Chapter Text
One night. All Clark wanted was one night where the skies didn’t part and an extra-terrestrial being with something to prove didn’t challenge him and the Justice Gang to an epic world-ending battle in order to see who was the rightful ruler of the universe.
Well, to be fair he had many nights like that. What he really wanted was to be able to solve all his problems with talking and reason, something that he was still determined had to work at least once.
Clark dodged some flying debris heading straight for his head, blasting it as it whizzed behind him into harmless dust so it wouldn’t hit Hawkgirl.
“Nobody is the ruler! We have leaders to guide but—” a deafening screech rattled his bones, making him grimace, “—but we all have agency!”
“It is within my agency to take yours away!” It yelled, more telepathically than anything as Clark heard it within his mind’s eye.
He sighed. Guess he doesn’t have a choice.
Aiming for where he estimated a limb was (it’s body changed and shifted into a different, seemingly random form every second) he used his laser vision to tear through it. Thick, gritty ichor stuck to him like tar as he struggled to fly through it, the substance sticking to his face. There was an ache in his shoulder where he dislocated and popped it back in place which he knew would be gone within the minute, but it was quite annoying. It was at times like this he wished it was daytime so he could at least heal from the sun as he was fighting. Then again, he was glad it was night as there weren't many people out.
Silver lining, he reminded himself, just like Pa used to say.
“Guy! A little help here?” Clark yelled out, trying to reorient himself.
He heard an affirmative, “Yup!” as the sound of one of his constructs narrowly missing him whistled past him.
Finally getting the goo off, Clark turned to see what happened. He nodded at Guy in thanks as he swept down to the fallen alien who was currently being held down by a giant hammer on a helipad.
“I think we should keep a distance,” Guy said as Clark started towards it, “it’s… glowing.”
There, in its chest, there was an ambient pulse of green light. “Good idea, Guy,” Clark agreed, landing about six feet away.
It wasn’t far enough.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the light seemed to reach for Clark, tearing through the air to get to him and engulfing him in green. Outside of the alien, he could see that it was the same neon green as kryptonite, and he realised too late that the alien’s body was most likely dampening its effects.
Nausea hit him in paralysing waves, wracking his body as every bone and fibre seemed to be ripped apart by the radiation.
He was dimly aware of Guy and Hawkgirl yelling out for him as he tried to catch himself as he fell.
His lungs burned and felt as if they were on the brink of being eroded. Moving his mouth was as if sandpaper replaced his lips, grating with each minute shift. With his last strained breath, he gave a warning. “Stay… back…”
And succumbed to the pain.
***
The first thing Clark noticed was the fact that he was lying face down, nose pressed uncomfortably into the dirt. The second thing was that for once the ground was definitely made of dirt and not offensively cold—not that he could feel pain from the cold, per se, but there was no tingling that accompanied the feeling of snow, so at least he knew that he didn’t panic-fly back to Antarctica. He hoped that that would be something that Kara would be proud about, in her own way.
He struggled to get his arms under him, which was strange because he was sure his healing factor should have kicked in by now. He mustered up the strength he had to turn his head to the side, trying to feel the sun's rays on his face.
Cloudy. Heavy storm clouds weaved lazily in the sky, threatening to burst.
Aw, man.
“Clark?”
Oh. Oh that’s not good.
He’s in his Superman suit right now. The only people that know who he really is have gotten into the habit of calling him Superman while the suit is on, so this has to be someone who only recently found out. That, or there’s no one around, and it’s just Lois checking up on him.
“Clark, are you alright?” A decidedly male voice said, steadily getting closer.
Okay, so, definitely not Lois.
“Yeah, I’m—” a cough rattled out just as he got his arms properly under him, “I’m good—don’t mind me, I’m just gonna—” he cut himself off, planning to fly somewhere private to heal and assess the situation. He got about two inches off the ground before dropping back down harshly, painfully notifying him that he absolutely broke a couple of ribs.
A beat of silence passed, punctuated only by Clark’s wheezes as he weakly got himself on his side. He still couldn’t see the man, so he must be behind him. Not an ideal situation, obviously, but he could probably ask politely for the man’s secrecy.
“Did—did you just fly?”
Clark froze, his brow furrowing. “I mean, yes? I’m Superman. It's kinda my thing—or at least, one of my things,” he muttered.
Hands reached his side, hovering over his body before they firmly placed themselves on his bicep. They were large and lithe, and he found out the man was quite surprisingly strong as he manoeuvred Clark onto his back.
And Clark found himself staring into the face of Lex Luthor.
Well, a man who looked jarringly similar to Lex, at least.
He had pale, maybe translucent skin, although that could have just been the angle of the light. His head was void of hair, including his eyebrows. Strangely enough, he did have a dusting of eyelashes. Clark wanted to reach out and touch, just to see if they were real, but the pain in his shoulder promptly stopped him.
Besides it all, the thing that struck Clark the most was his eyes. He was used to the color, the striking blue they usually were, but within their depths it usually contained hate and the deepest contempt, the agony of perceiving himself as lesser than Clark while trying desperately to convince himself the exact opposite. Vitriol and bitterness became commonplace.
Instead, there was confusion, maybe wariness, but under it all a true softness that Clark was sure the other Lex didn’t possess.
The man’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “You’re not Clark, are you?”
Clark huffed out a small, breathless chuckle, “I think I am,” he said, then immediately regretted it. He was just given an out.
Quick, backtrack!
“But—I did hit my head pretty hard, so I could be anyone, really,” he stammered, finally regaining enough strength to struggle into a sitting position with the man’s help.
He hummed lowly, unconvinced, as his head tilted and he considered Clark. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Clark squinted. “Four.”
“Your pupils aren’t different sizes…” he looked around Clark, “and I don’t think you threw up.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“My name’s Lex Luthor. I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” Clark felt his stomach drop. This can’t be happening. “Just making sure you don’t have a concussion. Which means you most likely do know who you are.”
“Uh—I don’t—”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I just watched a green storm cloud throw you into a cornfield in Smallville about ten minutes from where I live, so I think I deserve some answers.”
“Oh, that? That’s just—” a look in Lex’s eyes made him pause. It looked irritated, and above all tired. For some reason, it pulled the truth out of him.
“I don’t think I’m from here.”
Lex snorted. “Yeah, I gathered that.”
“No, like, here, here. This universe.”
The rays that were filtering through the dark storm clouds have been healing Clark all the while, albeit very slowly. It was just enough to let him stand, with a lot of support from Lex Luthor.
God. Lex Luthor. This can’t be right.
“Are you alright?” Lex asked, and the sincerity of it made Clark burst into laughter.
Lex grimaced. “Okay. Maybe we shouldn’t rule out concussion.”
“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just,” he couldn’t stop giggling, no matter how much it hurt. “You hate me.”
Lex stared at him, jaw set stubbornly. “No I don’t. I just met you.”
Clark shook his head, turning his giggling down to a small smile. “Do you have somewhere I can lie down?”
Lex looked like he had something he wanted to say, maybe even a million somethings, but he visibly tamped down the urge and instead gestured to his car—brights on and door still opened—with his chin. “I’ll drive.”