Homestead

Summary: A boy leaves Smallville, alone.

“That’s a mighty tall tale you’re asking me to give credence to, Jon,” sighed Sheriff Ethan.

“I wouldn’t lie to you. I never have before, Eeth,” Jonathan replied as he rubbed his nape.

“I know that. That’s what makes this so hard. Your son’s a young boy. Children his age sometimes get carried away when they explain things to their parents. In light of the tragic nature of what Clark saw, we need to tread lightly. Lionel Luthor just lost his wife and baby. He’s injured and a broken man right now. His older son’s the only thing he has left.”

“I believe in my heart that he isn’t treating Alexander with the kind of respect that he should, if that’s true, Ethan. Have you met him?”

“Alex? Certainly. Once, when his father reported that his store had been vandalized. Polite boy. Odd looking at first; that bald head of his was something to behold. Lionel said the boy had a bout of scarlet fever.”

“He shied away the first time I met him. Some boys at school left him with a cut on his head. All I did was try to clean him up, and he backed up real quick, and went stiff as a board.” Jonathan eyed him levelly. “That’s not natural.” Sheriff Ethan made a thoughtful noise and leaned back in his chair.

“You believe Lionel Luthor’s been beating his son. It’s a serious accusation, Jon, and you won’t meet many men around here that don’t believe that if you spare the rod, you spoil the child.”

“I don’t doubt that his father’s money has spoiled him, but I had a bad feeling the day that I met him, and the night that I brought him home.”

“Aside from these ‘bad feelings’ you’ve had, and what Clark said he saw, Jon, I have to ask, what was your boy doing all the way out on Reeve Road?” Jonathan felt his hopes dash themselves to bits. “Perry saw the coach crash. He said it was a miracle both boys weren’t killed along with the woman and baby.” Ethan sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “I just about fell apart when we dug them out from the wreck. “And all he could remember were the screams and sobs of a ruined boy; they haunted him in his sleep.

“Clark’s a changed boy. It’s like someone snuffed out his inner light. He’s not eating much and he’s been staying inside since it happened. Martha’s worried sick.”

“Those were beautiful flowers she provided for the burial, Jon. That wife of yours always knows the right thing to do at the right time.” The men shared a smile. “You’re a lucky man.”

“She enjoys reminding me of that everyday,” he chuckled.

“You know I might not be able to pursue this, Jon.” Jonathan’s faint smile died.

“I need to see with my own two eyes that the boy’s all right.”

“Don’t do anything so foolish as banging down Luthor’s door, Jon. I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“I plan to knock. Martha wants to bring them a pot of stew.”


~0~

Alex huddled outside behind the outhouse, shivering from the night air. Goosebumps covered his bare calves; he’d run out of the house as soon as his father’s footsteps clumped across the porch. He’d just removed his stockings and was preparing for bed.

Lionel’s rich baritone drifted to Alex’s ears in the dark.

“Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me…” Alex knew his father well enough to know that he’d been drinking and to make himself scarce.

“Please, God,” he whispered, praying fervently, “please make me big and strong. Please, Lord. Make me big and strong like Clark’s pa, so he won’t hurt me…” Lionel’s singing, remarkably on pitch, was a symptom of the night’s ills. Each word from his mouth in that powerful voice stabbed him and twisted his stomach even more, tempting him to vomit.

He’d drink shortly after he returned from the store of the station. His usual custom was to drink his cognac first, claiming it aided his digestion after dinner. He retained Perry’s plump wife as the housekeeper, offering them tenancy of the small cottage behind his property. She also minded Alex during Lionel’s excursions, but she departed once he returned for the night. Alice Perry was a discreet employee. She disregarded the stench of alcohol and sweet perfume that permeated his clothing. She marked young Alex’s sullen, introverted manner up to his recent loss.

There was something of his mother in him, a softness around the eyes and mouth when he smiled, which was seldom. He had the same slender hands and a similar arch to his brows. His face promised adult handsomeness, but it was a shame about his hair, truly…

The grass beneath him and the bitter wind chilled him, making his bare toes ache.

