Chapter Text
It was a dry, hot day when the stranger rode into town. It was always a dry, hot day in Smallville, really. The sun beat down relentlessly on anyone stupid enough to step outside without some sort of protection. Even the lizards hid in the shadows of cacti and dead trees to escape the oppressive heat of the Kansas plains. It was a dangerous game to go out in the sun with any lick of bare skin showing. You’d risk burns, heat stroke, and who knows what else. Most people proudly wore their wide-brimmed straw hats and tan bandannas, shielding themselves from the sun while making themselves easily identifiable as the small town cowboys they were.
On this particular day, Clark was sitting casually in a booth at the saloon as he listened to Jimmy Olsen tell a very animated story. One arm was slung over the back of the seat as a glass of cold whisky began to take the edge off of the long day.
“And then- and you wouldn’t believe it! My horse got shot out from under me for the third time! It was like nothin’ else, I tell ya!” Jimmy shouted and threw his hands up.
Clark laughed heartily at the tale, even though he knew it was probably full of lies. Although Jimmy did get into odd kinds of trouble quite often, he liked to stretch the truth a bit. Still, the ridiculous story made his heart feel lighter. Lies or not, Jimmy always knew how to entertain, and everyone loved that about him.
“Well, here’s to new horses!” Clark chuckled and raised his glass for a toast.
“Damn right! A never endin’ supply of ‘em!” Jimmy agreed and clinked his glass with Clark’s.
Over the loud chatter in the saloon, the sound of metal horseshoes landed heavily against the hard dirt ground. The two men immediately shared a look when they heard the sound. It wasn’t unusual for horses to ride through the streets at all, but on a Sunday at high noon? The cowboys were usually all hard at work, or smart enough to rest indoors.
The entire saloon began to quiet down as the hoofbeats steadily drew closer. People’s drinks froze mid-sip as they listened cautiously. Clearly, everyone found the sound just as odd as they did.
After giving one more look to Jimmy, Clark sat upright and tried to peek through the rickety wooden blinds next to their seats. The horse rode by them slowly, carrying a strange man dressed completely in midnight black from head to toe, with a long black cloth covering his head and face. If the man knew he was out of place, he didn’t show it. He just rode the dark horse steadily on the dirt road, slowly moving past the storefronts and offices with the ease of a man who had belonged there all this time.
Jimmy tried to squint out the windows as well, but nobody could see much more through the filthy, half-shuttered glass. No face, no name, just a dark shadow against the bright sun.
Then he passed by and he was gone.
Clark cleared his throat, adjusted the metal star pinned to his vest, and took a sip of his half-full glass of whisky. The other patrons glanced at Clark, taking the signal to continue their activities. As murmurs rose back into full conversations, he leaned back in his seat and surveyed the room.
“You going to deal with that?” Jimmy asked nervously.
Clark raised an eyebrow. “You are a deputy, you know. Just because I’m the sheriff don’t mean you can’t do any work.”
“Yeah, but…” Jimmy trailed off. His eyebrows tilted upwards in a worried expression that pulled at Clark’s heart.
He sighed and reluctantly gave in. Anyway, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little curious. “Yes, I’ll deal with it. After I finish my drink.” If there were outlaws showing up in his town at this hour, he needed all the liquid courage he could get.
When Clark finally sauntered out of the saloon an hour later, all the folks in town were on high alert for the new man. Word always traveled fast in small towns like this; there ain’t no such thing as keeping your mouth shut when all you’ve got is heat and dust to entertain yourself. Clark made his way to the sheriff's office and waved politely to the people watching him from their porches. Mothers clutched their daughters tightly, watching the street for any sign of this man who might hurt them.
“‘Afternoon, Missus Lane,” he called out to a woman standing in front of his office. He took a deep breath before forcing a smile. Sure, he was always happy to see her, but running into her on his doorstep always spelled trouble, and god knows he didn’t need any more of that today. “What can I do for you today?”
Ms. Lane huffed and looked at him crossly. “Don’t play dumb. Haven’t you heard?” she snapped, not bothering to explain any further.
“Yes, ma’am. I was going to deal with him presently.”
“Presently? He arrived here over an hour ago, kicking up dust in the street and everything on that devilish black horse of his. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you weren’t worried,” she accused. She crossed her arms and stared him down with dark beady eyes, ensuring that he knew there was no backing out of this conversation.
“I’m mighty worried, honest,” he tried to explain. “I was just talking to Deputy Olsen about finding this new man and having a nice chat with him. The stranger might not even be here anymore, Missus Lane, it looks like he was just riding through.”
“There’s no need to drag Jimmy into this. Everyone knows the man is here to stay,” she practically sneered.
Clark was surprised by her words. How on god’s green earth did everyone know that? He hadn’t seen any signs of the horse stopping its steady pace. It looked like Smallville was just another town he had to pass on whatever journey he was on.
“Well, how do you figure?” he asked, intending to show Ms. Lane how faulty her argument was.
Ms. Lane just rolled her eyes and pointed to the little white church down the road. And… oh. There was a familiar black horse tied to one of the posts outside. Clark sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. He felt a sudden headache coming on.
“So? Are you going to go?” Ms. Lane demanded. Clark winced at her tone and turned back to her reluctantly.
“I’ll go talk to him right now, Ms. Lane. This’ll get sorted now, don’t you worry,” he reassured her, although he could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced he could handle it properly. She only crossed her arms again and glared at him as if daring him to move.
