Title: Like Lightning
Author: RavenWolf
Pairing: CLex
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The measure of outside influence.
A/N: This came about, honestly, because I realized that on the show, we never get to see Clark doing any real farm stuff.
When he was ten, their mare Lila gave birth. Clark remembered that night very well, because at about midnight, he heard his dad come in from the barn, and speak with his mother in a hushed tone. As a child, he immediately recognized their tones of voice as signifying something important, something he wasn't supposed to know.
Naturally, he hopped up out of bed immediately and demanded that he be told what was going on. His father ruffled his hair and smiled warmly. Jonathan shared a communicative glance with Martha, and then knelt down.
"Clark, we didn't want to wake you up. But Lila is in labor. Do you want to come see?"
Clark was a little bit scared; he'd never seen an animal give birth before. But he wasn't about to admit that. He tilted his chin up defiantly. "Yes," he said.
Again, Jonathan Kent looked at Martha. She shrugged, and handed Clark his jacket. He frowned at her. "Clark, you can't come if you don't take your jacket."
"I won't be cold," Clark stated adamantly. Considering his origins, this was probably true. But Jonathan looked at him.
Still with only the meager patience of a child, and desperately curious by this point, Clark sighed and capitulated. He took the jacket, glared at his mom, and then followed his dad out to the barn.
Lila was on her side in the big stall at the end. Clark's dad approached fearlessly. Clark held back. "What if she gets mad?" he asked, biting his lip.
Jonathan laughed. "She won't. She's almost through. You better hurry if you want to see the new foal."
Spurred on by the warning, Clark hurried over to the stall. What he saw horrified him. Lila was bleeding and grunting in pain. His eyes were drawn to her rear end, where his dad was kneeling, with his hand stuck way up inside her. There was a bucket of steaming warm water in one corner of the stall, and next to it were a plethora of clean, mismatched towels.
His eyes grew wide as Lila struggled to push the foal out. He stood against the wall and watched with morbid curiosity as first the forelegs, then the head, and then the body, forced their way out onto the fresh straw. Finally, a little bloody bundle of horseflesh and placenta laid still on the stall floor.
Jonathan grunted and got to his feet, rinsing his hands in the warm bucket of water nearby. "It's a boy, Clark. What do you want to name him?"
"Me?" Clark asked.
"Yep. He wasn't supposed to be born until your birthday, but old Lila couldn't wait. He's yours, an early birthday present. So what do you want to name him?"
Clark's dad immediately vetoed 'The Hulk' and 'Spiderman'. So Clark was forced to settle on something more generic and less cool.
"Can I call him 'Little Lightning'?"
Jonathan smiled, and Clark had the feeling that if he hadn't been so messy, he would have given his son a hug. "Sure you can. Little Lightning. LL. It's a fine name."
Clark nodded, and tactfully avoided mentioning that 'Killer' would have been better.
True to his word, Little Lightning was completely Clark's responsibility, right from the very beginning. He had to feed him, to groom him, to clean his stall, and when the time came, to train him.
His father insisted on that part. He was only twelve at the time, but he remembered his parents arguing vigorously in the kitchen. "It's his responsibility, Martha. The horse is his. I know it's difficult, but it'll mean that much more once he's done it. He needs to learn some discipline, and in this instance, I think Little Lightning would be the perfect teacher."
His mother murmured something in response, and Clark knew that his last line of defense had just fallen.
His first time out, Lightning knocked him on his ass. He glared at the little horse, who, by now, was not all that little. His father had been a Clydesdale, and Little Lightning was growing up to be quite large. For that matter, Clark wasn't all that little anymore, either. He was in the middle of experiencing severe growing pains. He ate everything in sight and had gone through five sets of clothes in six months. It was driving his mother crazy. He and Lightning were well-matched, as his dad was predicting that by the time he was sixteen, Little Lightning would be the only horse on the farm tall enough to carry him comfortably.
