was starting to feel too uneven to maintain. He let it slide off, and when Alfred glanced at his face again. . . well, the man kept smiling. It was a real smile, too, a happy one.

"It's good to see you too, Alfred," he replied, genuinely. "I like coming here."

Alfred's smile got wider for a second, then went back down. He'd grinned. Lucas had made him grin.

"Master Julian is just inside, sir," Alfred told him at the kitchen doorway. "I've laid out some refreshment on the table, so please do help yourself."

"You're not leaving, are you?" Lucas asked, grabbing Alfred's arm gently but firmly when the man started to move away.

Alfred just looked at him and cocked his left eyebrow. He was still smiling, but it was different now. It was amused instead of welcoming. He leaned in a little closer to Lucas and said cheerfully, "I'll be back shortly, sir. My turn at watchdog tonight, 'm afraid. Master Wayne's been cracking the whip lately."

Lucas didn't release Alfred's arm like he imagined he was supposed to do then. Instead he held on and waited for the man to meet his eyes again. Lucas hated to see that smile go away, but it was a small sacrifice.

"What do you mean, 'cracking the whip?'"

Alfred frowned, and Lucas made sure to watch his face closely. Few people were good at lying. Lucas could always tell when they were thinking about trying it, and a few words usually made them reconsider. He thought dissuading Alfred might prove more difficult, but not impossible.

And Lucas had motivation enough. He'd make Alfred not lie. People shouldn't lie, but especially about other people hurting them. He wouldn't let something like that happen again.

No one was going to lie to him, and if Bruce were whipping Alfred or. . . if he were hurting Julian, then he was. . .

He should know better. Things like that, they weren't allowed. Lucas didn't have to fake-feel anything when disposing of garbage. He was allowed to be empty then.

"Oh!" Alfred suddenly exclaimed, grabbing right back at Lucas. His eyes were wide and he was showing all the signs of being afraid. "Oh, no, no, Lucas," he said. "No, don't you be going down that path. It's a saying, a figure of speech. Not literal. Not literal in the slightest, you understand?"

Alfred wasn't lying, so Lucas released the man's arm and stepped back. When he just kept staring at him, though, Lucas eventually nodded and did that quick flick-up of a smile people used when they were nervous.

"I do understand now," he added, but Alfred was still looking unsettled. "My mistake. I apologize for causing you any concern."

"No apology necessary, sir," Alfred responded quietly. He wasn't smiling anymore, but Lucas supposed it was a fair trade.

'Better safe than sorry.' People used that saying too. And, 'cracking the whip.'

Julian offered to play against him in chess, but Lucas declined. He didn't like the game, never had, and holidays weren't for bad memories. He wondered if Lin ever played Lian in chess. If he did, he was stronger than Lucas.

Instead, they competed against each other in a racing video game. It was extremely fun, and reminded him somewhat of flying. It was also entertaining merely to watch Lian's facial expressions. The boy looked a great deal like Lex sometimes, right down to the way his irises seemed to change color according to his mood. He often bit his lip too, though, and Lucas saw Lin's influence in that.

Lin always bit his lip. Sometimes it made him bleed, and then Lionel would send someone in to collect a sample.

Or. . . he had. He had sent someone in. Lionel wouldn't be doing that anymore. Lucas knew that. The man couldn't, after all. He was dead.

No more samples or experiments. No more strategy games or puzzles.

And no more chess.

Julian won two out of three games with good grace and humility. They had just begun a new one when Lucas picked up sounds coming from the hallway. He stilled his hand and Lian paused the game for them.

"What?" Lian asked him. Then, beginning to smile, "Who is it? Is it Lin?"

Lucas listened closely for another moment, then shook his head. "No," he said, and Lian slumped back against the sofa disappointedly. "It's Dick. Bruce and Alfred are still talking about me down in the cave." He looked over and smiled at Lian, gesturing for him to push 'Play.'

"They're talking about you?" Lian asked instead. He was frowning. When Lian frowned, he looked like Lionel. "Why? What are they saying?"

Lucas shook his head. "I don't want you to hear about that."

"What?" Lian whined. "No, I wanna know. Is it bad?"

Lucas shook his head again and repeated his gesture towards the game screen. Lian sighed, but started it up again. He was distracted, so Lucas easily won that round in minutes.

"We should go to the kitchen," Lucas said when they'd finished. "Dick's in there. He'll eat all the food if we don't distract him."

Lian pursed his lips and, like Lucas knew they would, his irises darkened. He wrapped up the game controllers and put them carefully back inside the drawer.

"He's in training," Julian suddenly blurted out. "Bruce is showing him how to fight."

"And you're jealous, aren't you?" Lucas guessed. Lian turned around and scowled at him and Lucas embarrassed himself by flinching back.

"Lucky, what. . . ?" Lian started, his anger at being called out shifting into concern over Lucas' reaction.

"You don't want to do what Bruce does, Julian," Lucas interrupted bluntly. "You wouldn't like it, and his focus isn't really on Dick when he's teaching him anyway."

"What do you mean?" Lian asked after a moment. He was still frowning, so Lucas turned away and started moving across the room to the door. "What's his focus on then?"

Lucas reached out for the doorknob. He watched the intricacies of his hand opening and closing and wrapping itself around the etched metal handle.

The human body was beautiful, in all its many parts and components, in all its infinite potential and possibility.

"You don't need to hear about that," Lucas repeated. "Just know it's not something you want. You're a child, Julian." Lian scoffed in offended protest. "Be a child," Lucas said harshly, and could pick out the exact moment Lian's breath sped up in reaction to his tone. "Enjoy it. None of the rest of us got to."

He glanced at Lian over his shoulder; the boy's mouth was open in shock.

He looked like Lex again, and so Lucas smiled at him before turning back around and opening the door.

Lex and Lin showed up in one of their sports cars an hour later. Lin was the one who'd driven, and Lucas smiled when he saw Lex reach out and whap Lin on the back of the head.

"Hey!" Lin exclaimed, but his indignation was completely fake.

"Quit cutting people off," Lex retorted.

Lin handed the car keys to Joseph, the man Bruce paid to look after his vehicles, and he and Lex walked across the gravel and up the stairs.

"Hey, Lucky!" Lin greeted him, pulling him into a tight hug. Lucas returned it, squeezing all he could. Lin just laughed.

Lucas thought it sounded real enough.

They pulled apart, and then Lex was wrapping Lucas up in an embrace as well. It wasn't as secure, but Lucas liked it just as much. He liked it whenever Lex willingly touched him. It didn't happen that often, after all, and therefore he thought it prudent to derive all the pleasure he could out of such contact.

It was as Lex was starting to pull away that it happened. Lucas was standing with Lex's arms around him, and then he blinked, and . . .

People on boats, arguing and crying and screaming at each other to "Do it! Push the button! They had their chance!"

Bruce sitting in a chair, sobbing without a single tear.

Something pulling him back, sucking him down, swallowing him whole and spitting him out into a wasteland of wind and ash and. . .

Smooth skin and lips pressing in against his own.

" . . . how can you just leave us here, Lin-- ?!"

He looks down and there's blood coming out from inside him. . .

" --Lucas! Wake up, Lucky! God, wake up."

He opened his eyes, and Lin was looking down at him. The sun hadn't yet set, and it cast Lin's face dark while making a halo of his hair.

"You're going to leave," Lucas told him before he could stop himself. He reached up and touched Lin's cheek. "You'll leave, and. . . "

I'll die.

***

I'll die.

Every second was darkened by that knowledge, by that certainty. Not the 'never again' he'd told himself, or the 'someday' of years down the road, not anymore. Now it was immediate and within sight. . . in a manner of speaking.

It wasn't until eight days later that Lucas thought to question it at all, and when he did. . .

If this dream were true, were to come to be true, did that mean the others wouldn't? For if he died again next year -- summer, hot, too bright -- how could he marry Lois later? How could he possibly go up into space sometime within the next eight months? That dream had felt much further away, not as close as it. . . had to be now to still be. . . valid.

Were some of them wrong? The dreams? Did they show him the truth or just the likeliest of outcomes?

And then one night nearly a month after 'seeing' his own fatal wounding, Lucas was again invited over to the Kents' for dinner. He stayed afterward to finish watching a television program with them. It was interesting, and centered around police officers and lawyers carrying out their duties. Lucas was always interested in how the law worked, how people ordered and contained and managed themselves and others.

In the end, the culprit of the crime confessed, doing so hysterically and very emotionally. Lucas thought it a very well done show. The actors were very convincing, especially the one performing the perpetrator. His guilt at the end was almost real.

"Well," Jonathan said, once the program's cast and crew credits began rolling up the screen, "score another one for the 'Twinkie Defense.'"

The Lady chuckled from her chair, flipping a page of the magazine she'd been reading. Next to Lucas, Jesse shrugged, picking up the television's remote and pushing the correct button that brought up a program guide.

Lucas just sat there. 'Twinkie Defense?'

"Excuse me, sir," he started, and Jonathan turned to meet his eyes, looking surprised. "You said the 'Twinkie Defense?' If I may. . . what is that, precisely?"

He didn't immediately receive an answer, as all three Kents went about exchanging looks and nonverbal communication. Soon, though, it appeared Jesse was the victor of whatever silent battle had been waged. Or perhaps he'd been the loser, as his face when he turned it to Lucas wasn't pleased or joyous. He appeared very serious, and perhaps. . . worried over something?

Lucas wasn't very good at deciphering facial expressions.

"It's from a famous case," Jesse told him. "Basically, the defense attorney claimed his client shouldn't be held accountable for the lives he'd taken because of, uh," and here Jesse looked over at the Lady uncertainly, "temporary insanity?"

She shook her head. "Diminished capacity, Jess," she corrected. She broke eye contact with Jesse, moving it onto Lucas. "It wasn't an argument over whether the accused had committed the crime, in this case double homicide, but if it could justly be called murder."

"Intent?" Lucas asked hesitantly.

The Lady smiled, nodding. She looked pleased. "Exactly, Lucas. The defense posed that it wasn't a premeditated killing, saying that the night before the murders, the accused had eaten a massive amount of junk food and that that, combined with depression, was what prevented White from being capable of. . . rational thought. Therefore," she said, rolling her eyes disgustedly, "what he did, Dan White, the murderer, what he did was voluntary manslaughter, not first-degree murder."

Lucas didn't even have to work for a frown that time.

"And what was his punishment?" Lucas asked. "Was he put to death?"

"No," Martha said, smiling strangely. "No, he was sentenced to seven years in prison, but served five. Then two years after being paroled, he committed suicide. In his car."

