---

Prologue

The power returned as suddenly as it had gone out, and Lex Luthor screamed through the mouthpiece like a tortured animal as electricity poured between the electrodes on his temples. Dr. Vargas scrambled for the controls, shutting off the ECT equipment. His heart pounded rapidly. He’d turned the voltmeter to its highest setting in efforts to get the machine to work, when the power had cut out. The younger Luthor had just received a dosage forty times the seizure threshold. Five times the threshold was the standard rate.

“Again.”

Dr. Vargas lifted his horrified gaze from the twitching body on the table. Again? They couldn’t do it again without the patient suffering repercussions. The patient would have heavy side-effects as it was, from the first extreme dosage. Dr. Vargas wasn’t about to say that he’d made an error, though. “But, sir, the way this equipment is working, we should wait.”

Lionel Luthor’s sharp look felt like a knife pressed to his jugular. “Do it again.”

Dr. Vargas gulped and turned to the controls. He adjusted the dial to the lowest setting and flipped the switch.

Lex shrieked and the tempered glass wall of the medical theater room shattered. Dr. Vargas threw up his hands in protection from the glass splinters. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lionel fly across the room, smash into the back wall, and collapse onto the floor like a rag doll.

Lex’s body spasmed on the table in seizure, with a broken scream. Dr. Vargas jerked in fright when he was lifted off the ground, coming face-to-face with a wild-eyed young man. “Turn it off! Now!”

Dr. Vargas nodded quickly and was released. He slapped at the control panel and the machine went quiet. Lex’s body fell still.

“Lex? Lex?” Glass shards dropped from the young man’s messy, dark hair and shoulders as he leaned over Lex. Unmarred hands shook as he cupped Lex’s cheek. “Lex, wake up? Can you hear me?”

“ECT patients are usually unconscious for a time after treatment,” Dr. Vargas said cautiously. He almost wet himself when he was suddenly in the air again, dangling helplessly by the obscenely strong grip around his neck.

“You’d better be right,” the young man snarled, eyes glittering like red-hued diamonds. “Or I'll come back and fry your brain.”

Dr. Vargas wheezed and whimpered. He glanced at the camera mounted in the corner. Where was security?

Lionel made a sound and Dr. Vargas went flying through the air. His breath whooshed from his lungs and stars exploded in his vision when he hit the wall. The last thing he saw was the young man breaking the table restraints and the gentleness with which he picked up Lex Luthor before they both vanished in a blink.

Security arrived, finally, just as Dr. Vargas’s world faded to black.

---

Part One

Clark Kent hurried up the steps to the loft and set Lex on the ratty sofa. The pale glow of the lamplight hollowed Lex’s slackened features. Twin smudges marred his temples where the electrodes had been, his skin branded with Clark's failure.

Clark’s knees thumped on the wood floor as he dropped beside the sofa. “Lex, wake up. You can wake up now. You’re safe.” He slapped Lex’s cheek lightly, and then harder in desperation. “Come on, Lex. This isn’t funny. Wake up.”

Lex lay unresponsive, pink blooming on his cheeks where Clark hit him. Clark pressed his lips together and blinked hard against the sting in his eyes. He rubbed his thumb against the mark on Lex’s temple, fear and self-loathing leaving a vile taste in his mouth. If only he’d gone sooner, if only he’d kept his promise to help Lex.

The sight of Lex’s body jerking on the ECT table with his father standing there, watching impassively was etched into Clark’s mind, cementing his hatred for Lionel Luthor. Clark hadn’t thought, he’d reacted, breaking the glass, throwing Lionel into the wall, and forcing the doctor to stop the machine. He’d rescued Lex from that place of horror, but were his actions too little too late?

He wanted to get his parents, to have his mom tell him everything would be all right, but he knew he couldn’t and that was why he was in the loft instead of the house. A line had been drawn between them regarding Lex. They hadn’t wanted Clark to help Lex to begin with, let alone do anything to free him from Belle Reve. Clark had made his choice and would stick with it. He’d already run away from Lex once; he wouldn’t ever do it again.

That didn’t mean he knew what to do next. Lex was free and safe, but Clark had failed to prevent him from being hurt. Panic bled through him and he fumbled for the cell phone he’d shoved in his backpack. Chloe answered on the first ring. “Clark?”

“What were the side-effects again?”

Chloe caught on right away, with a gasp of sympathy. “You were too late?”

“Yes.” Clark closed his eyes and curled his free hand into a fist. On the backs of his eyelids, he could still see Lex being shocked.

“Oh no, Clark…”

“The side-effects, Chloe. What are the side-effects?”

“Memory loss is a given,” Chloe said, her voice slightly thickened with emotion. “Then there are nightmares, headaches, anxiety, insomnia, seizures, confusion, learning disabilities, EEG abnormalities, brain hemorrhages, comas, becoming a vegetable, and the possibility of brain death.”

Clark sank down onto the edge of the couch and placed his hand on Lex’s chest. He could feel Lex’s heart beating steadily beneath his palm. “How will we know which he’s got?”

“The doctors will probably monitor him at Belle Reve,” Chloe replied.

“He’s not at Belle Reve.”

“You broke him out?”

“I couldn’t just leave him there, Chloe.”

“But you said you were too late.”

“It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to leave him in the hands of his father.”

“Clark, they’re going to come after you. Lionel Luthor isn’t going to let you take his son and then not do anything about it, especially after all the effort he went through to commit Lex to begin with.”

“What was I supposed to do? They were frying Lex’s brain!”

“Clark, Lionel’s dangerous. You either have to give Lex back—”

“No!”

“—or hide,” Chloe said. “You’re at home, right? You can’t stay there. That’s the first place he’ll look.”

She was right. How could he have been so stupid? Clark glanced anxiously at the wall of the barn, triggered his x-ray vision, and searched outside for approaching vehicles. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Well, you should have,” Chloe said.

“I was a little too occupied with getting to Lex before they shocked him, Chloe.”

“Which you didn’t do.”

“I know.” Clark clenched his jaw against the sharp spike of guilt. “Now, I owe it to Lex even more to protect him.”

“Then, you’d better run and hide, because Lionel’s not going to stop until he gets what he’s after.”

“That’s reassuring,” Clark muttered.

“It’s not meant to be,” Chloe said bluntly. “Lionel Luthor is rich, powerful, and ruthless. He went to extreme lengths to ensure the truth behind his parents’ deaths wouldn’t be credibly exposed. He’s not going to let you run off freely with a potential witness.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Somewhere far away from Smallville and Metropolis. Lionel owns too many people around here.” Chloe took an audible breath. “And don’t tell me where you go. In fact, don’t call me or contact me in any way.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“I can’t help Lionel if I don’t know anything,” Chloe said.

“Why would you help Lionel?”

“I’m just making sure that I can’t,” Chloe said. “Now, go already. Stay safe. Get Lex checked out by a doctor if you can. I’ll throw out some false leads on your whereabouts.”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Clark said. “Tell Pete that I had to do this. I don’t think he’ll understand, but he should at least know the truth.”

“Will do. Good luck, Clark.”

“Bye.” Clark terminated the call and stared blankly at the cell phone in his hand. Where the heck was he going to go? He didn’t have much money. There was cash hidden in his dresser drawer in the house and some bills in his wallet. Undoubtedly, Lex had a bunch of cash at the castle, but Clark didn’t know where, nor could he leave Lex alone while he ransacked the place.

The slight creak of barn door drew Clark’s head up sharply. He switched to x-ray vision and panic fluttered in his chest. He saw four skeletons holding guns, two creeping into the barn and the other two circling around the building.

Clark shoved the cell phone into his pocket, scooped Lex up off the couch, and ran.

---

Clark had only reached Wichita when he realized he'd left his parents defenseless against four armed people. A new strain of fear drove his steps to a cheap motel off the highway, next door to a bar with a parking lot full of pickup trucks, rusty old cars, and big rigs. The owner passed a curious glance over Lex, as Clark shifted him in his arms in order to pay for a room. “Too much next door,” Clark mumbled.

The owner smiled with yellowed teeth. “Means good business for me.”

The January cold bit at Clark’s exposed skin as he traversed the broken sidewalk in front of the motel to his assigned room. The blanket from the loft provided minimal protection for Lex at normal speed. Headlights cut past Clark while he fumbled to unlock the motel room door. Another eighteen-wheeled truck rumbled past, pulling off the highway at the bar.

