Homestead

Summary: Alex returns to work and gets himself in grave danger. And what’s happening to the citizens of Smallville?

Author’s Note: I hope this chapter actually lends this story something resembling a plot.

“It’s the damnedest thing, Eth.” Dr. Lee turned from a small bowl and pestle he was mixing and led Ethan to the back room of his practice, a humble shop building on Bell-Reeve Avenue. Ethan nearly gagged at the scents of embalming fluids. The undertaker had been there, and the body had been prepared for a humble funeral.

“She just collapsed during church,” the doctor explained. “Cardiac arrest. Folks said she’d been acting strangely lately. Moody and temperamental.”

“I know that,” Sheriff Ethan agreed.

“But look at this.” Dr. Lee peeled back the sheet, and Ethan braced himself for a stomach-wrenching sight. He wasn’t disappointed, but he held his composure.

The woman was barely more than a girl, seventeen years old. Her hands were already folded neatly over her chest and her lips were neatly sewn shut. She’d been engaged, if the small emerald ring on her hand was any indication. Thankfully her eyes were closed; Ethan always found it unnerving when he arrived at the scenes of murders or accidental deaths where the bodies stared sightlessly up at him, beseeching him Why couldn’t you save me? Those faces haunted his sleep at night.

She looked like she was sleeping. Her hair was blonde and her skin held the pale deathly pallor Ethan expected, but there was something odd about her face. Dr. Lee gently tilted her face to one side, exposing the graceful line of her jaw.

“Look. Look at those marks.” Ethan scowled as his eyes traced the lines.

Green veins showed beneath her translucent skin, angry and puckered. Green.

“What is that?”

“I’m not sure yet, Ethan.” He sighed and covered her body once again with the sheet. “But this isn’t the first incidence of this that I’ve seen. I had three more over the past two weeks. Odd symptoms, strange circumstances surrounding their deaths.”

“What do you mean, odd?”

“A lot of the folks we’ve lost have been young. Healthy, too. No complaints from any of them before that they were sick. That’s what’s bothering me. If it were something I could pin down to a recent complaint of illness, from more than one family, I’d know how to treat it.”

“How would that make a difference?”

“Then I could at least call it an epidemic.”


*

Alex took the roll call at the cave site from the entrance. Several lanterns were already lit within the corridor where they’d begun excavating the dense rock. The man around him eyed him warily, curious about the hard set of his jaw and the strange glint in his eyes. His voice was harsh as he read off the names. Lionel regarded him with faint amusement as he drank a tin cup of hot coffee.

Alex had been casual and outgoing before, in an attempt to win his workers’ loyalty and trust, but the town of Smallville held a longstanding grudge against Lionel Luthor, and his son was stained with the remnant of his wrongdoing. Alex tried to communicate with them with respect, never talking down to them, a habit he tried to leave behind at the academy, but they rebuffed his efforts, gossiping about him and making off-color remarks in the guise of mere jokes. They always abandoned their conversations when he approached, and they responded to his questions with scorn.

Pete was the only exception. He refused to join in with their ribbing, but he also kept his words brief whenever Alex engaged him. Clark had been the thread that bound them together during their boyhood, but Clark wasn’t permitted to work in the caves, a decision of Jonathan’s that never wavered. Pete and Alex worked long, punishing hours at the site every day, and Clark seldom saw his two best friends anymore. Alex occasionally saw him at the mercantile, but their exchanges were brief, and he hated himself for always having to cut things short.

But it was for Clark’s own good. Each time Clark’s eyes lit up when he saw him and he hurried over to speak with him, Alex heard his father’s voice in his ear, threatening him with the unthinkable. Alex steeled himself and allowed his mouth to flatten and his eyes to harden into flinty chips. There was no room in his life for the affection they shared, when it could only lead to ruin. Watching Clark’s smile fade each time they ran into each other, after he made his excuses, broke his heart a little more.