"Good," Lucas breathed out, and while Martha's expression didn't change noticeably, Jesse's and Jonathan's did. And that was shock on their faces, plainly.

Lucas knew that one. Lots of people made that face around him.

"Lucas. . . " Jonathan started, censure in his voice.

So he turned and gave the older man his full attention, gave him, showed him that respect.

But he wouldn't apologize, and that's what he thought Jonathan was wanting.

"Just because he was depressed doesn't mean he wasn't responsible for his actions," Lucas pointed out. They were all silent, and Jesse was even leaning slightly away from Lucas, that oddly confused, worried expression back on his face. "He murdered people, whether he meant to or not. If a man hurts people, he needs to be stopped, needs to be kept from doing it again and again. And if he murdered people and wasn't kept away, then it's good that he isn't alive anymore."

That got him three very, very interesting looks in return.

"An interesting view, Lucas," the Lady eventually said into the silence. She put aside her magazine and slid from the chair, getting to her feet. "Now, on that note, anyone want dessert?"

Lucas laughed, and was the only one to do so. The Lady smiled at him as she passed the couch, though, but Jonathan and Jesse both remained. . . worried? Offended? Disgusted? Lucas couldn't tell, and so he started worrying about the two of them being worried.

He didn't like this feeling, wanted to get away from it.

So he stood, and followed the Lady into the kitchen. She was taking down plates from one of the cupboards above the counter. Next, it was a large knife out of the drawer by the sink. It was shiny and sharp. Steel. The lights from overhead glinted off the blade tip.

Lucas cleared his throat, unintentionally, and was frightened that he'd done so. Unable to even control his own reactions? What would people say?

What would Lionel say?

The Lady turned her head to meet Lucas' eyes across the kitchen. She held the knife in her hand, and he couldn't help it either when his eyes fixed on it instead of Martha's kind face.

"I think I'll take my leave now," Lucas said quietly.

"Oh, stay for pie at least," the Lady responded. "It's a new pumpkin recipe." She sounded like she was smiling. "You're all my guinea pigs tonight. We'll see how it came out."

That was a big knife she was holding and using confidently, expertly.

Stop it!

"I apologize," he said, doing that little coughing thing again despite himself, "but I really should be going. Early morning tomorrow, you know. Conference call."

"Lucas."

There was so much blood in his mouth, and his throat hurt. He couldn't breathe, but it kept coming down the tube. He tried to cough, but--

"Lucas! Honey, what's wrong? Lucas?"

A hand patted him firmly on the cheek several times, and Lucas blinked. Turned his head to the right.

She was over here now, the Lady. He glanced at where she'd been, but only the plates, pie, and dishtowel were on the counter. No knife.

"Sorry, what?" Lucas asked politely, shaking his head a little to show he was clearing it. He put on a smile.

She didn't smile back. Her hand was still on his cheek, and her other gripped him tightly by the arm.

"Lucas. . . what was that just now?" And he'd never heard that note in her voice before.

"I think I'll take my leave now," he repeated, at a loss, pulling away from her. He didn't mean it as an insult, but from the way her face looked that's how she took it. "I'm sure the pie's delicious, Mrs. Kent. Tell Jonathan and Jesse I said 'You're welcome,'" he joked.

It fell flat. She looked angry now, along with hurt, and so he nodded once more before crossing the wood floor over to the coat rack in the corner. Picking up his coat, he shot her another quick smile and a wave before jerking open the back door and moving through it quickly.

When he was back at the castle, he went straight up to the bedroom he stayed in and locked the door behind himself. He whipped his coat off and hurled it across the room in frustration. Then, going over to the windows, he went about his nightly routine of checking and making sure the bars were still intact and secure. Still strong.

For not having much experience, Lucas made a pretty good welder, if he did say so himself. Three weeks, and he'd yet to get past the bars on one of his nocturnal wanderings. The door was solid, and in addition to the one that had originally been there, Lucas had installed three more locks on it. One even had a padlock, the key to which he placed in a different place each night before going to bed. He'd put the bars up on the windows himself too, in the hope that getting past them while sleepwalking would prove just as impossible as getting through the door.

He pulled off his clothes and put them in a hamper he kept in the closet. Pulling on some soft "sweat pants," Lucas came back out into the bedroom proper. He eventually went over and picked up his coat, draping it over the back of one of the chairs near the small fireplace.

The locks, he turned, and the covers on the bed, he pulled back. He figured out that he'd need to be fully awake by five-thirty tomorrow, so he set that time in his mind and pulled the little chain on the bedside lamp, turning it off.

As he lied there, he thought back on the evening.

Twinkie Defense. Insanity.

He must have drifted down into sleep for a little while because suddenly he was sitting up, breathing heavily.

The dreams.

Insanity, that murderer's lawyer had been trying say. Don't charge my client because he's crazy. He can't help it. He didn't know what he was doing.

It came then, like a heavy shadow in his mind. People who were crazy didn't usually think they were. Had this Dan White been crazy? Had he thought he was?

Was. . . was Lucas himself. . .

Was he crazy?

***

It was cold outside. There was snow on the ground and the wind was blowing strong, more so than it ever seemed to in the city.

Must be all the. . . space.

Soon it would be the start of another new year.

Almost, in just a few minutes, it would be another year of being outside. It would be the anniversary.

The only one that truly mattered.

But being there didn't seem far back like people said it would, or told him it was.

A year. He'd been. . . for a year, he'd been free. For a year, Lionel had been dead.

Last night he'd dreamed, and could still remember all of it after waking even. He'd been back there, and when he'd opened his eyes. . .

It'd been to the sound of a phone ringing. In his dream, he'd heard Lin's voice yelling, screaming, and when Lucas had awoken it'd been the phone.

And on the other end of the line Lin had pleaded with him. "Come home," Lin had said. "Come see us.

"Come home, Lucky," Lin had asked. "I miss you. . . "

He didn't want to go. He didn't want to see Lin. He didn't want another year. Here, outside the castle, in the dark and early evening. . . in the snow and sky and trees and all this air. . .

He just wanted to go back home.

A light suddenly cut across the snow from somewhere behind him, and Lucas quickly turned around. It was a car, and he looked closely. But it wasn't Lin's, or one of Lex's. It had a local license plate.

He took a few steps farther away from the castle. Maybe if he walked into the woods, no one would find him. They couldn't see as well as he could.

No one could, except Lin, and even he had blind spots.

He took too long deciding, though. When the voice called out, it was too close, too near, too late for him to disappear.

"Lucas!" she shouted, waving one of her arms over her head. She looked silly, all wrapped up in thick clothing. She wore something on her head, and on each hand. "Lucas, what are you doing out here?! You'll freeze!" she cried, worriedly, climbing and jumping in the snow as she started coming closer.

She looked stupid. He didn't want to see her, or talk to her. Didn't want anything to do with her.

"Jesus!" Chloe hissed out, stumbling as she traipsed right into a snow drift that reached past her thighs. "Are you some kind of moron?! What are you doing out here like that? You probably have pneumonia! Come here!" she demanded, latching onto his arms and rubbing her silly wool-covered hands up and down.

"Go home, Chloe."

"What?" she asked, not pausing in her brisk movements. "We've got to get you inside. Lucas? Can you hear me? It's time to go in!" she shouted into his face.

Enough games. Lucas reached up and grabbed her by either wrist, then slowly pulled her hands away from him. Her head came up as he did this, and he smiled.

For real. Not like everyone else did. He smiled like he felt like smiling, and when Chloe's face got that look on it. . . that's when he released her wrists with a little force, and she stumbled backward a step.

"Lucas. . . " she breathed out. Scared. Uneasy.

"Go away," Lucas told her. He turned his head to look back out at the trees, trying to ignore the sound of her breathing a foot away.

"But-- what is it?" she asked quietly. "Is something wrong? Lucas," Chloe suddenly demanded, "did something happen? Something with your brothers?"

She was touching him again. Stupid girl, with her stupid coat.

He sat down, and Chloe gasped and immediately tried to pull him back up.

"What are you doing? Get up! You'll freeze!"

"I dreamed this wasn't real," he confessed, and his eyes became stuck on one tree at the edge of the line. It looked black and dead, like it'd burned, and suddenly the snow surrounding the tree looked like ash.

Like everything was ruined.

"Wh-- what?" she asked. "Lucas, I really think we should go inside. We can talk in there," she added quickly. "By the fire in your office? I can give you your present."

"My. . . present," he repeated.

"Yeah," she said, softly. He turned to look over his shoulder, up at her face. "It's Christmas Eve tomorrow. I wasn't sure you'd still be home, but I just finished it today, so. . . " Chloe's face changed. It'd been soft and. . . now it was back to worried. Scared. "Why are you out here in just sweat pants, Lucas? Is something wrong?"

She set a hand on his shoulder, and he looked away again.

"It's the anniversary. Now. I dreamed last night it wasn't real. None of this. I opened my eyes," and he looked down at himself again to make sure, "and I was wearing white. My hair was gone again. It was colorless, and-- "

He dropped his hands and turned around in the snow, climbing to his feet and grabbing hold of Chloe this time.

"I opened my eyes and it was all back, everything was. And there were footsteps," he told her. "He was coming down the hallway, and I turned to tell Lin, and-- "

"Lucas. . . who was coming?" she asked hesitantly. She reached up and touched one of her woolen hands to his face, up near his eye, and then she did the same on the other side of his face.

Tears. She was wiping his tears away. Because he was crying.

He was crying, which meant he was sad.

"Lionel," he answered, and her eyes widened. Her hand froze where she'd been pulling it back, so now it just hung there in the air. "I could almost smell his cologne, hear the sound of his shoes on the floor. . . his voice. . . I thought I was opening my eyes to here, and I woke up back there. It was a dream, though, right?" He looked into her eyes, and begged her to understand. "It wasn't real?"

"No," she said, shaking her head frantically. "No, Lucas, it was just a dream." Her hand stopped hovering near his face, instead moving to grip one of his hands. "It was a nightmare, not real. Just a bad dream."

"I thought-- I thought maybe, when I woke up that it was. . . I thought it might come true," he dared to tell her. "A year's gone by. Maybe that's all this was supposed to last for. Maybe this was the dream. Or a wish. . . and it ran out."

Now there were tears coming out of Chloe's eyes. Lots of them, slipping down her face, and her nose became wet too. Runny nose. Chloe was crying too.

"It wasn't real," she told him in a firm voice. "This is. This is reality. And it's not going away any time soon." She sniffled, and gave him a truly terrible smile. It was a very poor attempt. Lucas had given better ones even before he knew what smiles were. "You think I'm some figment of your imagination?" she tried to joke.

"Sometimes."

