Similis

Clark nodded, "Yeah Dad, I guess they really are …" Unable to contain his curiosity he let his fingers ghost carefully over the unexpected strangeness, noting the rich blackberry﷓colouration plainly visible beneath the light coating of Kansas dust, and forced out the words that his own mind was still churning over. "Wings…"



A gust of damp air swirled across them, ruffling the soiled feathers.



"Storm's nearly on us." Jonathan decided, chancing another quick look up at the churning sky. Already the first few drops of rain were being carried in on the rising wind. "Turn our guest over carefully Clark, and mind those wings. Let's see who, or what, we're dealing with."



Nervously, and not just because his father was watching, Clark inserted his hands under the trailing edges of the limp wings, easing their visitor over and lifting him onto his lap. Carefully keeping his strength under firm control, he pulled slowly until natural momentum finished the job for him. A second longer and the newcomer lay face-up in Clark's arms, night﷓dark hair flopping delicately over closed eyes.



"Dear God in Heaven!" Jonathan ground out, and sat down hard on the damp grass in sheer amazement.



Clark felt his own heart skip a beat as he gazed down. Seen from the front the person lying in his arms was quite human, and definitely male, judging from the bare flesh: of which there seemed to be an awful lot. As his eyes skimmed over the youth, taking in the slight golden tint to the exposed skin, Clark felt his cheeks burning.



Oh man! It suddenly occurred to Clark that he was sitting here staring at this other guy like some sort of pervert, and with his Dad sitting right next to him! Could he get any more freaky?!



But it was only when Clark's focus raised enough to really take in the raven-dark curls, dark full brows, and slightly parted cupid's bow lips that his question was finally answered and he began to understand the full extent of Jonathan's shock. Little wonder! Except for the wings, he was looking down at a perfect replica of himself!



The newcomer shifted slightly in Clark's arms, the faintest hint of a frown creasing the youthful forehead, as if he was struggling to wake?



Or escape maybe? Does he even know that he's been rescued? Instinctively Clark adjusted his grip, pulling the other closer to his chest. "It's going to be okay. You're safe now." He whispered.



Jonathan looked from his adopted son to the unconscious lad lying in Clark's arms, and back again. "Lord, it's like looking in a mirror!" He said softly.



"Jonathan?" A worried voice broke the thickening confusion.



"We're alright, Martha."



"But what happened? I heard a terrible noise, and there was so much lightning…" Martha hurried over to her husband and son. "Clark?!"







There was a tense moment while Martha stared down in horror at the bloodied form. Gradually understanding dawned: Clark couldn't be lying hurt if he was also sitting there holding … himself? The seated youth had on a thoroughly familiar plaid shirt, while the lad stretched out on the ground wore only a few sooty-coloured rags.



Martha let out an audible sigh of relief on realising that, however similar in appearance, this injured person was not their boy. Naturally she immediately felt guilty for her reaction. And were those …?







"Everything's fine Mom..." Clark promised. He exchanged a worried glance with his father. Everything was fine, wasn't it?



"Whoever this is, he fell right outta the sky, Martha." Jonathan told his astounded wife. "Clark says that there don't seem to be any internal injuries, or broken bones…"



"You used your X-ray vision?" Martha guessed.



Clark nodded shyly, hoping neither of his parents would guess at what else his curious vision was good for, apart from spotting broken bones...



The rain chose that precise moment to bear down on them.







"Clark, take him inside!" Jonathan was all business. Rain he knew how to deal with. Guys with wings were less straightforward, but personally he doubted that laying in the cold and wet was going to be any better for the new arrival than it would have been for anyone else and, despite Clark's assurances, the other lad was quite obviously hurt. "We'll have to put him in the guest room for now." He ordered.



"I'll get a blanket over the bed." Martha decided. "We'll need to clean him up first, so we can see what we’re dealing with."







Cradling his double close, and paying particular attention to the positioning of the loosely folded wings, Clark carefully carried the new arrival along the dirt track toward their house at normal human speed. There was no point in blurring in there: he did not want to jar this new person. Besides, his mom would need a little time to get things set up ready for their arrival and Clark did not want to get on the wrong side of his mother.



Also, and he wasn't going to mention it to anyone, Clark decided that he was in absolutely no hurry to let go of the silent figure. It should have been the weirdest thing he had ever known, but somehow his arms felt so right wrapped around the solidly muscular body.



