Dorothy: I thought you said she was dead.
Glinda: That was her sister - the Wicked Witch of the East. This is the Wicked Witch of the West. And she's worse than the other one was.
Lana Lang had a lot of time on her hands lately. She'd always been one to do things for herself, even when she didn't necessarily have to do them. She liked being busy.
Since her marriage to Lex, and the loss of the baby-that-never-was, Lana found herself withdrawing more and more. She rarely ventured out of the house anymore, which suited her overprotective (overbearing?) husband just fine. The volunteer work she'd taken up with so many good intentions, she let fall by the wayside. Anything she wanted, someone was there to provide to her. She didn't even have to get out bed if she didn't want to, but she did. She had to at least make the effort, because Lionel held Clark hostage, and only Lionel had the power, ultimately, to protect her from Lex.
Fear drove her, fear for herself and for Clark. She buried herself in intrigue, sneaking around the corridors of the mansion listening to conversations she shouldn't listen to, accessing private files she shouldn't access, and tinkering with the security system to hide all her misdeeds. Her nerves were on edge. Her sleep was disrupted. Every waking hour her mind was filled with questions from the past, and now she spent time answering those questions. It all fell into place. It all made sense.
Oddly, in the quiet times when she sat and mulled over the past in its new light, her thoughts did not turn to Clark as often as she thought they might. She loved him, she knew that now, but she couldn't help think about how things might have been different had she known the truth. Would she have rejected him had she found out his secret earlier? And if she had...
She stared into the flames flickering in the biggest of the mansion's fireplaces, the one in Lex's study where she now sat curled in the corner of one of the sofas. Vague snippets of memory not her own flickered through her mind like the fire. She could smell the fire, and the ash, and the horrid stench of burning flesh.
From her pocket, she withdrew a slip of paper she'd recently re-discovered in one of her books. She opened the single fold, smiling slightly at the crisp, clear, handwriting there on the page before her. In a fit of despair she'd burned all the rest of his notes, his letters, his poems and cards. She'd needed to purge him from her life because with him would go the pain of betrayal and the guilt of what she'd ultimately had to do.
Had he lived, she wondered, would her murderous act have set him free?
She traced the words with her fingers. So simple. So full of pain.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
I always did.
I always will.
Lana unfolded herself from the sofa. She knelt before the fire and quietly slipped the paper into the flames. Of all of them, Clark included, she thought perhaps he could have been the one who would ultimately bring into her life the joy it had always lacked.
"Lana."
Her breath caught. The whispered voice was familiar.
Turning she expected to see Lex, or, by some stretch of the imagination, Clark.
But the room was empty. She'd been hearing things, dredging voices up from the past. She smiled at her own foolishness as she got up and headed for bed. Perhaps she'd put the intrigue on hold for a while, go out shopping. Her nerves could use a little break.
In the morning she told Lex her intentions. She would drive into Metropolis, meet Chloe for lunch and the two of them would do some shopping – just like old times. He wished her a good day, with marked reluctance. There was, she realized, no love lost between Lex Luthor and Chloe Sullivan.
There was no love lost between Lex and just about everybody these days.
"Lana," he said, casually slathering a scone with preserves. "What were you dreaming about last night?"
She stopped in the doorway, turning with an honest frown upon her face. She didn't know what he was talking about. "I don't remember, why?"
He took his time, biting into the scone, chewing carefully and swallowing. A drop of raspberry preserves clung to his lip, looking eerily like blood. He licked it off.
"You were talking in your sleep."
Fear gave her a shake. The first thing she thought of was Clark. What had she said? What had she revealed. She forced a laugh. "Really? What did I say?"
The answer surprised her.
"You said, 'Jason, come home.' "
She still had all her yearbooks, tucked away in storage. It took her a while to find the one she was looking for within all the clutter. One of the security guards helped her, and she joked about marriage making her feel old. He didn't question why she wanted her yearbook then, and therefore she knew he wouldn't report her actions back to Lex.
The picture quality was good for a high school publication. His photo was as crisp and clear as his handwriting. It had been taken when the weather had still been warm and he retained the look of summer about him. His hair was touched with gold, his eyes were bright, and his fair skin – well the freckles had been the bane of his existence. The sun brought them out even more.
"I don't tan," he'd grumbled. "I burn."
"I like them," she'd said, and kissed his cheeks, his nose...
Lana shuddered and quickly shut the book on the picture.
She'd seen him. She'd been seeing him; little glimpses in corners, in shadows, reflected in windows and mirrors. Once she'd gotten a good look at him and cried out for Security in her terror. He had stared straight at her, with eyes filled with pain, looking out through a mask of blood and dirt covering his face. Bruises darkened his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. His lips were split and bleeding. His hair was matted with blood. It continued to run down down his face like crimson tears. She hadn't waited to hear what he would say when his mouth opened as if to speak. She'd fled the room, into the arms of her husband.
Lex had the mansion torn apart, looking for an intruder. If she'd told him the truth she could have spared him some time. There were only two people she could trust, who would believe her. One she was not yet ready to face. The other she called immediately.
Lana checked her watch and threw down the yearbook onto the seat of her car, leaving it behind as she got out. She'd fled to the Talon. Chloe was meeting her there in Lois' apartment. Lana's old apartment.
He'd always had some sort of surprise waiting for her. Flowers, dinner, a funny furry ring he'd coaxed from a gumball machine after feeding in nearly ten bucks in quarters. It had orange hair, that ring, and googly eyes. It made her laugh. He could always make her laugh.
The apartment brought back memories, even though it barely resembled the place she'd known. Her tastes were far different from Lois Lane's. The differences were good. So were most of the memories.
Sitting by the fire, cradled in Jason's arms.
Making love to Clark for the first time.
Had Jason known somehow? Had he known deep down inside himself when he'd rejected her advances, that she truly wished for someone else?
Could she love him for that?
Lana's knock was a bit unsteady. She repeated it.
Chloe let her in. "I could tell from your voice something is wrong," she said.
Lana poured out her story in tattered fragments. Chloe was able to pick up on the gist of it right away, but Lana needed to say it.
"I think Jason is haunting me."
"Assuming we believe in ghosts, why would he do that?"
She couldn't say. Her eyes darted to the place on the floor where Genevieve Teague's blood had soaked into the rug, into the wood below. It was all but gone now save to the most talented of CSIs. Lex had been thorough. Lana wondered if Genevieve's ghost ever disturbed Lois' sleep.
"I don't know," Lana whispered. She looked down at her hands where a single tear had fallen. She wiped it away with her thumb. "After...it happened...I didn't ask any questions...I just..."
Chloe handed her a tissue. "I don't blame you," she whispered. Her one armed hug was a comfort. "Considering."
Lana nodded, wiping her eyes. "Ironic, isn't it? That he met the same fate as my parents?"
"Tragic is more like it, Lana. I'm sorry. I know there were issues in the end but..."
"You know." Rising, Lana paced uneasily. "I only just realized that...he meant a lot to me. Almost as much as..." She stopped abruptly. "Did they find his remains, Chloe?"
Chloe looked uncomfortable. "Yes, and no," she said.
Lana frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Chloe got up herself and went into the kitchen. She plugged in Lois' coffee maker. "Mr. Kent's instructions to the clean-up crew got a little garbled. They just came in with a bulldozer and carted off all the debris." The smell of coffee rose up into the air as Chloe opened a new package. Lana was grateful. She hadn't slept well.
"Did anyone even know that Jason had been there?"
"No," Chloe said quietly. "Nobody knew."
"Oh, my God."
Chloe made a face. "Yeah. If there was anything left of him, it most likely ended up at the dump."
"What about Mr. Teague?"
"He sent some people in to search, but..." Continuing to make the coffee, Chloe trailed off a little distracted. She took the thread back up after handing Lana her cup. "I'd say if Jason is haunting you, it's for a good reason."
"He can't rest," Lana murmured. She blew on her coffee to cool it. "He's asking me for help."
"That would be my guess."
"How do we know for sure?"
Chloe considered. Finally she shrugged. "Why not ask him?"
Chloe gave her the rundown of the conversation with Clark.
"You want me to what?"
"I want you, and your Mom, to go out for dinner in Metropolis and don't come back until really, really late."
"Why?"
"I need your house."
"Again, I have to ask why?"
"Lana needs your house and you can't ask questions."
"Did he?" Lana asked. She already knew the answer. Clark Kent hadn't the privilege of getting explanations from Lana and he knew it. In that regard, she owed him nothing.