When he slept, he dreamt of twisted metal and dust. And blood. All he heard were screams.

Every night he woke to the sound of his father’s taunts, or his weeping.

Every night he pretended to sleep while his father made the edge of his bed dip with his weight and peeled back the covers.

He pretended not to hear his raspy whispers in the dark. He laid stock-still and bit his lip against its trembling as his father’s hands tugged at his nightclothes.

He tried not to listen as he told him how much like his mother he was. Soft. Weak. Only good for one thing.

Obedient.

His mother wasn’t big and strong. He’d hurt her, and Alex couldn’t do anything to stop his eyes filled with rage or his beating hands.

Alex suffered in near silence, letting his tears roll into his ears and the corners of his mouth if he was on his back, or soak into the pillow if he wasn’t. His father’s hands painted him in shame, and his flesh was tainted by the stink of cognac and whiskey when he was done.

The worst offense happened right before Lionel retired to his own room.

He kissed him goodnight.


~0~

“I hope someone’s home,” Martha remarked the next morning. The skillet she carried was covered with a wide towel, and she had a basketful of bread slung from her arm by the handle. Jonathan knocked on the door with great trepidation, peering through the etched glass window.

“Ma?” Martha peered back at Clark, who looked clean-scrubbed and neatly combed despite his patched pants and the coat he threatened to outgrow.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are we bringing food?”

“It’s what you do for someone when they lost someone they care about.”

Clark pondered this until the door was carefully pulled open. Mrs. Perry greeted them with her hand on her round hip.

“Mr. Luthor isn’t awake yet.”

“We wanna see Alex,” Clark announced, nonplussed. “He’s sad, so we brought him some dinner,” he explained, as if this logic were infallible.

“I don’t think it would be wise if –“ Mrs. Perry was just relieving Martha of the bread basket when a somber voice carried to her ears from the kitchen doorway.

“Mr. Kent?”

“Hello, Alexander,” Martha greeted kindly. Her warm brown eyes traveled over him and passed no judgments. Her hair was less elegantly styled than Lillian’s had been, and her garb was practical and rough. She looked approachable and unassuming.

Alex longed to step into her arms and cry out his troubles. He held himself stoically instead, jutting his chin firmly and making himself resemble and ornery little old man.

“Are you gonna come back to school?” Clark inquired hopefully.

“No,” Alex admitted uncomfortably. “Why did you come?” He directed the question at all of them, but his eyes were pinned on Clark.

“Mr. Luthor doesn’t want visitors while he’s indisposed.” Mrs. Perry didn’t mention his hungover state.

“We won’t stay,” Martha assured her.

“Ma!” Clark protested loudly. “Mr. Luthor might hurt –“ Martha promptly shushed him. Her face was stern, and Mrs. Perry eyed her cautiously. The realization sunk in Alex’s stomach like a stone.

A flash of memory came unbidden to Alex in that moment. Clark crying his name. The feel of his short, sturdy arms wrapping around his chest and knocking him to the ground. Dust. Clouds of it from the impact with the gravel.

His eyes riveted themselves on Clark. Alex’s lips moved.

“I want to go outside and play with Clark,” he exclaimed. Martha’s smile was surprised.

“Yes, you may, if it’s all right,” she offered. Mrs. Perry nodded, tight-lipped.

The boys sauntered off. They strode down the walk toward the schoolyard, bundled in heavy coats and mittens. Alex seldom felt the cold anymore, having become used to his nightly treks outside to escape Lionel’s wrath and intrusive hands.

They threw a baseball evenly through the air, almost in an unbreakable rhythm. Alex was left-handed; Clark threw with his right and caught with his left.

“You’re going away again,” Clark said, breaking the silence between them after a few minutes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Where, Lex?” The ball landed in Alex’s palm with a sharp slap.

“A school in Metropolis City. I’ll live there. Father says it’s the best in the state,” Alex offered, as though that was all Clark needed to know. He puffed out his chest and added “It costs a lot of money, and he said that boys from the best families will be there with me.”

