Okay, so this has gotten completely AU. Oh well. As much as I liked (some of) third season, I still have a hard time buying any of it. Besides, I STILL hate that stupid deus ex machina cave.

Coming Back, and Coming Home

"Thanks for the lift, Pete." Cyrus yawned.

"No prob. Man, did you ever even get to sleep after we finished with Clark's barn? You look like one long bad party night."

"Not far from it," Cyrus mumbled. He'd spent a serious fifteen minutes talking things over with Lex after Clark left, both of them cautiously feeling each other out after a very bad start. He'd finally ended up having to beg an hour's crash space and a ride back to Pete's place. He hadn't been through such a workout since his first days of coming back to sanity, and beginning to learn to deal with the talents for real.

He was way astonished to find, after first impressions, that he both liked and respected Lex Luthor. The young magnate's ambition and drive and will scared him. But then, he'd been scared by the best. Lex fit right in with the things he'd had to go through to be trained, in his own way.

Would he like to become Lex's silent partner? It was an incredibly tempting thought. He had thought he would have to be recruited into the shadowy world of covert espionage, where his healer talent would be put to some brutal use. The idea of using what he had to prevent some of that from happening in the first place had him already writing the first draft of his "thanks but no thanks" letter to the people who had saved what was left of his mind.

Living in the Luthor mansion and going through occasional experiments -- like he already hadn't been through two thousand, seven hundred, and fifty eight -- wouldn't be so bad either, if he could convince Clark to stop by every once in awhile and warm up the damn cold stone walls and floor with his heat vision. (Lex had snickered that he'd bet the cats could bribe -- or threaten -- Clark into that.)

"I had to make a real early morning visit to Lex," he passed off by way of explanation. "Clark had gone wandering. He ended up at the Luthor mansion. And you know how Clark gets when he goes wandering."

"Careless," Pate agreed unhappily. "What did he get himself into this time?"

"Well," Cyrus pondered. "He did have to tell Lex the rest of it."

"Dammit." Pete's anger grated on Cyrus' broken teeth. Then he sighed, and let it go, mostly. "I guess he didn't have much choice. Sooner or later. Luthors are hard to fool. And I had to, you know, warn Lex what we might be facing."

"It was the only choice, Pete. Kal on the red drug is unimaginably dangerous. He could have killed...." Cyrus' voice faltered, and Pete shivered in sympathy. Clark could have killed someone.

Cyrus didn't bother to correct him. Pete didn't know the half of it. Cyrus hoped he never would. Any further out of control, and Kal-El could have racked up a body count to rival Lake's. And Lake had killed hundreds of people before she was five.

"You helped bring him back, Pete," Cyrus said levelly. "That's what counts the most."

Pete drove in silence for another two minutes, trying to deal with what, to his inexperience, felt like stabbing a buddy in the back. Cyrus didn't bother to correct him there, either. Cyrus had never had to betray a friend. But several of his teachers had. His own mentor was a more sensitive empath that he was, and had sent people to their death.

"If it's any consolation," he offered, "I got to put the touch on Lionel."

Pete's sudden grin lit up his face. "You mean like keeping him asleep?"

"Oh, a little more than that, partner. Imagine what someone who can heal cells can do by reversing the flow."

Pete imagined. He was no slouch in school. Pete's chocolate skin went pale yellow. "Can't say the bastard didn't deserve it," he muttered.

"That he damn well did. He was carrying kryptonite around in his pocket, can you imagine?"

"I hope you 'touched' him hard," Pete growled.

"I wasn't exactly Florence Nightingale."

"Pete! Bill!" Clark called cheerfully as they drove up. The two boys traded a relieved look. Clark seemed to be putting himself back together, at least a little. A little was better than nothing. "You're just in time for ice cream. If Lana and Chloe have left us any, that is."

Oh, boy. "Lana and Chloe came by for ice cream?" Cyrus asked carefully.

"Well, not exactly. But after I unplugged the refrigerator and carried it around the house, they figured they may as well eat it before it got soggy." The Kent grin was back, too, more or less.

