Title: Family
Author: kendermouse
Email: princess_nomad@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17... barely
Challenge: Truck driver
Notes: I really hate when my characters take a left turn at Albuquerque and
forget to tell me. NOT the story i had
originally outlined. But i think it's
ok. I don't own the characters and i'm
making NO money off this, and considering all i have is debt and a leaky air
mattress... suing won't get you anything.
OH, i lost my primary beta in the divorce (and no, i'm NOT kidding), so
a BIG thanks to Psilence for her SUPER FAST last minute beta. Thanks, hon. All remaining mistakes are ALL MINE. - the song at the beginning IS an actual song. The Truck Driving Song by Weird Al. My uncle was a truck driver and i TORMENTED
him with it every chance i got. Miss
ya, Dale.
Summary: In a world where things turned out a bit differently than what we
know, a gifted young man reconnects with his past, and finds his future.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Drivin' a
truck. Drivin' a big ol' truck. Drivin' a truck with my high heels...
(click)
"Dad!" the
younger driver protested as the deep-voiced singer was cut off mid phrase.
Jonathan Kent glared
at his son as he sat back in the passenger seat of the rig. "I don't care if your mother *did* give
you that, I refuse to listen to it again."
Clark grinned,
glancing at his dad before turning back to the long expanse of dark blacktop
before them. "Come on, dad. You *know* it's funny."
Jonathan slumped in
the seat. "I know no such
thing." The protest would have sounded
more convincing without the almost chuckle in the older man's voice. "Besides," he countered, pulling
his cap down over his eyes as he prepared to nap, "we've already listened
to it twice since leaving the Kansas City city limits. You're gonna wear it out."
Clark chuckled
openly. "CD's don't wear out like
tapes, dad. I could listen to it again
and again and again," he teased.
"You know you're
a pest, right?"
His father's blue
eyes twinkled at him from under the bill of the "Smallville Farmers'
Cooperative" hat and Clark's smiled.
"So you and mom keep telling me," he teased back. "Well, if you're not gonna let me have
my music you'd better wake up and talk to me.
Don't want to chance your co-driver falling asleep on these back county
roads."
Jonathan's snort was
longsuffering and as familiar as the feel of the rig under Clark's capable
hands. They'd been playing this game
since Clark was old enough to get behind the wheel of the family owned big rig. When he'd taken driver's education at fourteen
he'd already been able to shift an eighteen wheeler through its first six gears
smooth as silk. He'd spent summers
hauling wheat in the large wheat trucks, learning how to deal with traffic flow
and how to control a rig with a shifting load.
Then after graduation, he'd taken the final steps to following in his
father's foot steps, signing on as a new driver for the thriving community
owned Smallville Farmers' Cooperative and joining his father as a team driver
for the longer hauls.
Most of the truckers
for the cooperative had families that they were reluctant to leave for the time
it took to haul their goods to the outer distribution points on the coasts and
even up into Canada. But Jonathan and
Clark, after lengthy family discussions with Martha about the pros and cons of
the men being gone for weeks at a time, gladly took over the longer hauls. The trips became "family time" for
them, a chance to "bond" as father and son.
But this was one of
the last hauls for the season. The boys
were heading home for the winter and both were looking forward to familiar beds
and Martha Kent's home cooked meals.
The last run had been easy, the weather holding until just outside of
the Wichita city limits and the fairly new highway between Wichita and Smallville
was a snow emergency route that the state kept meticulously clean after the
meteor debacle 20 years prior. It was
amazing what national scrutiny of road conditions could do to... motivate state
legislators. Especially when that
scrutiny shows that many of those killed in the meteor shower and the unusual
storms that followed it, could have been saved had emergency relief teams been
able to reach them quicker.
But there were no
emergency tonight. There was just a
nice, gentle snow that would most likely be gone by morning that, while it made
the roads a touch slick, was easily handled if one was careful. Clark, use to such typical Kansas
conditions, was always careful. His
hazel eyes scanned the white coated landscape of bare fields and distant
shelter belts of trees. It was good to
be home. He let his father's familiar
voice wash over him as he drove, absently noting the plans his father had for
passing the holidays at home and smiling at the unspoken dictate that Clark
would be assisting in those plans. He
smiled. He didn't mind. In fact, he loved helping his dad in the
workshop, building shelves for mom and small tables and toys that could be sold
at the Late Winter Festival in early December.
It was amazing the amount of delicate and intricate crafts his father
could produce in just over a month and a half.
Clark had begun
learning to create them as well. During
their last few delivery runs, Jonathan had slowly begun teaching Clark the
patience and control needed to produce some of the more delicate, hand tooled
doll furniture they'd introduced the previous year. It wasn't easy, but the long hours and painstaking practice had
helped him refine the fine motor and strength control that he'd need in other
areas of his life as well. Clark knew
that was part of the reason Jonathan had brought along the antique hand-carving
tools. His strength and abilities had
experienced another shift, and it was a lot easier to replace a bit of wood,
than a fellow driver's hand or a steering wheel. Clark appreciated the practice.
Of course, seeing the way the young girls' faces lit up when presented
with a small, functional cabinet for their doll houses helped make the
frustration even more bearable in Clark's mind. It was one of the better "training methods" his parents
had devised over the years since he'd literally burst into their lives in a
shower of rocks and fire.
"You're gonna
stare a hole in the windshield if you aren't careful," his dad teased.
Clark shrugged. "Just thinking."
"That's never a
good sign."
Clark chuckled and
stuck his tongue out at the older man, delighting in the familiar easy
banter. This was what he loved about
driving, getting time with his dad. He
scanned the passing fields as he drove, watching for unexpected traffic from
the sandy side roads or unsuspecting wildlife that hadn't learned the danger of
the asphalt strip that broke-up the long stretches of open fields.
"Seriously, I
was just thinking how lucky I am that I found you two..." he trailed off
as movement at the far corner of a field caught his attention. It was too large for a dog or a coyote, but
it moved too awkwardly for a deer, unless it was an injured one. He automatically started to ease the truck
down, passing through the gears with absent minded precision as he focused in
on the vision.
