Fic for tallihensia (part one)
For: tallihensia
From: to be announced
Type: Fic
Request: the boys out in the snow, fire-side cuddling with hot chocolate (after rescuing) Rating: PG
Title: And the Mome Lex Outgrabe, or Baby It's Cold Outside
Warnings: underage romance
Summary:Clark visits Centennial Park in Metropolis with his family and his friend Chloe to see the winter lights, and while there he meets a young man in need.
Gifter's Notes: This is an AU set roughly in what would be season one. Changes should become apparent as we dance along.
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wave~”
The winter wind was crisp and unforgiving as it whipped through the trees of Centennial Park. Clark and Chloe walked along, side by side, taking in the sights before them while his parents were on the other side of the park being mushy. Clark had never been to Metropolis during the winter before, so his parents had offered to bring him to see the moment the lights were put up at the end of November. The lights bedecked the trees and fences in a sparkling blue and white. With a layer of snow all over everything, it was clean and pristine and shiny. All lit up and glowy. Clark felt like he’d stepped onto another planet.
“All mimsy were the borogroves~”
Clark turned his head slightly and frowned at the singing pile of laundry that leaned against the back wall of the building that housed the public background.
“And the mome raths outgrabe!” the bundled form cried.
Clark jumped backward in surprise.
“Don’t stare, Clark,” Chloe told him in a hushed voice, grabbing his arm. “What if he has a knife?”
“Is that a person? Why he’s singing?” Clark whispered back.
As they drew closer, the bundle sang again, “One, two! One, two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!”
“That is less important than the question, why are we not moving away from the crazy homeless guy in the park? You’re not from here, Clark. Time to move on.”
Clark let go of her arm and walked closer to the bundled up man. Beneath his feet, the snow crunched. No one had come this way since it had snowed today. There were no footsteps surrounding the back of the building, only the front. No one had tried to help this little guy at all.
“Hey. What’s a mome rath?”
The pile of worn clothing looked up. Two startlingly clear gray eyes peered out from beneath a low pulled black knit hat.
The voice that emerged was a dry slur. “Depends.”
“On what?” Clark couldn’t even see the man’s mouth.
“On... on how... lost in the Tulgey Wood you happen to be.”
“And if I can hear your vorpal blade go snicker-snack?” Clark asked. He wasn’t yet sure if this man was joking or not. Or if he was drunk, because he sounded a little out of it.
“Then you may well be beyond hope.”
Clark bent down to the where the man was huddled. He must be cold. Now that Clark was closer, those clothes didn’t look very thick, and he could tell the guy was shaking a little. He peeled off his winter coat and handed it to the man. “Here. Something to help protect you from the mighty Jabberwock.”
With a flicker of amusement in his eye, the man replied, “You’ll get cold, boy. Keep your coat.”
“I don’t get cold,” Clark told the man. It was true. He didn’t.
With what seemed to be a reluctance, a pride from a man who should have been used to handouts, he reached for the coat. Clark waited for him to don it before rising. The man seemed even smaller wrapped up in Clark’s big blue coat.
“Are you gonna be okay here?” Clark asked.
“Clark!” Jonathan called loudly. Within a moment he was storming over, and the young man curled over into a ball and stared at the snow. Jonathan repeated, “Clark. C’mon. You’re worrying your mother.”
“But I just wanted to-”
“He’s got a coat. Come on.” Jonathan gave a dark look to the tightly wrapped bundle before them.
“Galumph back home,” the man muffled through his scarf. “I’m too far lost in the Tulgey Wood for anyone to pull me out now.”
Clark frowned unhappily and turned to his mother, looking plaintive. Martha shook her head and reached for Clark’s hand. The pressure to go with his family was intense, even though it was cold out there and would only get colder. Clark pouted and looked back at the small, bent figure.
As he started to walk away, Chloe flitted over and dropped some money near the man. She scampered back next to Clark and rubbed his arms so he wouldn’t freeze. But Clark wasn’t worried about himself freezing. Not at all.
