Chapter Text
The sky was a flat, leaden gray, and the wind was biting. It tugged at scarves and ruffled hair, the students around him were shivering and desperately pulling their jackets closed. The weather forecast, predicting only a mild breeze, had been quite spectacularly wrong.
Clark walked next to Chloe, rubbing their hands together to warm them whenever they had to wait at a red light. After 16 years of living, he had gotten very good at faking being cold, but he had never learned how to pretend to shiver. And no matter how cold it got, his hands never grew cold, he was like a walking space heater.
Mrs. Reynolds shepherded them along the sidewalk, wrapped in a bright orange scarf that functioned more like a blanket and had earned her quite a few envious looks from the students today. She was talking to Lana, turning back towards them every few minutes, counting them under her breath more out of habit than necessity.
The museum had been mind-numbingly boring, old bones and dusty exhibits that tried to look modern but contained too many dusty wax figures to manage it. Joking in the back with Chloe and Pete was the only thing that had made it bearable.
Clark leaned his shoulder into the wind and took a deep breath. While the pretending was exhausting, he had always preferred the colder temperatures. The only thing missing was the sun. Then this would have been his perfect weather. He could feel himself carving it.
They hurried along, the promise of lunch had turned the group of restless teenagers into a line of dutiful soldiers.
It was Clark's first trip out of state, and he had been counting down the days to it. It didn’t matter that the destination was merely Princeton or that most students hadn’t heard of the city before. Not even the fact that it had been sponsored and paid for by Luthor Corp had dampened his spirits.
Chloe had called it a “propaganda trip to turn the future workforce in favor of their evil overlords", but had been just as excited as the rest of the class.
Away from the predictable routine of the Kent farm, away from chores and curfews. He’d imagined the trip as a small adventure with interesting sights and a chance to have fun with his friends.
Sure, his dad had ranted about the Luthors, but he hadn’t forbidden Clark from going. The best part? It hadn’t cost his family a single penny.
So, when his dad had muttered about Lionel while making pancakes the morning of the trip, Clark had promised to keep an eye open. He’d meant it as a joke. By the time they rounded the corner toward the diner, he wondered whether his father had been right all along.
The itinerary was always the same. Stale continental breakfast at the hotel, a dull museum or art gallery, then lunch, followed by a guided tour of one of LutherCorp’s many buildings. The company was footing the bill, and they wanted their money’s worth. By the end of day two, Clark could practically recite Lionel Luthor’s favorite talking points in his sleep. They had watched the same video presentation every day till now, and probably would again later.
Clark wasn’t sure if he regretted going yet, but it was coming close.
Stepping inside, the diner was a time capsule filled with the scent of old grease and coffee. Checkerboard floor, red vinyl booths and a counter with swivel stools made up its interior, all covered under a layer of grime.
A few locals regarded the high school students with mild curiosity or outright ignored them. Mrs. Reynolds, meanwhile, had claimed the booth nearest the window for “supervision reasons,” and the rest of them claimed the remaining tables.
“This place can’t be worse than the last one,” Clark said, easing into a seat in the back of the room. The last place had been bad even for field-trip standards. “That one had me missing school lunch.”
“Bullshit,” Pete said, pushing the laminated menu across the table. “Everything is worse than school lunch.”
Chloe ignored them and studied the diner while shrugging off her coat. “This looks like a health-code violation waiting to happen,” she said.
Pete held up the menu to them. “Authentic food poisoning,” he said while pointing to the tag line ‘The last authentic diner in New Jersey‘. Clark laughed while he looked away.
Across the diner, Lana sat at another table, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she studied her menu. The girl next to her said something that made her laugh, and Clark’s stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. They hadn’t talked much since she’d gotten out of the hospital. He understood, he really did, but that didn’t stop him from missing her. He missed her smile, their late-night conversations, the way things used to be.
Now all he had was distance, and the knowledge that he was the one who had ruined it.
“Earth to Clark,” Chloe said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Her smile was strained. “Were you listening to anything I said?”
Clark grinned and said with absolute certainty: “You were talking about the Luthors.”
Pete chuckled, balancing a saltshaker on its side. “No kidding. That’s all she’s talked about since we left Smallville.”