“I won’t,” Clark argued, “and I have the best family, too.”

“He means important families. With money,” Alex corrected him, but he secretly agreed with Clark. “Your mother’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” Clark agreed.

“You don’t look like her, though.”

“You don’t look like your pa, either,” Clark pointed out. Both boys mulled his as the ball went flying back and forth.

“I don’t want to look like my father. Ever. I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“Because he gets mad?”

“Sometimes.” He couldn’t tell Clark too much. Then he remembered why he brought Clark out with him, and he became grim. “Hey, Clark?”

“Yeah?” Clark held the ball stiffly in his hand, fingering the lacings thoughtfully before letting it go.

“I saw you. I saw you come out of the bushes that day.” Clark didn’t need to know which day that was. “I felt you knock me down.” Clark had just raised his hands to catch the ball again, but he let them fall slack instead. A dark cloud of sadness engulfed his beautiful face, and he bowed it miserably. “Clark? Hey, Clark?”

“M’sorry, Lex,” he murmured, and Alex saw his narrow shoulders heave.”M’so sorry. I’m not big enough.” Alex chucked the ball onto the ground, letting it roll into the thick grass. “H-he hit you. Your pa was being real mean and you were crying, and-and I wanted to make him stop, Lex! He scared me.” Alex closed the gap between them. His face was livid, yet his eyes were full of nothing but pain.

“I didn’t need you, Clark! You should’ve minded your business! If…if you hadn’t been there, maybe I could’ve saved my mother! You knocked me down! I was going to help her get out of the coach!” Alex’s face was screwed up with pent-up rage. “I’m bigger than you, Clark! I could’ve saved her! Then she wouldn’t be dead! I’d have my brother and my mother here, instead of my father! We were going away. We were supposed to catch the train…” His voice lost its strength, and to his shame, fat, hot tears were rolling down his face. Clark absorbed his grief, and he dashed away the beginnings of his own tears before they could fall, sopping them up with his rough wool mittens.

“B-but I t-tried, L-Lex,” Clark stammered on a sob. “I tried to stop the horses, too! But I couldn’t. I wasn’t big enough. I couldn’t reach.” The reins were too high.

Alex’s chest heaved and he felt dizzy with grief. “Why, Clark? Why did you have to come? Why…” Alex’s hands balled themselves into fists, and he struck his own brow as if trying to beat away the memories. “Why did you come? Why didn’t you leave me alone? Maybe…maybe I’d just be dead, and it would be okay…M-mother and Julian would be here, and I’d be dead…!” Clark’s face was bleak and shocked; he shook his head and his lips twisted up, preparing to sob. Alex collapsed in the grass and bowed his hand into his fists.

“M’sorry,” Clark wept, snuffling back mucus and moving away.

“Don’t!” Alex shouted. “Don’t leave, Clark! Don’t you leave me!” Clark stared at him in confusion, his bottle green eyes beseeching him to explain himself. “Everyone leaves. Everyone leaves me.” There was real fear in Alex’s voice, and his insistence changed to desperation for Clark to remain. He couldn’t do it. Alex couldn’t push away his one true friend, not when no one else had ever cared that much.

“You scared me,” Clark told him softly, sniffling. Alex attempted to catch his breath. His face was red and blotchy with tears.

“M’sorry,” he grated out, wiping his own face. “M’just so mad. My mother’s gone. I have no brother, and my father’s mean. He’s mean, and he hates me. Everyone hates me!”

“I don’t, Lex,” Clark cried. He walked past Alex for a moment, making him panic that he was going to leave again, but Clark merely bent down and retrieved the ball. He returned to his friend and handed it to him. “I don’t hate you.”

“I’m not big enough. Or strong enough.”

“Me either, Alex.” It was a sterling moment in their friendship, and the gravity of it didn’t escape them. Alex gingerly took the ball and Clark reached down to help him stand up. Slate blue eyes stared into green.

“M’sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Clark occasionally bumped up against Alex on their walk home, as if assuring him that he was still there. Alex occasionally bumped him back. Once in a while, they would smile.