***
Clark was supposed to be in bed when he zipped back over to Metropolis that night. He knew his parents would be upset that he’d snuck out, but they had always tried to teach him that charity was a good thing, and you should give of yourself whatever you could to those less fortunate. When he appeared outside the public restrooms, he couldn’t see anyone around. The man wasn’t against the wall anymore. The winter lights were still on, but it had started to snow again. His eyes scanned over the fresh, fluffy snow more closely, looking for some indication of where the little guy had gone.
Softly, Clark sang what the man had been singing that morning: “And the mome wraths... outgrabe...”
Then he spotted a few footsteps trailing from the back wall of the restrooms around to the entrance. They were partially filled with snow already, so he was lucky he’d come now. Soon the trail would have disappeared.
“Hey! I’ve got a blanket! And um, stuff.” Clark peered into the entrance. There was an open area inside the building, probably meant to be a waiting area for people in the bathroom. He had to look around twice before he recognized the bundle huddled in the corner. Too still.
Clark rushed over to the man and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
“Ah!” The man startled, jerking back against the wall.
“It’s just me. I wanted to bring you something. It’s too cold out here at night,” Clark tried to explain.
The grey eyes seemed to clear as he recognized Clark’s face. He pulled his scarf down just enough so that Clark could see his mouth and chin. Clark looked over the man’s features with wide eyes. He was a lot younger than Clark had expected. No five o’clock shadow. No age lines. Just two purplish smudges beneath the eyes of a long, thin face.
“You shouldn’t be here. Leave me alone.”
“I... I brought you some hot soup. Chicken soup. My mom made it. And...” Gosh, he looked young! Too young to be out here curled up like he was used up by life and done with the world. Clark reached over and tucked the blanket around him more securely. “You’ll like it. When was the last time you ate?”
His thin, rosy lips bowed in displeasure. “You shouldn’t be around me.”
Clark ignored him and unscrewed the top of the thermos to pour the soup in. “Just try it.”
He pressed the top into the young man’s hand. Their eyes met for a moment, and then the man gave in and began to sip it.
“This is good,” he proclaimed after downing most of the broth.
Clark poured him some more. “What do I call you?”
“You can call me-” He blew on the soup. “-Cheshire cat.”
“But you’re not a cat,” Clark argued quietly. This guy wasn’t nearly as crazy as he pretended to be. And if he was, it was a wonderful kind of crazy.
“I’m more like a stray than not, I think. Here you are bringing me food. Are you hoping I’ll purr for you?”
“I’m just kind of hoping you don’t freeze to death out here.” Clark knew he’d broken the rules of their easy rapport by talking openly about mortality, but he really was worried about this little guy more than ever now that he saw how young he was. He looked like he could still be in high school, maybe, since he didn’t have any whiskers.
“You don’t get cold. I doubt I could die, even if I wanted to. You and I are both very strange,” Cheshire said in a monotone. He finished the soup and wiped the corners of his mouth almost daintily. “But I appreciate the meal.”
“No problem.” Clark set the thermos next to his friend. It was still half full, and the little guy could eat on it later.
“Feels nice to be warm. You’re warm.” Cheshire moved closer to Clark and laid his head on Clark’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on Clark’s all the while. “I told you I was a cat.”
“Do your parents know where you are?” Clark asked with concern lacing his voice.
“Mm. My parents are gone.”
“Gone? Oh.” Clark’s head hung slightly. “I was adopted. I’m not sure what happened to my bio parents.”
“But those people with you, they were your family, yes?”
“Yeah. Well, my parents, who adopted me, and my friend, Chloe.”
“They seem nice.”
“They wanted to leave you,” Clark said sulkily.
“I’m sure most decent parents don’t want their kids around creepy homeless people in the park. And your friend gave me a twenty.”
“You’re not creepy.”
“I cultivate creepy. It keeps people away.”
“But why?” Clark watched Cheshire’s long face relaxing.
“It’s just the way it is.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have any place to go,” Clark whispered. His fingers touched the cold, smooth cheek. “You should come home with me.”
Cheshire’s eyes dropped. “I can’t do that.”
“But why-?”
“I don’t... I can’t. Please don’t ask.”
Clark wrapped his arm around Cheshire and rubbed him a little. The guy looked like he could really use some sleep, and since the cold didn’t bother Clark, he could stay with him through the night and make sure he was safe.
