This story takes place during Transference, when Lionel and Clark switched bodies. I always wondered what would have happened if Martha hadn't of come in and interrupted Lionel (in Clark's body) beating the crap out of Lex. Warning rated M for graphic violence, and non-consensual Luthorscest.

"There ain't no reason things are this way.
Its how they always been and they intend to stay.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
Preachers on the podium speakin' of saints,
Prophets on the sidewalk beggin' for change,
Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name.
I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same,
A window and a pigeon with a broken wing,
You can spend your whole life workin' for something
Just to have it taken away." Brett Dennen

When Clark first entered my office, I couldn't have been happier. The way our last conversation had ended, I didn't think I would ever hear from him again. I thought he hated me. Of course, as soon as I got a good look, I noticed how his clothes, his hair, even his mannerisms had changed. I knew something was wrong. The scotch should have been the final clue, but it wasn't until he asked for the fifty-seven million that I figured out exactly what was going on, and he saw it in my eyes, instantly.

"Dad," I croaked, when he grabbed me by the neck, his fingers digging into my throat. "How did you…what did you do to Clark? Pleas, I can't breath. I Cant," and then my voice gave out, and my legs turned jelly, and the darkness overtook me.

I must have been out for a long time. When I woke up I knew immediately that I was in my father's old bedroom. Silky, cream-colored curtains, red and gold carpet, and those awful, off-white sheets. The sheets alone are enough to cause multiple memories to explode in my mind, none of them good. I was naked with no memory of having taken off my clothes, or of getting upstairs, not that I was surprised.

What I noticed next, however, was more confusing than waking up in my father's bed, naked, and with a brief memory of him standing over my lip body as I lay on the floor about to pass out. I didn't know how long I had been unconscious for, or why my father hadn't taken advantage of me when I was out, and couldn't fight back. The only reason I could come up with was that he had discovered Clark's abilities, and he wanted to use them to torture me.

I was not looking forward to what I knew would happen next. I was terrified, of course, and tried my hardest not to think about it, or any of the other memories that kept forcing themselves into my mind. I heard the door squeak open, which was something I couldn't understand. We had more than enough money. Why hadn't he ever bothered to have this place fixed up?

"Oh my god, Lex?" Clark cried out, rushing to my side, touching my face, shoulders. "I am so sorry, but I didn't know what was going to happen when he touched you with that thing. I didn't wanna let him hurt you and then I got trapped in his body, and he got to hurt you even worse. What did he do to you, and why was he so mad?" I was still having difficulty breathing from the crushed windpipe, but breathing difficulty was a condition I was all too familiar with, even if it had been years. My voice was still a soft, pathetic croak, but luckily I knew Clark wouldn't have any trouble hearing me no mater how quiet my whispers might have gotten.

"My father wanted money—to get away. He tried to pretend he was you and then when I figured out he wasn't, he—I don't remember."

"Who's money, I mean, how much did he want, and why didn't you just give it to him?" Clark asked, and that was when I realized my father still inhabited his body, and that if I didn't want to let on that I knew, I was going to have to be extremely careful. I noticed that he was looking through the sheet at me, and licking his lips like a big hungry wolf. I don't know why, but I always had been his favorite chew toy, it made sense for him to come back and hurt me, especially since I couldn't tell anyone without sounding insane.

"I was scared that he was going to run off somewhere, and I'd never get to see you again, because there would be no way to…change things, an I thought that maybe if I stalled I could get him to trust me. I thought there might have been a way to fix things. How'd you do that by the way? Never mind. The important thing is that everything has gone back to normal."

"You should rest," my father told me, in a falsely kind voice, in Clark's voice. I lay down and yawned. "I think I'll join you," he suggested, slowly unbuttoning a flannel shirt, and then pulling his jeans off. He sat next to me, his hand on the soft flesh of the inside of my thigh, starting to move slowly, but roughly. "You're smart Lex, but you must have had me figured out the minute I stepped through the door the second time. So why'd you keep playing?"