Cyrus' eyes went wide, but he was smiling as well. Pete settled for just the wide eyes. "You told them!"

"Everything," Clark confirmed. "And they thought it made me less of a freak instead of more, can you believe it? Are girls that weird to guys from this planet too?"

"Kal, even male telepaths don't understand women. Don't bother burning out any brain cells trying. But cool, I'm glad you're all here. I want to ask about working out something with Lex, and you four can probably give me the best arguments for and against. Or you six," he added, remembering the adults as Jonathan came out onto the porch. "Hi, Mr. Kent. I know you don't exactly like the Luthors, but I'm thinking of an alliance with Lex. I might be able to help him turn against Lionel and that crowd."

Jonathan leaned on the porch railing. "It might be worth it," he admitted ruefully. "God knows Lex is as weird as a green chicken, but his old man is just plain rotten to the core. If there was some way...." He trailed off, and suddenly his knees buckled.

Clark and Cyrus moved at nearly the same speed, and for someone born on Earth, that was hauling. Clark held his father up, and Cyrus caught his hand. "Uh-oh."

"Bill, what is it? What's wrong with him?"

Cyrus sighed. "You blew up the ship, right? Could it have reincarnated itself? Is there any other artifact where that damned recording is stored?"

Pete beat Clark to it. "The caves. All those symbols. They could be masking some kind of computer. Or they could be some sort of programming themselves."

Jonathan nodded tiredly, and Clark closed his eyes. "Yeah. It's a, Earth technology doesn't have the words to explain it. The rock has been altered to contain information at practically the atomic level. I don't know how they did it. It's supposed to have been there a long time. Hundreds of years. Or maybe the ship did it when it crashed, made a backup copy of itself. I don't know! I barely know enough about the planet I came from to be able to say a cuss word in the language."

Cyrus said one for him, making Clark flush. Pete memorized it.

"The description you're looking for is crystal nano-tech information storage," Chloe said, coming out on the porch with Lana behind her to see what the commotion was. "If you wouldn't skip science class so often, you'd know that. It's not exactly unknown here on this pitiful backwards planet, even if we haven't quite mastered it yet."

Clark flinched. "Chloe, you know why I can't go in there sometimes."

"Yeah, and trust me, I steered the Superfund team that way as soon as I had even the foggiest idea. Could have done it a lot sooner, if you had bothered to tell me what the problem was." There was still a hint of bitterness in her voice, and Cyrus, though preoccupied with Jonathan, looked up at her worriedly. "And besides, you could do some research online every once in awhile, you know? Or do you think us poor humans don't know anything worth your time?"

"Chloe --" Pete and Clark spoke simultaneously, Clark pleadingly, Pete warningly.

Lana cut off both of them, changing the subject with uncharacteristic deftness. "And, Clark, if you had ever even hinted that my necklace bothered you, it would have given me an excuse to get rid of it. I always secretly hated the thing. Aunt Nell kept telling me that I should always wear it "in memory of my parents." Screw that! Who needs a reminder of watching your parents killed? Of watching ANYONE killed! You know what?" She reached up with both hands and ripped off the tiny chain and locket she was wearing, and looked at it consideringly. "Not exactly the same thing, but it's the thought that counts." She wadded it up and threw it as hard as she could. "Take that, you manipulative old bat. I'm not your toy any more."

She turned to Clark, who was still holding Jonathan's limp weight, and touched him lightly. "Clark, I'm so sorry. For everything. For ever doubting you. For ever pushing you. For ever hurting you. It's weird that it took finding out all the secrets I ever wanted to know to finally make me grow up and realize that it isn't really all that important. Mr. Kent, what can we do for you? Can I get you some water or something?"

Cyrus let out a long breath. "I think I can handle it. But we need to be alone, away from everybody, for a little while. Kal, can you just carry him out to a quiet place and leave us alone for about half an hour?"

Not "can you carry him," which would have been one of the top ten in the stupid questions category, but "can you leave us alone." Clark had to think about that one for three seconds at full speed.

"Let's go." He lifted Jonathan gently. "Dad? Do you have a favorite place? Bill kind of works better with a cooperative subject."