“You asleep?” Clark asked softly. He was tempted to sneak Cheshire home and hide him in his bedroom the moment Cheshire’s eyes closed.
“Hm. So what do I call you?”
Clark frowned, since he was pretty sure Cheshire should have heard his name earlier in the day. “Call me Clark.”
“Clark,” Cheshire repeated in a warmer tone.
“So what’s a mome wrath?”
“The interpretation is a little fuzzy, depending on whether you believe in the egg man or the author. Mome could mean ‘from home,’ like you’re lost, or you lost your home. Or it could mean, ‘solemn’ or ‘grave.’” His voice grew weaker as he spoke.
“And what’s outgrabe?” Clark prodded.
“It’s a verb, more or less. It’s something between bellowing and whistling. Like moaning. Like dying.” Cheshire shook his head. “Unn.”
“Like your singing. What is it?” Clark looked down again and touched the bottom of Cheshire’s chin.
“Headache. Won’t go away.”
To his alarm, Clark spotted a trickle of blood coming out of Cheshire’s nose. “You’re bleeding!”
Cheshire made another noise and pulled his scarf up to his nose.
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“Can’t, Cl... Clark? Is that your name? I can’t go to the hospital.” Cheshire dabbed his nose and looked at the blood on his scarf wearily. “Can’t ever. Can’t ever, Clark”
Clark squeezed Cheshire closer to him and tried to press back his worry that instead of helping a homeless man, he was sitting with him during his last moments before death. He periodically tried to ask Cheshire questions, but he didn’t seem as capable of answering them anymore, so Clark was relieved when Cheshire finally drifted into sleep.
***
“Son? Son!”
Clark woke with a wide yawn as he felt the tapping on his shoulder and snuggled into his warm blanket a little.
“I don’t know where you boys can go, but you can’t stay here. Try the shelter on 36th Avenue.”
Clark jerked his head up and looked around. He felt his heart start pounding when he realized that it was morning already. His first action was to check Cheshire’s pulse, then his nose to see if it was bleeding again. That done, he looked up at the police officer poking them.
“Sorry,” he murmured before giving Cheshire a shake.
“Wha?” Cheshire opened his eyes, then put his hand to his head. When he spotted the policeman, he pulled his scarf up and his hat down and inched away.
“It’s okay, Ches,” Clark told him in a calm tone. “We just need to go.”
“Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch,” Cheshire murmured, shrinking away from the policeman and refusing to look in his direction.
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” the policeman replied. “For now, you need to get on your feet and out of here, or we’ll have to bring you in. New city ordinances require us to keep the park clear of vagrants and panhandlers.”
“He hasn’t asked for anything,” Clark said irritably as he tried to pull Cheshire up. Cheshire leaned heavily on Clark, and for a moment his legs seemed to turn to jelly. Clark caught him and held him fast. “It’s okay. Just one step after the other.”
Cheshire groaned and pressed his head against Clark’s shoulder. Somehow, Clark guessed that his friend’s head was hurting again, and there was more damage than he’d first suspected. For now, though, he was going to get Cheshire away from the cops.
“I’ve got you,” Clark whispered to Cheshire as they wobbled along, out of the public bathroom and along the pathway that led past the colorfully lit trees. It was just barely dawn, and if he didn’t get back home soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. But he couldn’t leave Cheshire there, not now, not alone, and he couldn’t really bring him home, either. Not after the way his parents had shooed him off the day before.
They just didn’t understand that there was something special about Cheshire. He was just hurt, that was all. If Clark could make him better again, then other people would see it too.
“Can’t... I need to...” Cheshire looked up suddenly, his eyes wild and wet, and stumbled back from Clark, who let go of him only out of surprise at the sudden movement.
“Wait!” Clark cried, grabbing again for Cheshire’s hand.
“No, no.” Cheshire fell into the snow and stared up at Clark dumbfounded.
“Just let me help you up,” Clark insisted. “I-”
“Who are you?” Cheshire demanded, struggling backward on his own. The thermos had fallen to the ground, and the rest of the soup spilled onto the clean snow.