Every time Alex thought of Clark, conflicting images battled in his imagination. The memory of him as a boy who worshipped him stood at odds with the strapping young man he’d become, easily old enough for tobacco and his first shave. More confusing, still, were the responses his body felt every time Clark approached, even when Alex was just watching him silently as he entered the shop. At seventeen, Clark reached his full height of six feet and four inches and had a proud, graceful physique. The sweet, baby plumpness was gone from his face, and Clark’s childhood beauty blossomed into breathtaking handsomeness that left Alex in awe. He wore a blue plaid shirt with black suspenders and black trousers, and his feet were shod with sturdy, dusty work boots. His skin was tanned and robust, emphasizing his clear green eyes that gave Alex’s father’s emeralds a run for their money. Clark’s raven hair was glossy and rich; Alex wondered idly if it felt as soft as it looked.

Alex’s pulse sped up and his stomach fluttered at the sight of him, at the low, delicious timbre of his voice when he ordered a bolt of fabric and a sack of sugar for his mother. He watched him from behind the sacks of seed and barley, enjoying his broad shoulders and back, and the well-tailored fit of his pants, and Alex guiltily glanced at his bottom, how rounded and firm it looked. Clark counted out the money onto the counter and smiled as he chatted with Lionel’s stock boy.

His reverie was interrupted by the tinkle of feminine laughter and the ding of the bell over the door as Chloe and Lana swept inside. Alex fumed silently as they automatically swamped Clark. Chloe teased him about his choice of fabric, asking him if the floral print calico was for his new shirt, and that he would look lovely in it. Lana, on the other hand, crooned how sweet he was to make the trip to the store for the items his mother wanted, and she inquired after her health. They each fawned over him in their different ways. Alex longed to tell Chloe not to bother, since Clark had chosen Lana a long time ago, but he wouldn’t crush her dream; Alex knew too well how that felt.

*

Alex assigned the work orders for the day, ignoring his crew’s grumbles.

“We’re setting off three charges, here, here and here,” Alex informed them. He pointed to a roughly drawn map of the caves, indicating the small x’s that his father had marked the night before. “We’re going to open up a vein in the rock that we found three days ago.”

“The cave’s not stable,” Pete piped up. “Another charge could cause a cave-in.” He nodded to the map. “Especially on the west side.”

“It’s rock solid,” Lionel insisted. “There are several meters of rock surrounding that lode.”

“It’s not stable!” Pete argued. His cheeks grew slightly florid and he set his cap farther back on his head, staring up at Lionel through his auburn bangs. “The roof’s touchy. The least little rumble coming up through the ground makes the crags hanging down from it rattle. You can hear ‘em overhead.”

“Father…a word?” Alex asked. Lionel smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Alex felt his stomach knot, knowing his father would find some way to make him pay for his insolence, even if his intentions were good.

“Everyone, have a cup of coffee or fill your canteens now,” Lionel barked, clapping his hands for their attention. “We’re going straight to work when we get back.” Lionel swept away from his crew, and Alex could feel his annoyance with him all over his flesh, making him chafe. Lionel led Alex several yards away, making him join him behind the large, luxurious coach. When he faced Alex, his eyes were hard.

“What’s the matter with you? Why are you wasting my time?”

“The men know best what the insides of the caves are like, Father,” Alex pointed out. “If it’s unstable, we shouldn’t blast. Let them dig.”

“Let them dig,” Lionel scoffed. He smiled, throwing up his hands. “Let them run the business while they’re at it, son! Let them spend my money and drive my coach! Let them order me what to do, even though I’m their employer, and a generous one, at that!” Alex exhaled heavily and felt himself flush. “Time’s money, Alexander. You might remember that instead of arguing with me, drawing me aside and questioning my reasoning, and my authority in front of my crew. I won’t have you undermine me, Alexander.”

“What if one of your men gets hurt?” Alex challenged.

“They know the risks of working in a mine, son. If they’re afraid of the work, then they should go home.” Lionel jabbed his finger in Alex’s face, mere millimeters from his teeth. His pupils were dilated and his nostrils were slightly flared. Alex noticed his crippled hand was balled into a fist at his side. “Blasting through the vein will save at least three days, Alexander. Three days of wages and productivity. Three more days that the emeralds can be weighed and assessed, and that I can put money back in my pockets. I won’t have you waste any more of my time, or my men’s time, with this foolishness and this sudden conscience that you think you’ve grown.” Alex burned with indignance and at being spoken to like a child, and an idiot at that. He felt as though he’d shed ten years in ten seconds and that his father was scolding him about a loose button again.