Inside the room, Clark flicked on the bare overhead light and grimaced. Stained carpeting that once might have been gold-colored spread across the cramped quarters. The sparse furnishings included double bed with a faded fuchsia and gold-patterned bedspread; a night table with phone, phone book, and a Bible; and a television chained to a short chest of drawers.

With minimal jostling and a judicious use of superspeed, Clark laid Lex on the bed beneath the covers. He doubled the bedspread and placed the blanket from home on top of Lex for warmth. Lex didn’t rouse the entire time.

Clark brushed his fingers across Lex’s brow. “Why aren’t you waking up?” he whispered. Lex remained unresponsive.

Pensive lines cut Clark’s features as he moved to call his parents. He rubbed his hand anxiously against his thigh, listening to the line ring over the cell phone.

“Hello?”

Clark was relieved to hear her voice, but that didn’t mean she was necessarily safe. “Mom—”

“Clark, where are you?” The demand was heavy with fear, more so than would be normal if he hadn’t run away last summer. “We’ve been calling all over—”

“Mom,” Clark interrupted, digging his fingernails into his palm to fight against the guilt for worrying her again, “I need you to answer yes or no. Are you and Dad being held hostage?”

“What?”

“Mom, yes or no?”

“No, of course not. Clark, what’s going—”

“I’m going to hang up and I want you to call the Sheriff,” Clark spoke over her. “Tell them you saw four prowlers on the property. Lock the doors until the Sheriff gets there. You’d better have Dad get his shotgun out. Call me back on the cell phone once the Sheriff is underway. Bye.”

Clark disconnected before she could question him further. He sank onto the bed and cradled his head in his hands, the cell phone pressed uncomfortably against his temple. Behind him, Lex was silent. He waited.

The cell phone rang less than a minute later. “Mom?”

“The Sheriff is on her way,” Martha said. “What’s going on? You saw prowlers? Where are you?”

“Um, Wichita,” Clark said. “I was in the loft a few minutes ago and saw people with guns.”

“Guns? Clark, why in the world—”

“I broke Lex out of Belle Reve.”

Martha’s surprised silence wasn’t long lasting. “You what?”

Clark swallowed and blundered on. “I had to save him from that place, Mom. He didn’t belong there. They were hurting him.”

“You don’t know that,” Martha censured sharply. “Lex wouldn’t have been placed there without reason. I can’t believe you abused your powers like this. What if someone saw you?”

“They were hurting him!” Clark exclaimed. “God, haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said for the past month? Lionel drugged Lex, making him seem like he was crazy, so Lionel could literally get away with murder. Lex is as sane as I am, or at least he was, until Lionel cooked his brain.”

“What does that mean?” Martha said.

“Lionel forced unnecessary shock treatment on Lex.”

“I’m sure the doctors—”

“Were paid off by Lionel to do this to Lex. I was there, Mom. I saw Lionel in the room, watching as his own son was electrocuted.” Clark clenched his fist, helpless in his fury with Lionel. “I was too late.”

“But you still broke him out?”

 

“Of course I did,” Clark snapped. “I should’ve done it sooner, too, but you guys wouldn’t listen and I was freaked about Lex finding out that I’m not human. I let my fear control my actions, when I should have been keeping my word to Lex.”

“You can’t just go taking things into your own hands.”

“Well, nobody else would help him, so I did what I had to do.”

”And now there are people here with guns looking for you.”

“That’s why I called to warn you,” Clark said. “Lionel will be searching for us. You and Dad need to be careful.”

“We won’t be worried about ourselves, we’ll be worried about you,” Martha said over the line. “We can’t protect you if you’re not here. Come home and we’ll deal with this as a family.”

Clark steeled himself against the urge to do just that. “No. It’s too risky. I need to keep Lex out of Lionel’s reach.”

 

Martha’s sigh was nearly inaudible. “Do you have a plan?”

“Uh… to lie low, I guess,” Clark said, feeling relieved by her support, reluctant or not. “Once Lex wakes up, he’ll know what to do.”

“Wakes up?”

“He’s unconscious from the shock treatment.” Clark cast a worried glance at Lex. “The doctor said it’s normal.”

“Are you sure Lex doesn’t need to be in a hospital? Not Belle Reve,” Martha hastened to add, “but a regular one?”

“I want to wait and see if he wakes on his own,” Clark said. “I, um, could use some money, though.”

“If I say no?” Martha asked seriously.

Clark tensed, his hand tightening around the phone. “Don’t make me choose again, Mom.”

Martha was quiet a moment. “How much do you need?”

---

Clark didn’t know long he lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, but when he woke the next morning, he was in the same position, still no closer to a plan and wondering if he should go home. He was someone who reacted to situations and lied about them afterwards. Plotting out a course of action, especially a potentially long-term one, required thought about the details and consequences of any moves he made. It was like playing chess, a game he never excelled at because it was boring.

Lex excelled at chess, though. He could probably map out a dozen sets of moves that would all result in checkmate in a blink of an eye. Clark would happily dump the problem in Lex’s lap as soon as possible.

Clark turned his head on the pillow to look at the man in question and sat up abruptly. Lex’s eyes were open.

“Lex! You’re awake! It’s about time. Geez, you had me worried there…,” Clark trailed off when Lex didn’t make any indication he was listening. Clark leaned closer, the bed depressing under his weight. “Lex?”

Lex laid still, his mouth slightly open and eyes staring towards the ceiling. Clark waved his hand in front of Lex’s face. “Lex, are you all right?” he asked, tension coiling in his gut. He snapped his fingers in front of Lex’s nose. Lex didn’t react.

“Come on. This isn’t funny.” Clark shook Lex by the shoulder, lightly at first, then harder when Lex continued to lie there. “Lex, stop it. We’re in deep trouble here. It’s no time to joke around.”

Lex's head rolled on the pillow from Clark’s shaking and Clark sucked in a sharp breath. Lex’s blue eyes were completely vacant, like a dead person.

“No,” Clark whispered, a keen rising in the back of his throat. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” He knelt up and over Lex quickly, put a hand on Lex’s forehead and one under his chin, and listened for breathing. He’d successfully given Lex CPR before and he’d do it again. He wouldn’t allow Lex to die. He couldn’t lose his best friend, the person he—

Lex was breathing. Clark felt the warm gust against the shell of his ear, heard the soft exhale. He shifted his hand from beneath Lex’s chin to his neck and reveled in the steady thrum of a pulse beneath his fingertips. Lex wasn’t dead.

Clark closed his eyes briefly, calming his own racing heart before he drew back. Lex’s empty eyes stared eerily in Clark’s direction. Clark waved his hand in front of Lex’s face and faked like he was going to poke Lex in the eye. “Lex? Anyone home in there?”

Lex didn’t flinch or respond. His eyes didn’t follow Clark’s movement. He blinked, though, at six-second intervals, something Clark knew happened unconsciously. Was Lex still unconscious then, only his eyes had somehow fallen open?

“That sounds ridiculous,” Clark murmured, frowning at Lex. He had heard of people who slept with their eyes open. Maybe Lex was a heavy sleeper and Clark needed to do something more drastic to wake him. Perhaps dumping cold water on his head?

It was as good an idea as any. Clark shook Lex by the shoulders again, but when he didn’t stir, climbed out of bed. He slipped an arm under Lex’s shoulders, another under his knees, and stopped mid-lift when his eyes and nose simultaneously registered the damp patch at Lex’s groin.

Mortified on his friend’s behalf, Clark lifted Lex completely. A wet spot soaked the bed where he’d lain. Clark looked swiftly at Lex. No redness from embarrassment tinged Lex’s cheeks or bald head. Eyes blank and mouth slack, he hung limply in Clark’s arms. He wasn’t conscious at all.

Clark bit his lower lip, unsure of what to do. When he’d gone to rescue Lex from Belle Reve, he never expected Lex to be unconscious, let alone so out of it he’d piss in his pants. He knew he couldn’t leave him wearing wet scrubs, but he didn’t have any other clothes. Leaving him in a towel wasn’t an option, either, because checkout was at noon, unless Clark planned to pay for another night.

“Money,” Clark remembered out loud. His parents were going to wire him money first thing this morning to the Western Union that Clark had found listed in the phone book.

Clark carried Lex around the bed and laid him on the other, dry side. He glanced at his watch. The money should’ve been wired by now. If he went fast, he could stop and buy Lex some clothes before checkout. He didn’t really want to stay at the motel for another night, especially with a wet mattress.

“I’ll be back soon,” Clark told Lex. He hesitated. If Lex woke up while Clark was gone, he might freak at the unfamiliar place and phone someone, or he may just leave. Neither option sat well with Clark. Clark didn’t have a pen to leave a note, though. But he did have a flannel shirt.