"You grew up here, son," Jonathan said fondly, fighting not to show the debilitating weakness. "What do you think?"

Clark nodded. "I ... remember. Where you used to take me for those ... talks, when I was a little kid."

"Yeah." Jonathan smiled, and closed his eyes.

Cyrus met Clark's eyes in silent worry. He jerked his head, and Clark stood up, fast. "Chloe, Lana, can you tell mom? I'll be back in a minute."

"We can cover that, Clark. Go." For the first time since he'd seen her, since coming back, Chloe's anger had been replaced by her old concern and confidence. Cyrus made a silent wish. Maybe he could bring Chloe back, too.

Out in the quiet field, under the open sky, Clark laid Jonathan's shivering body on his shirt. "I'll be right back with a blanket, dad. Just," Clark gulped, working to keep his voice from breaking. "Hang in there, okay?"

Cyrus stopped him with a raised finger. "It's okay, Kal. We'll be okay. But we need to be alone. You can watch. From a distance. But I need to concentrate."

The alien blinked back tears. "Thanks, Bill. I just ... thanks."

Cyrus turned back to Jonathan, keeping his psi-level healing power as high and hard as he could go without knowing exactly what he was fighting. "Okay, Mr. Kent, come clean. What exactly have you gotten in to? Did you actually try to download that AI yourself?"

Jonathan sighed. "I was trying ... to find something ... to help Clark."

Cyrus said a word he'd learned from Lex. "You're a psi-sensitive. And you knew that! With no damn training at all. Did you ever even stop to think that it could have burned your brain out completely? Or worse, that Jor-El's computer simulacrum could have taken over your mind, and made you a substitute? No, you wouldn't have known about that. But you had to have known that you could die under that kind of power. Gods, and I thought I was stupid just for trying healing, without knowing what I was getting into. I swear I should send you to John for training. He'd make a great experiment of the oldest full-psi known." Lex-word. "Breathe deep. Brace yourself. This is going to hurt."

"Just let it go, son." Jonathan's voice was way past tired.

"Shut up. Sir. Would you tell Kal not to pick up a tractor? Then quit giving advice when you don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to start by backtracking the download. Your choice here is whether to erase it or not. Erasing it will fix most of the damage. Your brain won't completely heal, but your body will."

Jonathan took a careful breath. "Erasing it means I'll ... forget?"

"Well, yes. Some things. You'll still be mentally whole. But the spaceship's input will have to go."

"No."

"Mr. Kent," Cyrus hesitated, "The damage to your neural system is pretty bad. Those damn so-called scientists expected everyone who came in range of their control systems to be as tough as Kal. We're, well, ants to them. Anyone without some rough mental training would have died just trying to pick up the transmission. Our own people had to go through a graduate semester, not to mention having the powers in the first place, before we were allowed to even try. That you survived it at all is pretty impressive." His face twisted. "Please don't ever tell Clark. But from what I've seen, I'm very glad his people are dead."

"I won't," Jonathan said as steadily as he could, "let go of what I have. Clark is my son. If I have to trade ten years of my life to be able to say 'go do your homework' in his own language, I will."

Cyrus almost snorted. That was a Kent, all right. "Mr. Kent, it's not 'his' language. Clark was raised here. Raised human. Raised as your son. The Kryptonian language was numerical-based, and very exacting. That's why he's good at math. But as for telling him to do his homework, farm language will be the best way to get his attention."

Jonathan chuckled. Then his eyes drifted closed again. "No. I won't give up the input. I may need it someday. For my son."

Cyrus let out a long sigh. "I am a trained empath, and under obligation to not violate someone else's will when I have asked, and been asked, for their cooperation. Therefore, Jonathan Kent, I am obligated to do as you request. I am a trained healer, and can only do what I am capable of, to the best of my ability. Do you consent to those terms of what I may or may not be able to do in order to assist you?"

Jonathan gave him an uncertain smile. "Sounds like a medical oath."