Alex drew himself up tall and walked away before his father could go another round with him. Some of the men nudged their caps back and scratched their heads in confusion as he returned, but they didn’t like the resolute look on either Luthor’s face. Alex rolled up the worklist and tucked it under his father’s ledger on the small table where the men took their coffee. He nodded to the men beside the wagon, and they unloaded the boxes marked “TNT/DANGEROUS – HANDLE WITH CARE.”

Once Whitley pried open the box and began unloading the bars of dynamite, Alex stacked and counted them, unrolling their long fuses. His expression was unreadable.

*


Clark finished mucking out Biscuit’s stall and wiped his hands on an old rag in the barn, and he helped himself to a generous swallow of water from the pitcher that his ma brought out to him. He sweated less from the effort than from the heat and the warm flannel shirt he wore; he wasn’t winded or sore, pausing only to assess the other chores that needed to be finished in the barn, not least of which was patching the roof.

HELP ME! PLEASE, HELP ME!

Clark’s eyes widened, heart pounding as he tried to figure out what it was that he was hearing, or where it was coming from. The voice was faint but panicked, and the pitch was familiar.

PLEASE, HELP!

“Lex,” Clark breathed. He broke out in a cold sweat. He dropped the pitchfork and scrambled out of the barn, searching the countryside and listening to the voice that the wind carried to him. “LEX!” he cried. He was desperate to find the source of his cry.

He needed to find him. He was in trouble, and Clark’s imagination told him grim, undesirable things. Without a thought, he ran.

*

Alex lay beneath the rubble, body twisted with his efforts to free himself from the boulder that held him pinned. He coughed and gagged on mouthfuls of dust, and he clawed futilely at the piles of rock and dirt around him, attempting to clear the space so he’d feel less claustrophobic. He was disoriented and throbbing with pain that brought tears to his eyes, streaking through the dirt plastered to his cheeks.

Alex heard, or rather, felt a strange humming around him throughout the cavern. He was captivated by it despite the excruciating, bone-grinding pain working its way through his legs. More alarming were the crags and peaks of rock overhead that rattled slightly with the rumbling beneath his body. Puffs of dust were still settling in the caves, making it difficult to see.

“HELP!” he called out hoarsely. His throat burned with the effort, but he gave it all he had in the hope that someone would hear him or venture in after him. Alex felt claustrophobic and began to hyperventilate. Sweat beaded on his scalp and he felt something cool trickling down it, too, wondering if it was blood.

*

Clark heard the voice, anguished and full of pain, and his legs churned, pounding the earth as he ran. Now, he grew winded, but he denied the needs of his lungs as he followed Alex’s cries toward the caves. He steeled himself, seeing the crowd of men huddled around the mouth of the mine. Clark wondered why they weren’t going inside, and a plume of anger rose up into his chest. Why weren’t they helping him? They should have been doing anything within their power to get him out.

He didn’t ponder it long, didn’t even give it a second thought as he sped inside, whipping up the dust after him. The men outside felt a sudden, unexplained whoosh of wind behind them, whipping and tearing at their clothes and hair, knocking their caps to the ground. They didn’t see the blur of blue and black as it darted into the cave entrance, rattling the stalactites overhead.

The walls of the cavern weren’t as oppressive as they were when Clark was a child. Much of the walls had been blasted away, changing the face of the mine considerably. Clark slowed his pace slightly, but he still ran toward the sound of Alex’s voice, not as weak but still anguished. “LEX!” Clark called out. His voice was underscored by the rumbling inside. He stopped running as the dim light began to recede the deeper he went. His heart was pounding and Clark felt his skin saturated with sweat now, and the dust settled into it, covering him in grime.

He felt euphoric relief at the sound of his voice, now so close he could almost stumble over it. “LEX!” Clark cried. “Where are you?”

“Who’s there?” Alex’s voice was so strained and weak, but he didn’t believe his own ears when he heard the young, achingly familiar baritone. “Help! I can’t get up! I’m buried!”