He left the shirt piled on the nightstand with his library card on top. Lex would know, then, that he wasn’t alone and would hopefully wait until Clark returned before doing anything.

Clark zipped through the late January morning, outpacing the cars driving on the slushy streets. He’d memorized the map from the phone book and managed to find the Western Union located in a Paycheck-To-Cash business. A few cars were parked along the road. Remnants of the New Year's celebration hung from lampposts, colorful city banners flicking in the wind.

The place was empty of customers, save him. A lone clerk stood behind a counter with a bulletproof glass window stretching to the ceiling. A speaker was set into the glass. A depression in the counter that was barely wide enough to fit a hand dipped under the window. Clark gave the clerk a polite smile. “Hi. Uh, I’m supposed to pick up money that was wired to me.”

The clerk’s tinny voice came through the speaker. “Identification, please.”

Clark passed over his driver’s license. The clerk typed on the computer located behind the counter. “Four hundred dollars to Mr. Clark Kent,” the clerk read. “How would you like that?”

“Er, what?” Clark said, confused.

“How would you like your money?” the clerk said. “In twenties, fifties, or hundred dollar bills?”

“Fifties, I guess,” Clark replied. He wasn’t comfortable using hundred dollar bills.

The clerk opened a drawer, pulled out a stack of fifties, and counted them out loud as he placed each bill on the counter. Clark watched and took the stack of $400.00 when it was slid under the window.

A short buzzer sounded and the door opened. Clark glanced over his shoulder as two uniformed police officers entered the establishment. For some reason, Clark felt a flutter of anxiety. The officers couldn’t be there for him, though. No one but his parents knew he was in Wichita with Lex.

Clark shoved the money into his pocket, mumbled thanks to the clerk, and affected a casual stroll towards the door, gaze lowered. One of the officers stepped in his path and Clark brought his head up. “Mr. Kent, we’d like a word.”

Clark panicked. They were there for him! He glanced at the other officer, who had his hand on his holstered gun, and didn’t wait any longer. He shoved past the officer blocking his path, ran out the door, and burst into high speed, their shouts vanishing into the wind.

“Lex!” Clark yelled as he opened the motel room door seconds later. Lex was lying on the bed exactly where Clark had left him, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Quickly, Clark donned his flannel, stuck his library card in his pocket, and tossed the room key on the nightstand. He wrapped Lex in the blanket taken from home and fled the motel.

He didn’t stop until they reached Omaha, Nebraska, a city he was familiar with from his farming-related trips with his father. He started to go to the same motel they usually stayed at, but thought better of it. He found another relatively cheap motel and used the same excuse of drunken Lex when questioned as he secured a room.

The motel room appeared identical to the prior one, only done in pea green and gold rather than fuchsia. Clark bypassed the bed and deposited Lex gently in the cracked bathtub in the washroom to keep the new mattress from being soiled. He then put down the toilet cover, sat on the edge, and called his mom.

“They found us,” Clark told her after assuring her he was okay still. “The police showed up at the Western Union. Lionel must have people watching you guys.”

“You’re all over the news, Clark.” Martha’s worry came clearly over the line. “They’re calling it a kidnapping.”

“Damn.” Clark pressed his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes. He should’ve realized something like this would happen.

“Maybe you should bring Lex back.”

“No.” The response came immediately to Clark’s tongue, despite his earlier misgivings. “We’re not coming back until Lex says we are.” Once he woke up, that was.

“You know how your father and I feel about this,” Martha said.

“I left him to Lionel’s mercy once, Mom. I’m not going to do it again.”

“What about school?”

Clark shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “I guess I’ll be missing it.”

“Clark—”

“Mom, we talked about this last night. I’m not changing my mind,” Clark said. “I’ll keep in touch by phone, okay?”

“It’s not okay, but we’ll deal with it,” Martha said. “Be careful.”

“I will. Bye.” Clark terminated the call and set the cell phone on the sink. He looked at Lex, lying unmoving in the tub. His mind spun. Kidnapping. He’d have to get a newspaper and see how far the story had spread. Obviously, law enforcement in Kansas was on the lookout for them. He’d have to be careful to avoid the police no matter where they went.

They should be safe for now. Being an alien had its advantages sometimes. He’d gone hundreds of miles in a flash while the Wichita police would only think he could’ve gotten so far traveling with Lex, with normal human limitations. He and Lex shouldn’t stay more than a night in one place, though, not until Lex woke up and squirreled them away to one of the safe houses he probably had all over the world. In the meantime, however, the cheap motel room in Omaha was their home until the morning, and Lex needed clean pants.

“I bet you can’t wait to get out of those,” Clark commented, shedding his winter coat. He climbed into the tub, straddling Lex’s legs. Leaving Lex wearing a towel in bed while Clark ran out for new clothes was the best option. The other choice was to leave Lex in the tub, but that made Clark uncomfortable.

Clark wadded the blanket and cushioned it behind Lex’s head and shoulders for protection against the hard porcelain. He looked down at Lex, slumped helplessly in the tub. His own modesty stretched to include Lex. He really didn’t want to undress Lex – it felt too intimate. It was gross for Lex to remain in wet pants, though.

Clark forced himself to be clinical and peeled off Lex’s damp scrubs and briefs with as minimal of jostling as possible. “This is not how I imagined seeing you naked,” he mumbled. Lex didn’t respond and the heated blush faded from Clark’s cheeks. Lex wasn’t well enough to care that Clark had stripped him. In fact, he’d be grateful, even in his embarrassment, that Clark hadn’t left him displaying his loss of control.

Clark didn’t think he could wash Lex, though. The eyeful he’d gotten stirred things inappropriately enough without adding touching. Clark fetched a towel, draped it over Lex’s waist, and lifted him from the tub. Lex’s head lolled over Clark’s arm, as Clark carried him into the other room. He’d put Lex to bed first, and then—

BAM. BAM. BAM. “Police! Open up!”

Clark froze mid-step as the motel room door splintered open. He stared like a deer in the headlights as armed police officers poured into the room, guns aimed at Clark. One of the officers barked, “Put Mr. Luthor down and place your hands on top of your head.”

At the sound of Lex’s name, Clark lowered his gaze to the man in his arms. His fear for Lex’s safety overpowered the reflexive fear of using his powers in front of witnesses. He hesitated no longer and disappeared with Lex in a burst of speed.

A towel fluttered to the floor in the empty spot where he had been.

---

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Clark paced the blue-carpeted room, cursing out loud. Lex was on the bed behind him, covered by the sheets. They were in Wyoming at a hotel from a large chain. Clark had broken into an unoccupied room far from the lobby. He didn’t dare check in and make a record of his name. He needed to be invisible to keep Lex safe.

Clark punched his fist into his palm, angry with himself. There were two ways the Omaha police could have found them: by the motel clerk, or because he’d called his mom. He knew they’d been watching his parents by the police showing up at the Western Union in Wichita. Undoubtedly, the Kent phone had been tapped, because while Clark hadn’t told his mom that he was in Omaha, they’d still found him, and he knew cell phones could be traced.

But using the cell phone didn’t matter any longer, as it was sitting on the sink in the Omaha motel room. Clark’s coat was gone, too, as well as the blanket from home. And Lex had no pants.

Clark sank onto the end of the bed and buried his face in his hands. This definitely wasn’t how he’d imagined the rescue going.

But sitting and brooding wouldn’t fix things. Clark growled, pulled at his hair, and clapped his hands on his thighs. Lex needed clothes, the sooner the better, in case they had to run again.

Clark was anxious about Lex being alone while he went to the store, notwithstanding having welded the door shut. He didn’t like leaving Lex so vulnerable. If only Lex would regain consciousness already…

The door to the Casper Wal-Mart whooshed open and Clark kept his head down as he walked past the greeter. The men’s clothes were past customer service on the left. A few employees in bright blue vests worked the area. A mother with two yelling boys pushed a shopping cart between the racks of shirts.

Clark turned in small circle, wondering what to get. Jeans? Khakis? Sweats? Something warm, since it was January. And socks and underwear. He didn’t know Lex’s exact size – Lex appeared thin, but was actually quite muscular – however, he was smaller than Clark. If Clark bought things in his own size, they’d work for the time being. Lex would have to suffer not being a fashion plate.

Clark grabbed a few changes of clothes for himself, too, and a deep messenger bag to carry everything. It still cost him over $100.00 in spite of buying the cheapest stuff. No wonder his mom disliked clothes shopping. It was a good thing he wouldn’t be paying for the hotel room.

