Chapter 16 - Christmas Eve
Clark dropped to the ground, kneeling beside his brother.
"No, no," Clark pressed his hand to the bullet wound, trying to stand in the blood, but it flowed through his fingers. "Lex!"
Lex's eyelids fluttered closed, and blood slowly stained his white shirt a deep red, blooming from the place where the bullet had gone in.
"It's too late. Shot to the heart," the man with the gun said, stepping closer.
"Lex. Stay with me." Clark used his X-ray vision to look for the bullet. It wasn't in Lex's heart, but it was close. Way too close, and his heart was barely beating. He had to get him to the hospital.
"I did you a favor," the man said. "If you knew what he's done—"
"I don't care! He's my brother!" Clark Had to use his speed to get out of here and to the hospital. This man was crazy, clearly off his meds, and he might hurt someone else. Clark was going to need to come back for him. He stood for just long enough to tap the gun man on the forehead to knock him out, then he scooped up Lex and ran him to the hospital as fast as he could.
He used one arm to carry Lex and the other hand to apply pressure to his wound so he wouldn't bleed out on the way. "Stay with me," Clark whispered, pushing himself to run faster. "I can't lose you. Not like this."
He slowed down just in time to burst through the front doors of the hospital, yelling, "He's been shot! I need help!"
A woman in scrubs rushed forward—Clark had seen her there at the hospital quite a few times before. "Stay calm, we're here to help," she said. "Can you tell me the name of the…" She looked down at Lex. "Oh. Right this way." She ran for a rolling bed, bringing it over to him.
"Thank you!" Clark adjusted his hold, and more blood flow through his fingers. He used the X-ray vision again. Lex wasn't breathing, and his heart wasn't beating. "No, no… Please…" Clark felt his eyes start to sting.
The nurse was yelling orders to the other hospital staff, and Clark set Lex down on the bed, only to have him rolled away. "W-where are you taking him?" Clark stammered.
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of him." The doctor who had just arrived yelled more orders, and they disappeared into another room.
Clark paced in the waiting room for a few minutes. At first, he used his X-ray vision to see what was happening, and his super hearing to track what they were saying. He couldn't tell from their shouts whether Lex was getting better or worse, but it sounded like his heart still wasn't beating.
He couldn't stand her alone any longer.
Clark jogged out of the hospital, ran at top speed until he reached his house, but then stopped short at the foot of the stairs leading up to his parents' bedroom.
What was he going to tell them? That Lex had been shot, of course—they needed to know that, even though his mom was going to cry with worry, and probably his dad, too. But should he tell them the whole truth, now that Lex was incapacitated? Or would Lex just carry out his threats when he woke up?
For a split second, Clark let himself wonder if things could have been easier if he'd left Lex to bleed out.
No. He had acted before even thinking. He had to save his brother, no matter what his brother had become.
He remembered the last time he had kept a secret from his parents. He had told them he wasn't hearing Jorel's voice anymore, and he was, and ultimately, it had led to his parents having an accident and his baby sibling dying and him running off to metropolis with a red kryptonite ring for three months. He knew better than to keep secrets. Not from the people who trusted the most.
He took the stairs one at a time, heart heavy. When he reached his parents' bedroom, he knocked a couple of times to wake them up, then opened the door and stepped inside.
His mom had woken before his dad. While he rolled over, she smiled, eyes still half closed, before rubbing them and pulling herself out of bed. "Hey, sweetie, you're back earlier than we thought," she said, and pulled him into a hug, but pulled herself out of it almost immediately. "What's wrong? Where's Lex?"
Clark breathed in to tell them everything.
And then the floodgates broke. Tears poured down his cheeks.
His mom gripped his shoulder with one hand and put the other on the side of his head. "Baby, what happened?"
He couldn't do it. He couldn't risk their lives just to tell the truth. "He—he's at the hospital," Clark said.
His dad shot out of bed. "What?"
"Yeah," Clark said, his eyes filled with tears. "You've got to come."
Lex woke up in his own bed. Not the bed at the mansion: his bed, the one at the Kent farm.
And he was himself.
Lex sat up straight, throwing the covers aside. It was cold, as cold as December had ever been in the farm house—he could have sworn it was June.
How had he ended up here? He couldn't remember where he was yesterday. Seemed to him that he had been asleep for days or weeks or months — or maybe only minutes. He wrecked his mind for what he could remember.