“LEX!” Clark finally spied his body in the shadows, half hidden by the rubble. Even with his sharp vision, Clark was having difficulty picking out their surroundings. That’s when he realized that everything was blurring, even foggy. “Lex…I see you…”

“Clark,” he rasped. “Thank God you came.” Alex wasn’t worried about sounding proper or taking the lord’s name in vain at this point. He felt a brief, unwelcome flash of amusement at the memory of telling Oliver to watch his mouth whenever he did the same, or said worse. Clark looked willing to forgive him. His eyes were wide with shock, and Alex felt awful that he saw him in such a state, broken and helpless. Clark hurried to him and reached out, taking his outstretched hand. Alex squeezed it gratefully as Clark knelt beside him. “How did you get here?” he choked.

“I heard you. And I ran,” he told him numbly. His eyes flitted over him, taking in his condition, and he was horrified at his injuries. Alex was covered with scratches and various wounds that made his blood trickle into the dust, staining the cavern floor. Clark reached into his pocket and fished out a handkerchief. He mopped at the gash over Alex’s eye, helping him to see more clearly without blood clouding his vision. Alex winced beneath his swabs, and Clark stopped when he realized he was causing him more pain.

“Help me, Clark,” Alex groaned. “We’ve got to get out of here…I can’t…breathe…”

“Lex? Stay with me,” Clark pleaded, squeezing his hand again. Alex refused to let go of him, and Clark felt his friend’s pulse pounding in his wrist, molding the pace of his own heartbeat to match it. Alex’s slate blue eyes were filled with fear and desperation. Clark’s face hovered him, dirt-streaked but so beautiful and unearthly, his full mouth flattened as he stared at him. The strong chin quivered. “Please stay with me, Lex. I’m going to help you.” His voice faltered, as if to admit that he wasn’t sure of how. Alex offered him a wan smile.

“I know you can,” he told him.

Clark felt a strange wave of dizziness. “What’s that noise?”

“You hear it, too?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s…I can’t stand it. Lex, it hurts.”

“I don’t feel anything from it…Clark, what’s wrong?” Clark’s face twisted in pain, and he grew pale beneath the ashy coat of dirt on his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and doubled over in agony, and when he opened them again, his voice was a hoarse rasp. He gulped for breath futilely, and true fear rose in Alex’s chest as he watched tiny, spidery, greenish veins stand out along Clark’s neck and jaw. Clark was still gripping his hand, but now he was the one who held onto him, trying to draw strength from him as his body was attacked, slave to the eerie green radiance emitted by the cave walls. They continued to striate his supple, flawless skin and mar the schlera of his eyes, rivaling his irises. Clark’s voice deteriorated, incapable of words. He let out low, tortured gurgles and his mouth fell slack. “CLARK!”

“Hurtssss….rrrrggggghhhhh…” Alex twisted himself desperately until he was lying on his side, but the effort was excruciating. Even the merest twitch made his muscles knot and burn as though he were being stabbed by hundreds of scalding pokers. But he endured it as Clark slowly collapsed, gasping and leaning against his elbows, prostrate in the rubble. Clark felt dizzy, feverish and nauseated, and sweat oozed down his chest and back, saturating his shirt.

“CLARK!” Alex roared. His voice echoed off the rock, threatening the stability of the stalactites and crags overhead, but he didn’t care. “CLARK!”

Through his haze of pain, Clark opened his eyes and twisted his face up to Alex, silently beseeching him. What’s happening to me? Taxing his control, Clark began to lever himself up, but every muscle in his body protested the movement, mocking him and his efforts. The buzzing in his ears drowned out his thoughts, shrill and grinding like the brakes of a locomotive. He could barely hear Alex’s cries and insistent demands that he tell him what was happening to him.

But he rose, slowly, painfully, staggering to his feet. He wheeled and panted, staring around the cavern in an attempt to find the source of his agony. The walls glowed here and there with green. He squinted at the spots, unsure of what they were.

“Shining…green,” he gulped. He staggered to his knees again and felt more nauseous than before, fires burning in his belly and making it twist and cramp. Alex strained himself looking where Clark motioned, and he sucked in a harsh gasp. They’d found the vein, now that the wall was sheered away by the dynamite. His father would be thrilled, provided that his son getting killed in the rubble didn’t provide him with too great an inconvenience.

Mean thoughts crossed Alex’s mind. Bitterly he realized that his father wouldn’t give a damn if he did perish alone in the caves, especially after Alex’s earlier entreaty that they dig instead of blasting the mine hollow. Lionel Luthor despised his stepson, and he wouldn’t feel a drop of regret or genuine loss when he buried him. The job was half done.