"I let my hope that Clark was stronger than you get in the way of my thinking straight. I won't let it happen again. It wasn't until you started asking about the money that I knew for sure," I said, starting to stutter, as his hand slid up my thigh, wrapping around my… "Please, I can barely—I'll wire the money—a hundred million, five hundred, into an account. You can have the house, all of them. I'll live on the street, but please don't."

"Oh Lex, your problem is you need to get more fun out of life. You and I—our relationship has been difficult over the years, even strained at times, but you know that I would never hurt you—not unless I felt I absolutely needed to. Is that going to be necessary today, or can we just enjoy ourselves?"

I winced, it was quick, but my father saw it, of course, with Clark's eyes, and abilities, he couldn't miss a thing, not that he would have otherwise. The pain in my wrist was sudden and excruciating as he twisted it all the way around, in a 360 circle. I screamed, and the tears started streaming down the front of my face. I remember thinking, Toby's gonna have one Hell of a time with that one, might have to get me a real doctor this time. "Oh, my poor baby," he whispered, gently, as he x-rayed it. "I should at least give you something for the pain that must be causing you."

I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, but I didn't care anymore. I told myself I wouldn't cry in front of him, and I wasn't going to break that promise. Unfortunately, he has always seemed to love to watch me cry when he was the one causing me pain. My father used Clark's fingers to pop my mouth open, and forced his tongue inside. I tried to give him what he wanted. I tried to remember the way my father liked his kisses, and waited for the darkness to take me away once again.

//XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Chapter Break XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX//

I woke up in absolute agony later, feeling as though every inch of my body was covered in bruises, blood, cum, or some combination of at least two. I had no idea how much time had passed or why I was no longer in the bedroom, and why he hadn't at least put my pants back on before dragging me back to my office, humiliation, I figured. Soon after I woke up, ten seconds, maybe thirty, I became aware of the fact that I was not alone. My body began to quiver and I pulled myself into a protective ball, or at least tried to. I didn't do a good job, what with one of my hands having been all but amputated.

"Daddy, no," where the only words I could manage to get out before I started sobbing hysterically, again. Then, from the corner of my eye I saw a flash of red hair, and a long-fingered hand reaching out to touch my face. "Mommy?" I whispered, desperate.

"Shh, it's alright Lex. I'm not going to hurt you." Martha Kent's vice was soft and kind, like her hands, touching me ever so carefully, to check for broken bones with out doing any more damage. She helped me into a shower, and then helped me get dressed, before taking me to the hospital, and staying with me the whole time.

"Everything is okay now," she promised. The doctors managed to fix my arm, somewhat, with an eleven-hour reconstructive surgery. Thankfully it was my non-dominate side, because the hand had been rendered practically unusable. They also stitched me up at the hospital, apparently my father didn't have as much control over his strengh as Clark did, but when I woke up I didn't really care about any of that. They pumped me so full of painkillers that my father could have walked through the door, butt naked, with a hard on, and I wouldn't have flinched.

I opened my eyes slowly, and saw Martha Kent seated in a chair at my bedside, although I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why she wasn't with her own family in their obvious time of need.

"How did you know to come check on me?" I whispered, looking all around me, still having difficulty breathing.

"The doctor told me that if you push that little button it will give you more pain medication," she explained, leaning over my bed, softly touching my face, wiping it with a cool cloth. "I got a call from Kansas State Penitentiary. Clark told me what happened, and I thought it was a trick at first, but he knew—when I found out the truth, I knew that he would come to you for money."

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"Clark's at home, resting. He wanted to come and see you, but I wanted to see if you were okay with that, first," she explained. "Do you need help with the pain medication?" And I decided not to bother telling her that I was more than familiar with the workings of a morphine pump. I always fought back as a kid, even though it never worked, and usually just caused him to get angry, and hurt me more.

I didn't bother to try and count the number of times Lionel had beaten me to a bloody pulp, how many broken bones I'd had, or how many times I'd needed stitches. None of that mattered anymore.

Everything was different now. The only person I had been able to trust, since my mother died, had been Clark, and my father even managed to take that away from me. I closed my eyes, trying to force my memory to change, but I couldn't get the sound of Clark's voice saying my father's words out of my ears. Then I began to cry once again, and she held me in her arms, the way my mother used to, and I let the drugs take me far, far away.