A scarred upper-lip
pulled back from its perfectly formed but chapped counterpart. "Help me."
Clark pulled the semi
to an easy stop along the shoulder and set the brake.
"What do you
see, son?" Jonathan asked, his own eyes scanning the white-tipped darkness
beyond the reach of the headlights.
Whatever Clark saw it was beyond his own limits, but he'd long ago grown
use to his son's gifts.
"I'm not sure,
dad. I think there's someone out there
but…" he turned uncertain eyes on his father. "I'm just not sure."
Jonathan smiled
reassuringly. "Go do what you need
to, Clark. I'll keep the cab warm until
you get back." He shifted out of his
seat and rummaged through their gear for Clark's coat. "Just be careful. We're closer to the meteor site than I like
you to be."
Clark nodded as he
unlocked the door and stepped out into the Kansas night. "Yes, sir,"
he promised.
"And take your
coat," Jonathan urged, handing the bulky jacket over. "You don't necessarily need it, but
depending on what you find out there, that new stray just might," he
teased. His concern and compassion were
thick in his voice and Clark smiled his most reassuring smile.
"Yes, sir. I should be right back." Eyes focused on the pale figure in the
distance, Clark began to run effortlessly over the snow-dusted fields.
~~~
He could hear the
distant growl of a large vehicle, but was too tired to try and call out
again. Besides, the way his luck
normally ran, it would be the people he was running from, not help. He wasn't sure where he was anymore, how far
he'd gone, how far he still had to go.
All he was sure of was that he was tired. Pulled down by that one, overwhelming thought, he lowered his
weary body back down, leaning heavily into the solidity beneath him. He'd just rest for a moment, just a moment.
A blast of wind
buffeted his bare skin and he wondered if it was going to snow again. Perhaps a new blanket of snow would warm
him. Wasn't that what… someone had told
him once? When lost in a snow storm,
burrowing under the snow could help keep you warmer than laying in the elements
and the winds. But he wasn't *in* a
snow storm, was he? He forced open
reluctantly obedient eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. The night was darker than he remembered, the
stars no longer visible to guide him.
Just as well, he supposed, realizing he could no longer feel his fingers
or toes, a situation that niggled as important at the back of his mind, but he
wasn't sure why. All he knew was he
doubted he'd be able to follow the stars anymore even if he *could* see them.
Another blast of air
ghosted over his skin, stirring up the fallen snow until he felt like a figure
in a snow-globe. He smiled at the
thought, wondering what child had shaken his world and if they were enjoying
the otherwise pastoral scene.
Between one sluggish
thought and the next, he was no longer alone.
He blinked, waiting for the figure to vanish. It, or rather *he*, didn't.
Clouds of white swirled around the too handsome figure, dusting the dark
crown of hair like stars in a night sky.
Stars that melted as they fell, soaking and changing all they
touched. Stars that fell like fire from
the heavens, he trembled at the thought.
Large, gentle hands
reached for him, burning where they touched his naked skin. But he welcomed the searing warmth, leaning
trustingly into the surprisingly solid frame.
Compassionate hazel eyes took in his battered form, sadness creeping
into the expressive depths.
He knew those
eyes. He'd seen them once before, the
memory hazy but familiar. A memory he'd
recounted time and again, especially at night when the pain and darkness
threatened. Memories of his angel, a
dark haired cherub who'd led him through the charred remains of fields and
unfamiliar grounds to safety. Who'd
smiled the smile of the innocent just before he disappeared.
The others had never
believed him. But he'd known, he'd
believed. He'd met his guardian angel
that day. And now the angel was here
again, only… older. Did angels
age? Perhaps this wasn't the same
angel, perhaps they all had dark, softly curling hair and gentle, beautiful
eyes. He wasn't sure, and the idea was
too much for his exhausted brain to try and puzzle out.
He sighed in
contentment as something soft curled around him, cloaking him from the
cold. He breathed deep, inhaling long
ago scents of safety and comfort.
Scents nearly forgotten but so easily recalled... recalled now when he
needed their comfort the most. Is that
why his angel had come back? Giving him
comfort in his final moments? He
vaguely remembered calling out to the darkness, knowing no one was close enough
to hear. But angels could hear
anything, wasn't that what mama had said?
Mama who'd held him close, whispering that she'd always hear them, even
when she was in heaven. Had she sent
his angel? Or had his angel come
because he had called? Did it really
matter since he was here?
He forced open his
eyes, needing to see his angel's face, just for a moment before letting sleep take
him, perhaps permanently this time. He
wasn't afraid; his angel was here, for whatever purpose. "You came," he whispered, chapped
lips curling in a tired smile.
The angel's arms
tightened around him, the beautiful eyes searching his face, looking for
something that Lex hoped was there.
"You called," the angel answered, his voice low and gentle and
so matter of fact, as if there was no doubt that such was the way of the
Universe.
He nodded. Knowing that the angel would see that things
happened as they were meant to, he allowed the darkness to claim him.
~~~~
Clark skidded to a
halt beside the prone form, the snow swirling around him like a mini
blizzard. His eyes scanned the still
form even as he dropped to the young man's side. Deep bruises stood out in sharp relief against skin blue-tinged
with could. The body was too thin, ribs
and hipbones too evident to Clark's gaze.
The boxer-briefs, the man's only protection from the winter chill, clung
precariously to the slender waist obviously too large for the man currently
wearing them. Clark wondered if they'd
once actually fit the young man and if they had, what had changed that fact.
The bald head showed
signs of past trauma, bruises and cuts and, as his X-ray vision revealed,
partially healed fractures. The same
showed throughout the quick examination Clark did before risking any movement
of the battered form. Grateful for his
unusual talents and the reassurance that he'd do no further harm by moving the
too still figure, Clark eased the man into his arms intending to carry him back
to the truck and to medical help. The
man gasped as Clark's hands touched his ice-cold skin and Clark cursed his
higher than normal body temperature.
Then the man burrowed
closer.