"No, but it was killing him not to."
They sat on the floor in the living room. A braided rug marked the spot where his life had ended, an incongruous shroud. Jason had come from money, knew what power it had, but given the choice between the finest silk and homespun cotton...
He would have chosen cotton.
L A N A
The stylus flowed over the wooden board, slowly at first, gaining speed as time passed. This was no parlor trick, no slumber party make-believe. It was real.
He's here. I can feel him.
H E L P
M E
Whispering voices. Chloe's awe. Lana's fear.
What did he want?
R E D E M P T I O N
Letters became jumbled together, began to make little sense. Some repeated themselves over and over again.
Help me.
Help me.
Help me.
And, in the end...
S L E E P
They both felt it, a wave of pain and despair rising up from the floorboard to engulf their senses. It rocked them both, turning Chloe pale, bringing tears to Lana's eyes. As quickly as it came, it passed again, but left behind a lingering resonance of sorrow. Lana staggered to her feet and ran to the bathroom, shutting herself in where she could give way to grief in private.
She ran water in the sink.
She splashed her face to wash away the tears, and dried it with a towel.
He stood behind her in the mirror. If she turned, she knew, there would be no one there, so she remained where she was, staring back at him.
She felt no fear, only remorse. Deep down she'd expected this.
"Why me?" she asked. Tears filled her eyes. She lifted a hand toward his reflection. "Jason..."
His lips parted. She heard his voice.
"Redemption."
The image flickered, and faded away.
"Redemption," Lana said softly. "But for who? You, or me?"
If she hadn't lived in Smallville all her life and see things no one else might have seen – or believed – Lana herself wouldn't have believed in strange coincidences. Strange coincidences were commonplace in Smallville, Kansas. When they occurred, they were easy to accept.
Sometimes.
Chloe had a magic bag of tricks. She also had a magic list of contacts who had knowledge regarding just about anything and everything. A friend of a friend led her to a bar in Duluth, Minnesota and a girl who, unable to help Chloe herself, provided a number, and a name.
Winchester.
"Like the rifle?" Lana queried.
"Like the rifle, and according to my sources, if anybody can figure out what's going on here, these people can."
Professional ghost hunters.
No, Chloe corrected, Hunters with a capital "h". They didn't just hunt ghosts, but anything supernatural.
The irony? Jason would have laughed at her.
Despite everything he'd known, everything that he'd kept from her regarding the occult and his own involvement, he still would have laughed at her.
"I wanted to believe him," she'd whispered that day when she'd first brought her fears of ghosts to Chloe. "I wanted to believe he didn't know what his mother was doing, and to this day, I wonder if he didn't know the whole story." She'd raised her eyes to those of her friend, pleadingly, as if Chloe could somehow make it all right. "I know he loved me."
"But not enough?"
Lana didn't answer that. "In the end he went after the Kents, thinking they had the stones," she'd said softly. "Obsessed to the point of insanity, just like his mother."
"Or perhaps he only wanted to bring it all to an end once and for all," Chloe suggested.
Redemption.
"I want to believe in him, Chloe, I do. If it hadn't been Clark..." Lana stared down at her wedding ring, her chain, her tether. "And maybe even if it had."
The girls now sat in the Talon, talking, waiting for a much anticipated arrival. Sam Winchester's voice had been soft and low, reassuring and confident, even over the phone. It was like the sound of a calvary horn. Rescue was on its way.
"We'll be there in a half hour."
"Because Clark is...Clark?" Chloe prompted.
Lana gave nothing up, but they understood each other. Clark was - what he was - and though she loved him with all her heart, Lana still wasn't sure they could overcome the issue.
As it were.
"Because Clark is Clark."
And Jason, had been Jason.
Handsome, bright, funny...
They'd kissed under the Eiffel Tower. A tourist had snapped a picture.
"Ah, I knew it!" he'd exclaimed upon seeing it.
Lana had been concerned by his tone. "What? What is it?"
"These jeans do make me look fat."
He could always make her laugh, as if he felt he had to make up for the years when she'd found laughter difficult.
She had once told Clark she stayed with Whitney because she made her feel safe. These days she was beginning to understand those feelings should have been directed at Clark. He'd always been there. He'd always been standing by behind the scenes making sure she, and everyone else he loved, was safe from harm. He never asked for anything in return, never expected it, never needed it. This revelation made Lana love him even more.
Sam, she decided, was very much like Whitney, and Clark. There was an air about him that led you to trust him immediately. He was taller than Clark, but not quite so broad. His size contrasted with a soft voice and all-around gentle manner both Chloe and Lana found appealing. He was – in short - comfortable. He made them feel as if they'd known him for years. Like a priest, or a bartender, he was one of those people to whom you could tell anything without fear of judgment.
Lana let Chloe do all the talking. Telling the story, presenting the facts, was more Chloe's forte than Lana's. Chloe spoke the language too, the language of ghosts and hauntings, restless spirits and mystic forces. Sam listened, politely interjecting questions where more details might be needed. It all made Lana uneasy. It reminded her of Isobel.
"I need a little air," she said, and dismissed herself for a moment.
It took all she had not to run for the doors.
Outside on the sidewalk she stood in the sunlight, clutching a hand to her chest and gulping in the fresh air. The spirit of Countess Isobel Theroux was gone, purged by the spilling of her enemy's blood, or so Lana hoped. In any case, that blood still stained Lana's hands and drew dark things into her life.
Was it truly redemption Jason had come back for, or was it revenge? She'd rejected him when he might have benefited from understanding. She'd told him lies and betrayed him. She'd murdered his mother.
Maybe Clark is right not to trust me.
Lana took a long, slow, deep breath. Her jangled nerves settled as she reminded herself that the expert had arrived. Sam would take care of Jason and that horrible chapter of her life would finally be over.
And if her secret were uncovered?
Well, she had Lex to take care of that for her, didn't she?
"Are you okay?" .
Lana looked up at the sound of his voice. She'd not seen him at first, standing there at the curb, leaning against the dark fender of an impossibly long car. At first glance it looked like a hearse, and he, in a dark leather jacket, spoke of countless old horror movies with ghostly drivers in demonic cars. She'd shown a few of those movies on Friday nights the year she'd reopened the theater. It brought back memories of Milk Duds and popcorn, and stealing glances at Clark when the lights went down. He had not known she was looking.
Perhaps she should have been frightened, but she wasn't, not when her last vision of him – literally – haunted her mind. She could still see the pain in his eyes and the blood, both old and new, masking his face. He'd reached out a trembling hand toward her...
"Help me."
This dark doppleganger, with his close-cropped hair and day old stubble didn't scare her, or else she was frightened beyond actually feeling it. She did feel a queer sense of calm, as if only now everything could be okay again.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked.
He didn't smile, he didn't frown at her as if she were crazy for blurting out such an odd question to a perfect stranger. He didn't even miss a beat. His simply stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, looking very matter-of-fact.
"Yes," he said. "Do you?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."
"I thought maybe you did 'cause you look a little like you've seen one."
"Do I?"
"Absolutely."
"Am I?" Lana breathed. "Are you real?"
She took a few steps closer, close enough that she could smell him. Leather and woodsmoke, and an undercurrent of cheap cologne. It made her smile. Jason had been frugal after leaving his inheritance behind, but he'd never, ever, skimped on the cologne.
"Lana Lang," she said.
"Dean Winchester."
Her brows knit. "Sam's..."
"Brother."
"Oh," Lana said weakly.
In Smallville, always expect the unexpected. Strange coincidences were as thick as thieves.
His hair was slightly darker, his complexion lighter, betraying a man who saw little sunlight. He was a bit bulkier than Jason had been too, wider through the shoulders, heavier in the thighs.
Everything else was the same.
Exactly the same.
Including the freckles.
Lana gathered herself together. There as a reason, she thought, for everything. "You're here because of me."
"I am?"
"My ex-boyfriend is haunting me."
"Haunting you, or stalking you?" he chuckled slightly.
"I'm tempted to say both," she said. Her purse was open. There were pictures inside.
The Eiffel Tower kiss.
Silly faces in a photo booth at the train station.
One brow arced high, otherwise he remained non-plussed, as if he met people who looked just like him every day. Perhaps he did, given his cryptic response to what he saw.
"You know, I'm getting really tired of being in trouble for stuff people who look like me do."
He returned the pictures to her, holding them out pinched between his fingers. Lana took them. Her fingertips brushed his. She hadn't wanted to touch...
Solid. Real.
"A clone?"
Who are you? What are you?