He rubbed his head and sat up, staring at the frightened colt across the sandy arena. He clambered to his feet. It wasn't so much that he was hurt; at least, nothing more delicate than his pride. He was just angry. This was turning out to be difficult.
To make matters worse, Little Lightning decided that he was going to use his long legs to get away from Clark. This pushed the limits of the twelve-year-old's patience to the very edge. Angry and frustrated, he gave chase. He was very surprised when he actually caught up with the long-legged horse.
Chalking it up to circumstance, he looped an arm around the colt, trying to hook the lead to his halter. Lightning struggled. Clark held him with strength he didn't know he had. He came face to face with the colt and stared into his eyes. He was so angry that his eyes burned. Little Lightning stared at him defiantly for a few moments, the headstrong boy and the stubborn horse battling for control.
A quiet truce was made somehow. The little horse snuffled softly and calmed down, allowing him to hook up the halter.
From that day on, he never had anymore trouble with Lightning's training.
Lex slammed into his life freshman year. Literally. He met Lex Luthor, and everything in his life seemed to turn upside down with the introduction of this new, disreputable influence in his life.
And Lex was definitely an influence. The bright red truck, attempting to replace the old farm ways with Lex's, was just the beginning. Clark was resentful of his father for making him return the beautiful machine. He'd caressed the metal the way he used to Lightning's sides. Smooth and shining, he could imagine it heaving under the heavy weight of a load of fence poles, or revving the engine up.
Lightning glared balefully at him from the barn.
He returned the truck, and went riding with Lana. Little Lightning's sides heaving between his legs weren't nearly as satisfying as the rumble of the truck as he'd driven it recklessly down the open highway. Speed was something he could make for himself now; it was the mechanics of it that made the difference.
He replaced the afternoon rides with Lana with delivering produce to Lex and playing pool. It wasn't fair to say that she didn't mind, because she didn't know that that's what he was doing. He told her that Little Lightning had pulled a muscle and was resting, and used it as an excuse to sneak away from her to visit Lex.
He didn't know why he was doing this. He loved Lana. He would have done anything for things to stay the way they were. But Lex, Lex was just too new and dangerous to stay away from. He was flashy, like the red truck.
This simile led Clark to imagine the feeling of Lex rumbling dangerously and powerfully under him. And he was startled to find that he really, really liked it, no matter how much it scared him.
Of course, eventually Lana called him on it. She came out to the farm and when Clark caught up with her, she was leaning on the fence pole, watching Little Lightning graze peacefully, and more importantly, healthy, on the hillside.
Her eyes accused him. "I thought he had hurt his leg."
Clark shifted uneasily. "He did."
"It looks fine to me," Lana said. She was angry and hurt. But Clark knew that this was the closest she was going to get to dangerous.
"He's better now. But Lana...I don't know if we should keep riding together in the afternoon. Now that my mom's got me making deliveries, I don't know if I'll have time to do that and get my homework done..." It was lame, as far as excuses went.
But Lana seemed alright with it. She turned away, and her cute little face bunched up in a frown. "Such is life," she said as she walked away.
Clark had sex with Lex. They were boyfriends. They necked at the movie theater (in the back, of course), and made out on Lex's couch. They slept together in his bed, and they loved each other.
After their first night together, Clark came home late at night to find his mom sitting at the dinner table in her bathrobe with a mug of coffee in her hands. She didn't have to say anything for him to know that she was pissed. But not even her anger could ruin his ecstatic euphoria. He relived every moment of sweat-stained bliss, every instant of revelation written in flesh.
Her hair was out of sorts, and her face was scrubbed clean. "Little Lightning's sick. Go out to the barn," she said. Awkwardly, Clark nodded and followed orders.
When he reached Little Lightning's stall, the big horse was fussing. Whickering and grunting, he was shifting angrily and somewhat violently in the small area of his stall.
Speaking softly to the horse, as he'd been taught to do, Clark opened the latch to the stall. Lightning's eyes fastened on him and then began to roll as the horse backed up against the far wall.
