Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clark Kent doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

His body is covered in a dull chill that makes his limbs feel heavy and cumbersome. The kryptonite makes his insides churn constantly, while the burning sensation on his skin makes him want to rip it off with his bare hands. His lungs can’t get enough air, he tires and tries to breathe yet each time he chokes against the nausea rising up his throat. 

But it all pales in comparison to the agony he felt when that bullet hit Mali’s skull. The sound is still echoing inside his head, reminding him of the way the blood splattered all over the glass of his cell, the way Mali’s heart sped up when he said he had no family, the way those two monsters laughed when their game ended too quickly.

Clark tries to imagine he’s with his Ma and Pa all the way back in Smallville. With the breeze running through his hair and the sun warming his skin. He tries to remember their hugs, their goodnight kisses, the smell of his Ma’s cooking, the rough scratch of his Pa’s beard and-and he misses Lois too and his friends and god he just wants to go home.

At this point it’s impossible to tell how much time has passed. There’s no sun or moon, and he’s too out of breath to ask Rex if he knows. All he can do now is wait until Luthor realized he wouldn’t find Clark Kent any time soon and decided to get another victim. He doesn’t know which he prefers, having his identity be discovered and risk his friends and family, or continue to watch everyone he’s ever interacted with as Superman be slaughtered in his face.

His eyes slip closed against his will as he falls into a restless slumber. Clark dreams of the golden fields he calls home being razed to the ground, of Louis and Jimmy being shot the same way Mali was. However, before his nightmares could startle him awake, two hands grip him around his biceps and start dragging him. He jumps in surprise, but whoever is manhandling him ignores it in favor of continuing their task.

His eyes blink quickly to try and get his vision to refocus. Clark feels his ribs protest as he’s thrown onto the ground of what he can only assume is the platform Luthor uses for transportation. The fog in his vision clears slowly, and he suddenly realizes the constant pain of the kryptonite has begun to dull significantly. He tries to stand up, to fly and get away. But all his efforts only earn him a kick in the gut. Even away from the kryptonite, his body is still too weak to move, forget about escaping. Opting for a new strategy, he forces his head to turn, looking around with a new found clearness. 

In the far distance, he spots what he hopes are portals that he could use to escape. On the platform there stood three Raptors, but a closer look let him  spot a few more of them lurking around in the air above them. The ones in front of him watched him closely, while the middle one held two pairs of what he guessed were manacles. It didn’t take a genius to guess for who they were meant for.

His musings were cut short once they began to approach a huge black gate. They opened automatically as they got closer, revealing a big open room. The first thing his eyes zeroed in on was a desk and chair at the end of the room, with no other than Lex Luthor sitting in it. Next, he spotted a glowing green pole resting against the desk, kryptonite. Lastly, he could see a small metal ring in the middle of the room, bolted down to the floor. The lights overhead made everything seem washed out, giving an almost stale look.

The business man stood up with their approach, showing a smile that promised nothing good. He spread his arms wide as if to present himself, watching the Raptors haul the metahuman into the room. “Today is a special day for both of us, Superman!”.

Clark tried to struggle against the hands trapping him, but every movement made his stomach lurch and sports dance around his vision. The men wasted no time grabbing his wrists and chaining him to the floor with the manacles and the ring. The metal was too tight around the sensitive skin, already working to bruise them. Distantly, he knew Luthor had begun talking again, but his mind was too busy thinking up ways to slip out of his shackles. He was about to see if he could find any keyholes, when a sudden burst of pain from his leg made him cry out in distress.

“Listen to me when I'm talking to you damn alien! You are below me, which means you’ll act like it.”

Looking down, he saw the pole of Kryptonite from earlier being pushed into his leg. With every word the pole dug deeper, making the skin around it burn in excruciating pain. Clark tried to crawl away, but his leg was pinned in place. He tried to say something, to protest against the other man’s words or to beg for mercy, he didn’t know. Instead, all that came out was another pitiful cry that slowly bled into a whimper. 