"What I ran into before? No, a shape shifter. What this guy is though..."
"Was," Lana corrected quickly. "Was," she repeated.
Jason is dead. This is not him.
A longing little voice whispered at the back of her mind.
It could be.
Dean stopped, and stared at her. His gaze was intent, serious. "No," he replied. "Is. And will be until his spirit is put to rest." Leaning forward ever-so-slightly he whispered to her in a soft voice she knew far too well. "I believe in ghosts you know."
"What are you keeping from me?"
Lex's paranoia ran rampant these days. It no longer frightened her like it had, because now Lana recognized it for what it was. He knew nothing. He feared everything.
"Lex you're hurting me."
He let go of her arm. Lana rubbed at it, rubbed it in to him that he had hurt her. She saw a crease appear in his brow. There was a little bit of compassion left in him. She hoped there was a little bit of love too.
Was there ever? Or was this marriage just his way of stabbing Clark in the back?
"Jason's alive, isn't he?"
Lana looked up sharply. "No," she said. "You know he isn't."
Lex should have known. Lana found out only within the past couple of days that Lex had cleaned up the entire Teague mess. She knew about Genevieve of course. What she had not known was that after the Kents were taken to the hospital, before Clark returned from wherever he'd been, Lex had men come to the farm for Jason too. Just how Lex knew he'd been there was unclear, and where his remains were now was still a mystery.
"At least," Dean had said, upon hearing that bit of information. "We won't have to go digging through miles of crap at the Lowell County Landfill."
They hadn't been to the house yet. Clark was suspicious. Chloe was having a hard time keeping him out of her business, particularly since he'd come to the conclusion she was two-timing Jimmy with Sam. Under other circumstances Lana might have found it all amusing. Clark bristled every time Sam got anywhere near him.
Sam was running reconnaissance between Chloe and Dean, keeping his brother out of sight as much as he possibly could.
"Trust me," Chloe warned the elder brother. "You really don't want to have a run-in with Clark right now."
Angry much? Bitter much?
Heartbroken...
Much.
Lana knew. Like all of them – Chloe, Lex, the Kents - she'd gotten a glimpse of Clark's dark side. It peeked through from time to time. You didn't threaten his friends, or his family.
Jason had done both. His miraculous reappearance could give Clark the outlet he now so desperately needed. All his pain would be redirected. He wouldn't listen to reason. It was frightening to think even Chloe was unsure of her ability to pull him back from the edge. Would he, could he, go over it?
They weren't taking any chances. Dean kept out of sight.
Mostly.
"Don't lie to me, Lana," Lex said. "One of my men saw him. Saw you with him."
It had been an accident: Lana on her way to the jewelery store, a diamond loose in her wedding ring and in need of repair, Dean coming out of the diner with breakfast in hand. It was early. They bumped into each other, nearly spilling duel coffees. It was Paris all over again; a chance meeting, a joke and a smile and the instant camaraderie of two travelers adrift in a land not their own. That's where it had all begun.
Somehow Lana couldn't picture Dean on a Vespa.
He'd bought her a fresh coffee and set her on her way again as if she were a child waking in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Brother, not lover.
She had looked back over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of his profile as he crossed the street toward the hotel, and saw him turn to look at her. It was the briefest of glances. She couldn't be sure of what she saw there.
Compassion?
Attraction?
It made her blush. She had to look away, and when she raised her eyes once more he had vanished like the ghost who haunted her dreams.
"Jason is dead," Lana repeated. She took a gamble, threw the dice. "I know you disposed of his body."
Lex was startled.
Lana continued before he could ask questions, to try to figure out where and how she'd come up with information he'd thought secure. "You buried them together didn't you?"
If there was anything Lex understood, it was the love between mothers and sons. He'd never let go of Lillian, even long after her death took her from him. Lana wondered if Lex didn't have ghosts of his own. Surely his mother would not approve of his current path. Would she have approved of his bride?
"No," Lex replied. A small, chilling, smile flickered across his lips, gone in an instant. He was used to hiding what he'd become. "I didn't bury them at all."
Their base of operations was Lois' apartment. She was on assignment in Missouri. Chloe had a key, and so did Lana. Lana called Chloe. Chloe called Sam.
"There's irony in this," Sam murmured upon hearing Lana's news. "Somewhere."
It was a rare moment of speechlessness for Chloe. "Fertilizer?" she said finally. "He turned them into fertilizer?"
Lana nodded. "Burnt to ash in the plant's incinerators."
"Something else is keeping him here." Sam leaned back in his chair, one long arm resting on the table, fingers toying with a dog-eared deck of Tarot cards.
Lana had been there earlier when he'd been flipping through the cards with more seriousness, frowning at the configurations he laid down across the table.
She'd joked, "Tell me my future."
He'd flinched at her words, looked up at her with a small, sad smile, and said, very softly: "No."
She didn't ask why he refused, nor did she ask what answers he was looking for in the cards. She simply watched quietly as he dealt them over and over again. He spread them many times during their wait for Chloe's arrival. Lana felt a chill run down her spine when, after several deals, the same card kept appearing with disturbing regularity. She knew that card. Everyone knew that card.
Death.
When Chloe came, Sam gathered up the cards and stopped his fortune telling.
Misfortune telling.
Lana had waited for Chloe's arrival to reveal what she'd learned from Lex, not wanting to repeat herself. Before she'd left the mansion she reminded Lex that he himself had made sure Jason's body was long gone. His security guard had not seen Jason Teague walking down the streets of Smallville, buying coffee for another man's wife, what he'd been told was a mistake. She thought maybe he believed her.
"Help me," Lana whispered. "That's what Jason has said to me – when I've seen him."
"And you felt his presence the strongest...?"
"At the Kents'," Chloe supplied. "Maybe Lex missed something."
Sam shrugged. "It's possible. Even spilled blood, if there's enough of it, can tie a spirit to a place."
Chloe chewed her lip. "We need in that house."
"Mrs. Kent is in Wichita right now. I overheard her telling Lionel she was leaving."
"Which leaves us with Clark."
Lana watched Chloe struggle with guilt and indecision. She made the decision herself, drawing Chloe away where they could talk without Sam overhearing.
"Don't tell him everything," Lana whispered. "We need to keep him as far away from this as possible. I think you know why."
They both knew why Clark needed to be out of the loop, although Chloe probably had far more insight than Lana did. Getting Clark involved with the Winchesters in any way, shape, or form would be like letting a cat loose in Madison Square Gardens during the Westminster Kennel Club's National Dog Show.
"If I tell him anything he'll want in. We got lucky the first time."
"Tell him if he gets involved there is a chance I could get hurt."
"Lana, I can't lie!"
A lie itself. Chloe obviously could, and did.
"If he gets involved, and anything happens to him, Chloe..." Lana felt her lip tremble, her voice grew rough. "I will get hurt. It won't be a lie."
Chloe's eyes were filled with grief. Lana appreciated her more than Chloe could ever know. Chloe knew what it was like to love Clark, they had that in common, and even if it meant losing him to Lana, Chloe also loved him enough to wish him all the happiness in the world.
But Clark's ability to find happiness had been shattered the moment Lana had said, "I do" to another man.
If anyone had to take her place in Clark's heart, Lana wanted it to be Chloe. One day, perhaps, he would come to acknowledge the love he'd so many times rejected.
"Chloe, please..."
"Okay, okay. But he won't like it."
An electronic scream went off in Dean's hand as they passed through the Kents' living room.
"Elecro-magnetic field detector," Sam explained.
Lana nodded, swallowed heavily, and was not sure whether she were more afraid of ghosts or of Clark bursting in on them. Chloe had told him as much of the truth as she possibly could.
Jason. Ghost. Paranormal experts.
"Considering you're paranormal, Clark, maybe you should take off for a while."
If he suspected Lana were in danger, Clark wouldn't care about his own safety. Lana wasn't sure if she were in danger or not.
"Can they hurt us?" she asked.
"Who? Spirits?" Dean looked back over his shoulder. With the waning afternoon light casting shadows across his face, his appearance was unnerving. "Yes."
"Usually not outright," Sam murmured softly, attempting reassurance. "Through indirect ways mostly. The ghost who appears on a road may cause an accident. The poltergeist who throws objects can impale you with a knife."
"They sometimes have the desire," Dean added, and then cocked his head with a wry look. "Okay, they often have the desire, but not always the means."
"But you have to ask yourself - why would Jason want to hurt you?" Sam stopped in front of the sofa. "He loved you."