And Chloe laughed. Good. Much better than crying. Much better than worrying.

Much better to laugh than to be afraid, even if you were the only one who knew it was a joke.

***

It was called a housewarming party for some reason. Lucas asked the Lady about it, and she laughed a little. "Buy him a gift," she told him, "something to make the house more like a home."

"Something he'd like?" Lucas had returned.

She'd nodded, then quickly turned away. "Yeah, something he'd like," she'd agreed, her voice strange.

Lin liked art, and even though technically it was just his house, Lucas thought Lex would be living there a lot of the time too. It made sense to get them both a gift. He would buy one for Julian too if the boy were to live in Metropolis. Maybe someday when he was older and could understand more of what had happened, maybe then Julian would come back to the city. Lucas didn't think so, but he'd been wrong before.

So Lucas asked Julian's opinion, but when it came time to do the actual purchasing, he went to Chloe for help. Gabe often told him how good his daughter was at computers, and the man was good with them too, but it didn't seem like he was comfortable around Lucas. And he was an employee. Perhaps it wasn't appropriate to have Gabe help him. Chloe, on the other hand, wasn't an employee. Neither Lucas, nor by extension Lex, paid her to do anything for them whatsoever. She was nice too. Lucas called her his friend, and she did seem relaxed and at ease in his presence.

So it was that, with advice from Julian and Chloe's guidance, Friday night saw Lucas ring the doorbell of Lin's new house, flat box tucked securely under his arm. Lin was even the one who opened the door, and when he met Lucas' eyes he grinned.

"Hey, you!" he exclaimed, grabbing Lucas by the arm and pulling him inside. After closing the door behind them, Lin waited while he set down the gift and then they hugged. Lucas went to pull back after what he considered an appropriate amount of time, but Lin didn't disengage. He kept holding on.

"I'm sorry," Lucas eventually offered, thinking maybe that was what Lin was waiting for. Lin just scoffed, but he released his hold a second later, stepping back and refusing to look up.

"Never mind," Lin told him. He walked closer to the small crate Lucas had leant up against a wall, squinting.

"No," Lucas rushed to say, moving to block Lin's view of it. "It's a surprise. Don't look."

Lin gave him a slightly amused look, but didn't try to spy again.

"Come on," he finally said, gesturing for Lucas to pick the crate up and follow him out of the entryway. "We're all down here. Lex's taken to calling it 'the Lounge.'" Lin made a little noise in his throat. Amusement. "I think it's just his collection room since that's where all his toys and comics and swords and stuff are." As they neared the end of the hallway, the sound of many people talking and laughing became more noticeable. Two glass doors were flung wide and Lin stopped there in the doorway. Lucas came up to stand next to him and they shared a look. Lin rolled his eyes and then pointed Lex out with a quick move of his hand.

"He looks happy," Lucas observed.

"Yeah," Lin agreed, nodding. "Stock is up; business is booming. Lex's approval rating is through the roof, or so I'm told."

"No, he looks happy," Lucas corrected, "not just successful." Lin turned his head to meet Lucas' eyes. Confusion. "There's a difference."

"And you know what this difference looks like?" Lin quipped, one eyebrow raised speculatively.

Lucas looked away that time. Maybe that's what it meant when someone refused to meet his eyes. Maybe they too were embarrassed or ashamed. But seeing Lex laugh and joke and grin and being able to tell that it was real and not pretend. . .

Yes, Lucas knew what fake happiness looked like. Being successful wasn't hard. Working a lot, and double-checking everything took care of that. Being happy, though. . .

He wondered what that felt like.

"Jesus, my face hurts," Lex complained.

"Life of the party," Lin retorted, and Lex shot him a glare. "Well, that's what you get for-- "

" -- for, what?" Lex interrupted, laughingly. "Socializing? Doing your job as host of the party?"

"Yep."

Lex chuckled, looking at Lin. . .

Lucas dropped his eyes down to his own hands. They were holding a glass of champagne, even though he was still considered by law too young to consume alcohol. He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed another mouthful of the bubbly liquid.

" . . . so, Lucas," Lex was saying. When Lucas looked up, he continued. "Can we open your present? Didn't want to in front of everyone, but it's just us now." He smiled at Lucas, and Lucas knew he meant it.

He nodded, and Lex got back to his feet and went over to the other side of the room. There was a table set up, and some people had placed wrapped packages and boxes on it, much like Lucas. His wasn't the only crate, either, and of those, Lucas thought his the smallest.

Lex unerringly picked up his gift, though, and then came right back to resume his seat. He set the box down carefully on the small 'coffee table,' and that was when Lucas thought to prepare them a little.

"It's for both of you," he said, and Lin's eyebrows shot up. Surprise. Lex tilted his head to the side, so Lucas looked at him and added, "You live here, too. It would be rude to have ignored you." He gestured to the crate. "I asked Lian what to get. I wasn't sure what you'd like, but he helped me figure it out."

Lex had brought a hand up to cover his mouth, which meant he was trying not to laugh. Lin still looked confused.

"Well, get to it then," Lex ordered Lin. Huffing, but getting up, Lin went over and bumped Lex aside with his hip. "Should have plenty of experience opening one of these," Lex added, to which Lin just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Lin responded, putting his hands on either side of a joint and pulling, "you and your soft hands."

"I'm a businessman. I'm supposed to have 'soft hands.'"

"Just keep-- there we go!" Lin said, his voice soft against the cracking of the wood. "Okay, you unwrap it, Businessman." He moved back to sit on the arm of Lex's chair, as Lex in turn leaned forward to unwind the sheet from--

"Whoa!" Lex exclaimed. He dropped the last of the packing, and pulled the frame free, holding it up for Lin to see.

"Lucas!" came Lin's shocked whisper. He met Lucas' eyes over the frame's edge. "You-- how'd you. . . Jesus, that's magnificent!"

"It's real, isn't it?" Lex asked. "It's his original drawing."

"Yes," Lucas answered. "Study 2, it's called. Julian said Lin liked Waterhouse, so I tried to find something he'd done that was up for sale."

"It's from my favorite painting," Lin said quietly. He was still staring at the drawing, but Lex was looking at Lucas.

"Private collector?" Lex asked, shifting so Lin could take hold of the frame himself.

Lucas nodded. "Yes. I saw it was up for sale, and contacted the agent. I explained it was a gift, and she asked for whom. When I gave her your names, she seemed quite surprised."

Lex had a strange look on his face. "When you gave her my name?" he asked, "or when you said Lin's?"

"She asked if Lin were short for Colin, and I told her it was." He shrugged. "Then she said she'd call me back the next day. When she did, she had a number, and that's what I paid."

Lex sat back in his chair and smirked. He glanced at Lin, who was still riveted to the drawing, then snorted.

"What's funny?" Lucas asked.

"She sold it to you because of Lin," he responded. "I just think that's perfect."

"Because of his own drawings?"

"Yeah," Lex laughed, "because of those. It's great news. Means his name's out there and he's well known enough to actually have some pull in the art world." He again looked at Lin. "Maybe he can get me a discount."

Lin frowned, finally looking away from the drawing to shake his head at Lex.

"No, see, now's the time to invest in art, I'm thinking," Lex continued. "We just say, 'Hey, you know where this piece is going? In Colin Marcus' own private gallery.' They'll practically give you the paintings."

"I don't want to buy paintings," Lin argued.

Lex rolled his eyes at this, apparently familiar with this stance, but Lucas wasn't.

"Why not?" he asked, and Lin looked at him. Disappointment.

"Art shouldn't be hidden," Lin said. "It should be where everyone can see it and appreciate it."

Lucas looked down at his hands again. He'd thought it was the perfect gift. The history and stories behind both the subject matter and the artist would appeal to Lex, and the beauty and creativity for Lin would be. . .

"Lucky, I love it," Lin said. "It's wonderful. And it's perfect, okay? I didn't mean-- "

" --we'll hang it above the main stairs," Lex interrupted, and both Lucas and Lin turned to look at him, "right where everyone will see it. It's not going in some vault, Lin," he said, meeting Lin's frown with his own. "It's what inspired the painting that's hanging in a museum. I know how you feel about this kind of stuff, but even you have to admit a sketch is different from the final product."

Lin went back to studying the drawing. "Yeah," he said a moment later. "You're right."

"So you like it?" Lucas asked.

Lin smiled, that little one that meant he really was happy and. . . not just faking it.

"I love it," he corrected, and Lucas smiled back.

"Good."

***

It seemed people always found some reason to have parties. There were ones thrown because of holidays, or birthdays, or anniversaries. If a person achieved something great, there was a party for him. If he were going somewhere for awhile, people gave him gifts and called it a 'Going Away Party.' If someone died, even then, there was a party. People told stories and drank alcohol and they called it a 'Wake.'

People divided each year into celebrations. There was always somewhere they were gathering, talking about, making plans and preparing for and then recovering from. People liked talking to other people, and if they didn't. . . if they'd much rather just stay in one room by themselves, then. . .

Lucas hated parties. People made him nervous. He liked them in the abstract, but up close and surrounding him in a small space they made him sweat and bite his lip and talking to them was just. . .

He took another glass off a passing waiter's tray, replacing it with his empty one. Six. This would be his seventh. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Lucas just chuckled, and thought that right there made it the best, most original idea in the entire galaxy. This whole night was hysterical. Everything about it, from the room's decorations to the people swarming, was ridiculous. No one else was laughing, though.

Their loss.

He finished that glass, too, setting it down on a random table, and just grinning back when the people sitting there squawked like indignant chickens. He kept moving, wanting nothing more in that instant than to see the night sky. The city liked to pretend nature didn't exist, that It was all there was. People forgot, too. The longer they lived cramped up and bound inside steel and glass, the more ruthless they became. Everything was fast here. Even the name. People said 'Metropolis' like it was just too many syllables and such a tremendous waste of energy.

Lucas thought it beautiful in its own way. And disgusting. Vulgar. Like naming a dog 'Dog.' No personality, no depth.

It was cool outside, still winter. He ran his hand along the balcony edge and focused upward. Stars, above and around them all like air. The thought made him chuckle again. Perhaps he could write, and make his own money instead of always taking Lex's.

A burst of noise made him glance over his shoulder. Someone had gone back inside, and now it was just Lucas out here. He was drunk. Some strange chemicals in his blood now and this is what it felt like.

Perhaps he should get his own blood and quit living off Lin's.

It was windy as well this high up, and it stole away his tears before they could even escape his eyes. Just as well. People were cruel. They'd mock him, and never understand what they were really saying.

No one could really understand all of what they said to someone else. They tried. They sometimes came close. It was never enough, though. People were just too different.

Everyone was too different. From Lucas.