They reached the Luthor house just as Jonathan was explaining that he wanted to go find the boys so they could leave them in peace. Mrs. Perry looked relieved when they wandered into sight. Martha looked concerned when she saw the dim remainder of tear tracks on both of their faces, but she held her tongue.

“Alex,” she said, approaching him, “here. I’d like you to have something.” She tucked a folded piece of paper into his hand. “Put it somewhere safe.”

“What is it?”

“Our post number. Jonathan, Clark and I would like it very much if you wrote us the occasional letter.”

“I know how to write letters already,” Alex boasted, and some of his pride returned. “Can I write them to Clark?”

“Yes, you may,” she nodded. “Alex, Mrs. Perry tells me you’ll be leaving in two days. Is it all right if I have a hug?” He looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked his permission for such a thing.

His embrace was fierce and desperate, so much hunger for love evident in the low groan of need he emitted at the contact. Behind them, Clark looked slightly envious, but he felt that somehow, his mother had done the right thing. She always did.


~0~

Lionel and Alex stood soberly at the station on the platform two brisk mornings later. The tip of Alex’s nose was red from the cold, and he felt the drafts sneak up under his hat and chilling his nape. They both wore somber clothing and expensive coats; Alex was dressed in the same brown suit his mother had been so proud of on his first day of school.

“Perry will be here shortly,” Lionel informed him as they waited. He smoked his pipe idly to busy himself. Alex silently tolerated the acrid, sweet smoke and was thankful that he hadn’t eaten much of the housekeeper’s breakfast before he left the table. That which he did was setting like a stone in his gut. She packed him a basket of hearty food items that he’d share with her husband when he accompanied him to the school.

Alex said nothing when his father told him his itinerary and who his traveling guardian would be. He was screaming inside. It was twisted irony.

Perry showed up looking out of breath and haggard. Lionel stared at him impatiently as he made his excuses until he held up his hand for him to be silent.

“I want a full report. Don’t stay overlong,” he advised. “I’ll be receiving regular telegrams about your progress, Alexander. I expect that you won’t disappoint me.”

“No, Father.” His tone was diligent and stiff. Lionel’s answering smile was satisfied. He leaned forward and kissed his temple. Alex longed to scrub his face until it stung. He knew it was for appearances, and perhaps to mark him with one final humiliation.

~0~

The coach that brought him to the academy wasn’t as well-appointed as any of his father’s, but he still arrived in reputable style. Alex’s nose was itching from the dust stirred up by their ride and from the myriad odors of the train that brought them to the station. His stomach was growling; he’d eaten scarcely, choosing an apple and a slice of bread with butter that Perry’s wife packed, since watching the man eat sickened him.

The grounds of the academy were surprisingly well kept. It consisted of three buildings. The largest one was the school itself; on the left were the boys’ dormitories, and the left included the library and the dining hall. When Alex squinted, he saw what looked like stables less than a mile away. Unbidden the memory came back to him of riding on the back of Mr. Kent’s horse with Clark, the younger boy’s warm form cradled against him protectively. Alex’s hands were fisted in his lap with anxiety and resignation.

He hated it there already.

Perry led him through the courtyard, clutching a small, folded scrap of paper. “Belle-Reeve Hall,” he muttered under his breath. “This must be the place. ‘Ere, now, Alex, let’s find someone to settle you in.” He tugged Alex along by the arm until they entered the building through a heavy oak door. He slapped a smile on his face and relaxed his grip, shifting it to his shoulder, assuming the guise of a protective guardian. Alex wanted to shy his way out from under him, but he held his calm mask and his tongue.

The woman who approached was tall, pencil-slim, and wore a severe black dress that was devoid of flounces, only having puffed sleeves and a short train that bowed to fashion. Her hair was done up in a soft upsweep, and it shone sable brown in the dim light of the hall. Her features were sharp, and she appraised Alex through her narrow reading glasses as she approached. She eyed his cap curiously, and his cheeks burned with frustration.