There were plenty of reasons. "If he wanted to, I suppose he would have by now. I've been seeing him for weeks."
"Now?" Dean asked. "Do you see him now?"
Lana smiled just slightly. "Is that a trick question?"
Dean chuckled. "No," he said.
"No," she replied. "I don't see him here now."
"But he is here." Sam tilted his head just slightly. "There's something here." He looked to Lana. "You can feel it too can't you? We're being watched."
Before Lana could answer they were distracted by a clatter and a bang, followed by footsteps across a wooden floor. It was only Chloe. She shook rain off of her coat as she slipped from the sleeves. She looked worried.
"He's not happy," she reported. "We've got to make this quick before he changes his mind about staying out of it. Clark isn't," she explained. "Known for his patience, nor for his ability to mind his own business."
"Which is sometimes a good thing," Lana added softly.
"And sometimes not," Chloe said. "He did tell me something interesting."
"What is that?" Dean asked, moving in a serpentine pattern across the room. He was, Lana realized, mapping out the area where the electromagnetic field was the greatest.
"Shelby tried to attack Jason when he was here during the meteor shower. Now he won't come into the living room, and Clark has caught him standing there at the threshold just growling at nothing."
Lana had to smile at Dean's momentary look of confusion.
"Dog," Sam supplied. "The one we saw outside in the barn."
"Ah, gotcha." Dean threw a look toward Lana. "Animals are sensitive to this stuff."
She knew. She'd lived in Smallville all her life, been around horses for years. There were places she didn't dare ride. Even the most bombproof horse reacted badly when there was a large deposit of "meteor rock" in the area. They sensed its alienness. It didn't belong in their world, it could bring harm, and they knew it.
Oddly enough, animals loved Clark.
They know he won't hurt them. I should have known he'd never hurt me.
Guilt gnawed at her insides. He did hurt her, she realized. He hurt her with his lies, his distrust, and if he confided in her he would hurt her with his differentness, even if he didn't mean it. The nervous twisting of her wedding ring, a bad habit soon to do damage to the delicate skin of her finger, betrayed her unhappiness. Clark hurt Lex too. Would her husband have turned so bitter and odd had Clark extended his trust to him?
Yes. Because Lex would always want more.
Lana looked over to where the Winchesters stood. Their heads were both bowed over the EMF meter, their voices muted as they discussed the results of their search. They could be a significant danger to Clark, but not nearly as dangerous as Lex could be to his alien ex-friend. Alien. There was no doubt in Lana's mind that was what Clark was now. She'd seen what he could do. She'd seen what those others had done. Two and two equaled four, and Lex's obsession with that dark ship had been just the beginning. Clark would be his Holy Grail.
Far better to run up against the Winchesters than Lex Luthor. The ghost-busting brothers were probably resourceful enough to find Clark's weakness and kill him eventually. They'd kill him quick. Not so Lex.
The little light remaining from what had already been a solemn, overcast day was fading rapidly. Chloe switched on a lamp, filling the room with a dusky, rust-colored light. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain pattered against the roof. Lana looked up and shuddered. What was it like to see your death hurtling at you from out of the sky so fast you were utterly helpless to change your fate? What had been the last thoughts to cross through her parents' minds? Had they thought of her?
"I did."
Lana whirled, stifling a scream behind her hands. Her eyes darted toward the shadowy corners of the room. She thought she saw a flicker of motion as one shadow shifted against another. Her skin rose up in goose bumps as the air temperature dropped suddenly. The lamp flickered. There came the unmistakable scent of a man's cologne.
Mr. Kent was dead. Clark didn't wear cologne, neither did Sam, and Lana knew this wasn't Dean's.
I bought it for him. I bought it in Paris.
"Jason?" she whispered.
He materialized slowly, looking as if he'd stepped out of the yearbook picture. Clouds and darkness swirled in the skies outside, but he looked like he was standing in the sun, within the light. He smiled at her. It was a small, sweet smile just like she remembered.
No. She wasn't afraid, not of this Jason. Here was the man she met in Paris, who followed her all the way home on his own because he loved her, and not because of some ulterior plan of his mother's. He drew her like a magnet. She'd be warm within his embrace. Seeing him, like this, filled her with a combination of emotions – desire and regret. Maybe she should have loved him more. Maybe she should have convinced Genevieve to see her as an ally instead of a foe. They could have saved her from the fate she'd come to, her marriage to Lex Luthor.
Jason raised his hand. "Lana..."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and reached for him.
A hand locked around her wrist with crushing strength. Startled she glanced to her wrist back to Jason, and let out a cry as the vision shifted. He was still there, but as he'd been in previous appearances. She could smell the stench of him, of blood and foetid river mud. Where his hand touched her skin it burned as if he were red hot. Pale, clouded eyes peered out from the mask of dirt and blood corrupting his face. His voice was hoarse.
"You did this to me!"
Lana struggled, trying to pull away. "No! No, I never meant for..." She was suddenly sobbing, all her bottled up stress bursting forth in tearful hysterics. "Jason, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kill her! I didn't mean to kill her!"
"Lana!"
Her mind barely registered the sound of his voice, but when it did...
Clark? NO! Why are you here?!?!
Chloe's voice merged with the banging of the door, and the wild, rattling winds coming from outside. "Clark, don't!"
She saw a flash of red, Clark's shirt. He was lunging at Jason with one fist cocked back behind him. The ghost jerked his head around to snarl at his attacker, and Lana found herself free of his grasp. She fell back to the floor, just barely avoiding hitting her head on the edge of the coffee table. Her gaze locked onto the combatants before her. Clark's face was cold and angry, his eyes glinting with fire as he threw a blow at the spirit. Jason's expression was no less dangerous. In one instant his arm was at his side, in the next he had one hand locked around Clark's throat, and Clark's attack was brought to an abrupt halt.
It was then Lana noticed the faint greenish tint to the light surrounding the ghost. It flared brighter, seemingly feeding Jason's strength while sapping Clark's. Clark struggled to free himself as Jason's hand tightened, squeezing his airway closed. Clark's feet left the floor.
"Clark!"
Lana saw Chloe advance, saw her stop at the sound of a deep, bellowing command.
"Chloe, get DOWN!"
Chloe flung herself to the floor next to Lana as the roaring blast from a shotgun rang out from across the room. Jason's spirit shuddered, and vanished in a swirl of green smoke. The pitter-patter of rock salt raining down on the floor around them was followed by the resounding thud of Clark's body falling. He sucked in a gasp of breath and coughed. Chloe crawled to his side, her words apologetic.
"I should have known!"
Lana slowly regained her feet, her eyes wide, her hands trembling. It wasn't the Winchesters or Lex who would be a danger to Clark here. Whatever it was that made up a spirit, Jason's spirit, was beyond Clark's ability to combat. Add to that a spirit corrupted by the meteor rock that had killed him...
Clark couldn't protect them.
The thought was terrifying to her.
A hand falling around her wrist made her flinch, thinking Jason had returned. The grasp was similar, but far more gentle. It beckoned her away. She followed. It was difficult to look up into Dean's face. She focused instead upon the snarling pendant he wore around his neck.
"I didn't mean to kill her?" he queried softly.
Sam's low purr finished the thought. "Maybe you better tell us what that meant, Lana."
She glanced back over her shoulder at Chloe and a still rattled Clark. His expression was one of sadness and confusion as he looked back at her.
"Not in front of them," she whispered.
Dean would drive Lana home - after a brief but heated disagreement with his brother, interrupted by Clark who solved the debate himself.
"Sam goes with Chloe."
Sam made as if to protest, stopped when he knew he was outnumbered.
Lana was confused by Clark's logic. "Why?" she asked.
"Would you rather Lex see you with a living, breathing guy, or a ghost?" Clark's smile was wry, and slightly bitter. She expected no less. "I don't want him to take it out on you," he added softly.
"Why don't you take me home then?"
"Because if that thing decides to come after you again, I don't have a rifle full of rock salt."
Lana gave him a smile. "It takes a special strength to admit to weakness."
Dean snorted in obvious disagreement. He wasn't, Lana noted almost immediately, very impressed with Clark. Not in the slightest. Clark's reaction to him was – well – better than they'd expected. Trust Clark to be full of surprises.
There was one point on which Clark was overruled. Chloe refused to leave him alone in the house with a spirit that had both the motive and means to kill him. She commandeered the Chevy's keys from Sam and after a short absence, returned with a shotgun and a box of shells. Clark called her Rambo. Chloe cracked open the gun and loaded it, levering the barrel back into place with a sharp "snap." She didn't think he was funny.