Chloe gasped. “That is not true …” She caught herself, sighed, and slumped against the booth. “Okay, maybe it’s a little true. But that doesn’t change the fact that you two weren’t listening. Clark, you were mooning over Lana. Again. And Pete, put that down before you spill something.”
Pete held up his hands in mock surrender.
“What can I get you kids?” The waitress asked, dressed in a washed-out turquoise uniform and with her pen poised over a notepad.
“A burger with fries and a Coke, thank you,” Clark said.
“Same for me.”
“I’ll have the mac and cheese and a coffee,” Chloe said, snapping her menu shut.
Clark made a face, not able to hide his disgust. “Mac and cheese and coffee? Chloe, that should be illegal.”
“Spoken like someone with no taste,” she shot back, already fishing her notebook out from her bag.
“This is serious. The office we’re touring later, a lot of people think it’s a front. My contact says they do human studies under the table.”
“Please, tell me more about LutherCorp, haven’t heard about them enough to last me a lifetime,” Pete said, annoyed.
Chloe fixed him with a look that suggested he was beyond hope. “My source says some CIA bigwig is meeting Lionel there later today. You know what that means, guys?”
At their lack of response, Chloe groaned audibly. “This could be my big break. If I uncover something this big, the Daily Planet has to take me back!”
Clark shifted in his seat. “Chloe, don’t you think that’s dangerous? I mean, shady government deals are a bit above our pay grade and Lionel is already gunning for you. Maybe this time, you should lay low a bit.”
At Chloe’s outrage Clark continued. “And Lex said he will handle Lionel. There is nothing to worry about.”
Pete jumped in, siding with Clark. “Yeah, I hate to admit it, but Clark is right. It’s not worth the risk.”
Chloe leaned forward, gripping her pen tight. “Just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean it’s not important, heck, it just shows how much is at stake, Human experimentation guys! We have to stop this!”
Clark sighed, glancing at Pete, who gave him a silent don’t-push-her look.
He hated to admit it, but he agreed with her.
The waitress returned with their food.
Chloe went quiet until the woman was out of earshot, then continued with more urgency. “And another thing. The hospital in this town? World-renowned. They take on all these weird cases no one else can handle. And one of their biggest donors?” She looked at them as if waiting for a response before giving up. “LuthorCorp. Doesn’t that scream secret research project to you?”
Pete bit into his burger and shook his head. “Or, you know, it screams ‘hospital that’s good at its job.’”
“Which is exactly how you hide unethical stuff,” Chloe countered. “You build goodwill, and people stop asking questions.”
Pete and Chloe continued to argue. Clark let it wash over him as he turned to look over at Lana again. She was typing on her phone, a lazy smile on her face.
She looked happy. She deserved it after everything he had put her through.
Didn’t stop him from feeling horrible, though.
“You okay?” Chloe asked, following his line of sight. No matter what he did, he always seemed to find his way back to Lana.
Clark managed to put on a smile. “Yeah. Just cold. Food looks… well, present.”
“Present,” Chloe repeated, amused. She jabbed at her mac and cheese, clearly unconvinced it qualified as food.
Clark picked up a fry. Crispy, but bland.
It turned out that the food was worse than yesterday's. The bun was soggy, the meat stringy and the sauce oddly spicy. Clark usually didn’t mind spice, unlike most of the population of Smallville. But to be fair to them, he had once drunk a bottle of bleach without realizing it and the only thing it had done to him was a strange and stale taste in his mouth.
This, though, burned down his throat and made his tongue itch.
He looked over at Pete, who happily chowed down his burger, which was strange, considering Pete had the spice tolerance of a grandma.
Clark coughed, pushing his plate back. “How can you eat this? Even school chili makes you gag.”
Pete frowned. “What are you talking about? This is blander than toast.”
Clark tried to laugh, but he only started to cough again. His chest felt tight. His tongue started to feel numb. He reached for his glass and drank it down in one gulp, hoping it would help.
It didn’t. His throat tightened.
Chloe shoved her drink toward him, worry creasing her brow. “You okay?”
“I don’t —” He hacked mid-sentence, voice breaking. “I think I’m —” Another cough rattled him.