Clarke smiled and
took the opportunity to wrap his jacket securely around the other man. The man sighed, breathing deeply and
relaxing further in Clark's arms.
Red-gold lashes tipped with frost and snow fluttered open, revealing
oddly peaceful blue-grey eyes.
"You came."
The voice was rough,
ragged and Clark wondered what the cultured tones normally sounded like. He shifted the injured man closer, pulling
the jacket tighter around the thin frame.
Of course he had come. He
couldn't leave someone like this if it was in his power to help them. And thanks to so many factors beyond his
control, he had power to spare.
"You called," he answered, unsure how else to respond to the
quiet awe in the man's voice, as if he were somehow special simply for doing
the right thing. The eye lids fluttered
closed at the answer and Clark felt the man go lax in his arms.
He shifted his burden
easily, pressing the bare face securely into the crook of his neck as he pulled
up and secured the jacket's hood. While
he might be able to withstand the whipping chill of the wind as he ran, he
doubted his already taxed "passenger" could. He wished he'd brought mom's quilt so he
could wrap the bare legs as well, but he wasn't willing to risk leaving the man
here to go back to the truck for it. So
he curled the man into him as much as he could then began the rapid run back to
the distant truck.
It was at times like
these, not that he'd had many times like this really, that he wished he could
do more than just run. The trek back to
the waiting rig would have been so much easier if he'd been able to fly. Instead, he was forced to run over the
slick, uneven ground, praying that he didn't trip over a plow furrow or an
unseen bit of root. If *he* fell while
running this speed the ground suffered more than he did. But if he dropped the man in his arms, or
tripped and fell, he doubted the other man would survive it, and Clark would be
damned if he'd be the cause of this man's death. The short trip felt like it took forever as he picked his way
quickly but carefully over the mile of uneven field. He gradually slowed coming to a welcome stop beside the humming
rig and smiled as his father opened the passenger's door for him.
"I've got the
lower bunk cleared and the extra blankets down as well," his father assured
as he helped Clark into the toasty warm cab.
"Figured you'd need them the way you came tearing back. Settle in.
We're headed back to the farm first, your mom's got extra broth warming
for your newest stray if it's up to it.
If not, we'll see about getting it to the hospital over in Wichita. They've got good trauma units when it comes
to cold injuries."
Clark let the words
wash over him as he settled his burden into the warm nest of blankets. The man didn't stir but the faint line of
pain around his eyes eased a bit as Clark tucked the blanket in around
him. The man's stillness worried him
and he found himself reaching out to confirm that the faint pulse was still
there. It was. "Dad," he whispered, eyes locked
on the weather ravaged face, "he's been hurt… a lot." His fingers slipped from the pulse point to
caress the chill skin behind one cold reddened ear in a familiar, soothing
gesture. "Who would do this and
why?"
Jonathan shook his
head as he put the truck into motion, easing them back onto the road. "I don't know, Clark. I really don't know."
~~~~~~~~~
Jonathan watched his
son settle the newest "stray" into the sleeper bunk. The young man was pale and still in Clark's
arms and Jonathan wondered at the stranger's chance of survival. The Kansas cold wasn't something to be taken
lightly and the pallor of the bare legs spoke of a fairly lengthy
exposure. He moved to the driver's seat
and adjusted the seat and mirror settings as Clark finished tending to their
guest.
"Dad, he's been
hurt… a lot."
The confusion and
pain in his boy's voice tore at Jonathan.
Clark had always had such a tender heart. For all his strength and gifts, his boy could be so easily hurt
by the pain of others. It was just one
more thing that he and Martha had tried to protect as they'd raised their
special son, compassion for his fellow beings.
"Who would do
this, and why?"
He wished he had
answers for Clark, but he didn't. He
couldn't imagine leaving anyone out in a Kansas winter like this young man had
been left. And he had to have been
left, for who would wander out like that on their own? He wondered if perhaps the young man was an
escaped mental patient, but he knew there were no such facilities nearby. To be honest, there was *nothing*
nearby. So where had the young man come
from? Clark's words drew his eyes back
to the young man and he took in the now revealed face and the bruises and cuts
that marred the slack features. Those
weren't self-inflicted. Jonathan knew
the capacity for cruelty that existed in the human psyche, had seen it first
hand too many times. But it had been a
very long time since it had hit so close to home. He watched Clark soothe the young man, his fingers gently
brushing that odd spot behind the ear that had always fascinated Clark as a
child. Martha had wondered if it was a
gesture that Clark had remembered from his birth parents, an unconscious
gesture that comforted Clark as much as it did the person being touched. They'd never been sure, but Jonathan watched
as the touch worked its magic on both young men, the lines of pain and fatigue
slowly melting from both expressions.
He took a deep breath
and turned back around, easing the truck back onto the highway and towards
home. He silently vowed that he'd find
whoever had hurt the young man now in their care and see them brought to
justice. No one deserved to be left to
die alone in an abandoned field in the middle of nowhere. No one.
Shifting through the gears with practiced ease he gave Clark the only
answer he could. "I don't know,
Clark. I really don't know." But he would damn sure find out.
Pushing away the
darkening thoughts Jonathan focused on their more immediate problems. "How's he doing, son?"
"He's so cold
he's stopped shivering," Clark answered, worry evident in his voice. "He spoke a little when I reached him
and then passed out. He's been out ever
since."
"Why don't you
climb under that quilt with him? You're
better than this old rig's heater any day," he teased hoping to lighten
Clark's mood at least a bit.
"Besides, he seemed to calm when you were closer. We're not too far out now, about 25 minutes
or so, and your mom's got a hot meal and broth waiting. She'll know how best to look after him. Just keep him calm and try to slowly raise
his core temperature. That's about all
we can do right now."
Clark nodded and
climbed into the crowded bunk, curling close to the chilled form and wrapping
the homemade quilt around them both.