More noise, and he turned to look. A man had just stepped out and was lighting a cigarette. He nodded at Lucas, but moved away.

Perhaps it was time to leave. Lucas was drunk. He'd talked and talked earlier anyway. Lex had said to mingle, be charming, and that's what he had done. One of the women had kissed him on the cheek after the joke about the new British Prime Minister.

He hadn't liked it very much. Her lips on his skin had felt like cheating. Wrong. He was a liar, a thief. Everything he had wasn't his. Nothing was. His face maybe. His voice.

He'd been given everything. Everything. He had books, and bikes, and cars, and a castle that wasn't his, and friends who didn't know him, and money he didn't know how to spend, and a job he wasn't qualified for. His body, this. . . thing of muscle and bone and alien blood, it was disgusting to him. He wasn't human, but he wasn't Lin either. He was some kind of mongrel.

A science project. A guinea pig, rat, mouse, lab experiment. He was fake. Manufactured.

He was Pinocchio. He was a creation. Lucas Carmichael Dunleavy was seven years dead, and now he was living in this body. Hollow, like a shell.

Vulgar. No personality, no depth. Like calling a robot by a human name and pretending it was the same thing.

He stepped back from the railing and turned around. Walking to the nearest door, he saw the man who'd come outside to smoke. He was standing at the corner of the balcony, looking down. Lucas wondered what that man saw looking down that he couldn't find in the stars.

Humanity. Life. Purpose.

Inside was like an oven after standing on the balcony for more than 20 minutes. The number of people had decreased, and he thought it was because of the time. It was past two o'clock in the morning, but music was still playing, and couples were still dancing, and people were still laughing and smiling and eating, so the party didn't seem to be boring or a failure. Why would people leave unless they had to? Because, looking around, no one else seemed to want to. Not like Lucas did, anyway.

He went over to the bar on the other side of the room, and sat down at one end on a barstool. A man in a bowtie and cummerbund came over and Lucas ordered a Scotch whisky. Not even a second glance, and the rules here were different from other places. Here, Lucas could drink all the alcohol he wanted. Up here, how old he was didn't matter in the slightest. What people wanted of him were his ties to Lex, to the parent company. They wanted his word and his opinion and into his good graces.

The bartender set his drink before him on a napkin and then moved away. No eye contact. No personal interaction. All cold and empty and stilted. Distant. Everything about this night was distant.

It was ridiculous. People assigned meaning where there was none. They saw the world how they wanted it to be, instead of how it was.

They went after money. . . and left everything else behind.

Lucas didn't touch the whisky. He took a deep breath and the alcohol was dead inside him. He was no longer drunk, no longer impaired.

He could see what he'd been doing wrong. It wasn't an issue of what he was. It was what he wanted to be that mattered.

He saw things, and they were true. He could see how the world really was, and he could see what it would become. The good, the bad, the beautiful and meaningful, as well as the hideous and insignificant, were all within his reach.

He could change things. Lucas stood up from the bar and looked at the people once more.

He could make the world what it was supposed to be. He could make people better.

He smiled and walked out.

***

He hadn't wanted to go. If it had been a choice, he would have said, 'No. No, that isn't necessary.'

It was not his decision, however. It was company policy, and he was an employee of the company. Everyone, from the janitorial and cooking staff, all the way up to Chief Executive Officer Lex Luthor, had to undergo one mandatory, 50-minute session with an agreed upon therapist.

Board members were doing it. Lex and Lin were, too. Secretaries, Personal Assistants, Lab Techs, all were scheduled and expected. It was a company-wide exercise in self-improvement. Supposedly.

Lucas didn't want to do it, though. He wondered if Lex would fire him were he to refuse. He wondered if the Board would make him quit if he just didn't go.

A therapist meant a doctor. A doctor was someone with a lab coat. A lab coat was. . . white. A person, wearing white, was going to ask him questions for 50 minutes. Lucas was expected to answer those questions truthfully, honestly. He was expected to. . . submit to this questioning gracefully and without a qualm.

'No,' he wanted to say. 'No, don't do this. Don't make me do this.'

A doctor, a scientist, a man in white, who'd probe and prod and cut away at his mind. . . if not his body this time.

And Lin was doing this? Lin had shares in the company, and he sat in on Board meetings. He, too, had an office in the Metropolis building, with a secretary and a special computer and desk just for his use. Lin was going to just sit down and talk about. . . anything this therapist wanted? He was going to do that?

He was. Lin was doing this. Lex was, too.

Everyone was, and no one, not one person, it seemed, had a problem with it. There were no complaints. Again, it was only Lucas who was different. He was the only one who was. . . worried.

He didn't say it, though. He knew better than that. No one admitted they were. . . worried if they didn't absolutely have to. It was seen as weakness, to feel unsure about anything, but especially this kind of thing. If one were worried, that meant there was something to be worried about. In this case, that 'something' would be some sort of mental defect, and people didn't like people with mental defects. They treated them differently.

They treated them like. . . freaks.

Lucas was worried. He was. He was so worried, he couldn't eat. He couldn't fall asleep, either, and that had never, ever been a problem before. No matter what had ever happened, he'd always been able to sleep. Sometimes, most times, that was actually the best part of being alive. In sleep, one dreamed, but it wasn't real. It-- sometimes dreams might. . . have the potential to become real, but they never were when just playing out in the head.

Dreams were dreams, no matter how. . . worrying. That was a fact. A person dreamed something, and then he or she woke up and life was different from that dream. Lucas had used to count on that being true. He used to, back there, depend on the fact that he would dream when he slept.

He didn't dream now because he couldn't sleep, and he couldn't sleep because he was too worried. He couldn't get rid of the worry, either, couldn't share it with anyone, not even Lin. The Lady asked him all the time, 'What's wrong, Lucas? Why aren't you eating? You look so tired. What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong?'

He was wrong. Lucas was wrong. He was different. His brain wasn't the same as everyone else's. He knew that. He worked hard at trying to hide it and keep it a secret from people, but. . .

Now he was expected to just walk into a room with a stranger, a man in white! He was just supposed to do that, and then, to make it worse, he had to talk to this person. He had to talk about himself, and what his thoughts were, and how his defective brain worked. All of this, with a stranger, some man being paid to judge, asses, summarize and diagnose, sniff out weakness and difference and expose it to everyone. For money. For dollars and cents.

And Lucas was supposed to sit down and submit to being exposed like that, just sit there and watch everyone's faces curl up and turn away in shock and disgust and embarrassment and scorn.

And pity.

And. . . fear.

It hurt. He felt sad and wounded that two of perhaps only five people who really knew him were going to make him do this. It was fine for them. Lex and Lin were somewhat different, too, but it wasn't the same. Lex was a good different, and he was the Chief Executive Officer of the company. No one was going to fire him without a lot of trouble.

The same went for Lin. Lin, who was technically even more different than Lucas, was somehow always less so. It shouldn't be, but it was. Lin was different, but his was a special kind.

Lucas wasn't the good kind of different, and he wasn't the special kind, either. He was the bad different, the scary different, the lock-him-up-and-cut-him-open-and-laugh-laugh-laugh kind of different.

And he was. . . so very worried about everyone finding that out.

***

"Ah, Mr. Dunleavy," the woman said. She was sitting behind the desk, in what must have been a tall sort of chair. He could meet her eyes straight ahead as he stood there, and yet. . . she was sitting. It was obvious from her body's posture and positioning.

"Mr. Dunleavy?"

"Yes," Lucas said, blinking and bringing up a smile for her. "I'm Lucas Dunleavy. Here to see-- "

"Yep!" she interrupted, with a grin. "I have you down right here," she added, pointing at a specific line in the ledger before her. "Last session's not quite finished yet, though, if you'd like to have a seat." She smiled again, flashing her teeth at him. She also waved her hand to the side, and when Lucas followed the movement with his eyes, he saw she was in fact gesturing towards a sitting area.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said to her. He smiled at her again, small, but as genuine as he could make it. And it seemed acceptable. The woman didn't give him a confused or uneasy expression in response, merely kept on grinning happily, and that was always the standard by which Lucas judged his successes or failures. If they pulled back, if their faces fell into unhappy, uncomfortable lines, then. . . that was the point when Lucas just stopped trying to smile and simply left.

Easy. Clear. None of this anxiety over what the other person was really thinking, what they could possibly be writing about him in their heads or reacting to without showing it on their faces.

He hated it when people didn't show what they felt. How was he supposed to know how to react if they didn't show him?

Most people were easily read, though. The exceptions were people Lucas didn't have to worry about, Lin, Lex, Bruce. . .

And doctors. Doctors never showed what they were really thinking. Never. They never turned away, only ever moved closer. The only emotions doctors ever felt were interest, curiosity, triumph, pride, frustration.

Lucas didn't like doctors, didn't respect them or think them wise and kind and friendly like most people seemed to. 'Maybe you should go to the doctor,' The Lady had suggested just two days before. 'Could be you've come down with some kind of virus. Wouldn't hurt to get checked out, right?'

Smiling afterward like that was encouraging and comforting, her wanting him to voluntarily have tests done on him.

'It's nothing,' he'd eventually forced out. She'd shown worry at that, but Lucas hadn't been able to drum up any comforting words for her. He'd left the room. Quickly. He'd walked down the hall and up the stairs and right into the room he used. He'd closed the door and locked it, and. . .

"Mr. Dunleavy?"

He looked up. The woman at the desk was standing now, waving at him to get his attention. Lucas stood up from the chair and re-buttoned his suit jacket. He then walked closer to the woman, some secretary, he realized now, or assistant.

"Yes?" he asked politely, hiding his shaking hands behind his back.

"Oh, it's your turn," the woman said, ducking her head a little and raising her eyebrows as though he should already know this.

"Right," he responded, smiling with his mouth and turning away before the woman saw it was fake. There was a short hallway, and the door at the end of it was open. "Do I just. . . walk in?"

"Yeah," she answered, quickly. She said it on a little laugh, but then Lucas heard her breathing change. She took a step closer to the desk, which brought her very close to him. . . only separated by the desk between them. "Yeah, you just go on in there and talk. It's just talking."

Lucas looked at the woman's face again. She smiled a small smile this time, no teeth and it didn't reach her eyes. Like his smiles. Like all his smiles, only with more feeling. She was reassuring him, trying to comfort him, telling him without words and just that smile that nothing bad would happen if he went inside that room at the end of the hallway.

"Well, okay then," Lucas said. He took a deep breath, pushed his shoulders back, Stand up straight, boy, and started moving down the hallway. When he reached the doorway, he paused, took another deep breath in and let it out quietly.