The Impala's tires crunched along the gravel of Hickory Lane, her momentum pausing just ever-so-slightly before Dean turned off onto the paved road.
Lana began the story in Paris, seeing no point in bringing up Clark's role in her decision to go there that summer in the first place. She told of the crypt, and the odd symbol appearing upon her back, moving on to the possession, the power, and the much coveted stones. Genevieve and Isobel, Jason and Lana, were all tied together by the centuries of bad blood running between their families. Having access to Lex's library resources had allowed Lana to do even more research into the subject. Genevieve's ancestor had once belonged to a coven led by Isobel until she turned traitor and betrayed the Countess to the authorities, sentencing her to die at the stake.
Isobel cursed Genevive's family. Their magic dried up. She swore it would be her descendant who would completely destroy the last of them – or die trying.
Kill or be killed, survival of the fittest.
"I killed Genevieve," Lana whispered. "She came to my apartment. She attacked me, accusing me of hiding one of the stones from her."
"So it was self defense."
Closing her eyes, Lana replayed the scene again in her head. "No," she said. "It was murder."
"I don't think Lana Lang is capable of murder," Dean replied quietly.
"You think it was Isobel?"
"It's very likely." He flashed her a grin. "I am the expert in these things you know." The grin vanished quickly. "Wait. The prophecy was that you would kill both of them. Unless you dropped that hunk of rock on Jason yourself..."
Lana frowned. "Then it was unfulfilled."
"Redemption." Dean mused. "Is he hanging around waiting for you to off him?"
"How do you kill something that's already dead?"
"Oh, trust me, it's doable." With one hand on the wheel, Dean reached for his phone. "I've done it."
Sam was consulted. He was still at the farm. Dean filled him in, and there was a long pause as Sam mulled over the new data. "This," he said finally. "Is going to be tricky."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. To destroy a spirit you have to sever it from whatever is binding it to this plane..."
Dean rolled his eyes. "English. Are you speaking English? Don't go college-boy on me, Sam." He added "showoff" under his breath.
Sam ignored him. "But Jason's spirit is being held to this plane by the fact Lana didn't kill him. To destroy his spirit, she has to kill him."
"And he's already dead."
"Exactly."
"Damn. This is going to be tricky."
Their conversation was on speaker. Lana heard Sam's quiet afterthought.
"The word redemption can mean more than one thing. Jason doesn't want Lana to save him. He wants her to fulfill an obligation."
Help me.
Help me sleep.
Lana closed her eyes, reflecting on what he said about a single word having more than one meaning. "Sam," she said. "Has Chloe told you anything about the meteor rocks and what they can do?"
"A little bit, yeah."
A fine line existed between some definitions. Context could change a word's meaning from one thing to another, words like redemption.
"What if Jason's spirit, isn't a spirit in the classical sense." Lana opened her eyes. "What if the meteor didn't really kill him? What if it just caused his spirit to be forced out of his body?"
"Shit," Dean muttered. "There's the loophole."
Sam's closing statement wasn't particularly comforting. "Let's hope we can find another one to counter it."
Or, Lana thought, Jason is going to haunt me forever.
The mansion was right around the next bend. Lana felt the car slow down slightly. She glanced over at her companion. He looked tired, somewhat distracted, and seemed – judging by how he was driving – reluctant to complete the last leg of their journey.
"I don't think he's really angry," she said. "I think he was just trying to make a point."
Dean glanced over at her quickly. "Who?"
"Jason. If you're worried about leaving me..."
"No, I just...WHOA!"
A man stood in the headlights, directly in the middle of the road, right in their path. Lana heard the squeal of tires on pavement as Dean shoved both feet down on the brake pedal, felt the dizzying sensation of the big car sliding into a spin. It had been raining. Water and oil had joined forces upon the surface of the roadway, turning it slick and dangerous. The Impala swapped ends, hurtling out of control off the side of the road. Lana caught a quick glimpse of a blood streaked face before her body was shoved forward into the dashboard. The car's momentum came to an abrupt stop, but not so hers.
Lana's forehead hit the windshield with a sharp crack, and the lights went out.
"Lana? Lana, wake up."
It was morning. She'd fallen asleep on Jason's couch after they'd spent all night sitting in cozy comfort in front of the fire. They'd kissed, done a little petting, and more than a little talking. Jason spun a tale of a little house on a hill in Tuscany, two kids and a dog playing tag inside a white picket fence. He'd take her away from Kansas, away from Smallville where so many bad memories haunted her. No one would ever find them there. Lana could pursue a career in art – and in what better place than the beautiful Italian countryside.
"And what will you do for a living?"
"Coach football of course."
She'd laughed. "In Italy football isn't football, it's soccer."
He'd jumped up from the sofa and pulled up each leg of his pants. "Or I could grow grapes and open a vineyard," he said, and proceeded to mime himself stomping grapes.
He could always make me laugh.
"Lana!"
Panic filled her. It was morning! She had to go before more people were out and about, people who might see her leaving the apartment of a school faculty member. They'd be found out. Jason would lose his coaching job...
And leave her.
Her eyes opened. His face leaned in close to her own. His hands were stroking her hair. He gave her a relieved smile as she grasped at his arm. She blinked and his smile turned into an expression of concern.
"Hey, you okay?"
Her head hurt. She touched a tender spot, a raised spot, bruised and sore. "My head."
"You hit the windshield. I'm sorry."
Windshield? Oh.
"Jason..." she murmured. It had been Jason standing in the road. "Where are we?"
"One of the estate's caretaker cottages. The one down by the road. It was closest."
Lana raised herself up to her elbows. She was lying on a sofa. He'd pulled the dust cover off of it. Like everything else on the Luthor estate the little house was decorated as if it had been plucked out of the middle ages. The crossed swords hanging above the mantle beneath a swag of cobwebs, and the dusty suit of armor standing guard in one corner, gave the place a slightly ominous feel.
She swung her legs off the edge of the dark leather couch and sat up, taking a sip of water from the cup he offered her. "I'm okay," she said. "You?"
"Better than ever."
His words, and his light-hearted tone gave her pause. She looked at him carefully, and an unwelcome thought began snaking its way through her mind. "How did you know about this place?"
"I've been here before."
No more a thought, but a revelation. She could see it in his eyes.
Dean had never been to the estate before, he'd needed directions before he set out to take her home, and he surely wouldn't know about the little caretaker's cottages scattered here and there all over the property.
But someone else would.
Lana's breath caught. "Jason..."
Her intention was to bolt, to run for the door, for the safety of the mansion high above them at the top of the driveway. She'd call Sam. He'd know what to do.
He caught her before she got very far, his hands squeezing her arms as he pushed her back down on the couch and knelt in front of her. "Please, Lana, don't be afraid! Don't you know what this means?" His smile was filled with joy. "We can start over. It'll be just like Paris. We'll go back there. We'll go to Tuscany. We'll go far away where nobody can find us. Not Lex. Not my mother..."
Lana jerked away and scrambled backward to the top of the couch, holding him off with one booted foot. "Your mother is dead! You're dead! No...no...!" She fell down as he grabbed her ankle. "Jason, no!"
He caressed her face gently, soothing her, stilling her with his touch. "Shh. It's okay. I know what happened. I understand. It wasn't you, Lana. I know it wasn't you."
Light. Green light. It ebbed and flowed around his fingertips. Lana felt the tingle of magic coursing through her. The fear in her grew as she recognized it for what it was, recognized it because she had it too. Isobel had awakened it in her, but without Isobel it remained unaccessible.
Jason must have sensed her thoughts. He raised his hand, letting her see the emerald flames dancing along the top of each finger. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"But Isobel's curse..."
He closed his fist. The flames vanished. His words echoed Dean's. "I found a loophole." He let her go and stood looking down at her with an air of confidence. If she tried to escape again he could easily stop her. "Or maybe I should say, it found me."
"The meteor."
"Oh, you were right. It didn't kill me, although a body without a spirit dies on its own eventually." Turning, Jason pulled away the dust cover of a nearby chair, and slowly settled himself into it. "It took me a long time to figure out what had happened, and what I could and couldn't do."
Lana eased herself back up into a proper sitting position. "Jason. You shouldn't be here."
His expression turned dark. "Shouldn't I? You don't know what I went through, Lana! I was always being used; by my mother, by Lex..."
"I never used you, Jason."
"No? You lied to me!"
"You scared me! You were obsessed with finding those stupid stones! I didn't know you anymore! You weren't the man I..." She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. "I could have loved you, Jason."