“Now that you’re listening Superman, i’ll once again tell you why you’re here. Since my team still hasn’t found your little friend Kent, I've decided to use this time to get answers from you myself with another more… ‘hands on technique’.”

“While I definitely enjoyed our time with Mali, that still ended a little too soon for me. So I assure you the time we spend here will be much longer and undoubtedly more painful.”

He wanted to scream at the other man’s words, tell him that nothing could be more agonizing than watching someone die because of him. Even so, he was too exhausted to do anything other than shudder and gasp in anguish. At last, the pressure on his calf disappeared. The small release from the kryptonite made him gulp down as much air as he could, wheezing like a man who’d almost drowned. He unturned his head upwards to look at Luthor’s face, unsurprised at the gleeful grin breaking his face in two.

There was nothing Lex enjoyed more than seeing someone so much stronger than him groveling at his feet, after all.

The kryptonian scrambled to make distance between himself and Lex, pitifully dragging himself across the floor. Each time he moved his limbs a bone deep ache left him puffing with the small amount of air his lungs managed to store. In truth, he knew there was no way out of this, not with his wrists bound the way they were and his body as frail as it was. Nonetheless, his instincts were still screaming at him to get away, to get to safety away from Luthor and his kryptonite.

He’d barely made it a few centimeters away, when his captor asked his first question. “I’ll ask you again Superman, who were the morons who raised you as a child?” No, no no nonono not this again. Without even realizing it he’s already started to shake his head. His mouth can barely form any words, the constant pain his body is in making him grit his teeth against anything that could come out. Anger has begun to pool in his gut, and he suddenly realizes that no matter what he does, the only person being hurt here is him.

There’s no Mali this time, no one who’ll pay for his mistakes or his secrets. So, ignoring the rational part of his brain that’s screaming at him, he gathers up as much saliva in his mouth as he can, and spits on Luthor’s shining black shoes that probably cost more than his whole apartment building.

There’s a beat of silence where Clark can only watch as the business man’s expression shifts from childlike mirth to one of utter fury. He watches in slow motion as the pole of solid kryptonite rams into his side with what feels like the force of a train. The response is immediate, pain blooms inside his ribs, tearing from him a loud yelp he didn’t even know he had the energy for.

Instead of stopping, the rod comes down on him over and over again. Soon enough the torment is moving to his chest, arms and legs, coloring him in bruises. His body curls in on itself in an attempt to protect him from the torture, his arms rising to cover his head. Every hit makes him cry out in pain, makes him tremble and flinch. The feeling of something wet trailing down his cheeks doesn’t even register against the hurt. 

Everything burns. Suddenly, he hears a distinct crack coming from his rib, and the world goes blinding white. Someone is screaming, but the sound is almost inhuman. Is that really him? His throat burns raw with the force of his wails and the volume of his screams eventually die down with weariness. The taste of copper fills his mouth, telling him he must’ve bitten his tongue at some point.

Finally, the blows stop coming, letting him hear the agitated huffs coming from above him. His eyes feel like they've been glued closed, but he forces them open. Luthor looms above him, holding the kryptonite rod in his hands, thankfully not in position to strike him. It’s obvious he’s also been worn down by the constant use of force. However, the thing that makes Clark’s blood chill is the manic grin covering his face along with the pure joy shining in his eyes. 

It’s obvious he’s enjoying this, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel grateful it's just him being tortured, instead of it being anyone else he cares about. His attention snaps to the sound of Luthor’s voice, making him tense in a way that just makes more tears leak past his cheeks. “Apparently whoever did raise you taught you no manners, so I'm being forced to pick up their slack.”

“Second question alien, who are you outside of that ridiculous suit?”

His thoughts feel like mush, barely processing the question directed at him. For a minute all he can do is catch his breath before he tries to speak. Clark opens his mouth to say no, to refuse the question once again. At first, all that comes is a small whine, until he finds his voice and delivers his answer all while looking at Luthor dead in his eyes. 