Didn't want to look worried. He went inside, noticing as he passed by that even the door boasted this office as belonging to a doctor.

Diana Prince, M.D.

***

It was a game, at first. He ran and ran and ran, circling the Earth a hundred times and then a hundred more. He ran as fast and as far as he could, jumped as high up as was possible without flying.

Now it was time to leap and not come down until he had to. Now it was time to fly, and not look back.

Lucas was careful about every single detail, from the time and place, right down to the clothes he wore and what kind of take-off he used. It was a test; there needed to be rules, controls. It needed to be. . . perfect.

His skin was not like Lin's, not exactly. It protected him against things other people's wouldn't, but it was not invincible. He healed quickly, better than Lex, but he did get hurt. Lin was only capable of being seriously hurt when meteor rocks were involved. The opposite was true for Lucas.

He was never hurt when meteor rocks were around, only when they weren't.

This was a test, a test that would show him just what he was capable of. It was necessary.

But it could be fun, as well. There was nothing wrong with enjoying it. Good could come out of all that had been bad. What had been done to him was wrong, but he wasn't. Evil had made him what he was, but that didn't mean he was. . . evil.

'All the more reason,' she'd said. 'You say you're bad if you do bad? Are you not then, by that same logic, good if you do good?'

'You are good,' she told him. 'You can do good things, Lucas.

'You are not what others make you; you are what you make yourself. Do you see the difference?'

He did. He saw it, perhaps not in the way she'd meant him to, but. . . it was there. He fell asleep and saw she was right.

He could do good things. He would. He'd seen it, and now he just had to make it happen.

He had to make himself good.

He took a deep breath and held it. Then he took himself and made himself small. He moved close to the Earth, and as he released the air in his lungs he pushed out. He always imagined it as flinging himself wide, as spreading himself so thin that he was nothing but a thought on the wind.

He soared in the sky. He'd made himself small, and what flew up, what now stayed aloft, was that goodness in him. The good he could do that Diana described. . . that's who he was.

He was good, and that's why he could fly.

It should make him happy. It should be love he was feeling now, looking and being able to see her for real this time. She was real, not just some imaginary person he made up in his head because he was lonely.

Like he'd used to do back there. 'Mom told me this,' Lin would say. 'My mom said-- My mom gave me -- My mom-- My mom-- MOM.'

Mother was a strange concept, universal and important. The Earth was often said to be the mother of all life. If a mother gave you life, what then did a father do?

Did a father take it away? Did a father give a new life? If a mother made the path, was it a father who pushed you down it?

Lucas' mother had red hair. That was the first thing he thought when he saw her:

She has red hair.

The second thought, immediately following, was: I didn't know she was coming.

He hadn't seen it, hadn't seen her. This woman, with her red hair and strangely familiar eyes. . . she wasn't where he could see her. It didn't make any sense, but then he'd always heard that these kinds of things didn't.

A son loved his mother. Love was complicated. Complicated meant there were no positives, no sureties, no precise answers.

Lucas hated feeling unsure. He'd always hated not knowing what was going on, what was happening, where he was going and who he'd be living with next. He remembered hating not knowing what was going to happen, and worried that he wouldn't be able to stop it if it turned out to be something bad. Then, like magic, he did know. He'd started dreaming differently, and what he'd dream would sometimes happen.

If this woman, this mother, had been the one to give him life, then Lionel. . .

Then wasn't it Lucas' father who had given him the ability to live it?

"She's mentally unstable!" Lex exclaimed. "Where has she been all these years? In a mental institution, that's where!"

"Lex," Lin said. He glanced at Lucas and then Lex did, too. Then they went back to looking at each other.

But they always did that. Lucas was used to it. Lex and Lin looked at each other all the time, but they hadn't really touched yet. That was still far away.

But not too far. Two years, he'd guess. Maybe sooner if Lucas. . . moved things along a little bit. All they needed was a nudge.

" . . .I'm not saying kick her out, but -- " Lex was saying, as he paced back and forth. Lucas made himself listen, even if he knew the truth.

His mother wouldn't be here very long, anyway. He hadn't dreamed that, but it was still true. She'd leave somehow, for some reason, and he'd stay. Lucas was many things, not all of them well thought of or held up as model attributes, but he was not stupid.

He knew how things worked; he knew what life was like.

"Then what are you saying?" Lin asked angrily. Now he was standing, too, which meant Lex had to look up to meet Lin's eyes. They were both tall, but Lin actually had about four inches on Lex, and he wasn't afraid to use that height to his advantage.

It worked every time.

"Because I gotta tell ya, Lex," Lin went on, "it sure sounds like you're saying she has to leave."

"She threatened me!" Lex snapped back. He was angry, and upset, and Lucas thought he looked a little afraid, too. "I think I have a right to be concerned when there's a woman running around claiming to be Lucas' long lost mother and who, oh yeah, pulls a gun on me when I suggest we do a DNA test! I think," Lex said, his face showing disdain, "maybe that might have something to do with my, uh, sense of caution. Maybe." And then he shrugged, which Lucas knew was fake. Lex was being sarcastic.

"I'm sure you were very tactful and considerate when you 'suggested' that test, too," Lin muttered. "If she's Lucky's mother then. . . just see how it turns out before making any judgments, that's all I'm saying! Yes, she's desperate, but. . . you have to look at the whole picture first. She's just found him," he said, waving his hand to indicate Lucas. "All these years of not knowing if her son was alive or-- " He hesitated, turning his head to meet and hold Lucas' eyes before continuing. "This is a chance we have to take. We can't turn her away, not when-- not with everything that's-- that's happened."

Lin quit talking, but he and Lex weren't done fighting it out. Lin gave Lucky that apologetic look of his and then went back to snapping and wheedling at Lex. Lex in turn bit and tried to convince him right back and it was like Lucas wasn't even in the room.

He was pretty sure Rachel actually was his mother. The DNA test would confirm that to them all, but. . . he'd spent a long time the night before studying his face in the mirror. He'd always been able to see Lionel there, but this time he'd looked at the other parts. His eyes were the same as Rachel's, the color, the shape, the eyelashes and brows that framed them. He had her eyes exactly. . .

Right down to the glint of insanity within them. There was more, of course, but the eyes were important. Lex said Rachel had spent a long time in a psychiatric ward. He'd shown Lucas and Lin the papers, the proof, but Lucas would have believed him even without any documentation. Rachel was insane. It was obvious.

What was the saying? It takes one to know one.

" . . .just keep an eye on her. Have a professional talk to her and-- "

"Lex, the last thing she's going to want is to talk to some therapist! She's gone through enough, hasn't she? And she was released. It's not like she broke out, or anything! Those papers were signed, saying she'd been cured and was fit for society and every other condescending thing. She has every right to be here. . . with her son."

"She's dangerous," Lex insisted. He crossed his arms over his chest and his chin lifted a little. He was being stubborn. He was refusing to admit he might be wrong. But that was Lex.

Lex hated being wrong. He was afraid of it, afraid he'd do something wrong and one of them would be hurt. . . again.

Lucas hated not knowing what was going on. And Lin. . .

Lin hated being powerless. He hated injustice all right, but to be unable to stop it?

Lucas wondered what Rachel was afraid of. He hoped it wouldn't be of him someday. Maybe that's what would make her leave. Maybe he was too crazy for even a crazy mother to love.

Lucas wondered, watching Lex and Lin argue and bicker and always getting closer and closer and closer to each other in every way. . .

He wondered what Lionel had been afraid of. He wondered if it'd been of him.

He hoped it had been.

***

And she scratches her hand up his arm.

The sound of the front door opening and closing, and suddenly everything smells of her perfume.

" . . . would love it if you came. It's-- it's not a big deal, but I should have a date. . . "

Ridge of scar as he kisses those lips for the first time.

"Linny, Linny, Linny. . . "

He yanks the pen from her hands and she laughs, grinning and lightly slapping him on the cheek at the same time.

***

Lucas sat up in the bed, and in the next breath realized he was sweating. He looked down at himself and. . . felt strange.

It was still dark outside. Only just past two in the morning, if he had to guess.

He was sweating because he was, for some reason, hot. His skin felt too tight, too sensitive. He licked his lips because they were dry. He remembered dreaming of a woman's hand sliding up his arm, red nails on nimble fingers. His arm? Had that been his arm, or. . . Bruce's?

Lucas ran his own hand over his own arm and then had to blink at how. . . strange it felt. Not a bad strange, though, not worrying or uncomfortable or unwanted.

No, this. . . this actually felt--

He moved the covers back and got out of the bed. Then he went over to the door and set about unlocking and undoing all the bolts.

The castle was silent at this time of night. Everyone was asleep, he thought, everyone but him.

He was careful not to wake them up. Lucas moved down the staircase quietly and carefully. He avoided the noisier floorboards in the hallway and opened and closed one of the library doors gently, soundlessly. He climbed the little library staircase, and when he reached the top. . .

It was cold and dark in here. No fire, and he hadn't turned on any lights, but he could see. He turned on the top step and looked around. The stained glass windows were alight courtesy of the moon, great arches of color even in the darkness. Lucas ran his hand up his arm again. It was cold here, but he. . . the cold wasn't bad.

He. . . liked the cold. He enjoyed it.

He liked reading, loved it. And movies, film, he loved them, too.

He. . . loved Lin. He loved Lex, too, and Julian. He liked them. He liked Bruce. Even Dick was enjoyable to be around, always joking and making everyone comfortable and relaxed and nice.

Lucas liked coffee. He liked drinking it, and having the smell of it fill up a room. He enjoyed making it, enjoyed watching water and powder combine into something different. He liked eating food and drinking soda, and he loved doing so whenever he wanted.

He liked. . . Martha Kent, and motorcycles, and picking out his clothes each morning and hot showers with tile and marble surrounding him.

He liked these things. He loved them, enjoyed them, appreciated them. He did. He could. . . feel it, in his chest, his stomach, in his throat and arms. He was standing at the top of a staircase in a castle's library in Smallville, Kansas.

And he loved that, too. He felt that.

He remembered many things, some that had happened and some that. . . hadn't yet.

His favorite memory, though, was now that hand moving up the arm. It would be possessive. The woman would be trying to get. . . Bruce's attention. Red fingernails, slender fingers, impatient hands.

Lucas set a hand on the banister to brace himself. He'd like it, Bruce would. Bruce would be pleased by that hand on his arm. He would. . . someday. Years from now. Too far away, but getting closer. Every night spent driving and jumping and fighting behind that mask brought Bruce closer to. . . her.

Selina, Lucas suddenly remembered.

Beautiful Selina. It made Lucas smile. It made him. . . happy to know what was coming. Bruce would be happy, too.