"You love Clark."
"Yes, I do, and I always will, but I could have loved you. We could have had Tuscany. I know that now. Clark and I..." Pain stabbed at her heart. She'd been trying not to admit it since the moment she'd learned the truth behind Clark's secrets and lies. "We're just not meant to be."
He was on his feet as she rose, but her intent this time was not to make an escape. His arms tempted her. His warmth beckoned. She was weak. Like Eve reaching for the serpents apple, she allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. Closing her eyes she could imagine them beneath the Eiffel Tower instead of inside a dusty cottage. The city grew up around them, not the carefully maintained "forest" upon the Luthors' Smallville estate.
Their lips parted slowly. Her hands rand down his sides, stopped at the cold touch of a metal object against her fingers. She pulled it free as he bent to kiss her again. Resolved wavered. All she wanted to do was stay there, safe in his arms, knowing they could have it all once again if she only said "yes."
She wanted Jason to live again. She wanted herself to live again, because the moment that band of gold and diamonds was slipped around her finger, something inside her died.
Jason.
But at what cost? How fair would it be to Dean? Was the elder Winchester still alive, trapped in a body he couldn't control? Was it like her own possession, wherein she remained ignorant of Isobel's actions, or was Dean conscious of what was happening around him? What kind of torture would it be to live that way for the rest of your life?
I can't let him do this.
Lana stepped back and leveled the gun at him, gritting her teeth to hold back the tears. "No, Jason," she said roughly. "No."
At first he was startled, apparently not realizing the body he'd commandeered had been carrying a weapon. A moment later his eyes narrowed. "You don't want to do that."
She cocked the gun, and raised her voice. "Dean."
"Lana..."
"Dean, if you can hear me, you've got to fight him, take back what's yours! He's a ghost, you're a Hunter. Do your job and get rid of him!"
"Lana, please..." Jason took a step forward.
Lana shook the gun at him. "I swear to God I'll shoot you Jason if you get any closer."
"Dammit, Lana! This is a second chance for me! Don't you think I deserve it?" His voice was pleading, so were his gestures. He cupped his hands toward his chest. "My own mother betrayed me. The girl I loved betrayed me. It wasn't a fluke that this happened." He uttered a small, wry laugh. "I mean, come on, what are the odds someone who looks just like me would come along at just the right time? It's destiny, Lana. Mine, and yours. I can take you away from here. Nobody will ever hurt you again."
"Don't."
"I love you."
"Dean!"
Jason turned ugly. It wasn't Paris anymore. It was China. It was greed and the lust for power. It wasn't Lana's Jason who advanced on her with an insane glint in his eye, it was Genevieve's. His handsome face twisted with fury. It turned him ugly and mean.
"You're wasting your breath! He's DEAD!"
She heard her voice and was startled at how cold it had become. "Then I have nothing to lose, do I?"
Her hand tightened around the gun. She'd used one before, was ready for the kick when her finger pulled back on the trigger, but the kick never came. A ball of emerald colored fire rushed toward her, the flames within it writhing around each other like living things. It caught her hand, pulled the gun out of her grasp, and flung it across the room. She caught a glimpse of Jason raising his other arm and knew the next blast would be for her.
Lana dove behind the couch as the green flame exploded upon the wall behind her.
"You forgot my loophole. Isobel's curse stripped the magic from my family." Lana could sense his smile. "But not Dean's. I found it. I found the key to unlocking it. The power of the meteor let me in, and now I have it all!"
She felt something shift next to her. A moment later she found herself crouched behind nothing, staring out at Jason who stood, arms raised, in front of the hovering sofa. Frantically she bolted across the room, diving for the gun lying partially hidden beneath a bookcase.
"Lana."
Her body jerked to a stop. The sofa crashed to the floor as she was flung up against the bookcase and pinned there. The edges of each shelf dug into her back, her shoulders, her thighs. She felt as if her breath was being crushed from her body. Blinded by tears, she could barely make out Jason coming nearer, nor the look of profound sadness on his face.
"I was scared," he said. "Caught between life and death. My God, I can't even describe what it was like in that place. I turned to you to help me. I wanted to move on. I wanted to rest in peace. I didn't want this." He shook his head sadly. "But how could I pass up the opportunity to live again, Lana? It's a gift. I got my life back, and I thought you would want to share it with me. I wanted you to share it with me."
"Jason. Please. Don't..."
His expression turned cold once more as he raised a hand toward her, green light burning between his fingers. "I was wrong about you. You're just like everyone else."
Lana blinked. Pain ripped through her body, and was gone in an instant, before she could fully recognize it for what it was. It left behind unwanted memories. The sickening smell of burnt flesh and the sounds of angry shouting filled her senses. She felt a hard wooden post at her back, and flames caressing her ankles.
No. That was then.
This is now.
Her lips moved of their own volition, growling out words she didn't understand. Isobel was free again, and Lana could feel the magic surge within her. She could not use it herself, but that didn't matter. Lana Lang was no longer in the driver's seat. She was just along for the ride.
Jason saw the shift. His eyes widened.
"Isobel..."
She struck like a viper, like he had done to Clark, wrapping her hand around his throat and digging her nails deeply into his flesh. A magic-borne gust of wind caught her hair, lifting it up around her head like a dark, swirling cape. Violet light ran down her arm to her fingertips and she squeezed with all her strength, all her power. Jason's eyes bulged. His lips began to turn blue. She smiled at him. If she had to, she'd crush every bone in his neck. This time he would die, and stay dead.
"Silly boy. You think hiding behind Mary Winchester's ignorant brat is going to save you?" Isobel hissed. "Newsflash!You picked the wrong brother. This one – is more expendable." She cackled in delight as his hands rose to claw feebly at her face. All it took was a snap of her fingers to bring that to a stop. "He's going to die now," she whispered with a smile. "And so, dear Jason, are you."
Lana groaned. She thought she heard music.
A phone. The music was coming from a phone.
She lifted her head from the floor. Her vision cleared.
A cell phone lay before her nose. The ringtone was something she didn't recognize, some guitar riff from another time and place. Automatically she reached out to answer the call. A man's voice spoke in her ear. Sam's voice.
"Dean?"
Dean.
Lana dropped the phone and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Dean? Dean!"
He was lying sprawled on the floor next to her. She scrambled toward him, pushing her tangled hair back from her face. A quick check revealed no breath, no pulse and dark ugly bruises around his neck.
"No. Oh, no, no, no!"
Health class. Fourth period. Right before lunch. Mr. Innis looked like Mr. Magoo from the cartoons and spoke with a lisp. It had been hard to take him seriously.
Oh, God. How does that go? Airway, check the airway first.
Her first few attempts were hesitant, clumsy, but desperation fed her memory and her strength. Soon she had the proper rhythm going.
"Breathe. Breathe! Oh please, please..."
She didn't hear the door, didn't see the swarm of men burst into the room with guns drawn. Her name. She did hear her name, her new name, and at first could not respond to it.
"Mrs. Luthor?"
Lana turned her head. Sweat was beaded across her forehead. Her hair hung in her eyes, but she didn't dare stop to clear it away. "Get an ambulance!"
They hesitated.
"GET AN AMBULANCE NOW!!!"
She was crying. Someone was pulling at her arms, trying to drag her away. She fought them, struggling to keep up what she was doing.
"Lana. Lana, please. Let Alan do it. He's had training...Lana. Let go. Come on. It's okay."
His voice was soft. His hands gentle. She remembered this man from long ago, before something dark came and twisted his soul into a hard, uncaring knot. His embrace was a safe harbor, the only one she had left, and for how long that would last she did not know.
She turned to bury her face in the soft silk cloth of his shirt, and let him hold her. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. Her body was trembling.
"Lex..."
He held her tightly. He didn't, for once, ask any questions.
Dean was staring at the walls of his room with undisguised disgust.
They were the color of Peptol Bismol.
Lana had been in this room at least twice before, once as a patient, and once as a visitor. Chloe called it the "Diarrhea Room." Everyone in Smallville was completely convinced that whoever decorated the Smallville Medical Center had once worked for Ringling Brothers. Its circus-like atmosphere didn't stop with the color of the walls either. Lex wasn't known for his "I'll get the best doctors in Metropolis" comments for nothing. He considered every employee of SMC a total incompetent.
Clark was loitering just outside of Dean's room. It was awkward. Lana didn't know what to say to him anymore, and vice versa. She wanted to tell him, tell him everything, tell him the truth, but her fear of Lionel Luthor ran deep and her fear for Clark ran deeper.