Please, don’t let it happen again.

“Good afternoon. I’m Miss Hart. Our headmaster asked that I greet you while he attends a meeting. You must be Alexander.” She was dead-set on ignoring Perry while she assessed Alex, taking in his strengths and faults with her eyes. She all but pried him free of his escort, clucking under her tongue. Solicitously she reached for his jacket, straightening his cuff and smoothing it to rid it of the dust from the road. “We don’t wear our hats inside, Alexander.”

“Please, ma’am…may I wear it just a little longer?” Alex heard a scuffling of several sets of feet from within a nearby classroom. It was well after noon, and he already smelled the aroma of food drifting over from the dining hall on the way over.

“Today. But expect no such privilege for the duration of your stay here, Alexander,” she warned crisply, but her eyes weren’t cruel. Alex was still unsettled and uncomfortable, feeling itchy and strained in his suit.

“Here,” Perry offered, shoving the paper at her. “It’s from the boy’s father.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “What kept Mr. Luthor from accompanying his son?”

“Business. He’s an important man with important things to take care of,” he huffed impudently, daring her to argue. He didn’t have to justify himself or his employer to a woman. She unfolded the scrap of paper and skimmed it, and her grip on Alexander tightened imperceptibly. He craved a glimpse of the note, wondering what it said. About him.

“I see.” She folded the note and met Perry’s eyes. “I think we have things squared away now, Mr…?”

“Perry,” he said proudly.

“All right then. Fetch his things. I’ll show you where to put them.” Perry made a face at her dismissal, but he complied. Alex felt uneasy, being left alone in her presence.

“Alexander, we have some matters to take care of before you begin your stay here and attend this school.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, Miss Hart,” he corrected her. She released him and stood back with a sigh. “Make sure you address all members of the school’s staff by their correct name and title, Alexander. Whatever your custom was at your previous school and home is not welcome here.”

“No, Miss Hart.” She bade him to sit in a chair against the wall, adjacent to the classroom. Alex would later find that it was where children went to wait to be chastised or for punishment. He would spend lots of time in that chair.

Perry hurried back inside, hauling an enormous trunk with brass clasps and a heavy lock.

“You’ll need to follow me with that,” she reminded him. Alex felt a frisson of warmth in his gut at Perry’s fresh scowl. Alex dutifully fell in step behind both adults as they made their way through the courtyard, toward the boys’ dorms.

“I expect that you will find your way around easily enough, very soon, Alexander,” Miss Hart informed him. Her tone dared him to argue. He didn’t take the bait.

“Yes, Miss Hart.”

Perry struggled his way into the room with the trunk, dumping it unceremoniously inside the threshold of the door. It was an airy room with a large window overlooking the grounds.

It wasn’t a private room. Alex peered at the second bed, made up neat as a pin. The only item out of place was a green wool cap resting on the pillow.

“I will come to collect you shortly, Alexander. You will be introduced to the rest of the students once the meal is served.” Alex wore a stony look and averted his eyes, staring at his shoes. Miss Hart cocked her brow, curious. “Are you all right, Alexander?”

“I’m fine,” he almost snapped before remembering himself. “I…I’m all right, Miss Hart. Thank you.” Perry drew himself up and rested his hands over his belt, his face full of silent warning.

“Your father expects that you’ll behave yerself,” he reminded him. “All right, then. I’m off.” That was it. He didn’t even offer him an awkward handshake or well wishes. “Ma’am,” he nodded to Miss Hart. She smothered a sigh and nodded back before he took his leave.

The muscles in Alex’s neck and shoulders relaxed by small increments once Miss Hart, too, took her leave, leaving him alone in the tiny dormitory. He crossed the room and took a long, greedy look outside. The grounds were vast. There was also an enormous field that looked perfect to play ball.

