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Summary
What if Lex decided to be a little more... evil... at the end of Wrath? What if he decided to punish Clark, for Lana's transgression? ...What if Clark agreed to sacrifice himself for her sake? Would Clark break? Or would he... bend?
...Hey, that would be a totally crazy fic, am I right? --Unfortunately, this is not that. (Oops.) Here, Lex kind of goes the other route. You know, the whole brotherly-love one.
So, instead, you get Lex being pissed about Lana treating Clark like her own personal bitch, Clark's "sacrifice" isn't so much of one, and everybody else is left standing around scratching their heads while Lana ends up doing screechy-harpy things which we don't have to hear too much about -- you're welcome. (Chloe does, though. Feel sorry for Chloe, and send her emergency chocolate cake, stat.)
Series
- Part 1 of ...Who Needs Rescuing, Again?
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Abandoned, but hilarious.
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3/? abandoned
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Bookmark on chapter 3.
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"...You know, I never would've thought Clark believed in aliens," she said.
"I think maybe he used to, until it got too ugly," Lex said, not really thinking too hard about what he was saying.
"Really? Why?"
"He has all the old classics, stored away in the Fortress. Asimov, Heinlein, Dick, Herbert, Clarke. Bradbury, Le Guin, Orwell, Niven. Gibbs, Wells, Card, Verne, and Vonnegut, all." Lex sighed. "He has a telescope, and knows all the stars and constellations by name, major and minor." He blinked open his eyes and looked down at Lane. "But I've never see him reread any of those books for pleasure, or look through that telescope up at the night sky and just dream, not once since I've known him."
Lex reached out and drew his fingers through Clark's soft hair, like a caress. "I think it was the meteor shower. I think it was the both of them. They ruined it for him. The meteor mutations, the deaths, all of it."
"What ruined it for you?"
"The strange visitors," he said with a twisted, painful smile. "For me... I used to read comic books, Warrior Angel, protector of the peace." He laughed, and it hurt, desperately bad inside, like something was tearing apart. "But in real life the heroes are never that good, and nothing is ever that black and white." He clenched his jaw against the pain, squeezed his eyes shut. "Everyone gets hurt, evil never suffers, and not one of the righteous ever, ever wins." The painful smile pushed its way across his face. "People are only saved to prolong their pain, and those who are used..." His hand twitched and he pulled it away from Clark's head, balled it up in a fist held against his chest. "...if they are truly unfortunate, they live to regret it."
"...Is that really what you believe?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But nothing ever seems to get any better. The more I look, the more the door swings shut. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the wrong side of the wall, and there are too many walls."
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