There was a tinge of good humor in his voice. "You just missed Lex."
Lana's brow furrowed. "Lex was here?"
Clark inclined his dark head toward Dean's room. "He doesn't have much respect for authority, and even less respect for someone like Lex. I don't think I've ever seen Mr. Luthor more flustered as he was when he left here." The humor fled. Sober Clark returned. "Your friend better watch his back."
Your friend. Clark was as perplexed as anyone regarding Dean's strong resemblance to Jason Teague. He just didn't make as big a deal of it. Lana could only imagine the conversation that had taken place between Lex and Dean. It could not have been good.
Lex probably still thought Dean was Jason.
For a while, he was.
Lana wondered what would have happened had she gone along with him. The thought brought with it a feeling of loss, as she mourned for what could have been.
We could have had Tuscany.
"Lana," Clark said softly, drawing her attention back to him. "I'm sorry."
"For what, Clark?"
"I'm sorry about Jason."
His expression was carefully neutral, but Lana saw the ache in his eyes. She could read more into it now, now that she knew his secret.
He's thinking: It's my fault. I don't belong here. I caused all this pain.
Lana wasn't stupid. She knew where the stones were – in theory. She asked anyway.
"Where are the stones, Clark?"
He seemed startled she'd ask. She wondered how long they would continue to tip-toe around the fact that she knew, and he knew she knew. Would he ever come out and just tell her?
Would she let him?
"Somewhere safe," he said.
"Where they belong?"
"Yes."
She nodded. She'd done her research back when the black ship came. There were theories that alien visitors had directly influenced a number of Earth cultures. Visitors from the stars had been commonplace in ancient times. How long had Clark's people been associating with humans? Why had those from the black ship been so arrogant, so aggressive?
So frightening?
Looking up into Clark's face, she recalled the way he'd behaved when he and Lois crashed the rehearsal dinner. She'd seen him act like that before.
Metropolis. Kal.
"You weren't yourself..."
"Yes, I was."
Later she would understand he had told her the truth that night. His name was Kal-el. The others had been looking for him. He'd sent them away.
You do belong here, Clark. I only wish I could make you see it.
Lana knew beyond a doubt she loved Clark Kent. She knew she could she could have learned to love the part of him that wasn't human, if he'd let her inside his walls. Only lately had they been crumbling, allowing her to see more than she ever had before.
Too little. Too late.
"Did you love him? Jason?"
Not like I love you.
Lana paused before she answered. She told him the truth, saw him flinch away from it. "Yes, I did."
Clark nodded. "He would have taken good care of you."
"Is that why you're sorry, Clark?"
"I want you to be happy, Lana. It's all I've ever wanted."
She looked away - because she wasn't happy, not at all.
Neither was he. When she returned her gaze to where Clark stood, she found nothing but an empty hallway. He was gone. Whether it was to spare her pain, or himself, Lana couldn't say.
Turning, she pushed open the door and entered Dean's room. From his expression she could tell he wasn't expecting her. He confirmed it with his words.
"I thought you were Sam coming to get me the hell out of here."
He was hoarse. Bruises still ringed his neck. Lana thought he looked more tired than before. She knew from her own experiences with Isobel – possession wore you out.
She smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you."
Dean shrugged. For a moment he seemed poised on the verge of saying something facetious. Lana had come to know him well in their short time together. Clark's methods of subterfuge involved a great deal of silence. Dean covered things up with words.
He reigned it in. "Thank you."
"I don't deserve it."
"You – deserve thanks. The Countess Theroux, on the other hand, deserves to have her witchy little ass kicked from here to Timbuktu and back again." Dean raised a hand to rub his neck.
"I think she's gone for good this time."
"You think?"
"I'm fairly certain," Lana said quietly. "And she took Jason with her."
"She fulfilled the prophecy."
"Could we have destroyed him if he hadn't made himself corporeal?"
"Honestly? I don't know." He leveled her with a solemn gaze. "How tempted were you, Lana?"
She studied her hands. Her nails would fit perfectly within the crescent shaped wounds on Dean's neck. Last night she'd scraped his blood out from beneath them.
"I was tempted," she murmured, looking up into his eyes. Her smile was sad. "He promised me Tuscany."
Dean snorted softly. "Well, I gotta give him points for his pick-up lines."
"Would you have promised me Tuscany, Dean?"
He was quiet for a moment. When he finally gave her an answer she wondered: is he serious, or was is he just teasing me? She could not tell, and would never know. His grin, the bright, lively look in his eyes betrayed nothing.
"Lana, I would have promised you the world."
Chloe sent one of the Daily Planet's runners to the Luthor mansion. Lana met him at the door before Lex or any of his spies could intercept the envelope. They hadn't wanted to risk an e-mail. Lana wasn't sure he hadn't tapped her phone somehow either. The subject of the Winchesters had been turned taboo in the Luthor household. Lex put one of his pet FBI agents on their trail but at every turn they gave the man the slip. Lex was infuriated to find out the brothers had already out manuevered the best the Bureau had to offer - more than once. If he could have figured out a way to do it that wouldn't get him in trouble, he probably would have had a certain agent Henrickson shot just out of principle.
Lana heard him on the phone one night.
"You had them in prison. You had them locked up in prison and you let them get away from you. Words can't describe what a moron you are, Henrickson. How the HELL did you manage to lose them AGAIN?"
With her letter in hand, Lana retreated to a secluded part of the formal garden located behind the mansion. Water burbled in a small, decorative fountain made of river stones. Tiny goldfish sparkled beneath the clear water filling a tiny fishpond at the base of the fountain's waterfall. It was soothing, and quiet, and not a place where she could be easily spied upon.
She tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. There was a letter summarizing the results of Chloe's research, and copies of some of the records and articles she had used as her sources. Lana immediately dove into the letter. It would, she found, confirm a suspicion that had been nagging her for weeks – ever since the incident with Dean Winchester.
Wow, what a tangle web we weave! Hang on to your hat, this is going to be a wild ride.
So. To start -
Isobel's witch coven was actually founded by three women: the Countess Isobel Theroux, Lady Genevieve Legard, and Lady Marise Charbonneau.
Before she died Isobel married and had three children, two boys and a girl. Tradition was that the ability to do magic was passed along from mother to daughter. It just seemed to "take" better in females and in males. In the rare (and it was rare) case that there was born only son, he inherited the abilities and passed them to his daughter(s). If there were nothing but boys, sometimes the power would skip a generation.
Lady Legard's betrayal of Isobel was a bid for power, and was successful. She became head of the coven, but because of Isobel's curse, she unable to pass on her magical abilities. When she died, the coven fell into the hands of Lady Charbonneau and her heirs.
The Legard family remained in Europe until the twentieth century when they came to America. They were preceded by the Theroux many years before, and the Charbonneau family before them. Genvieve Teague was a direct descendant of the Legard line. You, Lana, are the last surviving member of the Theroux family. I guess you already knew that, huh?
Anyway, the Legards lost their magic to Isobel's curse. The Theroux line had the occasional witch pop up here and there but the genes became so diluted over the years it often skipped many generations. According to coven records (they kept very good records) the last Theroux born with abilities was your great great grandmother, Laura Potter. Your mother was named after her in hopes she would inherit the power. If she did, she didn't tell anyone before she died.
After the Charbonneau family came to America, they renounced their affiliation with the coven, and joined the Catholic church. This didn't put a stop to their magical abilities though, which continued to be passed down from generation to generation, and remained quite pure.
Just after World War I, one of the Legards crossed paths with one of the Charbonneau. The coven's records only followed the path of the magic, which we've established ran along the female lines, so a lot of the surnames changed over the years. The union between the two families produced twins, two boys, Elias and Ethan Cochran. It had been hoped that by bringing in the Charbonneau blood the Legard magic would be revived. Unfortunately it didn't work. This new combined bloodline ultimately became all that was left of the Charbonneau when only one descendant from the primary line survived the influenza epidemic of 1918.
Ethan Cochran married and had a daughter, who married a man named John Molyneux. John Molyneaux was Genevieve Teague's father.
The surviving Charbonneau had a daughter, Diana Charbonneau. She was not only in possession of the Charbonneau abilities, but she had rejoined the coven. With a lot of conniving they arranged for her to marry the much older, but as yet unmarried, Elias Cochran. They hoped, despite the taint of the Legards' cursed blood, this little bit of linebreeding would give a boost to the Charbonneau magic. It seemed to have backfired.
