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He had heard a lot about Alexander Luthor Sr., the the big time business man who was going places, but it was at a Shell gas station that Clark first saw Lex's father. Except the big red "S" had gone out on the sign, leaving only the last four friendly letters.
As he waited for his own father to return from the convenience store, Clark observed the wealthy family in the Mercedes-Benz through the window of his dad's rusty pickup truck.
Lex Sr. brought the car to a stop just three parking spaces away and everyone stiffly climbed out. Lex's brother and sister wasted no time bolting for the store, no doubt in search of a bathroom, as Lex and his parents stood by the car and stretched their legs, looking tired and travel-worn, even in the dark of night. Neither spoke a word to each other, but a wave of tension rushed over Clark as they waited there. After a moment, Mr. Luthor wordlessly walked towards Lex and stood in front of him. His voice was a quiet, deep growl, but Clark had superb hearing and picked up most of what he was saying:
"... may not be your grandparents by blood, but you will show respect! Do you understand?"
"I did show respect. I just-"
Lex was cut off by a sharp smack to the face.
Clark flinched in shock.
"I said, 'Do you understand?'!"
Lex shrunk down a few inches and leaned backwards, bracing himself against the door of the car.
The business man wasn't particularly muscular looking, but his height was all the intimidation he needed as he loomed over his son. He didn't even look angry, it was his eery calmness that made him all the more terrifying.
Lex locked his head at an angle to the side, hiding his face behind dirty-blond locks. Not looking up. Not answering.
Clark felt his stomach twist as Lex Sr. drew his hand back more obviously this time.
Seven more times, he backhanded his son across the face, as well as anywhere else his blows happened to fall. They were rapid, loud, and visibly painful.
"Do you understand?" the older Luthor asked again, quietly, with a strangely relaxed expression in his rise to perfect posture.
Lex was crouched down in the parking lot, having dropped further down after each hit. He nodded slowly, to appease his father, but his father still didn't budge from his position above him.
Lillian lit a cigarette and acted completely oblivious of the two until the beating had stopped, then she suddenly spun around and pointed a long manicured finger at Lex.
"I have spent these last four years taking care of you as if you were my own! And this is how you repay me?" She shook her head and raised her cigarette back to her lips, looking so overwhelmed she was practically in tears. "You embarrassed me in front of my entire family!"
Seeing Lilian distressed relit the fire in her husband and Lex received another three smacks over his head. Then the older Luthor grabbed his sons chin and pulled him up, face to face.
"We will discuss this further when we get home," he whispered in a dark tone, then released him roughly and backed away. "Get in the car, now. I don't even want to look at you."
The boy was back in the car without another word, as his parents continued on about whatever had happened at Lex's step-grandparents' house, but Clark was no longer listening. All he could hear was his own rapid heartbeat in his ears.
He should have gotten out. Should have stopped it. Should have done something! But even now, the shock was overwhelming. He felt afraid, powerless, and confused.
BAM!
His heart skipped a beat as he jerked upright when the car door banged shut beside him. He spun wide eyes towards his father, who sat beside him in the drivers seat, counting his change and looking over the receipt.
"Well, that about adds up..." Jonathan Kent mumbled partially to himself and partially to Clark. He put his wallet back in his pocket and turned the key in the ignition. "So, I was talking to Dave in there about our problems with the tractor, and he doesn't think it needs a new engine. He said he could look at it this weekend and see if the problem is what he thinks it is, and if it is, he'll fix it for us at a better price then any garage in town."
"Oh...that's... good..." Clark eased back into his seat, so lost in thought he barely heard his fathers words. All he could think about was Luthor's menacing threat. All he could hear was the harsh smacks, echoing around in his head. As they pulled out of the gas station, Clark caught a glimpse of Lex in the car, hunched forward with his head resting on his hands and his heart ached for him.
Never had he seen anything like that before and the coldness of it stunned him. He'd heard about it a few times, in books or the news, but the issue had never been thrown right before his eyes like that. How could anyone hit their own son? What could he have done that was so terrible that he deserved to be afraid and in pain? Did this sort of thing happen often? The idea that Lex got hit regularly caused his stomach to turn somersaults.
When had he started shaking? Did he usually sweat in sixty-five degree weather? But then why did he feel so cold? His throat started to contract and his mouth filled with saliva.
"Dad, pull over!"
"What's wrong?" Jonathan asked as he quickly pulled off to the side of the road.
Clark didn't have time to answer. He sprang out of the truck and puked the second his feet touched the ground, unsuccessfully trying to avoid his sneakers.
"Clark-" Jonathan was behind him in an instant, his voice laced with concern.
After regurgitating his entire dinner, the gagging finally stopped and Clark was able to catch his breath.
"What happened? Are you alright?" He reached into the glove compartment for some napkins and handing them to Clark as he rested a hand comfortingly on his back.
"I'm okay..." He huffed, feeling his knees wobble weakly as he wiped his mouth.
"Are you sick?"
Clark nodded. He felt sick, though not in the way his father was thinking.
"Well, if you're done, we can get you home. Your mother will know just what to do."
Clark nodded again, soaking up the mess from his breathable sneakers as best he could.
He got back into the truck, rolled down the window and focused on steadying his breathing the whole way home.
His mind kept racing. He felt like he had to say something, but he couldn't find the words. What was he supposed to do now?