Clark wouldn’t allow it. Groans and hoarse sounds wrenched themselves from his throat as he stood once again. He was in so much pain he was ready to pass out, and spots danced across his field of vision. He reached for the boulder lying across Alex’s leg, leaning his shoulder against it. He braced himself and pushed. He gulped harsh, dusty breaths with each shove and pushed. Alex whimpered and struggled beneath it, trying to help him by pulling his leg out by tiny increments, but it was as if he hadn’t budged. Alex collapsed in the grit and rubble again, breathing in the motes of cooling dust, and he was sobbing with pain and helplessness. “Clark,” he grunted. “I’m not…worth it. Get out. Get out now. Leave me…”

“No,” Clark barked. “I won’t.”

“Damn it, Clark!”

“Don’t…swear…” Clark grunted. He strained and grated out guttural, long heaves with each push. The boulder inched over a few centimeters. Clark huffed, paused, and pushed again with his flagging might. A flash of memory found him in the cave, but smaller, weaker, and in just as much pain. Clark rebelled against the fear he’d felt then, knowing it wouldn’t help him or Alex now. His face was still wretchedly pale and his eyes were watering. He grunted and strained, biting his lip with the effort, and Clark reached inside himself for reserves he’d already exhausted, taxing himself a little farther. Clark’s groans became a long, strangled roar as he heaved himself into the boulder, finally shoving it over and releasing Alex from his makeshift tomb. Alex’s shout was raucous and relieved, but his leg truly throbbed, pulsing and burning now that he was free. Clark’s face was suffused with joy and he dropped to his knees beside Alex. His entire body trembled. Alex hissed as he levered himself up on his elbows. “Lex?”

“You did it,” Alex assured him. “You did it, Clark.”

“Lex…” Clark’s eyes rolled back before his body quaked and seized, going into shock.

“NO! CLARK! CLARRRKK!” Clark’s hard, lean body twitched and spasmed, and his eyes stared sightlessly up at the roof of the cavern.

*


Clark awoke to the scratch of rubble and low, harsh pants and grunts.

He no longer felt nauseated, but his limbs felt boneless and limp. He was still surrounded by darkness, and someone was trying to move him. He heard those efforts occasionally interrupted by a low, choked sob. That worried him; who was crying? His skin was being abraded by the shifting ground beneath him, and he felt the drag and the cold, unrelenting gravity sinking into him, making time and the hands dragging him slow to a stop. The voice above him grunted in frustration and cursed.

“Don’t swear,” he murmured, as a frequent, automatic reflex. He let his groggy eyes wander the walls around him, and they finally landed on Alex’s ruined, desperate face. “Lex…”

“Clark,” he sputtered, and Clark was alarmed that Alex was reaching down to him, shifting him and pulling on him. He felt awkward, buoyed by his friend, and when he pulled him closer, against his own body, Clark heard his heartbeat through Alex’s shirt, now hopelessly torn and bloodied. It pounded erratically and occasionally skipped, throbbing a counterpoint to the odd buzzing that assailed him earlier. But it was weaker and more bearable. Clark couldn’t find the reason why within himself or in Alex’s eyes when he stared up at him.

“Hi,” Clark offered.

“Morning,” Alex nodded. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and Clark felt his long musician’s fingers smooth back a lock of his hair from his eyes. His touch was gentle and hesitant, not taking any liberties with the supple, smooth skin. “You scared the hell out of me, Clark Kent.”

“Me, too.”

“You scared yourself, or I scared you?” Alex demanded in disbelief.

“Both,” Clark admitted shakily. It took him a while to realize that Alex had him cradled gingerly against his chest, attempting to keep him warm. Clark caught Alex’s hand mid-stroke, not knowing how his soft but gritty hair tempted Alex, and he brought it down to his own chest, holding it over his heart. Alex flushed violently and felt a fierce reaction throughout his body in response to the gesture, and to Clark’s grip on his hand. His pulse jumped beneath Clark’s circling fingers, and his own twitched as he picked up the low, even thumps of Clark’s heartbeat. All he saw were Clark’s limpid, beautiful green eyes staring up at him, red-rimmed and fringed with damp, dark lashes.