This irritated Clark. He didn't want to deal with this right now. Lightning's eyes rolled once more and he reared up on his hind legs. When he came down, he clipped the wall with his hoof, and there was a thick thudding sound of hoof and wood.
It would have been frightening if Clark hadn't known he was invulnerable.
Determined to settle the horse, Clark forged forward, ignoring the flailing hooves and uneasy noises.
"Shhh," he murmured. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. You know me. You know me. Don't be afraid." He used his calming voice to distract Lightning as he got closer. Finally, he held the horse's neck as he had done when they first trained, and just the same, Little Lightning quieted.
Senior year, wild dogs got into the fields while Clark was at school. They didn't go for the cows, who were fenced off in a separate pasture. No, they went for the horses.
Lila escaped them, because Martha had been riding her at the time. But Little Lightning attracted their attention, and nature took its course when the hungry animals attacked the only prey animal within their reach.
When Clark came home, his parents were waiting for him on the porch. His face fell. Something was wrong. "What's going on?" he asked.
"It's your horse. Little Lightning. He's been injured, Clark. It's bad, son. Too bad."
They spent half an hour arguing over whether they had the finances to pay for vet care, or if Lightning would even survive that long. He was in the barn, his sides torn up and limping badly, his dad said. As a last resort, Clark attempted to bargain that Lex would pay, and he would work off the vet bill over at Lex's house.
Jonathan's face hardened. "No. Son, you know what you have to do. He's your responsibility. He always has been."
Jonathan disappeared into the other room, and Martha's face creased as she put her arms around her son's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Clark. But it's better that he not suffer."
Clark wanted to run away when his dad handed him the shotgun. "Right between the eyes, Clark. Make sure you kill him with the first shot."
Numbly, Clark got to his feet. As he walked out to the barn, his limbs felt like wood. He spotted Lana in the distance, riding up on Comanche, her favorite gelding.
As she came closer, she saw the gun in his hand, and his posture as he headed toward the barn. Her face hardened. "I'm sorry, Clark," she said from her high mount on Comanche. "I know it's hard. But it's the circle of life. Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," Clark said. "Lana, please. Just...go away. I need to be alone right now."
Before she could answer, he headed into the barn and pulled the big doors shut behind him. In the cool, relative darkness of the barn, it was easy to imagine that he didn't see Little Lightning, didn't hear his moaning.
But he had been raised better than that. "Come here, Little Lightning," he whispered. He heard a pathetic whickering from the back of the stall. His horse had his head down in the hay where he laid. Clark knelt beside him. The metal shotgun felt heavy and foreign in his hands. Woodenly, he loaded it and shouldered it.
Alarmed by the odd smell and noises, Lightning neighed and reared his head back. "It's okay, boy. It's all gonna be okay."
Clark touched the thick, ropy neck, the mane matted with blood. "It's gonna be okay, Little Lightning. Good boy."
When the horse calmed, he placed the barrel of the shotgun between Little Lightning's eyes and fired.
Lex cradled Clark in his arms. "Something's wrong, Clark. Please tell me what it is."
Clark shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "You wouldn't understand," he said evasively. Lex looked at him oddly, a mixture of calculation and caring.
"Try me," he said finally.
"I killed my horse today. He got in a fight with some dogs. There was nothing else we could do."
Lex was silent. "You're right," he said. "I don't understand. But I know you. And I know this much: you wouldn't do something like that unless it was the right thing to do. I trust you that much. You did the right thing to end his suffering. I'm proud of you."
Lex kissed Clark atop the thick, silky mop of hair on his head. Clark paid no notice. His green eyes stared vacantly off into space.
"You're right," he said. "He was too bad off to be saved. No one could have done anything for him. He was too far gone. I had to shoot him to put him out of his misery."
Lex couldn't explain why, but those words sent a toxic shiver through him that he would never quite forget.