Jonathan risked a look back at them and smiled at the picture the two boys
made. Clark's dark
hair peeking out from underneath the colorful blanket that had traveled in the
every truck Jonathan had ever driven since Martha had given it to him for
Christmas the year she'd finally agreed to marry him. That blanket had been Clark's favorite since the minute they'd
curled him up in it the night they'd found
him wandering, naked and alone, amidst the chaos of a burned out field. Jonathan wondered if Clark knew there was
one exactly like it hidden away in his mother's cedar chest for when he decided
to move out on his own. Not that they
were anxious to see him but Jonathan knew that someday the converted loft in
the family barn wouldn't be enough for the young man and his own family. Seeing the tender way Clark held the other
young man made Jonathan wonder if the day was coming sooner than either he or
Martha suspected.
"Did you find
anything around him that might tell us who he is, Clark? Or even where he might have come from?"
Jonathan asked.
"No, sir,"
Clark answered. "He was the only
thing out there and I didn't see any tracks other than his."
Jonathan nodded,
making mental notes as he listened.
"Which direction did he come from?"
Clark thought a
moment. "South,
from the old Sanderson Place, maybe?" Clark's voice dropped as he soothed the injured man who'd begun
to shift uneasily under the blanket.
Jonathan tried not to
focus on the deep rumble that his son's voice had become. It was hard for him to remember sometimes
that Clark wasn't a little boy anymore.
It seemed like only yesterday that the Heavens had opened up and gifted
him and Martha with their own special child.
Even with all the tragedy and change that the meteor shower had brought
to Smallville, Jonathan couldn't bring himself to regret that night. Not when it had brought them Clark. "He all right?"
"Yeah,
I think so," came Clark's
uncertain reply. "He seems to
settle down when I talk to him. Maybe
he's worried he's still alone?"
Jonathan nodded. "You concentrate on getting him warmed
up and I'll call in and have Dan meet us out at the house. We'll need to see if anyone's reported him
missing if nothing else."
"Makes
sense," Clark murmured in agreement, his attention focused on the now
slightly shivering body in his arms. "He's warming up at least. He's started shivering."
Jonathan hoped the
shivering was a good sign. He'd have to make sure that he refreshed himself on
hypothermia treatments before his next first aid certification was due. Attention divided between the road and the
situation behind him, he fastened on the hands free earpiece and punched in the
code of the Smallville Police Department.
"Smallville
Police Department. This is
Barbara. How can I help you?"
"Barbara, this
is Jonathan Kent."
"Oh, Jon. Thank GOD you called in," the
dispatcher-slash-secretary exclaimed.
"How far out are you?"
"About 25
minutes or so. Why?" he asked,
worried by the unexpected greeting.
"What's going on? Where's
Dan?"
"He's in the
field," came the harried answer.
"There was a really messy accident up on highway 60 right at the
county line. Couple of kids decided to
steal a truck and take a joyride. They
tried to beat one of the freight haulers out of Newton to the crossing there at
135th. They lost."
"Damn,"
Jonathan cursed softly. "Some of
ours?"
"No,"
Barbara reassured. "Four kids from
Spivey in for the ball game. Truck
belonged to Paul Stevens' boy, the star forward this year."
Jonathan shook his
head. "Idiots."
The dispatcher
chuckled mirthlessly. "Wait. It gets better. The train was headed for Vulcan Chemical. And it was loaded."
Jonathan startled at
the news and looked over his shoulder to see if Clark was listening in as
well. Their eyes met and the younger
man nodded, clearly alert to the conversation.
"Do they need us?" Clark asked softly. Jonathan shrugged.
"Barbara. Clark wants to know if you need us."
"Not sure yet,
Jon," she answered. "The
volunteer fire department's already reported to the scene and the ones
officially off duty are waiting here on standby should they be needed, but it
looks like the seals on the cars held.
One of the kids survived and the engineer had some minor injuries but
Kyle and the EMTs have already transported them to Hutchinson. BUT, Dan's out there dealing with the
Sheriff's Office, the Highway Patrol, the train authority and the county HazMat
team. And apparently Samuels from Pratt
County has already started a pissing contest of whose scene it actually
is." She sighed in
exasperation. "I swear that idiot
has a death wish."
It was Jonathan's
turn to chuckle. "No, just
delusions of adequacy."
Barbara's laughter
danced over the phone connection making Jonathan smile. "I'll have to remember that, Jon. It's SO appropriate." She sobered. "We may need to put you back into rotation early, if you
don't mind. I know you usually get a
week to settle back in before you return to active duty, but I'm afraid Dan's
gonna be tied up with this thing for a while and…"
"It's not a
problem, Barbara," he interrupted.
"I'll let Martha know I'm on call.
Just tell Dan I'm around if he needs anything."
"Thanks,
hon." The older woman paused.
"You didn't call just to let me know you were headed back,"
she said. "Did you need Dan?"
Jonathan thought for
a moment before answering.
"No. I just wanted his
input on a stray Clark and I rescued out near the old Sanderson place," he
hedged, not wanting to say more over an unsecured line, just in case. "But you might have Kyle drop by after
they're back from Hutch if he's up to it.
And let Dan know he's invited out for some of Martha's stew and a piece
of pie when he's free. I'll talk to him
then."
"Understood,"
Barbara responded. Jonathan could
almost see her perk up at the request, her natural curiosity flaring. "Anything else I can do?"
"No. I think we're good," he reassured. "I'll check in when we get settled at
the house. If you need us before then,
call the cell."
"Will do,
Jon. Tell that boy of yours we've got
*all* manner of rearranging for him to help with once his stray is settled
in." Clark chuckled, knowing there
was heavy moving in his future.
"See you soon. Be
careful."
"We will
be," Jonathan responded before ending the call.
"Thanks for
having her contact Kyle, just in case, dad."
Jonathan nodded. "Sounds like he might not be back for a
while though, will he be okay until then?"
Clark focused on the
young man for a long moment before responding.
"I think so. I don't see
any signs of internal bleeding or anything.
But I'm worried about frostbite on his extremities. I *think* it'll be ok without Kyle,
but," he paused, clearly unhappy with what he was about to suggest. "It would be good to have Kyle look at
it, just in case."