“No. No matter huff how-how many times you gasp hit me, I'll never, never tell you anything, Luthor.”The man in question rolled his eyes in annoyance, but the hero can’t shake the feeling he’s secretly happy at having an excuse to hurt him even more. 

“Fine then, and don’t say I didn’t give you a way out.”

Clark squeezes his eyes shut and curls into an even tighter ball on the floor. The sound of laughter reaches him, yet his focus is dragged away from it when the first blow abruptly lands against his head. Even with his hands covering him, they do almost nothing against the force of the kryptonite. Stars dance behind his eyelids, taunting him with their cheerful colors. Ringing fills his ears, blocking any thought that tries to form in his head. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head, and he can almost feel himself about to black out. But he should know Luthor would never let him rest until he’d had his fun.

The pole drags his hands arms away from his face with an embarrassingly little amount of force. It‘s pushed down right up against his cheek, chasing away any chance of falling unconscious. This close, he can see the disgusting glow of it even beneath his eyelids. It makes his head pound and his face feel like someone had just poured boiling water on it. His mouth goes wide open as if to scream, but all that comes out are small sobs and whimpers. Subconsciously, he’s begun to mouth small pleas, begging for a piece of kindness from someone who doesn’t have it.

The pressure against his face is relieved, only for another blow to be dealt across his face, twisting head to the other side from the force of the hit. Another crack echoes in his head, and a warm liquid splatters alongside the lower part of his face. The taste mixes with the old blood from when he’d bitten his tongue. Clark tries to make himself into a ball again, a sad attempt to bring comfort to himself rather than for protection.

However, a blow to his stomach makes him stop short in his movements. His breath is stolen from his gut, making him wheeze in pain and loss of breath. His breathing comes in short gasps that rattle inside his throat down to his lungs. Instead of moving to another spot, the rod keeps hitting him in the same place on his stomach. He chokes on his own blood, coughing and dry heaving on the floor. Red liquid pools on the floor beneath his mouth, framing his head in a gruesome mockery of a halo.

The lack of water has made him run out of tears, but he can’t stop the pathetic sobs and snivels that wreck his frame. In a fit of desperation, Clark forces himself to think about his loved ones again. Forces himself to imagine every hit to his stomach is a warm hug from his pa and ma, every smack to his legs is Krypto trying to play with him, and every strike against his face are butterfly kisses from Louis. He can almost believe it, if he shuts his eyes closed enough or blocks out the ringing in his ears with the city sounds of Metropolis.

Luthor asks him more questions, more excuses to hurt him even further. But the kryptonian is too far gone to even hear them. Deep in his mind and far away from the constant agony. The pain mixed together until he was just a solid form of plain misery. He doesn’t know when he passes out, but his last coherent thought was his desire to go home. After that, black encompasses his vision and he’s gone. The next time he wakes, he’s back in his cell, being startled awake by Rex.

Every inch of his body aches and throbs, protesting with every tiny breath he manages to take. He doesn’t know what does it, whether it’s the shock of seeing Superman in the aftermath of what can only be torture, or if the shock of seeing someone die in front of his eyes had finally given way to determination, but Rex promises to help him escape. The pseudo-sun the other metahuman creates makes his skin sing, alleviating some of the bone-deep ache that had consumed him whole.

In the end, he manages to save them all. Because his girlfriend is the most amazing woman on earth, she’d come for him. She helped save him, and now, on the floor in her arms finally outside of that prison, he can’t help but  cry. Only this time, it’s out of joy, out of relief at knowing they could both finally be safe. He kisses her, hugs her with the little strength he has left in his arms. When they leave, he knows he won’t have to imagine anything anymore, because he knows where he’s going now.

Home.

Chapter Text

Lois Lane was not a woman you wanted to cross, and right now? She’d never been angrier in her life.