“I’m so angry at you right now, Clark,” Alex scolded. His voice was still a low rasp, but there was conviction in it. “You know how your pa feels about these caves.”

“I don’t care, Alex-“

“No! I care!” Alex insisted, and he pushed anger into his voice, despite the tide of emotions brewing within him. Clark had risked his own life to save him, running headlong into the source of the one thing that could hurt him most. Clark stared up at him, chin set stubbornly against Alex’s lecture. “I know I shouldn’t have let you take me into these caves when you were six, you little brat! Nothing’s changed, damn it!”

“Some things have changed, Lex,” Clark husked. “And I don’t care about the damn caves. I’ll always come for you.” Alex felt Clark’s heartbeat speed up, and he suddenly couldn’t hear anything over his own pulse. Time stopped. Clark’s hand changed its grip, sliding up Alex’s wrist, stroking the length of his forearm, tracing the tendons where he found his warm skin through the tattered sleeve. Alex shivered at his caress. His body throbbed and he had no strength left, but he held onto Clark, entranced by the faint, gentle smile on his face.

*


Whitley, Jason and Pete heard the low scratch of footsteps in disbelief, and they held up their lanterns in the darkness, searching the shadows for its source. “ALEX!” Pete cried out. He stumbled forward and nearly collided with the tall, broad bulk lumbering through the corridor of rock. Lionel had held them all back from entering the cave until the rumbling had ceased, and the men fretted and argued amongst themselves of how to best handle Alex’s rescue. Lionel had reminded all of them about Alex’s admonitions about the caves earlier, how the shifting rock could be dangerous to them all, and despite their opinion of their employer’s son, they feared the worst for him and said silent prayers on his behalf.

In spite of Lionel’s warnings, Pete had ventured inside, not realizing that Alex had wandered almost a mile into the cavern in the wake of the second to last blast. They made their way inside hesitantly, heedless now of Lionel’s warnings. Jason cursed as they began to inhale the clouds of dust.

“We’ll end up with black lung,” Whitley guessed wryly.

“This isn’t a coal mine,” Jason reminded him sourly. They stumbled through the rubble and cleared away knee-high piles of it with their shovels, only pausing when they heard a weak voice up ahead.

“ALEX!” Pete cried, and he reached forward to help the man coming toward them, but blurted out his surprise when he found Clark staring back at him, filthy, with his clothing torn to bits. He carried Alex’s limp body in his arms, and he was unconscious. Whitley and Jason were horrified by the severity of his injuries, noticing blood trickling from several of his wounds, including a mean gash over his eye.

“Clark…what’re you doing here?” Pete exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“I heard the blast,” Clark offered. “Move!” He pushed past the three of them and headed for the mouth of the cavern. They followed him, dumbstruck and confused. They didn’t believe what their eyes were showing them. Clark Kent, the little mama’s boy who followed Alex Luthor around like a puppy, was now carrying him out of the mines and gently laying him in the bed of the wagon. He whipped off his ruined shirt and let his suspenders dangle at the waist, and Clark tucked the garment under Alex’s head. “GET HIM SOME WATER!” Clark roared. Pete did as he was bid, hurrying over with a canteen. Jason followed shortly with some old rags. Lionel brought up the rear.

“What happened to my son?” he demanded, grabbing Clark’s arm with his good hand. His eyes blazed, raking over the farm boy with distaste. “What were you doing lurking in my mine?”

“Saving…my life, Father,” Alex slurred. He stared groggily up at his father as Clark jerked his arm free easily, then supported Alex’s head while he fed him a gulp of water from the canteen. Alex sucked greedily at the moisture as it nourished him, soothing his burning throat and cracked lips.

Alex knew he’d never be able to explain that his miserable, halting crawl through the rubble, while dragging Clark with him, brought them far enough away from the vein of glowing green rock for Clark to regain his strength. He didn’t know that was the source of Clark’s weakness, but he knew that the buzzing was a partial culprit. When Alex’s strength gave way, he collapsed again, passing out. Adrenaline fueled Clark’s movements, and his devotion to his best friend spurred him to his feet. He gathered Alex against his chest as though he weighed nothing, alarmed by how cold his skin felt against his cheek, and he carried him the rest of the way. If Alex were awake and if he could remember once carrying Clark in much the same fashion, once, he’d have appreciated the irony.