Lex and Lin would be happy.

And Lucas?

He tried to breathe deeply, but it caught in his throat when he thought of. . .

It was cold in the library, but he didn't feel cold. He felt warm, hot. It was enjoyable. He liked the feeling.

He liked it, the speed his heart rate had climbed to, the shallowness of his breathing, the sweat his body produced. A drop slid down his chest. He ran his hands up his arms, but it wasn't the same now. That was Bruce's memory. . . or it would be. But it didn't belong to Lucas.

A light slap to the cheek, though, that would be his.

A name now, too, to put with her familiar face. She'd grin, flash her teeth, and Lucas would. . .

He would smile back. He'd grin.

Lois would grin at him for stealing her pen and Lucas would grin right back. She'd give him a fake slap to the face and they'd both laugh and get funny looks from her coworkers.

He would laugh. And he'd mean it, too.

He'd like it.

Lucas set his left hand on his right cheek. With her left hand. . . she'd--

He pulled his hand away and then brought it back to his cheek in a quick slap. Like she would. It made him laugh a little. He was standing half naked in the library slapping himself on the face.

But he was too happy to feel embarrassed. He remembered what Lois' face would look like, the way her eyes would widen and her mouth purse before she'd burst out laughing. He remembered that, and touched his cheek, and he. . .

He felt happy.

***

He had visited her sometimes. She'd always smiled when he'd walked into the room, and that was reason enough, but--

No one really knew she was his mother, not around here. In fact, no one outside here really knew, either. It was just Lucas, Lex, and Julian, and so by extension Bruce, Dick and Alfred probably knew, too. Lin, wherever he was, also knew, but. . .

Rachel had checked in by herself, and she hadn't put down anyone's name as next of kin or emergency contact. She'd said it was because she didn't want to cause a scandal, but Lucas wondered if that were the truth.

Rachel was a very good liar.

He had brought her flowers today, orchids. They were white and crisp and clean. They were beautiful and for her.

He set them down on the empty chair next to him. The people here, the attendants, they were all very nice. Lucas had seen shows on television, and movies, and he'd read quite a bit, and usually places like this. . . they didn't seem very nice. Here, it was, though. Every time he'd visited, everyone was polite and calm and they smiled at him. Some people slept or put together puzzles or walked. No one shouted or screamed or threw anything, not once when he'd been here.

It was a nice place, and Rachel had seemed happy here.

But she was a very good liar.

Since she hadn't named anyone as her next of kin or guardian, no one would be called or notified. It was only. . . chance. . . that Lucas had chosen today of all days. . .

Still too late, though. He'd be asked to identify her body.

He'd see her today, just not-- not how he'd. . .

No one would be called. No one would know. Lex and Lin, they wouldn't know. No one would. He wouldn't have known, if he hadn't come today. If he'd decided to wait until next week, or next month, there would have been no Rachel here to see.

She'd have already been buried, in the ground for weeks and no one to know, no one to care.

He should have come yesterday, or last week. If he hadn't waited until this afternoon-- if he'd come in the morning-- if he'd called her on the phone, or written her letters--

If he'd. . . done something he hadn't been doing, then she'd be here. He'd be able to give her her flowers if she were still here. Where would they go now? Was he supposed to do something with them? Was there a custom or tradition for this?

Lucas felt strange, so he took off his jacket. It didn't help any, though. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He breathed in and out, deeply, correctly.

He still felt it. It was bad and getting bigger with every second. He looked over at her orchids again and then. . . .

. . . but it wasn't Rachel's hand and hers was the one he wanted to see and feel and hold, not this woman's. . .

. . . hard to breathe and he kept sucking air in, but he couldn't get it out. . .

". . . it'll be all right, hon," she said again. Hand in his hair, hand on his cheek, and they weren't right. Neither of them was the right one. "It'll be all right. . . "

--and it wasn't supposed to be like this. How had this happened? How had he not seen this? He wanted to do something, make something else hurt and feel ugly inside. He wanted to hit and scream and tear with his hands. He wanted to destroy something, anything, just to. . .

What was the point? What use was he if he couldn't even get this right? Who was he? What was the--

What was the fucking point of even being here if he didn't do anything for anyone? If he couldn't see past himself for five fucking seconds when someone else's life was on the line? What use was any of this?

What was the fucking point?

Mom, he wanted to say. Rachel. Rachel! Mom. . .

But there was no Mom, anymore. She wasn't here. He hadn't seen her when he could have, and now he wouldn't ever see her again. He hadn't seen her. He'd never seen her, never dreamed her face, not once in all these years. What was the purpose of having those dreams if they didn't help?

Why could he see himself and everyone else, but never once her? Why couldn't he have seen that? He would've. If he'd been able to, if he'd had the choice to. . . he would have traded all his happy moments to come for just one flash of Rachel yesterday.

She was gone forever now, and maybe that was his fault. Maybe it was more than just not being able to prevent it.

Maybe she'd lied about other things besides how she'd felt. Had she been happy to see him? Had that smile on her face been real every time? Or was this--

Was this Rachel's way of getting away from him?

"Thank you," Lucas finally said to the attendant. He looked up and smiled. "I apologize for-- "

"Oh, no," the woman said sternly, interrupting him. Lucas shut his mouth in surprise and raised an eyebrow, and the attendant just reached out and patted his cheek again. "Don't you apologize, honey. You go be with your people. Your mama loved you, you know" she told him, and Lucas felt himself frown at that.

How had she--

But he just cleared his throat and nodded, smiled, went to stand and watched the woman back up. Lucas turned to go, and was about halfway down the hall when she called out.

"Hon!" the attendant said loudly.

Lucas turned to look back. She was pointing at Rachel's orchids, still lying in their crinkly foil on the chair.

"Hon, don't you want these?"

"No," Lucas answered. "They aren't mine." And he turned around and left Prairie View Mental Health Clinic for the last time.

Lin had been gone for a little more than two weeks already when a fire broke out in California. It evidently happened every year, but this time was worse somehow. Many people had been evacuated, so no casualties. Yet.

Lin wasn't here, but Lucas was. There were no people to worry about, not at the moment. It was the perfect time to start, to try, to attempt.

He wasn't as well known as Lex or Bruce, or even Lin, but Lucas still worried about people finding out who he really was and what he could really do. So he made a mask and put it over his face, and then he ran to California.

It was exhilarating. People couldn't see him, except when they flew helicopters overhead. Even then, though, their eyes wouldn't be able to distinguish between Lucas and the fire. He was in it.

Figuring out how to extinguish the fire was more difficult than he'd anticipated. He tried running around and that helped some, but not enough. He even flew low to the ground and very fast, and that worked too, but. . . not well enough.

What put out fire? Water. But hauling water was too difficult to do, and it wouldn't be efficient, either. What else put out fire?

Dirt. Soil. Put dirt on a fire and it was smothered.

So that's what Lucas did. He reached under the fire and lifted the earth beneath and then set it back down on top. The flames were put out. It took a lot of effort because he could only get so much dirt and soil up in his hands at one time, but it worked. Up into hills and across great stretches of fields, Lucas worked and repeated the same motions over and over and over and over. . .

Stop. Bend down. Push arms down, down, down into Earth. Pull dirt and soil and burnt grass up. Drop onto flames. Move over. Stop. Bend down. Push arms down, down, down into Earth. Pull dirt and--

It was repetitive, but not boring. The fire attacked and tried to eat everything that lay before it. It went up trees, even, and so Lucas had to follow it there, too. He used everything he could. He took off his jacket and smothered fire. He dropped bodily onto the flames, rolling and smothering them that way. The skin of his hands ripped and tore and bled climbing the trees. The fire burned whatever it touched, and it touched Lucas quite a bit. But blisters that formed, flesh which melted, torn and split skin. . . all of it healed.

The faster he moved, the more his shoes wore down. Soon they weren't there anymore. But he wouldn't not keep moving just because he was barefoot. He stepped into fire and it burned, but then he'd reach down and drag the earth up and the fire would be gone from that spot. Then he'd move and when he stopped a few feet away, his burns would be gone. His skin would be whole and new, and then he'd step into the fire again.

For an hour, he did this. He put out fire where the helicopters weren't going. He watched them drop water down from the sky and suddenly thought, 'Rain.'

Rain would help put out the fire.

They'd made it rain before. Just a few days after they'd first come to Smallville, he and Lin had flown so high and so far and so fast that they'd created thunderstorms across the country. They'd laughed, but from then on they were both careful.

Now was not the time to be careful, though. Now. . . now was the time for storms and rain.

Lucas ran across a large field of fire and the speed of his passage extinguished the flames behind him. He ran into a take-off, and couldn't help grinning when he saw a helicopter pilot's mouth drop open. Lucas flew up and over that helicopter. He went higher and higher and then arched left. Around and around and up and down, and then he'd switch direction and fly off another way. Clouds moved. Lucas moved them. He brought them together and on top of each other, and. . .

Crack and boom of thunder, wait, wait, flash of lightning. Again, again. Again, and then--

He laughed when he first felt the water. It fell down and poured and streamed onto California, and where it landed. . .

The fire was extinguished. All of it, gone. It left behind ash and things were destroyed. Plants, life, dead.

Dead, as in never coming back, never to be seen again. No more.

The fire was dead too, though. Everything died eventually, everything, everyone.

Lucas didn't go back down once the rain started falling and the fire was put out. He went back to Kansas, touching down in the trees just outside the castle's property line. He looked down at himself and decided sneaking in would be the best decision here. It was still early, still light out. The Lady might even still be up there in the kitchen, doing something necessary that only she knew how to do.

So Lucas stuck to the dark parts of the estate, and avoided security cameras on his own property. He went in the castle, his castle, his land, his property, and climbed into the shower. He washed himself of ash and dirt and salt and death.

Lin was off learning, but Lucas wasn't. He would learn here and get better.

He'd help. He'd do good. He'd be of use.

He'd keep people from dying when they didn't have to.

***

It had happened before. Back there. Back there, it seemed that not a week would go by that he didn't--

It happened a lot. He never got used to it, but he gradually came to expect it. And if Lin were there in the room with him, then it was almost a sure thing. They'd had the opportunity. Why wouldn't they have used it?

Why waste the perfect conditions in which to conduct an experiment? Lucas had been there, and so had Lin, and thus the doctors in white coats had had everything they'd needed. It would've been insane not to do it.

This wouldn't be the first time. It hurt, but it was supposed to. That's how he knew what it was. What he would feel was beyond just pain, and that told him the truth. He was dying. . . again.

The pain was different this time, though. It was different than it was supposed to be, or at least different than he'd believed it should have been. He was here, not Lin.