"Better safe
than sorry," he answered absently.
That was one of the mixed blessings brought about by the meteors, the
Gifts. Mutations and special abilities
brought on by the radiation from the meteor rocks that affected the citizens of
Smallville in unexpected ways. Kyle had
been one of the first, a healer whose Gift took its toll on the sweet young
man. The healing always took a lot of
energy from the energetic blond and so the town protected him, from himself
most of the time as the boy would push past his limits and risk his own health
if he thought he could help. If the
stranger could be helped by conventional means then all the better, but he knew
Kyle wouldn't forgive them if they let the man lose fingers or toes when Kyle
could have prevented it. So they'd do
what they could and hope it wasn't necessary to ask Kyle to do more. "Why don't you settle in with him? I'm gonna let your mom know what's going
on."
"Thanks,
dad."
"You're welcome,
son."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was flying. The wind buffeting him as his angel held him
close and flew over the chilled field that should have been his final resting
place. SHOULD have been. Then his angel found him.
Awareness, slow in
coming as heat seared into his chilled flesh; he was burning. Was this hell?
His angel's voice,
soothing, calming. Familiar scents
curled around him, held him tight, scents from a lifetime ago. Flowers and baking spice underlain with a
hint of masculine warmth that settled his fears as it had so long ago. He burrowed deep under the softness as he'd
done as a child, knowing there was safety there now, just like there had been
then. His angel had brought him back
here, back to the safety he'd found as a child. He'd thought he was going to die that day, with the certainty of
a lost and frightened nine-year old.
But he'd survived. He wondered
if this was his angel's way of helping him hold on this time. Bringing him back to where he'd found hope
before, where he'd been found and cared for.
Or maybe he'd just
been brought here so he could fall into death unafraid.
As long as his angel
was with him until the end, he wasn't sure he cared which it was.
He drifted, aware
then unaware then aware again. It
became too tiring to try and make sense of the images, the sounds, so he let
himself drift. A deep, masculine voice
sounded in the distance. Familiar. Safe.
Not his angel, but still a voice he trusted. He relaxed as the growling voice made the world vibrate around
him. Warmth settled behind him, solid
and searing and so wonderfully welcome.
He relaxed into the heat as the world grayed.
Pain and fire and
screams. A scarecrow falling towards
him wreathed in flame, its pale lips calling his name. The Sky Was Falling! Falling and burning and… FATHER! Please, Father. I won't wander again, I swear. Don't leave me here.
Please. I'll be good.
"Shh. You're safe," a voice promised,
breaking through the visions of heat and pain.
"You're safe now. Just
relax. That's it."
He did as he was
told. He was a good boy. He could be good. See? But his body
shook. No matter what he did it
shook. I'm sorry. His thought little more than a muted,
wretched plea. His body refused to
obey, shaking and shaking… threatening to come apart as the searing heat burned
up the pieces that broke free. He
wouldn't cry. He was strong. He could do this. He could let the other escape.
Keep the other safe. Keep them
all safe. If only he could stop
shaking.
"It's just your
body trying to get warm," a voice, his angel's voice, soothed. The gentle murmur washed over him again,
loosening the knots of fear and pain, helping him relax into the ether that
tugged at his awareness. "You're
safe now, I swear it." Fingers
caressed his skin, branding him. Would
the brand remain once he was dead?
Would it be there for all to see, to see the angel's mark on his
skin? Or would it fade with his
life-force, existing only in this twilight where he was held safe in strong
arms surrounded by a long ago scene of safety and caring? Did it matter, really?
The world around him
fell away and gentle laughter following his exhausted body down to complete
oblivion.
~~~~~~~~~~
The familiar sound of
the older model Peterbuilt pulling to a stop in the drive-way drew Martha away
from her sink-full of dishes. Drying
her hands on the dishtowel she crossed the warm kitchen and opened to door to
the back porch. The snow was starting
to come down harder now and Martha was glad her boys were home. The radio had said a front was moving in and
that the gentle flurries of the early evening could quickly turn to a heavier,
thicker fall by morning. She hoped
Clark's newest rescue wasn't hurt too badly, because if the weather did turn,
getting him to a hospital might prove problematic. Hopefully between the three of them, and possibly Kyle, they'd be
more than enough to help the young man.
She watched as
Jonathan handed down the blanket wrapped form to Clark. She held the screen door open, ushering her
son and his burden inside. "The
spare room's made up, sweetie. Just
make sure to turn off the electric blanket after you get him settled. The sheets should be just warm enough to
help bring his temp up without making things worse." She drew one pale hand from beneath the
blankets, tisking at the hard, cold skin on his elegant fingers. "Frostbite. Put his hands under the covers as well. I'll bring up a basin of warm water and towels, we'll need to see
what other areas have been damaged.
We'll need to see if we can get them thawed before they're permanently
damaged." She shook her head. Looked like they'd be needing Kyle after
all. She sighed, her fingers brushing
over the young man's high, pale forehead.
"We'll do what we can, sweetie," she promised the stranger.
She startled as dazed
gray eyes opened and locked on her face.
"Mama?"
She smiled at the
young man, her hand stroking his reddening cheek. "It's all right," she said softly. "You're safe."
" 'm cold,
mama." The brow furrowed.
"Burns," he added in obvious confusion.
"I know,
sweetie," she soothed, urging Clark towards the stairs, walking with
them. "We're gonna help that, or
at least try to. Just relax. You're okay."
A sleepy nod was the
only reply she got as the young man relaxed once more against Clark's broad
chest. She smiled at her own son. "Go on. I'll be up in just a minute."
"Yes,
ma'am," Clark replied, leaning in to kiss his mother's cheek. "Thanks."
She watched as he
moved up the stairs, careful of the fragile form in his arms.
"You're boy did
real good, Martha Kent." Strong
arms wrapped around her waist and she leaned back into her husband's
embrace. "That boy would have died
if Clark hadn't spotted him."
She nodded. "Has he said anything? Do we know who he is?" she asked as she
turned and stole a quick kiss from Jonathan.