“Who...?” Clark tented his brows and licked his lips. “Cheshire, we met yesterday, remember? I brought soup.”
The lack of recognition in Cheshire’s eyes hurt. It sliced straight into Clark’s heart. How could their time together the previous night have just been erased? After a moment of looking into Cheshire’s frightened face, Clark realized that Cheshire forgetting who he was felt less painful than it was scary. It was easier to see the young man as injured, rather than as mentally unbalanced. Clark didn’t really want to believe that. It couldn’t be true, could it?
He crouched down beside Cheshire slowly and said in a slow, quiet voice. “Hello. I’m Clark. I just want to get you out of the snow, okay?”
The distrustful gray eyes narrowed then flickered back and forth a little, taking in Clark’s face, then his clothing and build. “Do you work for my father?”
“No, Cheshire. I’ve never even met your father.”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Cheshire’?”
Clark felt his eyes sting. “I don’t know your name. I have to call you something, don’t I?”
“I suppose.”
Clark extended his hand, slowly, and kept his eyes on his forgetful friend as he did so. For a long moment, he just kept it there, suspended and waiting, almost as if he expected his Cheshire cat to sniff it before letting himself be petted.
When Cheshire took the hand, Clark felt a wash of relief. He helped Cheshire to his feet once again.
“We need someplace warm, and dry, too,” Clark continued in as calm a voice as he could muster.
Cheshire looked around the park in clear confusion. “How did I get to Centennial Park? How did you find me? Are you with the hospital?”
“No. I found you when you were singing by the building back there.” Clark pointed with his free hand.
“I was singing? That sounds unpleasant.”
A smile tickled Clark’s lips. That sounded more like his friend from the night before. “You’re not a bad singer. I thought it was pretty good, for acappella.”
The two of them walked together in silence, past the trees, past a few morning joggers of questionable sanity to willingly be out in this cold. Under other circumstances, Clark would have enjoyed an early morning walk in the park with a friend. At the moment, his heart was pounding too fast, and his mind was too cluttered with worry for this foundless stray that had fallen into his life.
***
Clark slipped into the kitchen silently, looked around swiftly, then zipped upstairs to change quickly before his parents saw him in yesterday’s clothes. A moment later, he came jogging down with his backpack over his shoulder.
“Mornin’,” Martha said cheerfully, walking in the front door.
“Morning, Mom. No time for breakfast. I have to get to school. Promised Chloe help with The Torch.” Clark bounded past her in a rush.
“Running off again so soon? You can’t have been home for five minutes,” she remarked casually. Clark turned with an obvious look of surprise on his face. Martha chuckled. “Where were you last night?”
“Um.” Clark blinked. “Nowhere?”
“Your father wouldn’t be satisfied with ‘nowhere.’” Martha set down the bag of flour she’d brought in and looked at Clark expectantly. “You didn’t just pop out of existence for a few hours.”
“I was, um. Out looking at the stars,” Clark lied. He bit his lip, surely looking like a complete idiot.
“Sweetheart, try not to stay out all night. We expect you to stay awake in school.” Martha sighed and brushed her hands on her pants. “You should get going. You’ll be late for the bus,” she instructed, before turning for the kitchen. “And your father will want you to do your chores when you get home.”
It felt like a bungie cord in his chest had just snapped, and he could breathe again. Clark nodded, although she was no longer looking, and hurried out the door before he had to deal with whatever his father had to say.
***
After spending most of the day worrying about his friend, Clark sped home faster than he’d ever gone before, and completed his chores with a record even for himself. He’d left Cheshire that morning in an alley by a pipe that was giving off heat, but Clark was still worried about him and wanted to get back to him before it was dark.
“Not so fast!” Jonathan yelled, as Clark blurred upstairs to get some warmer clothes for Cheshire.
Clark reappeared and stood in front of his father. “You want me to go slow?”
“I want you to walk around this place like a civilized person, and not ignore your parents when they’re talking to you,” Jonathan told him sternly. “What’s got you so geared up?”
“Um, I missed my chores this morning. I wanted to help.” Both brows went up sheepishly as he pushed his lips out.