Toeing off his sneakers, and feeling only momentarily guilty for not undoing the laces, as he figured that this time he had a really good excuse, Clark walked into the house and headed resolutely up the stairs.



* * * * *



"Clark?"



He jerked back from the edge of whatever daydream had captured him.



"Honey, are you ready to set him down?"



"Sure Mom."



"Careful now. I know you say he hasn't gotten any broken bones, but there could be other problems … And you are rather new with the X-ray eyes: it would be easy to miss something."



Clark eased the still form onto the old blanket, while Martha reached out and helped position the youth's wings.



Arms empty now, Clark felt strangely bereft, waiting idle while his mother eased away the last remnants of soiled clothing from the unconscious youth and set the scraps of fabric aside. The body underneath the rags was as beautiful as Clark had known it would be, and he stared his fill while no one else was in a position to notice.







Immersing a pad of cotton wool in the bowl of diluted disinfectant Martha tutted to herself as she began wiping at the nearest limb.



"You can help, Clark." She told Clark over her shoulder. Judging from his silence, Clark was probably feeling awkward, but this was a large job and would go far smoother with both of them actively working on it.



"Grab a wash cloth and get started on the dirt, while I tackle the wounds. We'll do his," She frowned momentarily, seeking a suitable 'teenage-friendly' word, so as not to mortally embarrass her son. "Top side, then you can roll him over and we can see to his back."



"Shouldn't we start on his back?" Clark wondered.



"I don't think so, Sweetie. It probably won't be all that comfortable for him to lie on his wings for long…" Martha reminded him.







Clark blinked in wide-eyed amazement: Martha really did know Everything… Taking a clean washcloth, he began to flush away the dirt from his duplicate's right wrist, only to sit back, open-mouthed, as the shallow gouges cutting across the lad's forearm closed up right in front of his eyes. "Mom!"



"I saw it too, Clark." His mother assured him. "So he doesn't only look like you, he also has some sort of a rapid healing ability? Well, that can only be a good thing, for everyone."



Clark looked across the broad chest, watching the steady rise and fall of each breath. "Do you suppose he's from Krypton too? If he is, why does he have wings and I don't?" He blinked, suddenly discovering a million questions. How cool would it be to have wings? But then he would look even less human than he was now. In fact he could tell exactly how he would appear, he only had to look at the lad lying in front of him to be absolutely sure of that. But wings? That was beyond all of his expectations. And why…



"Clark." His mother said sharply. "Even if this person did come from the same world as you did, and we don't have any way of knowing that, I expect you to keep your attention firmly fixed on this planet for the present, at least until we have him clean and safely between those sheets."

Clark sighed. "Sure thing, Mom."



* * * *



"Son, you can't sit there staring at him all night." Jonathan sounded weary. "I don't think he's going to wake up in the next few hours, and either your mother or I will be sitting right here when he finally does."



"I've done all my chores!" Clark protested softly. "And yours." This was where he wanted to be, where he felt he needed to be.



"You need to get some sleep." His father reminded him. "You're a growing lad, and you need your rest."



"But…" The guest bed was broad enough for two, even two Clark﷓sized people, if they stuck close… He eyed it hopefully.



"I'm taking the first watch, then your mother is going to take over." Jonathan said firmly. "Look, I'll make you a deal. You can sit with him as soon as you've finished your morning chores. It's Saturday tomorrow so you can bring in whatever you need and stay in here all day while you work on your homework, if you want?"



"I just keep feeling…" Clark suddenly realised how foolish it would sound.



"Feeling what?" A curious eyebrow cranked up.



"Like he needs me somehow? Like I have to stay here, be here, ready for when he wakes up?" Clark tried.



Jonathan sighed. "Is that just your curiosity talking, or something more?"



It was obvious that his father was asking if this was somehow related to Clark's emerging abilities, but Clark realised that he didn't have an answer. He only felt perfectly sure that he should stay right here, at the stranger's side, and that something bad would happen if he didn't…



* * * *



Eventually, after much fruitless wheedling and protesting, Clark found himself reluctantly walking back along the hall and climbing into his own bed. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did, it was filled with the sensation of falling, while images of huge scarlet fingers reached down toward him through cold clouds of stifling darkness.



