Fly Me Courageous
By Annabell
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Smallville or its characters. This is done purely for fun.
Warnings: This fic will contain swearing, much violence and angst. Yet I can't resist some humor either.
Additional warning. This part contains graphic violence. You have been warned.
This is a rough draft and un-beta-ed. So any errors are mine own.
Note: Lex is 22 and Clark is 16.
Archive: Hell yeah!
Chapter 7
Clark knew he was dreaming this time. And yet it felt so real that he wanted to vomit.
He was walking through a cornfield; maybe it was the same one where jealous football players had strung him up, maybe not. Cornfields tended to look alike when the corn is taller than even he is. The dry dark green stalks were whispering to each other as he made his way through them, rustling with unease on some nonexistent breeze. With his enhanced vision, he thought he could just detect a hint of sickly green about them that made his skin crawl. Most people associated the color green with life, growing things, nature. But Clark had always thought that green was the color of rot and decay. He couldn't figure out what he was doing in that cornfield, but such dreams are rarely dictated by the wishes of the dreamer.
Up ahead, he could make out a strong green glow (again, the color green) over the top of the tasseling cornstalks, illuminating part of the sky. He knew that color well, it was the color of the meteor rocks reacting to his presence, and the sight alone made his insides twist with apprehension and something deep inside him began to clamor that he should just get out of there. But at the same time he was drawn forward. It was similar to the morbid compulsion draws a person toward the scene of some hideous accident, knowing that whatever horrible sight that awaits him will keep him up for many nights, afraid to sleep because the appalling scene that has branded itself into his memory and will not leave, no matter how much he wishes it would. And even though he knew that is what is going to happen, he still has to look. As if sensing his hesitation, the corn parted in front of him on its own volition, giving him a clear line of sight to what was waiting for him, the source of that nameless green terror.
Unable to feel his feet, he moved forward, somehow knowing that what he was going to see would haunt him the rest of his days, but there is no choice.
He has to look.
And it was much, much worse than he could have ever imagined.
It was Lex.
And Lex wasn't dead.
And Clark almost wished that he were dead, rather than…where he was.
Lex was standing with his back pressed to a tall wooden post, ropes wrapped around his torso and thighs. Piles of bramble and dead branches where gathered at his feet, smoldering with green smoke that rose twisting in the air, but there was no sign of a fire. In the back of his mind, Clark wondered where the fire was, but his main focus was on his friend. Lex's eyes were closed, and there was a tight look of pain on his face. His fists were clenched at his sides. He was whispering something, but Clark couldn't make out what he was saying.
"Lex!" his voice was a mere breath, the single syllable an interruption of his exhalation.
As Clark stared in sickening horror, he became aware of another's voice, driving, insistent, and demanding. It was echoing as if from the bottom of a deep well. Lex squirmed as if the sound of that voice were hurting him; he was slowly shaking his head, not opening his eyes. What was the voice saying? Clark didn't know, he couldn't make out the words. All he knew was that Lex was suffering, wounded, and Clark was just standing there, doing nothing to help.
Jaw set with determination, Clark tried to get near enough to untie his best friend, but as he approached the smoking pyre, he felt the familiar nauseating sickness descend over him and he stumbled back with a panicked gasp, tripping over his feet and sprawling in the dry powdery dirt. Mouth open, he tried again and again, but the meteor smoke kept him at bay, almost hissing a cobra warning at him to stay back. Trembling with sickness and unable to get close, Clark tried to reach Lex with his voice.
"Lex!" he managed to croak.
As if in response to Clark's voice, Lex turned his head slightly toward him and opened his eyes. Clark's stomach did a slow role. Lex's eyes were no longer blue, no longer there. Instead the empty sockets were now filled with blazing green fire that flickered with agony. The clear fluid-like jelly that once filled Lex's human eyes was now trickling down his cheeks in an obscene mockery of tears. And now Clark did vomit when he realized that the fire was inside Lex, consuming him from the inside out. He heaved again and again, shaking violently as he witnessed his friend, his dead friend, somehow alive, being shockingly tortured.
"LEX!"
Clark once again shot up in his bed, sweat pouring down his face and his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to orient himself. Had he shouted Lex's name out loud? He listened for the sound of his parents' breathing, steady and even in sleep. With partial relief, Clark decided that he hadn't shouted and disturbed his parents' hard-earned sleep with his nightmares. But a younger part of him, the part that was still a child, wished that his mother would come and hold him.
With a half sob, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and put his hands on his face. God, what was with him? Was he losing his mind? Lex was dead, why was he dreaming that his friend was still alive? And in terrible trouble? Scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Clark looked over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand.
2:48a.m.
Knowing that he would not get anymore sleep that night, Clark once again ended up in the hayloft, contemplating the stars and trying to get past the dream. Drawing a deep breath of sultry August air, Clark tried to consider the situation. Was he subconsciously feeling guilty because he hadn't been able to save Lex? Was that why he couldn't sleep anymore?
If he was honest with himself, Clark knew that he had never had to endure the loss of anyone close to him. Sure, death was not unknown to him; Clark had seen many people die. Mostly, it had been strange, altered people who had been changed by meteor rocks. The closest he had ever come to caring was Whitney's father, but then again Clark had only been on the periphery. And the grief had been more for Lana and even Whitney, more than himself. Up until now, death had not claimed anyone Clark had really cared about.