She moved into the kitchen and poured a measure of the steaming water
from the tea pot into a crockery bowl.
She handed the bowl to her husband and gathered up the waiting towels,
medical kit and bandages. Jonathan
scowled as the heat from the bowl burned at his lightly chilled hands, but he
didn't complain as he followed his wife up the stairs.
"No. He's mumbled a bit but nothing we could make
too much sense of. Seems to calm when
Clark talks to him though."
Martha smiled as she
rounded the corner to the find Clark kneeling on the floor beside the guest
bed, whispering to the young man while tenderly stroking the skin behind one
cold reddened ear. Clearing her throat
she was pleased that Clark didn't automatically pull away from the other
man. They'd tried to make sure he never
felt ashamed for being compassionate towards another being and it was good to
know they'd succeeded. She brought in
the towels and handed them to Clark.
"We'll need to see about getting his fingers and toes warmed to
keep the tissue damage to a minimum."
She moved efficiently around the bed, checking the young man's ears,
nose, and toes as well as his other hand.
All were red with the cold but didn't show signs of deep tissue damage,
for which she was grateful. The young
man whimpered as Clark bathed the chilled ears with a warm cloth. She ran her hand over his head, dislodging
the hood. She was surprised when her
palm met chilled skin rather than hair and she looked at Clark.
"No hair except
eye lashes and eye brows," he said softly. "And those look synthetic."
She studied the young
man, surprised at how vulnerable and young he looked lying against the dark
blue sheets. "Oh, sweetie,"
she sighed, "what happened to you?"
~~~~~~
Red hair and kind
eyes. Mama. Now he knew he was dead, or at least dying. Mama had said she'd see them again. He just hoped Jules understood why he
couldn't wait. He'd tried. Really he had. But it was so warm now.
Warm and safe and his angel was here, telling him it was going to be
okay. And there wasn't any more
pain. Not like before anyway.
His mind was fuzzy,
disconnected. He felt hands moving over
him, gentle and caring. Soft voices,
male and female, were drifting in and out of his awareness. He wasn't cold anymore, and his fingers and
toes no longer burned. But he was so
very tired.
"Then just
sleep, son," a male voice urged.
"Go ahead and sleep. You're
safe now."
He whimpered at the
thought of sleeping, his body fighting to stay awake, alert. He had to be alert. Had to find a way to follow Jules, find a
way home. He couldn't sleep.
A work roughened hand
soothed over his forehead. "It's
all right. Just relax. No one's going to hurt you, not while you're
here."
//All you have to do
is tell us where he went and we'll stop.//
He struggled. He couldn't tell them. He had to give Jules time to get away. He struggled against the hand urging him
back. "No. Won't."
"Clark. I need you," the man called.
He struggled harder,
needing to get away before the other came.
He couldn't fight them both. He
had to move, protect himself. He
couldn't heal that fast, not if there wasn't time between the injuries. Keep Jules Safe! It's what other brothers did.
He had to keep Jules safe.
//AJ! Come with me. We can do this.//
But he couldn't. He'd slow him down and he had to make sure
Jules was safe.
Large hands caught
him, pushing him back on to a bed. He
fought, struggling as best he could but the hands were too strong, catching his
flailing hands and pinning them. Holding
him as if he were little more than a child.
Tears welled up in
his eyes but he refused to let them fall.
Big boys didn't cry. Ever! Even when the sky was falling and the
scarecrow was chasing him, dragging him back to the fiery pit that use to be a
field. He was burning up. The heat seared at his hands, his face. But he didn't cry. He'd make Father proud.
He would. But he was so
scared. And so tired. Please.
Fingers, cool and
damp, brushed over his forehead, down his cheek and across his neck. He stilled, afraid. Then the familiar touch of his angel;
caressing fingers rubbed over the soft spot between the ear and the jaw hinge
then up and down the heavy bone behind his ear. He leaned into the touch, relaxing, know now he was safe. His angel would keep him safe. "my angel," he whispered. "you found me."
The fingers never
stopped the oddly intimate caress.
"You found us," his angel corrected. "And now you're safe.
Relax and sleep. You're body
needs sleep to heal."
He nodded, his eyes
too heavy to even attempt to open them.
Besides, he didn't need to see his angel to know he was there. The fingers drew away and he reached out
blindly for them. "no," he
pleaded, hating his own weakness.
"don't go."
The bed dipped and he
felt an otherworldly warmth settle against his side. "I'll be right here," his angel whispered, "So
sleep now. I'll keep you safe."
He burrowed into the
angel's warmth and allowed oblivion to take him.
~~~~~
Martha opened the
backdoor and ushered in the cold and exhausted young EMT standing on her
porch. "Kyle Duden, you did not
need to come out here in this," she scolded. She took his snow dampened coat and ushered him into a chair,
immediately going for the ever present hot water and home-made cocoa mix. "We told Barbara to send you home when
you finally got in."
The blond blushed and
gratefully accept the hot cocoa, taking a small sip before answering. "She told me that, Mrs. Kent. But with the weather turning, I was worried
I might not be able to get here in the morning, so I decided to stop by just in
case."
She smiled at Clark's
year-mate. "We appreciate that,
Kyle. But after the accident, we don't
want you taxing yourself any more."
"No, ma'am. I understand that. But I had time to recharge on the trip back from Hutch, so I
should be fine." He took a swallow
of the hot cocoa, savoring the mild burn as it warmed him from the inside
out. "Unless of course Clark's
stray is at death's door. THEN it might
take a bit more rest. Which, if you
don't mind me crashing on the couch like I did during finals week in high
school, won't be a problem." He
grinned, looking up at Martha from under long, curling bangs. "Especially if you're making biscuits
and gravy in the morning."
Martha chuckled. "You know you're welcome to stay,
Kyle. And with the weather turning, you
might want to anyway." She reached out and ruffled the damp hair. "And you'll have to argue with Jonathan
about breakfast. He's already requested
buttermilk pancakes."