"Oh, it goes way more than that. What I said earlier about 'my own people,' -- they're not, really, except that every last one of them is weirder than Lex's cats. They saved my life and my sanity. They helped me realize my full potential. And they would kill me in a heartbeat if I did anything less than, or opposed to whatever, they demanded. I'm not making a joke here, mister Kent. I really want to fix you entirely. But if you refuse to lose the download, there's a limit to what I can do."

Jonathan looked up steadily. "You're the empath, son. You tell me." With all the strength he had left, he closed his hand over Cyrus'.

Sun and wind and land and rain and ... NO.

No one will ever take Clark, anything about Clark, anything I can ever do for Clark, away from me. Not Jor-El. Not the meteor rocks. Not you. No one.

Cyrus sighed and considered asking for a time out to go to the dentist.

"Well, the whole world knows better than to try to out-stubborn a Kent. Brace yourself, mister Kent. I'm going to be shielding you from the worst of the pain, but having your cells restructured the second time around isn't going to be any easier than the first, even with a human doing it."

"I don't imagine it's going to be easy for you, either, son. Do what you have to do. And don't worry about an old farm hand. If a little pain bothered me, I wouldn't even keep those damn chickens around."

Cyrus laughed out loud. The image carried him, a little, through the deep, reaching merge that let him feel and touch and correct, cell by cell, what he could of the massive damage done to Jonathan's nervous system.

Thank all the gods that the Baron had made each of them work through psychic blocking and channeling sessions against Lake's deadly mental weapons before trying to access the computer that called itself Jor-El. For all the knowledge they'd gained in the end, it was very much arguable if it would have been worth the price Jonathan had paid.

Cyrus found himself in a limp heap staring at the sky, sick and exhausted and just about as happy as he'd ever been in his life. "Mm? Oh, hi, Kal."

"You look like ten miles of I-40 under construction. Want me to carry you, or just drag you like a dead tree?"

"I could use a hand. Your dad...?"

"I'm here, son. Whatever you did, it did the trick. I feel like I'm twenty again."

And that was a lie, both boys could tell, one with full-spectrum electromagnetic senses, the other with the power of a healer empath. But Jonathan was sitting up, smiling as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Heh, I could carry you both stacked one on the other like cordwood. Chloe would take a hundred pictures. But then she'd never forgive me for busting her camera. Oops." Clark had just remembered that forcing the two of them back into physical contact probably wasn't a good idea right now. "Okay, who wants a lift home first?"

"Take Jonathan," Cyrus said tiredly. "I think I want to lie here for awhile. But Jon...?" After going through the elder Kent's mind and body down to the DNA level, they were on a little closer than first-name basis.

Jonathan, resting lazily in his alien son's arms, looked over at the mutant boy who had saved his life. "Yes, son? Name it."

Cyrus moved his head back and forth. "Nothing. But for what it's worth -- I respect your decision. I ... would have done the same."

Clark looked confused for a second, even though he had been listening in. (Except when Jonathan had started to scream. Clark had fallen to his knees, blocking his ears with all his strength, when Cyrus had gone to full power on his father's body.)

Then Clark got it. "You ... you chose to...."

"You are MY son. I will not give up anything I have of you."

"Dad." Clark shuddered. "It wasn't worth ... you should have..."

"You want me to hit you, son?

Clark sighed. "Not until Bill recovers enough to fix your hand. There are lots of days I wonder about you humans. I don't particularly enjoy pain, myself."

Cyrus raised a hand from where he lay. "Second the motion. Your point, Kal?"

"It's ... you're ... it seems like you, I'm sorry, humans, go out of your way to get hurt. To take pain. Dad, you could have just let it go. Bill, I know it hurts you when other people are in pain, but you could just have left. Why do you do this?"

The two humans looked at him. "Why do you?"

"Huh?" Clark looked back and forth to the boy and the man in his arms. "What are you talking about? I can't be hurt like that."

"Key word, Kal-El: kryptonite."

Clark flinched. "But that's rare. I'm talking about the day-to-day stuff. Guns and bombs and cars and muggers and ... things you have to be afraid of. That I don't."

"That's day-to-day? Remind me to buy a bullet-proof vest. Why do you think there are firefighters and volunteers, Kal? Why do you, we, look out for babies and people who can't help themselves? Why did your sperm and egg donors give up their own lives so that you would have a better chance to live?"