Not Clark Kent.

Lucas looked at Chloe. He dropped to his knees.

"No!" Chloe screamed. "Lucas! No! You can't just leave him here! Lucas! Lucas!"

It was like the fire was here, rushing through him. It wouldn't leave, though. It didn't go away. The pain never left.

He didn't . . . heal. He wasn't healing. It wasn't getting better.

There was something in his throat, and so Lucas coughed to try and get it out. Blood, he coughed up blood. It filled his mouth and ran past his lips. Chloe was screaming, and Gabriel's motorcycle was running, and Lucas could hear bird song and tree leaves rustling and moving in the wind. He could smell summer, and exhaust, and. . .

Blood. He looked down, and it was like having several pairs of eyes all at once. He looked down and saw blood coming out of himself. He looked down; he will look down; he looks down. Blood from the hole in his chest pulses out. It hurts. It's painful.

He's falling back and when he hits the solid road beneath him, the pain spikes. His chest, his heart, everything hurts and he can't--

Just keep blinking, he thinks. He has to squint against the sunlight overhead, but if he blinks then he's awake. He has to stay awake. If he doesn't, then he'll die. He just has to. . . stay awake. Stay awake.

Keep blinking.

Suddenly there's a rushing sound, and Lucas realizes he can't hear Chloe screaming anymore. The smell and sound of Gabriel's motorcycle is gone, as well. He makes himself blink and then the sunlight's gone and he doesn't have to squint anymore.

"Lucas," he hears. Hands touch him. "No, Lucas. No, hold on. Hold on, you hear me?!"

He hears, but he can't show it. He blinks, blinks, looks up.

He looked up and the sunlight was behind Lin. It cast his face in shadows, but shone as a. . . as a halo around his head.

Lucas blinks and looks up. The sun is behind Lin. He sees it once, twice, again and again, over and over. It's come. This is it.

It's coming true. It's happening.

There's still blood in his mouth and dribbling from the corners of his lips. Lin's face is scared. "Hold on, Lucky," he tells him, orders him. "Just hold on. You hear me? You keep breathing!"

Lin reached down and Lucas felt himself being picked up.

Lin will reach down and Lucas will feel himself being picked up.

Lin reaches down. . . and Lucas feels his brother pick him up.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on. Stay with me, Lucky. Just hold on!"

Rushing, movement. Lin's running. Smoother than a car ride, quicker than a motorcycle, closer than. . .

The wind turns colder, and he can't blink anymore. It hurts to keep his eyes open. Lin's holding him, and they're flying now.

Rushing, movement. It hurts to keep his eyes open.

So he doesn't.

"Oh, thank God," he heard Lin say. It was close by and when Lucas opened his eyes, it was to Lin's face hovering mere inches away from his own.

"Yeah," Lucas agreed.

Lin smiled, then moved back. He was standing, and Lucas. . . wasn't. Lucas looked around and then had to blink because all he could make out was white.

White, everywhere.

He was lying down, so the first thing he tried to do was sit up. Lin was back in an instant, frowning at him, but helping nonetheless. With an arm around his back bracing him, Lucas was able to get upright.

It was still overwhelmingly white, but not completely. There were shapes and shades of colors amidst the blankness, and the more he blinked, the more his vision cleared.

It wasn't white. It was ice and snow.

"Where is this?" Lucas finally asked.

"We're in the Arctic," Lin replied. " And this-- this is my fortress, I guess." He gave a little laugh at the end, but Lucas didn't think it sounded all that amused.

"Is it yours from your home?" he asked, and felt Lin's arms twitch around him. Perhaps it'd been a flinch, but Lucas hadn't meant it to be hurtful. "Did you find it or build it?"

Lin went completely still for a moment, and then all at once relaxed. He sighed, but it sounded okay, not angry or upset.

"What happened back there, Lucky?" Lin whispered.

"Back. . . where?"

"In Smallville." He was silent for seven seconds, and then said, "You were shot. In the chest."

Lin sounded angry, but Lucas knew him better than that. Lin was. . . worried.

"Did you help there?" Lucas questioned, and when Lin shifted around a little, he knew the answer. "I'm glad. It's a good town. They shouldn't die."

Lin made a sound in his throat, something like a laugh and wheeze and yet neither, really. Lucas tried to turn around so he could see Lin's face, but was stopped by the hands gripping his arms.

"You should rest," Lin said. "Smallville's safe, not blown up like that idiot wanted. And you're safe up here. Rest, Lucky," he said quietly. Lin slid out from behind him and started gently pushing him back down on. . . whatever they were sitting on.

Lucas went to close his eyes, but felt Lin's hands start to withdraw completely. "NO!" he exclaimed, jerking his eyes back open and grabbing at the closest hand. Lin looked at him, his face frowning and concerned.

"Lucky?" he asked, gently.

"Don't leave. Stay. Please." Lucas felt himself bite his lip and his eyes felt strange. "Lin," he said, and tried to continue, but couldn't. His throat closed up again, only different somehow. His eyes hurt and stung, and he realized he was squeezing Lin's hand extremely tight.

"Please," he repeated, and then tears started running down his face. Lin kept a hold on his hand, but sat down again, too. He pulled Lucas closer, wrapping his arms around him. He hugged him. Lin hugged him.

It had hurt. It hadn't been like any of the other times, not really. Lin hadn't been there when the bullet hit him and passed through. He hadn't been there. But Lin always came for him. When it had really hurt back there, Lin was with him. If it ever really hurt out here, Lucas remembered thinking, Lin would be with him, too.

But he hadn't, and Lucas hadn't been able to feel anything but pain and. . . worry.

It was different, and he'd even seen it. He'd seen that happening two years ago, had known it would happen. And still it had happened.

They would all come true, Lucas realized, all his dreams, in the end. Even the bad ones, the dreams that hurt and made Lucas wish he wouldn't ever fall asleep again just so he didn't have to see them, even those would come true.

Lucas was crying, and Lin was hugging him close. Maybe he was crying, too, because he was shaking just as much as Lucas. Maybe Lin was just as worried, too. Maybe Lin realized what today meant.

Bad things were going to happen, and even though Lucas would see them. . . he wouldn't be able to stop them. He wouldn't be able to save. . . them.

"Lucky," Lin whispered close to his ear, "you're not alone. I'm here. We're here. You're not alone. Lucky, it'll be okay. You're not alone. . . "

He'd died again today. He'd seen himself die and he had. He'd known it would happen, and it had happened.

He'd dreamed something, and even though he'd known it would come true. . . this was the first time it had. This was the first time.

He wasn't crazy. He wasn't making it up. He'd seen it. He had. It was real. It would always be real.

They would all be real.

"I'm glad you're back," Lucas confessed, and Lin squeezed him tighter in response. "I missed you."

***

Lana and Chloe chose to move to Metropolis the same weekend. It made sense. They were moving into the same dorm room, after all, even though Lucas told them they didn't have to stay there if they didn't want to.

"It's part of the experience!" Chloe argued, throwing her arms wide grandly. . . and seeming frighteningly close to touching both sides of the small room simultaneously with the gesture. "A rite of passage like prom or drunken parties at the lake or graduation."

Lana just kept unpacking on her side, but Lucas caught her smiling.

"You're certain?" he asked one more time.

"Yes," Chloe assured him, "much as I would like to live in one of those condos of yours-- "

"Of Lex's. . . " Lucas corrected automatically.

" . . . it's just going to have to wait until I can at least make a down payment on one," she carried on, giving him a fake glare when he just smiled innocently. "You know," and she shrugged, "in fifty years. If I save all my money and never do anything."

Lana rolled her eyes fondly at Chloe's dramatics, as Lucas moved closer to Chloe. It only took three steps. The place really was ridiculously tiny.

'Cozy,' Martha had advised, 'call it cozy. And it's not that bad, Lucas,' she'd said laughingly. 'Those dorm rooms have gotten much bigger than they used to be, if you can believe it. I remember. . . '

"Now, see, that right there," Lucas started saying, placing his hands on Chloe's shoulders, "is the wrong angle altogether. You have to do everything, and then it's just logic that something will prove successful." Chloe just lifted her eyebrows at him, obviously somewhat dubious.

"Mr. Pep-Talk?" she asked, cheekily. "You're giving me the encouragement?"

Lucas smiled, and withdrew his hands. "We all need a change of pace once in awhile. Now it's time for you to be Mr. Gloomy-Puss. I assure you I'll reclaim the title once the day's over." He shrugged, and then both he and Chloe turned in surprise to look over at the other side of the room.

"Lana?" Chloe eventually asked, hesitantly.

But Lana was still bent double, clutching her stomach and laughing so hard Lucas was kind of worried about her ability to breathe.

Lucas and Chloe turned back to look at each other at the same time, and then Lana made a loud snorting noise. Lucas really smiled at that sound.

She only ever made it when she was laughing full-out, around people she wasn't worried would mock her for it. The snorting set Chloe off too, though, which then made Lucas grin.

After perhaps a minute of just watching the two of them laugh and giggle, and. . . snort, Lucas made a show of checking his watch and sighing and that just set the girls off again.

"What'd I say?" he asked Chloe later. The three of them were now made five by the addition of Jeff and Whitney. There was a bar just a few blocks off the Met U campus that Whitney had touted as having the best food in the city. Lucas had his doubts, but he was willing to give it a try.

He smiled and thought, 'The old college try.'

"Well, Lana was laughing at us," Chloe told him, and at his confusion, added, "you and me? The banter? I think it was the Mr. Pep-Talk joke that did it, but. . . " She trailed off and shrugged. They both looked ahead where Lana was once again exercising great patience. Whitney had his left arm wrapped around her, but he was talking and arguing with Jeff over her head.

Football. It was always football with those two.

Lucas turned back to Chloe. "And what were you laughing at?" he asked her.

Chloe didn't smile like he thought she would. She glanced up at him a few times, but most of her focus was on her feet. Lucas figured that probably had more to do with the poor condition of the sidewalk than any hesitance to reply on her part. Over the years, he'd come to learn that Chloe was rarely hesitant about anything.

And that said something right there, didn't it?

"You were laughing with Lana," he guessed, and Chloe looked up again, "but you were also laughing at us. 'Our banter,'" he repeated. She smiled, raising an eyebrow, and he added, "At the. . . role reversal."

He knew he'd gotten it right when she grinned. She moved closer to his side and grabbed his arm, now pulling him hurriedly across one of the busier streets. They broke into a jog and Chloe laughed again.

Lucas grinned.