Rousing out of yet another increasingly unpleasant dream, Clark sat up. Instinctively he suppressed his breathing, listening, over the pounding of his heart, for the normal sounds of the house.



"I think he's dying…" That was Mom's voice, but what was she talking about? The words registered in his sleepy mind. Dying?



"No!" Throwing off his bed sheets Clark leapt out of bed and dashed into the guest room at his top speed.



Sidestepping his father, knowing that he was in no way ready to cope with the sermon that Jonathan Kent would no doubt offer about death and the inevitability of loss in this adult and all too human world, he dropped out of 'Clark time' and pressed his hands urgently onto the smooth chest of his 'twin'.



"Don't leave me!" The words were out before Clark could stop them. Oblivious to the presence of his parents, he rubbed his palms urgently over the pale skin, frantically encouraging the too-quiet pulse to rouse again. Under his fingertips he could feel the spasms wracking the deep muscle groups, the tiny shivers draining this body of its last resources of energy. The warmth that had been there while he had carried the stranger into their home had all-but leached away.



Panic woke in Clark, leaving no room for embarrassment or hesitation. Without a second thought, he yanked off his pyjama top and threw it aside, kneeling on the mattress next to his 'twin'.



"Please! Don't leave me here alone again!" Dragging the unresisting form up into his arms, Clark pressed himself desperately against the fading warmth, wrapping his arms around the broad chest and willing his own abundant body heat into the stranger who somehow shared his features.



"Stay with me!" He didn’t care how this other 'Clark' had come to be here, nor why, not even that the newcomer was different from him in any way. He only wanted to have someone else, someone as obviously alien as he was, to share this world with him.



"Don't go…" He whispered, cradling the still form in a tight embrace. Guiding the heavy head into the curve of his own neck, Clark stroked the wavy hair, mindlessly rubbing one broad hand over and over the muscular back and shoulders.



Somewhere off around him Clark was vaguely aware of comforting voices, and of being gently guided down onto the bed, his limbs still tightly entwined with those of the other youth, and of the blankets being carefully tucked up around them both.



At first Clark was almost irrational, terrified that he had come too late, and guilty that he had ever let himself be talked into abandoning his charge. However as he leant his face against the face of his twin he felt the other begin to warm, the feeble breathing gradually regaining strength, the tense set of the other youth's shoulders and arms relaxing into Clark's tight embrace. Only then did Clark weep in sheer relief, silent tears streaming down his cheeks unheeded, the tension draining from his own body.



"I think the worst is over now, Clark." Softly, Martha patted his shoulder, and passed him a tissue. "You were wonderful, sweetie. Now you stay right there and try and get some sleep. I'm just going to pop down to the kitchen, but I'll be back in a minute, and one of us will be here all night if you need anything."



Clark nodded, too drained to even reply. It was while he was lying there, drifting somewhere between thinking and sleeping, that something odd happened: part of his head suddenly filled with confused thoughts. Surprised, Clark opened his eyes to find himself looking directly into those of his twin.







Hayzir roused to find himself cradled between two powerful arms. He was nowhere near recovered yet, and his head practically swam with exhaustion, but his wounds felt fairly healed and there was something immensely reassuring about the touch that warmed his skin. Despite the wave of rising sleep waiting to swamp his remaining strength, Hayzir reached carefully into the mind of the one in whose arms he lay, testing his situation.

I am safe with him. He wants me here… More than a little surprised at the depths of emotion he found in his saviour, the grateful angel stretched out his mind to his bed mate, promising his thanks, honest intentions and gifting the other youth with the only thing he truly owned, his name…







The instant his eyes locked with those of the angel, fatigue and something else, something very like affection, but newer and far stranger, flooded into Clark. He heard, or perhaps felt, a single word-shape, not with his ears but somewhere deep in his soul. 'Hayzir…' The whispered word echoed through his mind.



"Hayzir?" Clark whispered, repeating the sound as best he could. "Clark." He told him back. The angel's eyes briefly flickered, in recognition, or acknowledgement before sliding shut again. Sighing, the other youth nestled back down onto Clark, arms pressed close against Clark's ribs.



In response, Clark closed his own arms around the broad waist, adjusting his position so that the other's body rested snugly on his, the magnificent wings splayed over both of them, warmer than any feather quilt. Finally, as Clark contentedly allowed himself to surrender to the same healing sleep as his mirror image, he wondered absently about what tomorrow was going to bring?