That fucker Lex had taken Clark, the literal embodiment of kindness, (so much to the point it almost gave her cavities sometimes) and had put him through literal torture. When she’d seen Clark for the first time since he’d been taken, she almost wanted to believe it wasn’t him. He just looked so pained and hurt, it made her heart twist a little every time she stared at him for too long.

Now, said man was laying on his childhood bed, surrounded by memories of a simpler time. Lois had been a little shocked when she’d first seen everything. Because when you see someone do superhuman feats on a daily and fight against Kaijus every weekend, one tends to forget how human they truly are. Clark had been a child once, just like her, with too many posters on the walls and school trophies littering every corner.

His parents had brought some of his clothes and she’d helped change him out of the suit once he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t doubt that the image of Clark’s body turned into a gnarled mass of black and blue would stay in her mind for years to come. The only piece of comfort she had was Terrific’s confirmation that his injuries had already healed to the point he was no longer in critical danger. But all that meant was that any internal damage he had was gone, it said nothing about the sickly bruises covering him from head to toe, or the bandages that peeked under his clothes. Apparently he’d been exposed to so much kryptonite that the few seconds of yellow sun Rex had given him hadn't been nearly enough to heal him.

They were alone now, Clark’s parents had left only half an hour ago, leaving her a moment of privacy with her boyfriend. She should probably leave too, go find the perfect way to ruin Lex and never let him see the light of day again. Nevertheless, she stood vigil at her partner’s side, watching his chest rise and fall with every little breath. 

She was shocked out of her thoughts when the sound of a choked sob hit her ears. Her head snapped to the source, only to find Clark’s face scrunched up in fear. His hands gripped the bedsheets hard enough she could already hear the seams start to rip. “No, stop-stop please no I’m sorry”.

“Don’t hurt them, keep- me, I’m- I’m the one who-“

Panic filled her to bursting, Lois wasn’t good at comforting. She was sharp where Clark was soft, loud in her demands where he whispered words of kindness. But what else could she do? The roles were reversed this time, and Lois was no coward, especially when it was about those she loved.

“Clark, Clark wake up. I’m right here I promise, it’s just a dream.”

Her partner’s body trembled, whimpering at something only he could see. While his head shook in a gesture that could only be read as refusal. Her voice hadn’t reached him, so she tried shaking his arm and spoke louder.

“Please Clark, listen to me, it's Lois, you’re safe.”

In a sudden burst of movement, he sat upright and grabbed onto her arm hard enough it made her wince. His breathing was fast and uneven, hyperventilating, her mind unhelpfully supplied. He looked around in shock, disoriented. But then his wide eyes snapped to her, wide and so so afraid. For a minute they both just stared at each other in silence, until one of them broke it.

“... Lois?”

His voice cracked and trembled, yet, the hope in the single word was unmistakable. 

“Yeah, yeah it’s me I’m right here, you were having a nightmare and I just thought-”

Her statement was cut off by a loud broken sob and Clark’s heavy body falling against hers in utter relief. He grasped at her like she would fade away any second. Her arms quickly moved to wrap round him in a tight hug, rocking them both back and forth in her best attempt at comfort.

“Oh Lois, you were all about to die just like Mali, and I was useless. It was all my fault, I should’ve convinced him to keep hurting me but the pain was so much I just couldn’t take it. I didn’t want you to die, but he wouldn't listen to me anymore. I begged him to kill me, begged him not to hurt you I swear I did.”

Just what had that asshole done to him? 

Every word made her eyes go wider with shock. Her grip on him tightened, shielding him from the rest of the world as best she could. One of her hands brushed his hair softly, running her fingers through his curls and avoiding the wound on the back of his head. Meanwhile, the other formed circles onto his back, careful not to push too hard as to avoid the mass of bruises that rested there.

“Please forgive me Lois, please don’t go away. I don’t want you to die.”It was said so quietly and shamefully, it made something inside her crack painfully. 

“I’m not going to die, Clark, I promise.” She marked her words by putting their foreheads together, forcing him to look at her.