Once safely on the other side, Chloe turned and flipped off one of the cars that had been honking at them, and Lucas just waved when Whitney, Lana, and Jeff looked back in surprise and amusement. Chloe still had Lucas' arm wrapped around her own. She was laughing again. He couldn't think of the last time he'd seen her laugh so much in one day, let alone within one three-hour period.

"You're my best friend, Chloe," he confessed quietly, once she was facing forward again. He got a squeeze of his arm in response and it made him smile.

"And you're mine, you goof," she replied, speeding up their pace a little. "Now come on! We can't let those three beat us, or we'll never live it down!"

"Damn jocks," Lucas recited dutifully.

Chloe barked out a laugh, but nodded her head emphatically. "Darn tootin'!"

And arm-in-arm, he and Chloe caught up.

He waited until a day arrived in which he knew for sure Martha would not be at the castle. Tomorrow was Jesse's graduation, and the three Kents were all home at the farm, spending the day before preparing and decorating for the after-party.

Lucas had it all planned out. He had until tomorrow to take everything down and make it presentable again. All of the staff were gone from the castle. He'd made sure of it.

No one would hear or see anything, and in the morning he'd tell Marianne that starting Monday his room was to be cleaned along with all the others.

First, he took off the door. It would be noticeably different were he to just take all the locks off and leave it up. There would be scratches, holes, discolorations. He had to start anew, fresh.

Lucas took down the door with the locks, and then went to retrieve the new one from where he'd been keeping it. No one really went into the wine cellar. There was no point. Therefore, it had been the perfect place for him to work and experiment. He read the books, but something like carpentry demanded practice and hands-on experience in order to achieve pleasing results.

Lucas had been practicing and he now had years of hands-on experience, as well. He also had the patience and drive to get it right. What he'd produced was the best he could. Nothing less would do.

Lucas ran slowly down to the wine cellar, and just as slowly carried the door up the stairs. He took his time and cherished the moment, reveled in it. He savored this. . . feeling.

He did it right the first time, the installing of it. Then he went into the hall and closed the door, stepped back and. . . enjoyed that, too. It was a good door. It was a nice dark color, so it matched the other wood in the castle, yet the style of it was different enough to set it apart. He'd softened the lines, made it flow where the others snapped and smooth where they were hard. He'd carved on it, added small words and tiny symbols that didn't really mean anything to anyone but him.

Lucas was proud of this door. He moved closer and opened it inward and then set about undoing everything else he'd once done. The bars on the windows were next, and once they were down he had to cover where they'd been. Then it was the mirrors in the back of his closet that he had to put up once more, and the paintings he used to be worried about ruining.

He hung up everything again. He opened the windows and let the spring breeze sweep in. He left his door open, his door to his room.

He slept that night like he'd been sleeping all of his nights lately: calm and without leaving his bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up outside his bed, or to proof that he'd wandered sometime in the night. He'd videotaped himself last week and again two nights ago.

In both instances, he'd slept the whole night through, shifting three or four times over the course of seven hours, but never once getting up unawares. He wasn't sleepwalking anymore, hadn't for a very long time if he were honest with himself.

Many things had changed since that summer day three years ago. He'd died, and come back again, and come back again changed.

He much preferred the person he was now to that person he'd been. This person knew how to smile and mean it, knew how to laugh and make jokes that he knew were funny, knew how to hug and say comforting words.

He was a good man today, and when he looked at himself in mirrors he could see that. He wore white shirts when he wanted, and went to talk to Diana sometimes. He bought people presents he knew for certain they'd enjoy without having to ask someone else's opinion.

He dreamed things and could tell when what he saw was going to happen no matter what. . . and when the possibility existed that something could in fact be changed, or altered slightly, or helped along a bit. He flew and ran and lifted walls and caught people and, once, untangled a cow from barbed wire without hurting it.

Lucas was a good person, and he knew it. He was certain he was good. He liked it, enjoyed it.

He loved it: Life.

" . . . okay, so I think that's all then," Lex said, and everybody commenced gathering up their briefcases and legal pads. In the hustle and bustle of the Board leaving, Lex was able to reach over and grab Lucas' hand unnoticed. He looked him in the eyes and gestured with a nod that Lucas was to stay behind.

Lucas nodded back, and Lex removed his hand. Once the men and women were done filing out of the conference room, one of the secretaries promptly came over and closed the door again. Then it was just Lucas and Lex.

The meeting had lasted well over three hours, so Lucas stood and stretched his legs. Lex remained seated, but then he'd gotten up at one point and paced, so he probably wasn't quite as anxious to change position as Lucas, either.

"Lin told me about your. . . conversation the other day," Lex said.

Lucas turned around from where he'd been looking out one of the windows and made eye contact again. "Did he?" he responded.

Lex smirked and raised his eyebrows. He wasn't angry. Lucas could tell that much easily enough. However, he wasn't sure what exactly Lex was feeling.

"Is there a problem?" Lucas asked, putting it bluntly. "I did what I thought was right, and I'm not going to apologize."

Lex's smirk changed to a smile and he pushed his chair back to stand. He walked over to Lucas and then just. . . looked at him for a few seconds.

"It didn't surprise me, for some reason," Lex said quietly. "I think I knew the whole time that it had to be your doing." Then he was silent again, just staring and studying. Finally, Lucas had to look away. It was just after one o'clock in the afternoon on a bright, sunny summer day.

Lucas couldn't wait until he was outside. He hated board meetings.

"Does it get better?"

Lucas whipped his head to quickly look at Lex again. It wasn't the words that had surprised him. It was the way Lex had sounded. . .

"With Julian, you mean?" Lucas asked, and Lex nodded, looking right into his eyes. "Are you going to tell Lin?"

"Would it keep you from answering the question if I said 'yes'?" Lex returned.

Lucas grinned and turned back to the windows.

"Yes," he answered, and waited for Lex to understand.

"'Yes,' to the first or the second?"

"The first," Lucas clarified, smiling. "It will get better. Soon. Don't worry, and don't pick at it. He'll come around."

"I hope you're right," Lex muttered. Another moment of silence, and Lucas knew that wasn't all Lex wanted to say. So he waited, enjoying watching the people down below walk here and there and drive their cars like the crazy city people they were.

"Do you see everything, Lucas?"

Ah, there it was.

"No," he replied, keeping his eyes from Lex, "I'm happy to say I don't. I see enough, though." Lucas straightened his back and adjusted his suit, and then slapped Lex on the arm before heading for the exit. "You and Lin have fun tonight!" he called out once he'd reached the doorway.

And the horror and embarrassment on Lex's face made Lucas laugh all the way out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. He chuckled a little during the ride down to the lobby, too, causing the other passengers to give him strange looks. Which just made it even funnier.

When the elevator car hit the lobby and he started walking, Lucas received a few polite "Mr. Dunleavys" on his way out of the building. Stepping out into the sunshine was wonderful, and Lucas decided to walk around a bit more before heading to the garage for his car. He turned to the left and followed the rush of people to the next intersection. Then he waited until the little pedestrian light changed, signaling it was okay to cross the street. People were everywhere, and Lucas was jostled with elbows and banged with briefcases and bags. A woman stepped on the back of his left shoe at one point, muttering a brisk, "Sorry" afterward.

"No problem," Lucas responded, but by that point she was already somewhere else in the crowd. He turned right and when he looked up. . .

Lucas stopped walking. His vision fragmented and splintered and he laughed out loud.

He stood unmoving in a sea of people. It was hot, summer, midday. He was wearing a grey suit and a--

Lucas looks down and when he sees his tie is green he laughs again. He stands and waits, and waits, people still jostling and bumping into him and muttering curses under their breath. Then suddenly, it's as if there is no other choice but to look up again.

He raises his head, both too quickly and infinitely slow. He blinks, looks ahead, looks at the people walking towards him and not away.

He can feel it in his bones. One breath, two, three--

Flash of her between passing businessmen. A glimpse when a woman in red veers off into the coffee shop nearby.

Lucas can't move. He can't breathe. He can't blink. He is cold and scorching and every hair on his body is standing straight up.

Fifteen feet. Thirteen. Ten. A big man moves in front of her, blocking her from sight. Must be seven feet now. Five.

The big man moves right around Lucas and then--

She slams right into him, her forehead hitting him on the left temple and both of her hands coming up to touch his chest.

"What the-- ?!" she cries out in shock, notes cascading down from her hands like water. She jerks back and Lucas. . .

He looks into Lois' eyes and smiles as his heart nearly bursts in his chest.

"Watch where you're going, buddy!" she scolds him. Lucas just smiles, holding her eyes until she realizes her notes are scattered on the sidewalk. "Aw, shit!" Lois grouses, dropping down into a crouch and making quick grabs for the papers. "Watch it, watch it," she calls out as people inadvertently step all over her work.

Lucas crouches down, too, and picks up whatever he can. He deliberately makes a move for the ones Lois goes for, his hand bumping into hers. He breathes her in deeply.

Notes gathered up, they both stand at the same time. Then Lois holds out her hand imperiously, waving and gesturing towards the small pile Lucas is clutching tightly to his chest.

"Okay, pal, fork 'em over," she demands. "I'll have you know those are of a sensitive nature, and if you so much as peeked-- "

"I assure you I did not," he interrupts with a smile. Lucas holds the papers out in front of himself, and waits to let go until he's certain Lois has a good grip on them. "I wouldn't dare presume to compromise the truth that way. . . Ms. Lane."

She's studying him, and her eyes squint in suspicion when he says her name. But then her face changes, and she's smiling sharply and moving her hand rapidly over her person in search of. . . something.

"Well, good!" she replies a little distractedly, still mostly absorbed in what Lucas thinks must be her quest for a pen. "I would think a man like yourself above such. . . nefarious pursuits."

"Oh, certainly," he agrees. They've moved over on the sidewalk, farther away from the heaviest of the foot traffic. In the shade of the awning overhead, Lois' hair appears darker.

Then she's whipping her hand up in triumph, a pen clutched tightly between her fingers.

"So, Mr. Dunleavy of ELD Inc.," she says, eyes pinned on his and that sharp grin once again gracing her lips, "what brings you out today? Not mugging reporters, I hope! Cos I gotta warn ya, you're barking up the wrong tree with me. I can bring a guy down dozens of ways, using just two fingers. . . "

And as she holds up two fingers and raises her eyebrows. . .

. . . Lucas will smile at the most beautiful creation in the history of this world, or any other.

It's all Lucas can do to smile at the most beautiful creation in the history of this world, or any other.

"I imagine you can do more than that with those two fingers," he jokes, grinning.

Lois's eyebrows shoot up even higher, and she lets out a shocked bark of laughter.

"Well, isn't that just for you to find out?" is her cheeky response.

"I. . . imagine it is," Lucas replies.

***

The End.