“Clark would like it here,” he murmured, stroking the glass pane with his thumb. He leaned his forehead against its cool surface and closed his eyes. He was so tired…

“I miss you, Mother,” he whispered. “I’ll make you proud.” Alex returned his attention to his trunk, wondering where he would put his clothes. There were two tall, narrow armoires. He squatted down and pried open the trunk’s latch, nearly catching his finger in the process. He pawed and sifted through its contents, piling his drawers, shirts and stockings aside.

He found what he was looking for, and he clutched the lawn handkerchief, folded up around something small and hard. He untied it and held up the iridescent green emerald for inspection, checking to make sure it survived his journey. It was his talisman, and one of the only things that Lionel hadn’t managed to take away from him.

That night in the cave changed everything. Alex couldn’t describe how, only that his father released whatever qualm he had about keeping his mother’s indiscretion a secret any longer. The tenuous thread between himself and Lionel that involved any form of filial respect disintegrated. He clung to the bright parts of that day like a lift raft. Clark’s grinning face through his window. Explaining what an adagio was to a willing audience. The cave paintings. Riding on the back of a horse for the first time. The feel of Biscuit’s rolling gait beneath him while Clark held onto him, making him feel protective and strong. Alex didn’t realize how much he needed that, how vital it was to him as a person. To be needed.

And now, Lillian and Julian were gone.

He heard thudding footsteps outside the door. Alex nearly jumped out of his skin and frantically scrambled to return the stone to its hiding place. He had just slammed the trunk shut as the door swung open, letting in a rush of cool air from the hall. Alex swallowed roughly and straightened up as a tall, blond-haired boy strode inside while guffawing over his shoulder to someone outside.

“You hit like a girl!” he crowed, returning a jeer as he tripped inside. Alex watched as he caught a ball that someone winged him and heard the sharp smack of it against his palm. He was nonplussed, whipping it back to a chorus of chuckles. “Save me a seat…” His voice died as his eyes landed on Alex.

Alex nodded stiffly at him and stood up straight. He was still wearing his cap, which Miss Hart had given him permission to wear until he reached the dining hall for the afternoon meal.

“Who’re you?” asked the newcomer, eyeing him up and down boldly as he leaned against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. He wore the school’s black uniform of black knickers and dark wool stockings and a gray jacket, not unlike the brown one Alex wore, but it also included a snug vest. Hard, black leather shoes shod his feet, slightly scuffed from the wear and tear of being outdoors. Lionel and Lillian never would have tolerated that, Alex mused.

The boy reminded Alex instantly of Whitney, and he blanched slightly at the comparison. Same haughty demeanor and intrusive eyes. His skin was faintly tanned, yet he managed to avoid freckles. Wheat blond hair was trimmed short and neat, but a lock of it fell over his brow. He had a habit of blowing it back off his forehead when he was exasperated, one of many idiosyncrasies Alex would come to know about his roommate as time went on.

Coffee brown eyes held intelligence and candor. They continued to flit over him and his trunk.

“I’m Alex,” he offered.

“Alex?” he huffed. “That’s all?”

“Alex Luthor,” he clarified.

“Bet you go by Alexander,” he went on.

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Alexander’s a sissy name,” he jeered dismissively. Alex felt an ugly flush creep up his cheeks. “What’s wrong with your head?”

“What d’you mean?”

“That hat…it looks too big on your head!” he laughed, pointing without tact.

“There’s nothing wrong with my head, cretin,” Alex sneered back. “There’s just something wrong with your eyes!” The boy looked surprised for a moment, then regained his position.

“What kind of word is ‘cretin,’ Luthor?”

“It means you don’t know what you’re talking about, and you don’t care how stupid you sound,” Alex informed him. He knew he was getting off on the wrong foot.

It just felt too good to argue with someone without having to worry about being struck down. Alex reveled in it.

“Big hat,” his antagonist shrugged.

“Pea brain.” Their door swished open again, and a small red-haired boy popped his head inside.

“Olly, c’mon!” So, Alex thought, his name’s Oliver.

“Who’s he?”

“A sissy,” Oliver muttered, daring Alex to make rebuttal.

“I’m a Luthor,” Alex corrected him, leveling both of them with a smug look. “That’s all you need to know.”