Lex hadn’t moved an inch while Clark was gone, his blank gaze directed towards the stippled ceiling. Clark sighed heavily and dumped his purchases on the floor. It would’ve been nice to find Lex awake and demanding to know why he was half-naked in a strange hotel room. Imagining the conversation flashed a smile across Clark’s face and made dressing Lex easier.

After clothing Lex, including exchanging the scrub shirt for a Hanes blue t-shirt and a blue plaid flannel, Clark took the small pad of paper and complimentary hotel pen to the round table at one side of the room and tried to outline their situation and figure out what to do next.

Got Lex out of Belle Reve – Lionel knows it was me – calling it kidnapping – in the news: how far does it carry? Get newspapers/watch evening news.

Ways Lionel is trying to get Lex back

-Involved police
-Involved news
-Tapped phone lines = must not call parents from where staying
-Private investigator??
-Watching parents
-Threatening parents?

Clark’s shoulders tensed, his pen poised on the dot of the question mark of the last point. He wouldn’t put it past Lionel to hold Clark’s parents hostage and exchange them for Lex. He closed his eyes a moment as fear and guilt swamped him. He’d put them in danger by his actions. Worse was knowing that if he were forced to choose, he wouldn’t choose them.

Warn Mom and Dad about possible threats from Lionel. Tell them that I might not be able to help them.

Clark rubbed his chest where it hurt and then continued writing.

How to keep Lex safe until the jerk finally wakes up

-Don’t stay more than a day in one place
-Don’t check in – better to use bigger hotels to avoid getting caught
-Don’t call anyone from where we’re at
-Avoid police
-Avoid being outside except when necessary – check news!

Clark tapped his pen on the paper, unable to think of anything else. He left space under the last point in case he wanted to add to the list. He glanced over his shoulder at the comatose Lex and wrote a few more thoughts onto the paper.

Lex is still unconscious. It will be 24 hours at around 10:00 PM tonight. I don’t know how long “normal” means, according to the Belle Reve doctor. It’s creepy, seeing Lex just lying there. His eyes are open, but they’re completely blank. I don’t like it at all.

Why won’t Lex wake up?

---

Clark didn’t find a mention of them in the major Casper, Wyoming, newspaper, but the television news had a report, complete with pictures. Clark watched with trepidation.

“Lex Luthor, son of industrialist Lionel Luthor, was kidnapped from Belle Reve Mental Institution in Metropolis, Kansas late Tuesday night.” Clark’s high school yearbook picture appeared beside Lex’s LuthorCorp PR picture on screen. “Clark Kent has been named as the prime suspect in the abduction. He is to be considered armed and dangerous, and is not to be approached. Contact the police if you see either Kent or Luthor, immediately.

“A substantial reward has been offered for information that leads to the apprehension of the kidnapper or the victim. Clark Kent is seventeen years old with black hair and green eyes. Lex Luthor is bald with blue eyes and may be suffering from a mental condition. Both were last seen in Omaha, Nebraska.

“Governor Greg Wallace was in attendance at the Cheyenne—”

Clark clicked off the television and swore avidly. Great. People knew what he looked like now and would be watching out for him because of the reward. He would definitely have to stay indoors.

The rumble of his stomach reminded him that he still needed to eat. He could zip in and out of a food store without being seen, leaving money at the register. He looked at Lex. Lex hadn’t eaten, either. Could an unconscious person get hungry? And how would Clark feed him?

Clark decided to wait on feeding Lex – sleeping people didn’t eat, he knew – and seared the hotel room door shut on his way out. He slipped into superspeed, heading for a convenience store.

One of the interesting things he found when going so fast was that everything looked normal. The world wasn’t blurred to him. Objects in motion appeared as still as statutes, frozen in spot, as he jogged past them. Buildings lined the snowy streets. People bundled in heavy coats stood motionless in odd positions, opening their car doors, bending over to pick things up, or talking on their cell phones. He sometimes felt as if he weren’t going very fast, at all, but the feel of his hair raised by the windspeed indicated how swiftly he was actually moving.

Automatic doors also reminded him and he’d crashed into a few before he'd learned that the sensors didn’t pick him up at superspeed. He stopped long enough for the door's sensor to register and open, and then started running again.

Twenty dollars filled barely a single plastic bag, but Clark wasn’t willing to spend a lot. He might need the money he had left for something more important than food and he wouldn’t ask his parents for additional funds. He left the $20.00 bill in an open register drawer, being careful not to bump into the motionless clerk, who was in the middle of ringing up a customer. He made for the door, remembering to stop for the sensors.

The sound of his name caught his attention in the brief wait and his head whipped in the direction it came from. He saw a television set behind the register counter with his face plastered across the screen.

“—at Wal-Mart in Casper. Casper residents are asked if they see this man to contact the police immediately—”

The clerk and the customer both turned at his curse. Their eyes widened simultaneously. Clark’s own eyes widened when he saw their recognition. He ran.

Back at the hotel, he gathered everything he’d bought, the pad of paper with his notes, and the pen, and stuffed the messenger bag full. He hooked the bag crosswise over his chest, slid his arms under Lex, and let out a small cry when he discovered Lex was wet again. Biting the inside of his cheek, Clark lifted Lex and carried him out into the dark Wyoming evening.

---

Clark lifted Lex as the shallow bath water drained and began drying him with a towel. Lex’s arm jerked, thumping against Clark’s chest. Instead of feeling elated, Clark’s depression grew. After the tenth time it had happened, Clark had realized Lex’s muscles were only spasming. Lex was still out of it.

Four days had passed since Clark had rescued Lex from Belle Reve and Lex had yet to show signs of regaining consciousness. Exhaustion, depression, and tautly stretched nerves were Clark’s waking companions. Staying in constant hiding took its toll; it was much more difficult in practice than in theory. The walls closed in as the days went by and watching television had gotten old fast.

Lex leaned partially over Clark’s shoulder like a dead weight, as Clark ran the towel up and down his legs. Puddles of water dampened the knees of Clark’s jeans. His fear for Lex was nearing the breaking point. Lex’s eyes remained open during the day and closed at night like he was sleeping, but he showed no signs of being aware. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything, and urinating hadn’t been the only thing he’d done in his pants.

That problem had seemingly gone away, though, which was more worrying than relieving since it was a natural part of living. Lex wasn’t looking too well, either. His eyes and cheeks had hollowed, his lips had cracked and peeled, and his skin had become flaky. Clark gave him baths to try and moisturize his skin, but he ended up looking more like one of the unwrapped mummies on Elvira’s Up-All-Night Horror-thon than getting better.

Clark was going to have to take him to a hospital. He was scared by Lex’s continued unconsciousness, especially when his eyes were open. He knew a person could go just so long without liquid and Lex had choked the one time Clark attempted pouring water down his throat. He couldn’t allow Lex to be harmed further by his inaction, when he’d wanted to protect Lex by rescuing him from Belle Reve.

Clark left the towel on the floor and carried Lex out of the bathroom. He set Lex down on the hotel bed and dressed him in clean clothes. Clark hadn’t thought to get Depends for Lex until he’d seen a commercial, and consequently, they’d left a trail of pants, underwear, and wet beds behind.

His discomfort with touching Lex’s genitals had been overridden by the need to take care of him. Clark felt an overwhelming desire to cry, though, each time he bathed Lex. Instead, he sublimated his tears into anger against Lionel and the resolve not to let Lex fall back into that man’s grasp.

But how could he keep Lionel from finding Lex at a hospital? The further west they ran, the less they were mentioned on the news. Clark felt bad hoping for some sort of disaster that would shift the focus completely from them.

Clark pulled the covers over Lex, dug out his notes and pen from the messenger bag, and stretched out on the bed beside Lex. He glanced at the door, double-checking the locks on the illegally occupied hotel room, and started working on a way to get Lex help without getting caught. If ever he needed to pre-plan, it would be now.

He needed to find a hospital that wouldn’t recognize them off the bat, or better: at all. He also needed one that wouldn’t blink at a lack of information. Clark couldn’t waltz in and tell the hospital staff that Lex had received ECT; he might as well hand Lex over to Lionel on a silver platter. He’d have to come up with a story, too, then, of what caused Lex’s comatose state, sticking as close to the truth as possible for an accurate diagnosis. It wouldn’t help for Lex to be treated for a bump on the head when his brain had been cooked.