Genevieve inherited no abilities. Neither did her "cousin" Samuel Cochran, who was born to Diana and Elias. This was, of course, unacceptable to both the coven and the matriarch of the Charbonneau, and blamed, of course, on Elias' cursed blood. Diana, in an effort to resolve the problem, promptly turned around and seduced her own son. (Insert here an editorial "ew" from this intrepid reporter.)
When Elias found out about what Diana had done he was infuriated. It was said that although he had no abilities of his own, he worked out a deal (with what or who was never formally recorded) that would lay a curse down on Diana, Samuel, and the baby they had together. Whether this is the truth of the matter is still being debated, but the fact is both Diana and Samuel were killed in a car accident not long after Elias' death. The baby, named Mirelle Charbonneau (NOT Cochran), was put up for adoption and the coven lost track of her.
Here's where things get interesting.
The coven lost track of Mirelle Charbonneau, but Genevieve found her. She'd been adopted by a family named Copeland who had, like your family, wound up settled right here in Kansas. When Genevieve finally tracked Mirelle down, she discovered the girl had gotten married, and was pregnant with twins. Genevieve also discovered Mirelle had inherited the Charbonneau abilities, although she was totally ignorant of them.
Genevieve had already become obsessed with the mythical stones. She knew the time was drawing near that Isobel's prophecy would be fulfilled, and believed only the power of the stones could protect her. Not only that, she thought she could use them to finally reinstate the Legard family honor within the Theroux coven.
She knew any child of hers wouldn't inherit magical power, she was too directly linked to the Legard lines. A child of Mirelle's, however, would not only stand a good chance of inheriting power, but was also a Legard by virtue of her grandfather Elias. This presented Genevieve with an excellent opportunity. With a witch child she could actually seize controlof the coven, and rebuild it into the powerful force it had once been.
When Mirelle gave birth, Genevieve arranged for one of the babies taken away from her. Mirelle would be told it had been stillborn and Genevieve would claim him as her own. The plan was carried out with success and no one ever suspected Jason was not Genvieve's by birth.
Mirelle Charbonneau was also known as Mary Copeland, and if you haven't figured it out already, her married name was Mary Winchester. Yeah. Those Winchesters.
Well, Genevieve got a nasty surprise when neither Jason or Dean got any hint of the Charbonneau magic. She abandoned hope of reviving the coven's flagging power – at least temporarily. She did, however, manage to get close enough to rejoining it that she was allowed access to all their lineage records.
By 1983 Genevieve was too busy grooming her little heir, searching for the stones, and trying to find the last of the Theroux, to pay any attention to what was going on with the other branch of the family. I don't think she even knew Mirelle had a second pregnancy. She did leak Mirelle's location to the coven, which officially went belly up in 1981. One last surviving member took over the record keeping, but after the group dissolved she grew pretty lax about it. I had to dig up most of what follows on my own.
After Dean was born, Mirelle (aka Mary) started a search for her biological parents. It didn't prove easy as the records were sealed and she didn't have much to go on except for her first name. Fortunately not many people named their kid Mirelle back when she was born, and she finally found them. Had she traced her family tree back a little further she would have discovered the incestuous relationship that produced her. A bit farther back than that and she might have learned about her abilities and thus been able to save herself from the curse.
Details are sketchy, but the coven believed Elias made his deal with a demon. In exchange for the deaths of Diana and Samuel, he gave up their child, his granddaughter, as payment. On November 2nd 1983 the demon came to collect. Now according to the old coven historian, who talked to her just before she died, Mary had done more extensive research, knew what was coming for her, and actually tried to defend herself from it. She failed. Mary was killed that night and her grieving husband immediately took their children and went underground.
For more recent news, the historian put me in contact with her grandson Ash (What a piece of work he is!) who I had to bribe generously (you owe me big time) before he spilled the beans. He told me that this same demon was rounding up psychics to fight for it in some sort of demonic war it was planning. It had marked these kids as babies based on their latent abilities.
So in conclusion, guess who ended up with the Charbonneau magic and the demon's mark.
Not Dean. Not Jason.
Sam.
I'm not sure how much belief we can put in Ash's tale of a demonic war, but if it's true, and Sam goes darkside taking the Charbonneau power with him, we could all be in some deep ka-ka.
Lana put down the letter.
In her mind's eye she followed a memory. She saw the turn of a card, the same card, over and over and over again.
Death.
"Tell me my future."
"No."
Lana fumbled her phone out of her pocket. Her thumb hovered over Clark's number, but she stopped short of pressing the button. She remembered something Jason had told her about Clark and Isobel. Isobel had been able to hurt Clark.
No.
Not Isobel, per se.
Magic.
And if that weren't enough, the Winchesters were spook hunters by trade. Clark could not be involved in this. It was out of the question.
She took her finger off Clark's number and something else occurred to her.
Isobel's prophecy had not been fulfilled. Genevieve was dead, but she had not been the last in her line. Her lineage had converged with Mary Winchester's. Jason had been Mary's son by birth. He was dead, but there remained his brothers.
If one wanted to get technical, it could be said that Lana had killed Dean, although he had been successfully revived later. That might eliminate him from the equation.
That left Sam, the wildcard.
Kill or be killed. The prophecy still stands.
Lana hastily gathered up her things and ran for the mansion, thumbing down to another number as she went, hoping Lex wasn't listening. How this call would go, she could not predict.
Dean had to be forewarned. His brother was not what he seemed.
From atop a distant building a solitary figure stood watching the scene unfold. He saw a limousine screech to a halt in the alley. A bearded man burst from inside and rushed toward a dark haired girl. She turned and fled from him.
"Lana!"
The watcher saw her wrench open the door to her SUV and climb inside. At the same time he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object no bigger than a lighter. It was box shaped, with a red button on top. Without hesitation, he brought his thumb down on the button.
A loud boom echoed down the alley. A plume of flame shot up into the air, followed by a cloud of thick, greasy black smoke. It momentarily obscured the sun and the bright blue sky above.
Sam Winchester put the detonator back in his pocket and swiftly turned on his heel. Within seconds he was shimmying down the fire escape and making his way down another alley where a long black silhouette sat waiting for him. The Impala's door squealed when he opened it. It groaned when he slammed it shut.
"Did you get her?"
"Yeah, I got her." Sam opened the glove box and threw the detonator inside. "I don't know why you made me do it."
Dean cranked the engine. "Practice."
"For what?"
"I dunno." Chuckling, Dean put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street. "You never know when a car bomb might come in handy."
"Poor girl," Sam muttered, not amused.
"A witch is a witch, Sammy."
"Yeah, I know."
Neither of them said any more. Dean settled into driving mode. He threw a swift glance sideways, sighing at the morose expression on his brother's face. Sam had liked Lana. Hell, they both had. Killing her had been uncomfortably reminiscent of what had happened with Madison.
But Sam didn't know the whole story. All Sam knew was that Lana had not been what she seemed, and it was their duty to make sure she didn't hurt anyone ever again.
Just like Maddie. Damn. I'm sorry Sammy.
Dean hadn't told his brother why they had had to make a stop at one of their post office boxes. He hadn't let Sam see what was in the letter before he took it out into the hotel parking lot and set it on fire.
John had always told him he was to take care of his little brother, but before John, there had been Mary also charging him with Sam's well being. Until he read Lana's letter, he hadn't realized why she'd been so insistent about it.
Mary Winchester had known all about the demon, the curse, and Sammy's abilities.
Sam was surrounded on all sides by those who wanted him either corrupted or dead. Dean wasn't having any of it. Other Hunters would kill Sam on sight if they knew the truth. This raised a conflict between Dean's beliefs as a Hunter and his role as Sam's protector, but Dean kept his promises. He would always put Sam first.
One day soon the demon would come after Sam too, and Dean had to be prepared for that eventuality. The battle would be ugly, of that he had no doubt. He only hoped he would not have to resort to putting a bullet in his brother's head.
Dean couldn't resolve his own moral conflicts, nor could he do anything about the demon – at least not yet. Lana's letter, however, made him realize he had to do about the Theroux issue, because there were simply too many other things out there for him to worry about. He couldn't keep looking back over his shoulder to make sure a pissed off witch with a prophecy to fulfill wasn't coming after them. Letting her live was a chance he simply couldn't take.
Only once did he allow himself to feel a pang of regret. He wasn't sure if it was on behalf of the brother he never knew, Lana, or himself.
It came in the form of a single thought, another for his long list of what could have beens...
We could have had Tuscany.