"Pancakes are
good!" Kyle answered eagerly, chuckling at the familiar raised eyebrow
from his "second mom". He
sobered and looked towards the stairs.
"So, the guest room?"
Martha nodded. "Just like always."
Kyle took another
long swallow of his hot cocoa before pushing back from the table and making his
way up the stairs. He paused in the
doorway to the guest room, shaking his head as he took in the scene. Jonathan Kent sat in the overstuffed chair,
the book he'd been reading laying abandoned on his chest as he lightly snored,
sound asleep where he sat. His blond
hair, touched with silver gray at the temples, was almost as disheveled as
Kyle's own. Clark Kent lay on the bed,
also asleep, his newest stray curled up tight against his chest.
Clark's dark hair
framed his classically handsome face in soft waves like Michelangelo's David
come to life. Kyle sighed, mildly
jealous of his friend's complete obliviousness to his own attractiveness and
the affect it had on others. Shaking
his head, he moved quietly into the room to study his friend's newest rescue.
The stray was…
striking, was the only word Kyle could find for the other man, pale and
obviously too thin, with high cheekbones and delicate features, accentuated by
the complete lack of hair. The skin
Kyle could see held the faint discoloration of old bruises and half-healed cuts
and scrapes. The occasional shiver
shook the thin frame and Kyle watched as each shiver stirred Clark into
wakefulness *just* enough for his friend to soothe the stray back to
sleep. The man clung to Clark, his
long, bandaged fingers curled into Clark's shirt in a death grip, as if he was
afraid Clark would disappear, and perhaps, in his mind, Clark might. Kyle couldn't help but wonder where Clark
had found *this* one and what his story might be.
Hazel eyes blinked
open and Kyle smiled at his friend.
"Hey there. Leave it to you
to find yet ANOTHER stray just before the holidays."
Clark stuck his
tongue out at his friend, smiling.
"Yeah, well. It keeps
Christmas from being dull." He
shifted the sleeping man gently and sat up so he could talk easier with Kyle
without waking his guest. "I
thought mom and dad said you wouldn't be by," he questioned. "He's not bad enough to risk you
draining yourself."
"Relax, boy
wonder," Kyle teased. "I'm
just here to look and make sure everything's okay with the newest Kent
foundling. Wouldn't do to have one kick
off after you went to the trouble of saving him." He sat down in the chair beside the bed and
smiled at Clark. "So what's this one's story?"
"No idea,"
Clark answered truthfully. "Found
him near the old Sanderson place, hurt pretty bad and nearly naked. I couldn't just leave him there."
Kyle shook his
head. "Only you, Clark." He tentatively reached out to touch one of
the bandaged hands, centering himself and calling his Gift to the fore. "We have *so* got to find out what you
did in a past life to get this Gift, my man.
Not that we who have benefited from said Gift are complaining, mind
you. But it's gotta be hell for
you."
"He always said
he wanted a lot of brothers and sisters," came a sleepy voice from across
the room. "We figured this was his
way of getting them." Jonathan
smiled at the new comer. "Hey,
Kyle. Should I make up the couch?"
Kyle smiled at
Jonathan. "Well… it *is* snowing
pretty heavy outside," he teased.
"He's just here
for the pancakes, dad." Clark
added with a grin.
"Well, your mom
does make the best in the county."
"You're just
biased, Jonathan," came Martha's laughing reply from the doorway.
Kyle rose and took
the basin of warm water from Martha and moved back to the bedside. "No.
He's right, Mrs. Kent. Best in
the county."
Martha smiled,
shaking her head at her "boys".
"You three are going to give me a swelled head, if you keep this
up." She stood behind Kyle and watched
as he slowly unwrapped the bandaged hands.
She looked at Clark. "Any
change, sweetie?"
Clark shook his
head. "He was really restless for
a while when dad was watching him, but he calmed down when I came
in." He ran tentative fingers over
the man's cheek. "Once he curled
up *on* me, he went straight to sleep.
He hasn't moved and seems completely dead to the world." He pointed to the still sleeping
figure. "And apparently his body
needs it if he didn't wake up with all this."
Kyle nodded. "The human body is an incredible
thing. It tends to know what it needs
to heal better than *we* do sometimes."
He finished unwrapping the fingers and stared at them in confusion. "I thought you said he had
frostbite?" He took the red but
healthy looking fingers in his own, examining them closely. "He looks fine to me." He looked up at Martha in confusion. Mrs. Kent wouldn't make such a mistake,
heck, she'd help him when he was studying for his EMT certification and had
known more than he could ever *hope* to.
Martha studied young
man's hand, as confused at Kyle.
"He did, Kyle; hard, cold skin, possible tissue damage. I was surprised he wasn't in the more
advanced stages considering how long he must have been out in the
cold." She looked up at Clark
then to Jonathan. "Did he have any
blisters or anything when you brought him to the truck?"
Jonathan shrugged but
Clark tentatively nodded. "I think
so. I was more concerned with getting
his core temperature up, but I think there may have been a few."
Martha and Kyle
looked at each other, then at the young man sleeping so peacefully against
Clark's chest. Kyle took a deep breath
and then touched his hand to the sleeping man's hand. His eyes widened as skin touched skin, his gaze flickering to the
man's face and then back to where his fingers rested against pale skin. "Clark," he asked softly,
"Are you feeling anything when I touch him?"
Clark shook his
head. "No. He's relaxed. He might be just a touch warmer, but other than that no."
Kyle drew his hand
back and fell back further into the chair, his eyes never leaving the still
form.
"Kyle?"
Jonathan asked, concerned.
"He's one of
us," he whispered to Clark.
"He has to be."
"What?" Clark looked down at the stranger in his
arms then back up to the young healer.
"How can he be one of us?
The meteors only affected those who suffered prolonged exposure."
"Well,"
Kyle counted. "Maybe there was
another shower somewhere else. Or maybe
there's some *other* method out there that affects people the way the shower
did. But, Clark," he looked down at the still figure resting so peacefully
against Clark's chest, "I've never felt anything like this *except* from
another Gifted."
