Based on spoilers for the episode "Obscura" and inspired by the R.E.M. song "Monty Got a Raw Deal."

I saw the ocean meet the man.
I saw you buried in the sand.
A friend was there to hold your hand,
Said, Walk on by.

So, I went walking through the street.
I saw you strung up in a tree.
A woman knelt there said to me,
said, Hold your tongue, man. Hold your tongue.

You don't owe me anything.

R.E.M.

Visions of the Future and of the Past

It had been worse than she had thought anything could possibly be. To watch, helpless, as scenes of horror and trauma flitted through her view; to stand by, again, as people got hurt, got killed. Lana lay very still. The neural-suppressive medication Lex had gotten helped a lot, but she feared excessive movement would trigger more visions. Lex hadn't asked a single question when Clark had showed up at the castle with a barely conscious Lana in his arms, just quietly and efficiently took control, which was why she was currently lying in one of Lex's guest bedroom, made more oppressive and gloomy than usual by the heavy curtains that blocked the windows. Darkness helped. In the darkness her preternatural sight dimmed to something resembling normal, though she could still clearly see Clark sitting across the room, brooding and probably feeling guilty. It was one of the better parts, actually, that although she lay flat on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, she could see Clark as clearly as if she were staring straight at him.

He looked tired. He hadn't been home since he brought her here, and he hadn't slept. She didn't actually know how long it had been, but she thought it must be a long time, judging by the circles under Clark's eyes, and Lex's. Time passed differently when you were waiting in the dark. Lana was tired of waiting; waiting for the next vision to hit, waiting for Lex's people to find a permanent solution, waiting for Clark to say something instead of just sit there, watching her. Head low, elbows on knees, hands clasped, watching her.

The door was a charcoal smudge on a black canvas as it opened smoothly (she thought irrelevantly that it was wrong for an ancient castle to have no doors that creaked, but utterly appropriate for the Luthors) to admit the pale shadow that was Lex. The curve of his skull was light in the darkness, but shadows made his eyes dark pits. She couldn't hear, but saw Lex: crouch by Clark, speak softly into his ear, lay a pale hand on Clark's shoulder. Comforting, but not good news. For the first time in forever, Clark turned his eyes from her, to meet Lex's gaze.

Lana blinked and when her eyelids swept up again it was different. She was still in darkness, but it was—bluer. She looked up, and there in front of her, tied to a post, stripped and sweating, was Clark. Nausea roiled in her as she took in his bent head and the red 'S' painted on his bare chest. This is how he had looked when Whitney strung him up in Reilly Field on Homecoming—lax and beaten in the blue night darkness and the tall corn.

A sigh near her ear and Chloe was standing beside her. Chloe carried a mini tape recorder, wore press credentials, and her hair was brown. "Isn't he beautiful?" she said. Lana looked at Clark, then back to Chloe. Speaking seemed like so much trouble, but Lana forced the words.

"Shouldn't we help him?"

"Good idea," Chloe said. She held the tape recorder up to the still form. "Clark! Do you have any comments?"

Suddenly Lana realized that what she had thought was corn was actually masses of people. The corn was laid flat like a woven mat under the feet of the throng that, radiating out from Clark, stretched to the horizon. A blonde man crawled out of the crowd to crouch at the base of the post and reached up to touch Clark's bare feet. When his hand made contact, he immediately leaped to his feat, shouting like a televangelist in ecstasy, "I have been saved!" The cry echoed from the cavernous throats of the masses again and again, fading to a thunderous whisper before it died. Beyond Chloe, Lana saw Mr. and Mrs. Kent, arm in arm, gazing at their son.

"That's my boy," said Mr. Kent.

"We're so proud of him," said Mrs. Kent.

A book fell from Lana's hands. When she picked it up from the ground, she discovered it was a copy of The Portable Nietzsche. She held it out to Clark. "Which are you Clark?" she asked. "Man or superman?"

Clark moaned deep in his chest. His head fell back, his spine arching against the bonds that held him, a martyr on the cross. "Help me, please," he whispered. The throng murmured and surged closer.

There was a commotion off to Lana's right. Lex, in a pure white suit, pushed his way through the crowd, shoving people aside, stepping over or on those who fell. He searched ahead of him with the beam of a flashlight.  When the light hit Clark, he stopped dead. "Clark?" There was no response. "Oh God, who did this to you?" The flashlight turned into a knife, but the illumination remained.

Lex reached up and began sawing at the rope that bound Clark's right wrist. He worked desperately. The knife slipped and blood welled from Clark's wrist. Chloe screamed. "You're hurting him!" The Kents rushed up and grabbed Lex.

"Leave him alone, Luthor," Mr. Kent growled.

Lex shook the older people off. He pushed them away and brought the knife back to the rope. Lex sawed intently at the bond. Every time the knife slipped a moan rose from the close circle. Blood from the wounds stained Lex's white hands and his white suit, but he ignored everything but his task until finally the rope was cut. Lex ripped it away and tossed it into the crowd. There was a scuffle as people fought for the bloodied and torn scrap of rope.

Lex had moved without pausing to Clark's left. He began to cut at the rope there. Now Clark's blood made the knife slippery, and Lex's knuckles were white as he gripped the handle. Lana went to him. "Lex," she said. "Lex, isn't there another way? You're hurting him."

Lex didn't falter in his work. "Don't you see it?" he asked. "I have to get him down. They don't see it. It's killing him." His voice was rougher than she'd ever heard it. Desperate, she thought, but then knew she had to be wrong because Luthors didn't do desperate.

Clark choked, but didn't move. He spoke one word that Lana though might have been "No" but could have been "Please." Then she saw that the light wasn't coming from a flashlight, but from a green glow at the base of Clark's throat. It made the 'S' blaze bright and it cast both he and Lex in a sickly green light.

The last strand of rope snapped away from Clark's bloodied wrist and he slumped forward, falling, until Lex caught him. Slipping Clark's arm around his shoulders, Lex supported the other man's slow descent. Half-dead, Clark lay on Lex's shoulder. The green glow around Clark's neck grew brighter and brighter as Lex reached toward it. It filled her sight the moment before Lex's hand snapped closed around it, sending her into darkness again.

When her eyelids swept up again, Clark knelt on one side of her and Lex stood on the other. Clark reached out to stroke her hair and whispered, "Lex says that they're on their way to finding a cure." His eyes were filled with so much compassion, and she loved him totally in that moment. "He says that they're on the trail of something really…promising." Clark kept his hand on her hair, but his eyes moved to Lex. She saw Clark change as his focus moved; saw the shadow of something greater than "boy next door, Kansas farmer" fall over him.

Lex reached down and took her hand. "Don't worry Lana. It's only a matter of time now."

Lying there, staring at the ceiling and watching the green sparks of destiny flash between the two men, Lana wanted to cry. But all she could do was wait.

finis