And what about payment? How was Clark going to pay for the hospital visit? It wasn’t as if they had insurance. He didn’t have that much cash and it wasn’t like he could put it on Lex’s credit card (which he didn’t have, anyway). There had to be hospitals that treated people without payment. After all, poor people got sick and injured, too.

Perhaps that was the answer, to go somewhere poor people went. Somewhere that saw poor people that didn’t want to be questioned, especially if it led to police involvement. Somewhere Clark could lie through his teeth and still get Lex helped.

---

The doors banged open and EMTs almost sideswiped Clark, as they rushed into South Central Los Angeles Medical Center pushing a charred body on a gurney. Clark shifted Lex in his arms, holding him tighter, and aimed for the open area counter with hospital staff rushing around behind it. The hanging florescent lights flickered, casting a strobe effect on the dirty, pale green walls and scuffed tile floor. Rows of cracked plastic chairs filled one side of the emergency room waiting area, populated by Latinos and African Americans clutching broken bones or blood-drenched rags to their heads. People stared at Clark as if they knew he was an alien. Tension strained the air, ratcheting a notch when a man wearing a Raiders football coat and hat stumbled through the doors and collapsed.

Men and women in various colored scrubs, most stained with blood, vomit, or other unidentifiable splotches, didn’t break into a panic. Three rounded the counter with a seemingly silent signal, one grabbing a gurney, the other two rushing over to the fallen man’s side. They had him on the gurney, heading back to the emergency operating rooms with a clank of the wheels. It felt like controlled chaos.

A tall black woman in pink scrubs didn’t look up from her chart when Clark stopped in front of the counter. “Nature of your emergency?” she said.

Clark glanced left and right, and then over his shoulder, making sure she was addressing him. “Um, my brother was electrocuted.”

The woman looked up. “I need a gurney!” she called after one glance at Lex, heading around the counter. She tucked the chart in a standing rack of them and unwrapped the stethoscope from around her neck.

One of the men in scrubs grabbed a gurney from the line against the wall and wheeled it over. She indicated for Clark to put Lex down on it, popped the stethoscope earpieces in her ears, and pushed the disk end under the collar of Lex’s flannel shirt. “When did it happen?”

“Five days ago,” Clark said.

“Why did you wait so long to bring him in?” She unclipped a penlight from her collar and shined it in Lex’s eyes.

“He seemed to be fine, other than not waking up.” Clark shuffled his feet and tried to look like a poor farm hick. “We don’t have any money either…”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she said, checking the fingers of both of Lex’s hands. “No exit wounds on the fingers. How did he get electrocuted?”

Clark darted glances towards the waiting area, affecting a nervous stance. He needed to be completely convincing if his lie was going to work. “He, uh, had something put on his head. On his temples. They—” Clark tensed his shoulders, bit his lower lip hard, and flicked another look towards the waiting area, as if fearing someone would be there. He finished in a whisper. “They turned on the power twice before they let him go, but by then he was unconscious.”

“He needs an IV push, get a blood sample to tox to see if he’s caught anything, and check his stats,” she told the nurse, who nodded. She turned to Clark again. “Try not to worry anymore, sir. You’re brother is in good hands now.”

“Okay,” Clark said, his relief not faked. “Thanks.”

“Follow me, sir,” Rodney, the nurse said, and he started pushing the gurney. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Les. Lester Clark,” Clark said. “I’m Jon, but people usually call me by my last name.”

“All right, Mr. Clark.”

“Just ‘Clark’ is fine.”

Rodney wheeled the gurney around a corner, where curtained rows lined both sides of a room. Three-quarters of the divided areas held gurneys with people in various states of pain. Metal drawers, IV poles, and wire-strung machines stood near the head of each gurney. Rodney pushed Lex into an empty slot.

“Where’re you boys from?” Rodney asked, putting a clear IV bag on a pole.

“Indiana.” The lies rolled off Clark’s tongue. “We were just coming to see the ocean, and then Les got off the highway because of the traffic backup and the tire blew and, uh…” He crossed his arms, adopting a self-protective stance. “My brother doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I have a brother like that.” Rodney shook his head, as he expertly inserted the IV into Lex’s arm. “Damn mouth got him into more scrapes than out of them.”

Lex’s leg spasmed on the bed and Clark’s face fell into misery. He wrapped his hand over Lex’s sock-clad foot.

Rodney checked Lex’s temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, took two vials of blood, and then adjusted the privacy curtain. “I’ll be back shortly to take a medical history.” Rodney gave Clark a reassuring smile. “Hang in there, Clark. Your brother is in great hands.”

Rodney left, and Clark exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “So far, so good,” he whispered, squeezing Lex’s toes. “The doctors will fix you soon and then we can figure a way out of the mess I’ve made.”

---

Clark stood numbly at the edge of the hospital roof for a long time, his hands wrapped around the rusty railing topping the low retention wall. South Central Los Angeles spread around him, angry and depressed. Sounds of the city rose from the streets; horns, music, shouts, sirens, and screams that bled together into chaotic background noise. The wind buffeted against Clark, whipping the tails of his unbuttoned flannel shirt. Cigarette butts littered the ground around his feet, remnants of others who’d stood there trying to accept devastating news.

“Les is in what’s most familiarly known as a ‘vegetative state’.” Dr. Brinkman, one of the worn-looking, older attending physicians, gave the diagnosis without softening the blow. “It is characterized by regular sleep-wake cycles with autonomic functions preserved, but there is no evidence of cognitive awareness or localized motor responses.”

Clark tightly gripped the back of the chair beside Lex’s hospital bed. “Will he wake up?”

“Adults have about a fifty-percent likelihood of regaining interactive consciousness in the first six months after the traumatic injury,” Dr. Brinkman said. “After six months, regaining consciousness is unlikely, and if it does occur, the patient will have permanent brain disability and be unable to sufficiently care for himself.”

Dr. Brinkman looked at Clark with sympathy for the first time. “I’m afraid that the reality of the situation is not good. It’s been eleven days since the initial trauma and the prognosis for recovery drops dramatically with each day that passes. You should prepare yourself for the possibility that your brother may never wake.”

Clark stared blankly over the city, his chest locked in a vice. Lex might never wake up. Anguish clawed at his throat, threatening to burst free. It couldn’t be real. There had to be a mistake.

A tear escaped the corner of his eye and curved along the side of his cheek. If only he hadn’t hesitated in rescuing Lex, if only he’d kept his promise to help, then Lionel wouldn’t have had the chance to hurt Lex so badly. It was Clark’s fault as much as Lionel’s, and guilt and grief threatened to overwhelm him. The day Lex had returned from the grave, alive and beautiful and whole, Clark had held him in his arms and had sworn that he’d never let anything happen to Lex again. He’d failed horrifically.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the wind, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Lex.”

The door to the roof clanked open and Clark scrubbed at his face. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, walked past the new person who’d come to grieve, and returned downstairs to the ICU.

“Mr. Clark.” A young woman in a navy business suit, wearing a hospital ID badge, rose from the chair beside Lex’s bed. She extended her hand. “I’m Peggy Weiss with Adult Protective Services.”

Clark tensed and shook her hand warily. “Hi.” He quickly x-rayed beyond the walls of the shared hospital room, but didn’t see anyone that might be police or investigators with handcuffs or guns lurking in the halls.

“I’m sorry for your situation,” Ms. Weiss said, caringly. “I know this is a difficult time, but we need to discuss the options for Les’s further care.”

“What do you mean?”

Ms. Weiss opened the folder that had been tucked beneath her arm. “Because Les has no insurance, the hospital can only allow him to stay a certain number of days beyond necessary emergency medical treatment. After that, he will need to be released into a private long-term nursing care facility, a state-run facility, or into family home care. It is my job to ensure that Les will receive the care he needs after he is discharged.”

Clark hadn’t planned anything beyond Lex getting help at the hospital. He’d thought Lex would get better and would tell him what to do next. “I don’t… I…”

“It’s okay, Mr. Clark. You don’t have to give an answer today.” Ms. Weiss handed him a sheet of paper from the folder. “This outlines your options in more detail. I’ll stop by in a couple of days for your answer. If you have any questions, my office is up on the fourth floor.”

“Okay.” Clark gave her a wan smile. “Thanks.”

Ms. Weiss left and Clark sank into the chair beside Lex’s bed. Monitor wires and a fluid IV hooked under Lex’s pale green hospital gown. A catheter bag hung half-full from the side of the bed. Lex’s skin had flaked off in patches on his bare head, but the elasticity had returned with re-hydration. His blue eyes were vacant, staring blankly at the privacy curtain above Clark’s seat.