~~~~ ~
The next several days
passed in a blur of snow and work and tending to their ill guest. The snow finally stopped, but not before
many of the side roads were impassable.
Kyle stayed with the family, adding his healing touch where he could but
mostly helping Martha with the stranger's bodily needs when Clark and Jonathan
were working, Jonathan with the Police and Clark driving the sand trucks with
the road cleaning crews.
The stranger did
little more than sleep and heal, only stirring when Clark or Martha urged him
to drink a bit of broth or water to keep him hydrated. Kyle sat with the other man as often as he
could, saying that the man's energies were rejuvenating. He'd aided a bit in the healing, drawing off
the spike of a fever on the second day that they traced to an unnoticed
infection that the man's body was already fighting off. The healing had left him recharged rather
than drained, which only convinced Kyle further that this man was another of
the meteor Gifted.
"Kyle,"
Clark patiently countered, "we've tracked ALL the Smallville kids who were
exposed to the meteors and he isn't one of them. Besides, we've never found one whose healing
ability was altered like this."
"So, maybe we
missed one," he said around a mouthful of pie. "I think we should call Chloe. If anyone could track this, it would be Miss Wall of Odd
herself."
"She's too busy
for this, Kyle," Clark chided, not bothering to tell Kyle he'd already
called Chloe and been told she was away on assignment and wouldn't be back for
several days. "Besides, he'll probably
be able to tell us everything once he wakes up."
Kyle didn't look
convinced but let the subject drop.
That night, the stranger in question finally woke up completely, leaving
them with more questions than answers.
~~~~
//JULES! Leave him ALONE!
- It's ok, AJ. It doesn't hurt that bad. Honest.
I'll be ok.//
Hands touching,
hurting, soothing? He had to get away,
had to let Jules get away. He struggled
to bring his mind into focus. And failed.
~ ~ ~
//There's safety in
anonymity. I know you don't think you
can be anonymous, but you can be.
You're smart and resourceful and if anyone can stay unnoticed, AJ, it's
you. You've had enough practice to be a
master.//
Stay small and
quiet. He doesn't yell if you're
quiet. They can't find you if they
don't know where to start looking.
~ ~ ~
//Wanna be like you.
- No you don't,
squirt.
- Uh huh!
- No you don't. Trust me on this one.
- Do SO! Wanna be JUST like you when I grow up. You're special and I wuv you, AJ. AJ?
Don't cry, AJ. Please don't
cry.//
//Rub it in, Einstein. Not all of us can be rocket scientists.
- You're just jealous
because I know where all the good geek sites and cheat codes are.
- Maaaybe. So, you're gonna show me where the ones are
for Burn Out, right?
- Only if you let me
play against you first.
- Bring it on, Big
Bro, I can kick your ass even without the cheat codes. Always have, always will.//
Quiet. Stillness.
They were finally alone.
//You have to go,
Jules. It's your only chance. I'll be okay.
- Tired of me so
soon?
- No. But the decor stinks and you can't even
manage to hold up your end of the conversation anymore.
- Kinda hard to when
your conversation partner keeps passing out.
- I'll talk to the
management about that.//
Hands arranging his
shattered leg as gently as possible while he fights back a scream. He can't go; he'd only slow them down; keep
them from getting away. Struggling, but
knowing what has to be done.
//It's you're only
chance, baby brother. Take it, before
they realize how stupid it was to leave us without a chaperone.
- Brian and Dom would
never have made that mistake.//
A painful chuckle.
//Brian and Dom are
gonna kick our asses when we finally make it home.
- Which is why you
need to go. Find them and they'll find
me.
- I'm not leaving
you.
- Yes you are. You have to!//
Noises, feet on the
stairs, creaking boards. They're
coming.
//Come with me,
AJ. We can do this!
- Don't argue with
me! We don't have much time. Go!//
Scrambling with
broken boards, an accidentally discovered and carefully hidden way out. Movement above, getting closer. Shoving away his lifeline to sanity,
protecting him. Sending him off quietly
and sealing his own fate with the push of a board.
//I'll be back for
you, AJ.// muffled but understandable.
He can almost feel the heat of a reassuring hand against his back…
impossible through the wood, but there, none the less.
//Be safe, Jules,//
he whispers, the panic of being alone slowly closing in. Angry voices. Pain. New voices and even
more pain. But the other is safe. They tell him by their questions, their
anger. He can't help but smile. Then they leave him alone. Completely alone in the cold and the dark. The stink of his own fear and waste and
blood thick in his nose.
"Don't leave
me," his voice broken, torn by fear and pain.
"No one's
leaving. You're safe."
His eyes opened,
taking in the unfamiliar, cheery room.
Blue gingham curtains muted the light coming in from the wide
windows. A soft, warm blanket covered
his nude body, a body that no longer hurt.
"Would you like
some water?"
He turned towards the
voice. The man was older, with blonde
hair shot through with silver-gray. His
eyes were kind, gentle and he relaxed as the man leaned closer.
"I'm Jonathan
Kent," he said. "You're in my
home and you're safe. My son and I
found you four days ago and brought you here. You'd been injured but you're
healing nicely. And I promise you
you're safe with us."
He nodded, eyes
darting warily to the glass of clear liquid in the man's hand. The man, Jonathan, smiled and moved closer,
easing his body up gently and holding the glass while he drank thirstily. Too soon the glass taken away.
"Not too
much," he said kindly, "we don't want you getting sick."
He was helped back
down to the pillows and was stunned by how weak he was. He met the ma… Jonathan's, eyes. "What happened?"
Jonathan shook his
head. "We were hoping you could
tell us."
He thought, trying to
capture the shattered fragments of dreams and visions he knew he'd had
before. They slipped like mercury through
his fingers. He fought to find them,
knowing they were important, growling in frustration when they slipped further
and further away. A hand to his arm
pulled him from the exhausting circle of his musing.
"Easy. It's all right. It'll come." Jonathan
smiled at him reassuringly. "Let's
start simpler. What's your name, and
we'll go from there?"