He stood up, but the room spun all around him. Chloe’s hand landed on his back, her voice anxious, but the words blurred together. Pain coiled in his stomach, radiating up his spine. His legs buckled.
He barely caught himself before hitting the floor.
“Mr. Kent?” Mrs. Reynolds rushed to his side. Her voice laced with panic.
“I’m fine,” he gasped, forcing himself upright. His lie was betrayed by another coughing fit and his fingers gripping the table hard enough to leave dents in the metal. His stomach felt like it was burning. Cooking him from the inside, the heat traveled upwards until he nearly doubled over again. He staggered forward, desperate for fresh air, for the cold to cool down his throat and stomach.
“Mr. Kent, sit down!” Mrs. Reynolds’ voice was getting shrill. “Please sit down!”
Lana appeared on his right, pressing a glass of water into his hands. He gulped it down, but the heat only got worse and another wave of cramps tore through his stomach.
He didn’t seem to be able to take a deep breath and each exhale seemed to burn him all the way down to his lungs. He tasted iron in his mouth.
Clark tried to take another step, but his head was filled with cotton, the world weirdly muted. He grabbed for the closest thing in his reach, the back of one of the booths, as he started to cough again. This one ripped all the way through him and when he pulled his other hand away from his face, it was sprinkled with blood. The bright red stood out against the sudden paleness of his palm.
A heavy silence settled over the diner. Someone shouted for an ambulance, while another wave of nausea hit Clark.
Mrs. Reynold screamed. “Somebody call 911! Please! Right now!”
He could feel Chloe holding onto his shoulder. At first, he was confused until he realized that she was steadying him. That he would have fallen over if not for her help.
Clark couldn’t remember when he had ever needed help like that.
The fire in his gut seemed to be spreading again and his throat was tight and painful. He couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs and what he got tasted wrong and metallic.
“Clark, breathe. Come on, Clark, breathe,” someone was saying close to him, but the words were thick like syrup.
Another cough. Warmer. More blood.
He tried to keep the panic from taking over. He tried to be calm, to think this through, but his heart wouldn’t stop racing, and he just didn’t seem to be able to breathe.
Someone yanked a chair out and shoved it under him.
The world was turning and he couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus.
The sound of sirens filled the air, barely breaking through the fog that seemed to permeate his head. His breath was becoming thinner, the sound loud even to his own ears,
Movement came over the diner. People rushed in. They moved with efficiency and orders were spoken in quick succession.
“Stay with me, Clark,” someone said.
Gloved hands were touching him and a bright light shone into his eyes, but he couldn’t focus on the person in front of him, or anything for that matter.
Clark felt himself being lifted up, someone complaining about his weight and then suddenly he was lying down on a stretcher. The sudden movement made his head spin even worse, and he felt like throwing up. They left the diner and the fresh air finally managed to help him breathe for a moment before he felt like choking again.
Outside, the stretcher lurched as they bumped the curb of the sidewalk. Once they got inside the ambulance, its doors slammed shut like his own metal coffin.
The paramedic’s voice was calm over the siren. “We’ve got a male, late teens. Syncope, hemoptysis, and dyspnea. Onset during meal. En route to Princeton General.”
There was a small, ridiculous thought that broke through the fog of his mind. He had left imprints behind on the table. He should have straightened them out. Dad was going to be so disappointed.
He was dimly aware of snatches of conversation “status”, “vitals”, “stable but trending down”, but could barely grasp them. His mind felt slow, like molasses and he couldn’t seem to hold onto a thought.
Someone was pressing an oxygen mask to his face. The coolness of the straps and the chilliness of the air were a small comfort.
Another coughing fit took hold of Clark, but this time his mouth flooded with blood, filling his mask and running down his face.
A new urgency took hold of the ambulance.
“I’m going to intubate him.”
There was a strange pressure and he could finally breathe again.
The paramedic murmured, “Keep breathing. Keep your eyes open if you can.”
Clark wanted to obey. He tried. Breathe in. Breathe out.
He closed his eyes because they felt cold and never in his whole life had they not been burning.
“Stay with us,” someone said, urgent now, and he was aware of hands all over him.
But the world blurred at the edges and Clark Kent lost consciousness.