His eyes shone with tears that continued to fall, looking at her in wonder. They stayed like that until Clark’s breathing went even and his sobs were reduced to small sniffles. Lois leaned away from him, and instead moved both of her hands to hold her partner’s face. She watched as he leaned into her touch. The silence around them made his previous words echo in her mind. Now that he’d calmed down, she needed to ask.

“What happened to you? Before we found you, tell me what he did to you”.

She wanted to know what he’d gone through, wanted to know the reason for his pleas and his distress. She wanted to know so she could reassure him, could comfort him and make him feel safe. But she also wanted to know so she could make Lex suffer ten times over what he’d done to Clark.

The question made him hesitant, but he knew Lois wouldn't rest until she had an answer. His eyes gazed down in shame, unable to meet hers. He began to talk in what was almost a whisper, too drained to raise it any higher.

“After I turned myself in, they took me to a cell and forced Rex to create kryptonite so they could keep me from escaping. When Luthor came back he… he brought a man named Mali with him.” There he made a pause, closing his eyes and breathing in deep, before he continued.

“He was just a civilian who’d been nice to me one time, and they wanted to use him to interrogate me. He made it all into some sick game of roulette. But- but I couldn’t, I couldn’t…”

Clark’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Suddenly, Lois knew what he meant when he’d woken up from his nightmare, and her blood ran cold.

“He killed him, didn't he?”

The words made him flinch, and a few tears escaped his eyes again. Lois used her thumbs to wipe them away, watching him nod wordlessly. 

“Just before Luthor shot him, he told me he didn’t have a family, as if,- as if that made it okay for me to let him die.”

Her thoughts screeched to a halt at his last few words. He was blaming himself, because of course he was.

“You didn’t let him die Clark, you weren’t the one who pulled that trigger or the one who kidnapped him. Whether you answered or not, there was no way Luthor would’ve let him leave that place alive and run the risk of being exposed.”

The words came out more forceful than she meant, but how could she stay calm at the face of that thought? the thought that Clark could ever take a life? It was insane to even consider it. This was the man who took time out of his day to save cats from trees for crying out loud!

“But I-”

“Don’t even try to convince me you were the one who killed Mali, just please, tell me what happened next.”

The conversation was far from over, and it would no doubt take a while until Clark finally accepted the fact that there was no blood on his hands. Yet he was too worn out to protest any more, so he kept going.

“I don’t know how much time passed after that, but I was taken from my cell and brought to some sort of office. Luthor was there, with a rod of solid kryptonite.”

Fear seeped into his words, brought by a memory he was already desperate to forget. His next words came in an even lower voice, making her strain her ears just to listen.

“He said he was going to ask me some questions again. They chained me to the floor and- and he tortured me, over and over again until I thought I would die. A part of me wanted to beg, but I knew it was useless. I just wanted it to stop Lois, I wanted it to be over so badly.”

By the end, he’d broken into sobs again, crumbling into her arms. Lois was speechless, and more importantly, she was furious. Nobody deserved to go through what she’d just heard, especially not Clark. Blood would be spilled, of that she didn’t doubt. But anger wasn’t what her partner needed, not right now. 

She hugged him back gently, treating him like a piece of fragile porcelain that just wanted to break. But she wouldn’t let him, she’d keep him together the same way he did her. Build him up until his cracks gave way to shine. The truth was, Lois wasn’t used to seeing this side of Clark, the most vulnerable parts of him she’d only ever caught glimpses of. However, she hoped that now, she could help him bear the burden of lifting the whole world on his shoulders.

Carefully, she laid them both down on his bed, lifting the covers around them like a shield. Clark rested his head against her chest listening to the steady beat of her heart. His limbs were wrapped around her, and hers followed suit. Steadly, his wails died down to snivels, until he’d calmed down for the second time that night. Both of them laid there, offering comfort with soft touches and small kisses until their eyes dropped in tiredness.

“I’ll be here for you Clark, always.”
…

“Thank you, Lois.”