He grumbled something under his breath and turned away from her to walk towards the Church of Santa Muerte. It wasn’t unusual for visitors to stay in the attic of the old building. It was cozy and mostly empty aside from the pews and altar, so Clark had taken to keeping a couple extra cots up there for those in need. The fact that the man had taken shelter there without even speaking to the sheriff annoyed him a little, but he did his best to approach the situation with an open mind. Surely, they would be able to have a nice discussion and get to know each other before Clark gave him the go-ahead to stay there.
As he came to the front steps of the church, the black horse whinnied at him and started to tug on its bit that was tied to the post. Oh, the poor beast must be so hot after being left out in the sun like this. Clark approached it slowly and calmly with open hands.
“Shh, shh,” he whispered to it as he reached his palm out. The horse immediately put its chin in Clark’s hand, nuzzling him slightly. He reached up his other hand to gently stroke its neck, calming the horse little by little. “Such a beauty,” he said with awe as he admired its color and stature. It was a strong, lean Andalusian steed with a gorgeous flowing mane. A wild look haunted its dark eyes that made Clark pause with unease. The horse just nudged against his hand forcefully, as if asking him to continue petting it.
“I have to go see your owner,” he murmured softly to the horse, stroking its mane one last time. “I’ll come back for you, beauty.”
The horse just snorted and stomped its front hoofs. Clark coughed at the dirt that rose in the air, gave one last apology, and turned back to his task at the church.
To Clark’s relief, he found the church to be completely empty. He wasn’t quite expecting the situation to get ugly, but in the event that it did, at least nobody would be caught in the crossfire. He adjusted the pistol at his hip as he sauntered through the pews and made his way to the staircase that led to the attic. Truthfully, Clark didn’t always like walking through this rickety place. The old, partially rotted wooden statues of various saints stared down on him, scrutinizing his every move. Ain’t no way he was making it to the world above if they looked at him so closely like that. As a younger man, it was a sight he found comforting, but now their wooden stares only made Clark want to get this over with faster.
He walked gingerly up the staircase and tried to avoid the creakiest parts of the stairs. A few unavoidable noisy steps later, he reached the doorway leading to the attic. He sighed quietly at the peeling yellow paint, mentally reminding himself it needed to be repainted at a later date. There were more important problems to focus on right now.
Clark pushed the door open a few inches and immediately froze. Seeing the stranger's bare face felt... wrong somehow, like he was staring into the sun. The black cloth was pulled down around his neck, revealing a sharp jawline and the slight, dark stubble that dotted his cheeks. The man sat on top of a steamer trunk and methodically rubbed shoe shiner into the leather of a cowboy boot, which he held delicately in his hands. And good lord, those rough hands, gliding along the leather so attentively. Clark’s mouth went dry at the sight of it all. Unfortunately, the door creaked loudly as he opened it further. The man in black looked up in alarm and Clark’s mind went blank. Pale blue eyes locked onto his own like a vice. For a moment, Clark thought he could see the entire Kansas sky reflected in those eyes.
Clark was swiftly broken out of his thoughts when the man started to reach for the shooting iron that laid next to him.
“Wait-” Clark interjected before he could move further, “I just want to talk. Don’t draw.” He opened the door further, allowing him a full view of his character.
The man in black just took one look at the star-shaped pin on his vest and calmly turned back to polishing his boots.
“Sheriff?” he asked gruffly, not looking up from his work. Clark was surprised to hear how Eastern the deep timbre of his voice sounded. Like, New York type of eastern. Smallville didn’t get Easterners very often, so it only made Clark all the more curious about why this man had suddenly arrived in his town.
“Yessir.” Clark tried to squash his curiosities before he said something stupid. “Sheriff Clark Kent of Smallville.”
“Sheriff Kent.”
“You can just call me Clark, partner. Most people here do.”
The man frowned at his boot. Clark could tell he disapproved, but he couldn’t guess why.
“Sheriff Kent,” the man repeated as if he hadn’t heard him at all, “Is there any problem with me staying here?”
“No, sir.” Clark was surprised by the question. Why would he assume there was a problem? “I only wanted-”
“Then you’d best be on your way, Sheriff,” he interrupted coldly. “No business for you here.”
The man didn’t even look up at Clark once and it was starting to get on his nerves. What was with this guy? So maybe he was a little bit of a loner, but that didn't mean he needed to shove everyone away so ungracefully. Clark just gritted his teeth and forced another smile. After all, there was no reason to get nasty just yet.
“Right. You have a good day, sir,” he replied. “I’ll either be in my office or in the saloon if you need anything.”
The man didn’t acknowledge his words at all, just continued to shine his boots as if the conversation had never happened.
Clark forced himself to take a deep breath and turned on his heel to leave. The steps creaked loudly as he made his way down the church steps, but he didn’t notice. He was too lost in thought about this mysterious man who had stopped for shelter in his town, yet seemed to have no care for the people living around him. Was this man someone to be feared? Or a vagrant who needed protection? Was he endangering his town by letting this man stay? Clark honestly had no idea and he found that the endless possibilities frightened him.
But those eyes… something about them had stopped the strong sheriff in his tracks. There was an unreadable emotion in them, one that consumed the man entirely. He had a feeling that those eyes had seen things Clark hoped he would never have to.
On his way out, he stopped to give the beautiful horse a small apple from his pocket. It was a snack he had been saving for his own mare, but he could always find another one. After saying one final goodbye, Clark made his way back to the saloon, still deep in thought from the strange encounter with the man in black.