Other visiting patients shuffled past, quiet conversations floating above the privacy curtains in the multi-bedded room. Clark leaned forward and dabbed at the drool coming from the corner of Lex’s parted lips, using the hand-towel left for that purpose. He brushed his thumb along Lex’s jaw afterwards, his own jaw trembling. He tried to suppress his grief, but it felt like Lex had died all over again.

Clark dropped the paper Ms. Weiss gave him, kicked the messenger bag further under Lex’s bed, and rushed out of the hospital. Away from the main doors, he burst into a run, pushing as fast as he could go. He was scared to leave Lex alone for too long, but he couldn’t be there any longer. He didn’t stop running until he hit the Atlantic Ocean, splashing into the storming sea with a howl of anguish. Falling to his knees, he pounded the sand beneath the water, raging like the surf. His salty tears mixed with the salt of the ocean. The waves crashed against him, drowning his sorrow.

Clark sucked in a lung-full of water and coughed hard. He dragged himself from the surf and collapsed onto the beach. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he stared miserably towards the horizon, the winter wind freezing his wet clothes and hair.

What was he going to do now? Should he bring Lex home? Should he allow Lionel to get his hands on Lex, so Lex could receive the most expensive care? Lex was no longer a threat to Lionel, but would he be seen as a burden and be taken care of in a completely different way?

The thought made Clark shiver when the cold had not. There was no way Clark could let Lionel near Lex. That man did not love his son in any way.

Clark loved Lex, though, fiercely and frighteningly so. The remnants of his rampage through Metropolis had made headlines across the state the day Lex had been pronounced dead last summer. The adage of not knowing what you had until it was gone had proved true.

But then Lex had come back, and while Clark had been ecstatic, it also made things complicated. The realization that he was in love with his best friend had made hanging out with Lex feel bittersweet. It wasn’t as if Clark could admit his feelings; Lex had had two wives and a number of lovers who were all quite female. There was no indication of Lex being receptive to men. The looks Clark used to get from Lex, like he'd been the last piece of homemade fudge in the Tupperware container, had dwindled to nothing and Clark had chalked them up to Lex playing worldly games like he did with his peers, until he'd learned that he didn’t need to do that with Clark. Clark had resigned himself to keeping yet another secret from Lex and went back to chasing Lana in the hopes of being “normal.”

Clark wiped the ice-crystals from his face and rose from the sand. He knew the decision had been made before he’d even questioned it. He loved Lex and would keep him safe from his father forever, if need be. Clark couldn’t go home, anyway, not with kidnapping charges hanging over his head, but that was the least of his worries.

When Clark arrived back at the hospital in L.A., he checked on Lex before taking the messenger bag down a level to the staff locker room. One of the ICU nurses had taken pity on him after hearing their false sob story and had directed him to the showers on his third day at Lex’s bedside. Once the ice melted and he was in dry clothes, he returned to the hospital room and sank into the chair beside Lex.

The paper from Ms. Weiss lay where he had dropped it and he propped his elbow on the bed, cheek resting against his fist as he read it over. He covered Lex’s limp hand with his own, brushing his thumb back and forth over Lex’s chapped knuckles. Of the options laid out, taking care of Lex personally was the only way that would guarantee Lionel wouldn’t get to him. Clark currently didn’t have anywhere to take Lex, though, or have what was needed to care for him. He didn’t even know what was needed.

Ms. Weiss had told him to visit her office if he had any questions. She might have pamphlets or books he could read, on top of any verbal answers. Folding the paper, Clark smiled absently at a few familiar staff faces as he headed upstairs.

“Hi, can you tell me where Ms. Weiss’s office is?” he asked the first nurse he saw on the fourth floor. She pointed him in the right direction.

Clark walked down the uniformly green hall, his sneakers squeaking on the newly cleaned floor. Pastoral scenes hung on the walls between office doors. He found Ms. Weiss’s office near the end of the hall and knocked politely on the partially open door. Ms. Weiss sat behind a desk with neat stacks of files and a computer angled in the corner. Framed degrees and photographs hung on the office wall. A large filing cabinet and bookshelf took up the remainder of the room. “Um, Ms. Weiss? Do you have a minute?”

Ms. Weiss lifted her gaze from her computer and an indiscernible look crossed her face before her lips curved in a strained smile. “Hello again, Mr.-uh, Clark. May I help you with something?” she said, as she clicked her mouse quickly.

The hair on the back of Clark’s neck raised. Something was wrong. “You said to come and talk to you if I had any questions.”

“Of course. Please, sit down.” Ms. Weiss indicated one of the chairs across from her desk. Clark saw her hand shaking slightly and realized she knew who he was.

“That’s okay,” Clark said, trying to calculate how long he had until the authorities arrived. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve decided to take my brother home with me.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young. Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it.”

Clark shook his head, already backing out the door. “I’ve made my choice, Ms. Weiss. Thanks.”

“Mr. Clark—”

Clark strode away from her office quickly, her voice trailing behind him. The moment he hit the stairwell, he shot into superspeed. Papers ruffled and labcoats snapped when he zipped past. He appeared by Lex’s bed, the privacy curtain rattling on its rings. He ignored the gasps of the other family across the room, stuffed the chart hanging off the end of the bed into the messenger bag, and hooked the bag across his chest.

Carefully, he detached the wires and IV lines running to Lex. He pulled the urine drain bag from its slot on the bed and laid it on Lex’s lap. Bundling the sheet and blanket around him, Clark picked up Lex and squinted at the hospital room walls. His x-ray vision pierced through the wood and plaster, down the halls to the automatic doors, as five skeletons with holstered guns, handcuffs, and small badges in their pockets came into the hospital.

Clark blinked his vision back to normal as nurses poured into the room, responding to Lex’s sudden flatlining. He and Lex vanished before any of them could say a word.

---

Clark sat at the bottom of the stripped bed with his head in his hands, gathering his wits after his flight from the hospital. He’d been lucky Lex had gotten care for six days before they’d been identified. Adult Protective Services probably had an Amber Alert for adults, like the one for missing or abducted children, since Clark and Lex were no longer in the news.

They hadn’t gotten far from Los Angeles. Clark feared exposing Lex to any weather outside until he’d learned more about Lex’s condition. They were holed up in a closed motel in Southern California. The room smelled musty, but it was still partially furnished and had running water, which meant the place had closed only recently. Other squatters occupied several of the rooms on the two floors and he could hear rapid-fire Spanish being spoken through the thin, mud-colored walls.

Clark rubbed his temples and forced himself to think. Things weren’t magically going to be fixed so they could go home, no matter how much he wished it. He needed to figure out how they were going to survive in the long-term while staying safe from Lionel and the authorities.

Clark groped through the messenger bag until he located paper and a pen. He folded over the previous pages of notes he’d made and started a new list.

Things needed in order to keep Lex safe:

-Learn more about vegetative states
-Learn how to take care of a person in a vegetative state
-Find a place to stay for more than a few days
-Food? Clothes? Bathroom stuff?

Clark had less than two dollars left in his wallet, plus a handful of change. His rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten much over the past few days and Lex didn’t eat normal food anymore. When Clark had shown curiosity and concern, Raleesha, the ICU nurse who’d sympathized with his made-up plight, had explained how to feed Lex by something called a ‘g-tube’, which been surgically inserted into Lex’s stomach and stuck out of his body. It wasn’t just hanging a bag from a pole and letting liquid food slide down the tube. There was aspirating, flushing, cleaning, medicating, and examining involved, as well as charting times and measurements and making sure Lex was staying well-hydrated. Raleesha had also taught Clark somewhat about bedsores, Lex’s urinary catheter, and the necessity of thorough cleaning after bowel movements.

Clark had none of the supplies the hospital had, except for the urine bag, and no money to buy things. He was going to have to steal what Lex needed, once he figured out exactly what that was, and get a minimum of items for himself. His first priority, though, was finding out how to care for Lex before he accidentally hurt Lex any more.

---

Trying to be more cautious, Clark ran to another state to research Lex's condition. Lionel would've learned Lex's diagnosis from the hospital in L.A. and would be watching for anyone showing an interest in information of that nature. The University of Colorado Health Sciences Center in Denver had a huge medical library full of books that made no sense to someone who didn’t speak Doctor. A single Google search on the library computers gave Clark what he needed, and then some, in words he understood and was able to print for free.

The information was daunting, still. In his vegetative state, Lex was more helpless than a baby, lacking the ability to cry for attention or interact with his caregiver. His higher brain functions were either damaged or had shut down. He was limited to reflex responses, usually prominent ones, like when his arms or legs twitched on their own. He required constant monitoring and assistance with nutrition, hydration, hygiene, physical therapy, and elimination of bodily waste. Without it, he was subject to illness and infection that could lead to death.