The trip to Egypt. Being imprisoned in the back corner of his own mind, only barely keeping alive.
Clark eavesdropping on his conversation with Dr. fine. Threatening clark with kryptonite. Hurting him. He'd hurt his brother.
Flying back to Smallville, visiting the caves, and . . .
Lex had been shot.
He'd been shot. And he wasn't even sore. He was home. He couldn't remember having spent any time in the hospital.
Was he dead? In heaven, somehow? Or . . . had he recovered? Both in his mind and in his body? Was it possible getting shot had somehow fixed him, put him back in dominance and shoved the darkness back to where it belonged? He closed his eyes and searched his mind for the darkness—it wasn't suppressed. It just wasn't anywhere to be found at all.
Dead, then.
Lex pulled up his shirt to look at the place where the bullet had struck. There was a big scar over his chest, but it was entirely healed other than the scar. Months old, at least. He lowered his shirt.
His door opened, and Clark peeked his head inside. "Good, you're up. Hey, Dad needs our help out back, are you up for it?"
Lex blinked a couple of times. He hadn't really thought about whether his version of heaven involved strenuous farm chores or having an enormous scar from a bullet wound on his chest. He ran his hand over his head—still bald, too. Maybe he wasn't in heaven?
No, he was at the Kent house. It was definitely heaven.
"Lex?" Clark squinted. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Lex wanted to ask what was going on, or even just to apologize for all of the things he had done as the darkness, but he couldn't find the words. It was as though he was in a fog, like he was dreaming, or maybe like he had been dreaming and was still trying to wake up.
"Well, come on down then."
"Uh, I'll be down in a minute."
Clark nodded and smiled, and he left.
Lex pulled himself up and changed into some work clothes, his mind still spinning. Maybe his life was flashing before his eyes in the moment before his death—maybe this was actually a day from last year. But no, that didn't explain the scar.
Slowly, he wandered down into the kitchen. Martha stood at the stove—no. He didn't have to think of her by first name anymore — his darkness was gone. His mom stood at the stove.
She turned around to face him, and her face brightened. "Morning, sweetie." She opened her arms and stepped forward.
He hesitated only a half a second before melting into her arms, eyes stinging. He'd managed to forget. It felt so, so good.
She pulled away far too soon, but took his face in her hand, eyes filled with concern. "Everything alright?"
"Everything—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Everything's fine. Just, um. Had some rough dreams?"
"Oh!" She pulled him back into her arms.
He let his eyes fall closed, resting. Dead or alive, heaven or hell, amnesiac or insane, there was no way he was looking this gift horse in the mouth.
This time, she let him be the one to let go. He did, regretfully, and she asked, "You sure you're up for helping your father? You look a little pale."
"No, I—I'd love to help."
She looked him up and down. "You're not dressed for it."
"Um." He looked out the window. There was snow on the ground. He wasn't going to ask how they gotten from June to December in a day. It was already obvious he was dreaming. He didn't want to stop. "I'll grab my coat."
His mom smiled and went back to the dishes. Lex headed toward the staircase, but peeked into the living room before he did.
There was a fully decorated Christmas tree by the couch. He could almost smell the evergreen. Of course, if he was going to hallucinate a nice time with the Kents, it would be during Christmas time.
He climbed the stairs, only to find someone waiting for him outside his room. It took him a second to recognize her—it had been so long. And she was dead.
He felt the air rush out of his lungs. He was definitely hallucinating. It was his mom—not Martha, but Lillian. "Mom?"
She smiled at him. "You call another by that name, now."
"Oh!" His cheeks felt warm. "I don't know if that's alright with you, I—"
"It's okay, my son. I'm happy you've found people to take care of you in my absence."
He frowned. "How are you here? Am I dead?"
"No. You're lying in a hospital bed at Smallville General, fighting for your life."
Lex swallowed hard. "So this is a dream."
"Not exactly. It's your future."
"W-what?"
"This is what your life could look like, six months from now. It's Christmas Eve, 2004."
"But . . ." His voice caught. "I can't fight the darkness. I don't know how."
"You can."
"I've been trying."
"No." Her brow furrowed. "The darkness only took over because you expected it to. Because you wanted it to. Your actions, your choices, are still your own."
All through her speech, he just kept shaking his head. "Y-you don't understand."
"Ask Clark what you did after getting shot."
"But . . ." Lex glanced down the stairs, then back at Lillian.
She was gone.