But this time...Lex hadn't been some strange mutant. Oh, he could be strange, but that was part of Lex's weird charm. He was a bald twenty-two year old son of a billionaire. He quoted Machiavellian passages and lived in a castle. He read comic books and hung out with the dorky sixteen-year-old alien adopted by a dirt-poor organic farmer. Okay, maybe he didn't realize that last part, at least Clark didn't think that Lex knew his secret, but you could never be sure of anything when it came to Lex. But anyway… yeah, the guy was strange. But he was still a good friend, even a great friend.
And now he was dead. Clark still couldn't believe it. It didn't seem real. He even had a hard time believing that Lex was dead in his dreams.
And now Clark couldn't sleep. With grim resignation, he sat and waited for the night to drag itself out and the sun to come up.
His body was burning. There was only one escape from the inferno that replaced the blood in his veins. The green flames seethed through him as relentless as fire on a drought-stricken prairie, but the blackness brought relief. He knew it was an illusion, that the darkness merely cloaked the pain, not taking it away like it promised, but he wasn't going to be picky about where he sought refuge.
And then Voice had come from far away and he tried to ignore it by trying to burrow further into the darkness but the Voice burned away that tenuous comfort like mist in the sunlight. It had probed, questioned, and demanded. No matter how he twisted and turned, the almost-familiar Voice refused to let him alone until, out of desperation, he opened his mouth to tell the Voice what it wanted. Maybe then, the Voice would let him alone and he could go back to the darkness where the burning couldn't reach him.
But then another Voice had pulled him back to the light. This new Voice reminded him of strength, trust and, most of all, hope. Hope that somehow, if he hung on long enough, someone would find him and help him. With a breath reminiscent of a drowning victim getting a lifesaving taste of air, he started coughing. And the terrible burning in his body and blood receded just the slightest bit. Not nearly enough to diminish his distress, but enough to give him…hope. Over the roaring in his ears, he could hear other voices.
"You were right doctor, he could take that dosage. I admit I was worried there for a while." Speaking above his head. He didn't know this one.
A light was shining in his face. It was too harsh, hurting his closed eyes and making his head throb. And the first voice spoke again. That Voice. The voice that wouldn't leave him alone. It was familiar but instead of reassurance, the accompanying feeling was of unease. He wanted to get away from that voice but it wouldn't let him go. It pulled him, prodded him like a recalcitrant colt back to consciousness. He drew another breath, the air cooling the burning in his lungs.
"Be quiet," the familiar voice said, edged with impatience. He decided he really didn't like it and vainly longed for the refuge of the darkness. "Lex, the formula, what is it?"
Lex? Who was Lex? Was it him? He mulled it over, his thoughts were fragmented, disjointed, but it felt right. Yes, okay.
He was Lex. Score one for the home team. (what?)
"The formula, Lex. What is it?"
Formula. Formula. What formula…oh yes. He was beginning to remember now. The muzzy feeling was ebbing and the series of chemicals equations were surfacing, like bloated, decaying corpses after a flood. But as the 'formula' came back to him, so did other things. Things like memories, and consciousness, and he knew now that his body was fighting, swiftly neutralizing the toxic chemicals that nearly killed him. Though it had been very, very close, he had fought and won. And whatever doesn't kill you, Lex…
He understood what was happening.
Lex opened his eyes. He was lying on the damp stone floor of the pit. The cold a blessed relief from the angry fire that still burned in his veins. Hovering above him like a fever-dream, Dr. Hamilton's face swam into focus. Despite the cool air, the man's face was shiny with sweat. Lex went on the offensive with a twist his lips. There must have been something wrong with his smirk, (or right, depending on how you looked at it) because the doctor recoiled just the slightest bit, and he thought he heard one of the two goons draw in a quick breath. With disguised relief and each passing heartbeat, he was bringing himself under control again. Something had brought him back from the brink, and though he didn't know what it was exactly, Lex was never one to pass up an opportunity. He had been taught by the master himself at how to take full advantage of the slightest chance to gain the upper hand in any situation.
Thanks dad.
Licking his lips nervously, sweat now dripping down his face, the doctor cleared his throat. He opened his mouth and asked the question again, his voice cracking just the slightest bit with apprehension. It was ridiculous really, because Lex was weak as a newborn kitten. But the doctor felt there was something…off about the young Luthor. Dr. Hamilton could sense it, and unknown factors were...disquieting. Still, he had been paid to do a job, which had huge benefits besides. "The formula, Lex. Tell me."
Lex rolled over on his side and levered himself up with his good arm. Summoning his best Luthor composure, he tried to minimize the trembling of his limbs as he glanced with icy disdain at the doctor. "Do you really think that just one dose of some souped-up truth serum and I'd tell you? You'll have to do better than that, Dr. Hamilton," he sneered, his voice ragged and hoarse.
The doctor stood up, and glanced back at his companions with palpable nervousness. Then recovered his wits. Lex was weakened, and though this newest development was not good, it wasn't entirely unexpected. He knew that Lex was going to be tough. And despite his momentary lapse, Hamilton recovered and grinned with renewed enthusiasm and admiration. Lex was proving to be everything he had hoped, and more. He looked forward to finding out everything there was to know about Lex Luthor.
"Don't worry Lex. We have all the time in the world. It's not like anyone is looking for you." His smile was the smile of the sharks.
And despite his bravado, Lex felt his stomach tighten. He knew that it was only just beginning.
TBC.