Recovery was bleak, but possible, and the better he was taken care of as an invalid, the more quickly he would recuperate after regaining consciousness. Clark swiped supplies from various pharmacies and hospitals on his run back to the motel. He was lucky in that Lex didn’t need any medications, according to the med student he’d conned into “helping with his chart reading homework.” It made sense, since Lex purported never being sick; he just got knocked unconscious a lot, including more than once by Clark.

Clark winced at the memories, wishing he’d taken more care with Lex. Having those extra moments of consciousness could’ve been time spent with Lex that Clark might never get again.

It took several trips to get everything on the list he’d compiled, including a camper’s backpack and frame, until the motel room looked like a hospital storeroom. He pushed the folded wheelchair away from the bed, where it leaned, and located everything required for the artificial feeding and hydration. Lex had been hooked up to a gravity feed four times a day at the hospital. Clark had missed one of the appointed hours and he didn’t want Lex to get dehydrated, like he’d been before Clark had taken him there.

Lex lay bared from the waist up and Clark’s hands shook as he removed the sterile dressing from the tubing. He used the bulb syringe as Raleesha had shown him, depressing the bulb, applying it to the end of the feeding tube, and then releasing it. A small amount of liquid sucked up into the tube and Clark’s eyes snapped up to Lex’s face, afraid he’d hurt Lex, but Lex didn’t react at all.

“Damn it.” Clark splashed the dietary liquid as he opened the bottle and he wiped up the wet spots with his shirtsleeve. He had a hard time not dripping all over as he filled the bulb syringe and put it to the end of the feeding tube. He watched as the liquid ran down the clear tubing, being careful not to squeeze the bulb, counting silently as he had when he’d watched with Raleesha. He calculated the volume of the syringe and how many times to refill it to give Lex the proper amount without overloading his stomach.

When he was done, he flushed the tube with water, cleaned around the base with a q-tip and a saline/peroxide mix, looped the tube and covered it with sterile dressing, taped to Lex’s torso.

Clark fixed Lex’s hospital gown, then went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He stared at his shadowed reflection in the mirror, water dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. His chest felt tight.

Using the bottom of his shirt to dry his face, he made a mental note to get towels, left the bathroom, and set about memorizing all the information he’d obtained.

---

Clark glanced at his watch as voices rose outside the motel room. He finished securing the tab on Lex’s incontinence briefs, double-checked the catheter line, and went over to the window. Peering carefully past the draperies, he saw the same group of Hispanic men he’d seen for the past seven days, squatters like Clark, heading towards the highway. They were dressed similarly in jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and hats on their heads.

Clark let the draperies fall back into place and hurriedly cleaned up after changing Lex. He pulled a ball cap on his head, slipped out of the motel room, but hesitated outside the door. He hadn’t seen any law enforcement or other suspicious persons watching the motel in the week they’d been there. Leaving Lex alone again should be safe.

Clark hesitated still, as pages and pages of information flipped through his mind. Caring for an invalid physically wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared. Emotionally, it was terrible, seeing Lex completely vulnerable and helpless, having to clean, dress, and move him like a rag doll. Clark raged and cried alternately inside, but kept up a happy front for Lex as the care-taking instructions said to do. The instructions also said that he could leave Lex alone, that it was good for him to do so, taking time for himself, but it didn’t erase the feeling that he was abandoning Lex.

Clark’s guilt over his thievery was stronger, though, and he seared the lock shut on the motel room door. Clark had no compunction about stealing things needed for Lex, but his father’s lectures boomed in his head about taking something when he was fully able to earn it for himself. It was Jonathan's disapproving voice that had him following the other men down the road.

Off the main highway, the group gathered in a fenced off area that looked like a pigpen. The dew glisten on the weathered fence boards in the morning sun. Clark leaned against a fencepost inside the pen, listening to the conversations in Spanish around him. Cigarette smoke drifted on the cool January breeze.

The men gave him sidelong looks, but otherwise left him alone. They thought he was either a drifter or a runaway, if his high school Spanish was correct. He should’ve taken the time to memorize the whole textbook. None of them recognized him of that he was sure. He hadn’t seen himself or Lex mentioned in the area newspapers in the past several days, either.

A dusty red pickup truck rumbled down the road towards them, from the main highway. The truck came to a stop alongside the pen. Dobson’s Orchards was painted on the driver’s side door. A young man with a ball cap leaned out the open window. “Siete!”

Seven of the group of fifteen men clambered in the back of the pickup. There seemed to be an unspoken code of who went, because there was no fighting. Local ranches and farms picked up cash hands for day labor at many of the pens along the main highway, from what Clark had been able to ascertain. The Dobson’s Orchards pickup drove off.

It wasn’t long before a second pickup stopped. Another orchard, Andrews Oranges, was painted on the side of the mud-spattered blue truck. An older man with a weathered face and a permanent frown called to them. “Todos.”

Clark followed the rest of the men into the bed of the pickup. He leaned against the side of the truck bed as the pickup got underway. His hat shaded his eyes as he watched the scenery pass, memorizing the route. He’d have to run back to the motel midday to feed and check on Lex. He hoped he could slip away, or he might have to forego working. Taking care of Lex was his number one priority.

California was much hillier than Clark had thought it would be. Green trees spread across the rolling countryside. Wood fences hemmed in animals and marked properties. Signs arched over entry drives, like on some of the farms back in Kansas. The pickup turned off the highway and drove under the Andrews Oranges sign. Ripe oranges hung from the tree along one side of the fence, dangling heavy on their branches, their fresh, sharp scent tickling Clark’s nose.

The pickup turned off the main drive and bumped along a dirt road into the orchard field. Clark could see men and women already hard at work down the rows of trees. The pickup pulled to a stop beside another pickup with a bed full of equipment. Another older man stood next to the truck, his gray hair peeking out from under the brim of his straw cowboy hat.

“¿Cualquier persona no sabe escoger naranjas?” he said in a booming voice, as Clark and the other men hopped out of the blue pickup.

Clark held up his hand, while everyone else headed right for the equipment truck. He had no idea what the guy had said. “Um, what was the question?”

“I asked if you knew how to pick oranges.” The man squinted at Clark, giving him an once-over. “I take it you don’t speak Spanish.”

“Not really,” Clark said awkwardly. “I don’t know how to pick oranges, either.”

“Have you picked anything before, or are you one of them runaways who’s never worked a day in his life?”

Clark didn’t let himself be offended. “I grew up on a working farm, but we had apples, not oranges.”

“Then, a little back-breaking work shouldn’t kill you.” The man took a canvas sack and a pair of snips from the back of the pickup. The other man who’d driven doled out instructions to the others in Spanish and they started off down a row. “Name’s Davis. If you have to quit, find me and I’ll pay you for the number of boxes you managed to fill. This here’s your equipment.”

Clark took the canvas sack and snips. The sack had a harness that hung crosswise over his shoulder and chest and wire held the sack open under his arm. The snips were six-inches long and had small curved blades “There are ladders out in the field,” Davis said. “Throw one up against a tree, climb up, and cut the stem as close to the orange bud as you can without cutting the bud. Check to make sure the orange is dry before you touch it, or your fingers will leave black spots. Once you fill a bag, dump it in one of the empty boxes stacked down the rows. Everyone fills their own box. Any questions?”

“Not that I can think of,” Clark said, hooking the canvas sack over his shoulder. “Oh, wait – is there a lunch break?”

Davis laughed. “There’s one whenever you want one for as long as you like. You get paid by the box, not the hour. Terrance will drive everyone back when it gets too dark to pick.” He clapped Clark on the shoulder. “Have fun, kid.”

Clark smiled tightly and headed down the row indicated. Fading yellow ladders leaned against the tree trunks or balanced freely on the dirt ground. The workers rocked on the ladders as they snipped oranges with deft fingers, reaching for the plump fruit without over-tipping. Lines of empty boxes stretched down the middle of the row at varied intervals. Clark picked up a ladder and continued further, putting a few trees between himself and the others.

The orange trees had thorny brush that snagged at Clark’s long-sleeved t-shirt. He wondered how normal people managed to hang onto the ladder and keep their balance at the same time, as both hands were needed to snip the oranges without dropping them. Clark had little difficulty balancing, but he had trouble keeping a human pace when picking.