"It's called loyalty, Clark," Jonathan added quietly. "The need to protect your friends, your family. It's hardwired into most species on Earth. To protect your people. Your own."

"Call it morality. Community. Socialism. Whatever. It's a survival trait, one any mother can explain to you in words of one syllable. And either it's hardwired into you, too, or you've ingrained it. Because everyone who knows you has seen you take pain yourself, not just for the people you know, but for total strangers, hell, for people who were trying to kill you. If going out of your way to help other people, even if it means you could get hurt, is the definition of "human," then you take the blue ribbon."

Clark refrained from shaking his head for fear of cracking Jonathan's spine. "I. Am. Not. Human."

"If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck.... You might want to get your dad to bed. And give him something to throw up into. Cellular reconstruction is a lot like a major serious drunken hangover. The poison leftovers have to come out somehow." Cyrus put an arm over his eyes. "And take your time. Neither of us is in the mood for speed right now."

"I'll be right back." Clark walked carefully back to the house, where he turned an exhausted but much healthier Jonathan over to his mother.

(Mom, mom. An Earthwoman who dared to love a dangerous exile from an unknown star. The only mom I'll ever know.)

Chloe and Lana showed uncharacteristic good sense by hanging back, but Chloe couldn't be suppressed for long. "Okay, what did alien-boy do to Mr. Kent? Oops, no offense, Clark. Personally, I think you're a much better-looking alien. But what was that all about? Off the record, unless Bill says otherwise, of course."

Lana sighed. "Chloe, I am going to start putting sleeping pills in your coffee. It's not enough what Clark has told us already?"

"Do you even drink your own caffeine at all? Of course it's not enough. The guy resurrects your horse, but sends Mr. Kent into a screaming fit. I want to know what we're dealing with here. Besides an alien and a mutant. Next thing you know, the FBI and CIA and MIB and FEMA will be stiffing you on the bill at the Talon while they sniff around each other's butts and missing the meteors cold. Pay attention. Come on, Clark, next installment."

"Bill is pretty bad off, too," Clark said carefully. "When he heals someone, it hurts him. I need to bring him back to someplace quiet."

"Like Gem on that old Star Trek show. Gotcha." Chloe flipped out her cell phone. "Dad? I need the credit card for the night. No, not like that. Trust me, I'll pay it back. No, not like that either! Friend of a friend. Yes. No. Later. Thanks, dad. Love you."

"Chloe, you weren't even born when that show came out."

"Ever heard of the rerun channel, Clark? Of course you have. How many times have you seen ET? Go get Bill. Meet me at the car."

"Chloe...."

"Shut up. I always wanted to do something super-heroic. If this is the best I can do, it's not hardly the payback I owe you."

"Chloe...?"

"Shut up. Go get Bill." Clark took one look at her sapphire-laser eyes on the verge of becoming angry, and went to go get Bill.

Cyrus was breathing deeply and carefully, controlling the pain-nausea. Healing damage that deep hurt almost as much as dishing it out. What the AI had done to Jonathan ... he hated Kal-El's ancestors with a serious passion.

He would never dare let the abandoned and alone boy himself know that.

"Hey, Kal." Barely a breath, but as much as he could muster. "Sorry. It's all I could do."

"Shh." Clark didn't even want to think about the implications of the most powerful empath-healer on the planet admitting that he'd gone to his limits, and not succeeded. "Chloe says she can take you out of town to someplace quiet. Don't even think of arguing with her about it."

"Chloe." Cyrus smiled tiredly. "She's a number. She'll make it right someday. Probably at nuclear-bomb-point. Forgive her, and stay friends with her, will you? Both of you have made mistakes, in the opposite direction. Maybe you can learn from each other." Cyrus closed his eyes. "Can we get to that someplace quiet now? And Kal, I'll take fast, if you don't mind me maybe throwing up. Mentally, kind of like you are physically ... around the green rocks...."

Clark hit speed. They were at Chloe's car before Cyrus could heave even once.