The sun crept higher in the sky and the temperature rose. The trees provided shade, but the smell became sickly sweet after a while. Tiny bugs swarmed annoyingly around Clark’s head. He filled sack after sack, box after box, eyeing the other workers’ progress and adjusting his own to pull only slightly ahead. He did have to show up Davis.

Around mid-afternoon, Clark propped his ladder against a tree, hung his sack from the top, and ran back to the motel when no one was watching. Lex lay in the same position as Clark had settled him that morning. Clark washed up, gathered the feeding supplies, and perched on the wheelchair situated beside the bed.

“Lunch time, Lex,” he said conversationally, as he unbuttoned Lex’s oversized shirt. Everything he’d read said to talk to Lex often, to explain what he was doing each time he assisted Lex with something, and to treat Lex like an adult. No patronizing or baby talk, and he should never complain about helping Lex to Lex himself, or feelings of resentment could fester and exacerbate depression. “I’m going to feed you using your feeding tube, okay?”

Clark removed the dressing from the feeding tube, straightened the line, and used the bulb syringe to aspirate. His hands no longer shook as he did so. “I’m working at an orange grove today, that’s why I smell like I’ve bathed in orange juice. I’ll be going back after you eat. I have to start paying for some of the stuff I need. Don’t worry, I know you’d offer to help if you were up and about, but I should do this on my own.”

He prattled on about picking oranges versus picking apples while he finished feeding Lex and then had a bite of his own. It didn’t take long for him to get ahead again when he returned to the Andrews grove. By the time the shadows lengthened, the sun setting in the distance, Clark had filled sixteen boxes, compared to the average of twelve.

“Not bad, kid,” Davis said, as he walked down the row, paying workers for their boxes as he passed. He glanced at the nearest Hispanics. “Anyone add to your box count? If so, it’s a great thing to have done and you should thank them.”

Clark shook his head. “I picked them all myself. I told you I worked on a farm.”

“That you did.” Davis took three bills from the wad in his hand and gave it to Clark. “Here you go. Drop your snips and sack in the truck on your way out.”

Clark stared at the two single dollar bills and one ten he’d been given. “You only gave me twelve dollars.”

“Rate’s seventy-five cents a box,” Davis said, moving on to the next laborer. “You’d do better if you went back home to your parents.”

Clark looked at the pittance in his hand. Twelve dollars for a day’s worth of work?

He deposited his equipment in one truck and climbed into the bed of the other. Terrance, the guy who’d picked them up that morning, leaned casually against the driver’s side door. Clark watched other workers coming from the field and glanced at the others in the bed of the truck with him. They worked for the cruddy rate of pay on a daily basis. No wonder they were squatting at the motel.

The twelve dollars wouldn’t stretch far, but what else was he to do? Davis didn’t ask for his name or to know anything about him, whereas almost all other places of employment would. It was honest pay, too, even if it was shoddy. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said under his breath, and settled against the side of the truck. He knew he’d be back tomorrow.

---

Davis was surprised to see him the following morning. “I thought I told you to go home.”

“I don’t have a home,” Clark said, which was semi-true. He and Lex couldn’t return to Smallville and, currently, they didn’t have a permanent place to stay.

Davis’s age-lined face creased in a frown. “Running away is cowardly. A real man meets his problems head-on.”

“How do you know I’m not?” Clark took a canvas sack and snips from the bed of the equipment truck and headed out into the orange grove.

He felt Davis watching him over the next several days. He had to slow his picking under the scrutiny. He knew Davis noted when Clark sneaked off to feed Lex. Clark prepared a response for when he was inevitably asked about it. He also prepared to run, if law enforcement or Child Protection Services showed up.

“Hey, kid,” Davis beckoned one cloudy afternoon, when Clark emerged at a slow jog from between the trees. Beside him stood a man around Jonathan Kent’s age, dressed familiarly in standard farm-gear plus a straw cowboy hat. A dark mustache curved across his upper lip, beneath a prominent nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. Davis introduced them. “This here’s Jim Garner. He owns the horse ranch up the road.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clark said warily, accepting the firm handshake. He glanced at Davis from the corner of his eye. Davis didn’t seem to be awaiting Clark’s arrest, or to be doing something for Clark’s own good.

“Do you have a name, or should I call you ‘kid’, too?” Garner said with a smile in his crinkled blue eyes.

“Kentucky Jones,” Clark gave from his new back-story. He had to be careful. “Call me Kent.”

“Kentucky, huh?” Garner looked even more amused. “I can see why you’d shorten it.”

“Yeah.” Clark stuck his hands in his back pockets and shifted his weight, like his name bothered him. It would make the fictitious one stick in the other men’s minds. “Um, did you want something? I need to get back to work.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk about,” Garner said. “Davis gave me a call. Said he had a good laborer on his hands being wasted picking oranges.”

Clark didn’t hide his surprise. Davis shrugged it off gruffly. “You don’t belong here, kid, and since you won’t go home, I had to get rid of you somehow.”

“I told you, I don’t have a home,” Clark said, recovering and baiting Garner. If he were with CPS, Clark would soon know.

“Are you eighteen yet?” Garner asked.

“Yes,” Clark lied. “I turned eighteen in October.”

“Then, where you live is up to you.”

Clark relaxed somewhat. Garner passed his test. He hadn’t offered to give Clark a home.

“I do have a job offer for you, Kent,” Garner said, propping his foot on the edge of an orange box. “Davis said you grew up on a farm?”

“Yeah.”

“Know anything about horses?”

“We stabled them,” Clark replied. “We mostly had milk cows.”

“As Davis told you, I have a ranch up the road a ways,” Garner said. “I could use another hand that knows his way around horses and doesn’t mind doing manual repair work, fixing fences and the like.”

“Why me?” Clark asked bluntly. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but still – why me?”

“For one thing, you speak English,” Garner said, with a smile. “For another, you obviously work cheap.”

Davis chortled. Clark eyed Garner with consideration. “But you’d make it worth my while?”

“I’m sure we can come to a fair agreement.” Garner extended his hand. “What do you say, Kent?”

Clark hesitated a moment, weighing his options. But was there really that much to weigh? He was being offered a better paying job doing work he knew. Garner seemed to believe he was eighteen and appeared to be an all right guy. Clark decided to chance it and shook Garner’s hand. “Okay. When do I start?”

“Right now, if you’d like.” Garner turned to Davis with an affable jibe. “Pay the kid and I’ll get him out of what’s left of your hair.”

“About time.” Davis peeled a few bills from the wad in his pocket and gave it to Clark with a stern look. “Don’t piss on this job, kid. A lot of these folks would kill to be in your shoes.” He gestured at the other pickers.

“Thanks,” Clark said, sincerely. Sometimes he doubted there were any truly caring people left in the world.

“You can thank me by leaving,” Davis said gruffly, waving them off. “I have work to do.”

“Come on, Kent.” Garner clapped his hand on Clark’s back and urged him walking. They emerged from the row of orange trees and Clark dropped his clippers in Davis’s truck bed before climbing into the cab of Garner’s rusty bronze pickup.

“Do you have transportation?” Garner asked, turning left out of the Andrews' main drive. The radio hummed with classic rock. Papers, maps, gloves, and an empty coffee mug littered the truck's dash.

“I can get where I need to be,” Clark said vaguely. Orange trees curved over the fence alongside the road. “How far is the ranch from here?”

“A few miles,” Garner replied. “Let me tell you a little about where you’ll be working. My wife and I operate a dude ranch, the kind for tourists. The ranch itself is eight thousand acres, bordering the Andrews property, and we currently stable forty-six riding horses and eight that have been put to pasture. There are five full-time ranch hands that live on the property year round and we have six employees that come in to give trail rides and riding lessons.”

“It sounds nice,” Clark said.

“You’ll see for yourself in a couple of minutes,” Garner said. He studied Clark a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. “I don’t suppose my wife should bother having you fill out employment forms.”

Clark tensed. “I thought this was a cash job.”

“It is, if that’s how you want it.”

“Yes.”

Garner nodded. “It’s not a problem. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Now, Clark felt disrespectful. He rubbed his palms on the denim of his thighs. “I’m sorry, but I really need it to be a cash job.”

“I said it’s not a problem, Kent,” Garner said, not unkindly. “You don’t have to explain yourself, either. You look like a good kid. As long as you’re willing to work, I’ll pay you.”

Clark gave him a brief smile of thanks. He turned towards the window, watching the scenery pass. The orange grove gave way to regular trees, fenced along the road. He caught glimpses of horses and wildlife between the trees. A solitary bird soared overhead. The mountains rose in the dist