“Well, you can help me by getting this fence repaired before supper,” Jonathan replied. “C’mon.”
“But I uh...” Clark looked back up the stairs. He hoped the blanket Cheshire had would be enough, and he followed his father back outside.
Several hours later, after he’d followed his father from one chore to another, then indulged his mother in sitting down for a rather restless dinner, he sped to Metropolis with a care package in hand.
Just before entering the alley, Clark slowed down and combed a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to scare Cheshire again. He wouldn’t let Clark help him, if he was scared. It was hard enough getting him to come with him anyway.
“Ches?” Clark called softly. He frowned at the empty alley. Was it too much to ask for him to stay put? He walked further in, scanning the area for signs of movement. Just as he was beginning to worry that Cheshire had moved on, he saw a flicker of motion by the dumpster.
“Hey! I brought you dinner, and... Do you remember me?” Clark tilted his head slightly and watched as Cheshire abandoned the dumpster and came closer into view.
“I know you, don’t I? Who are you?”
The forgetfulness this time didn’t bother Clark as much, even if it made him sad for Cheshire.
“I’m Clark.” Clark held his ground, not wanting to intimidate the little guy. “I brought some food. And some clothes. Are you hungry?”
Cheshire touched the side of his head and swayed weakly. “Why can’t I...? I know I’ve met you before. Haven’t I?”
“Yes. This morning. And yesterday,” Clark answered gently. The resulting expression on Cheshire’s face was heartbreaking. Unlike this morning, he seemed to actually believe Clark that they’d met before. Clark wondered if this would be the same every time he and Cheshire talked, forever introducing himself. Endless first meetings. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“I think I’m broken. He broke me,” Cheshire murmured. The tips of his fingers pressed against his temple.
Clark took the moment of distraction and approached Cheshire. After setting down his little care package, he touched Cheshire’s hand.
“What? No. I...”
“Shhh.” Clark moved Cheshire’s hand away so he could look. His eyes bulged in startlement when he saw the burned flesh on the side of Cheshire’s head. Red, angry, glaring, and perfectly circular, once the hat was out of the way, the mark was completely obvious. “What happened to you?”
A better question might have been, who did this to you? But Clark wouldn’t press his luck, and Cheshire was shaking his head already.
“I can’t remember,” Cheshire replied apologetically. Clark turned Cheshire’s head a little to see a twin burn on the other side of his head. He swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the tightness of his throat. Someone had hurt Cheshire. Someone had deliberately hurt him, and now he was out on the street singing to people to get them to keep away from him.
Warm fingers slipped under the hem of Cheshire’s knit hat and pushed it back so that Clark could see if there was any further damage.
“Oh!”
Cheshire’s head was as bald and smooth as an egg. Clark’s fingertips trailed over it. It only made him wonder more what had happened to this poor man.
“My... my head’s cold,” Cheshire murmured, pulling the brim of his hat down once again, over the baldness and over the welts on either side of his head.
“We should get a doctor to look at those,” Clark urged.
“No, no, no. No doctors, please. Please.”
“I’m scared,” Clark said candidly. He didn’t know how to make Cheshire go to a hospital. What if Cheshire got worse while Clark was away?
A bubbling laugh came out of Cheshire. “Don’t be. Don’t be, Clark. No one’s coming after you.”
Clark shrugged awkwardly. “I brought stew.”
Cheshire pressed his lips together. “If you keep feeding me, you’re never gonna get rid of me.”
“I hope not,” Clark replied. Now that Cheshire seemed comfortable with him, Clark put his arm around Cheshire’s shoulders to guide him to a better place to eat.
***
Luckily, the snow from the first unseasonable fall melted quickly, but it was still bitter cold out, and proved to get colder as the winter progressed. Everyday Clark would visit Cheshire whenever he could. Some days Cheshire remembered him. Most days he didn’t. Clark suspected Cheshire’s injuries made it hard for him to remember things, but he thought that Cheshire was getting better, little by little. Or he hoped so, and hoped he wasn’t imagining it.
If he had his way, Cheshire would be in a hospital, or Clark would take Cheshire home to be warm and safe and taken care of, but his friend categorically refused this kind of help, and Clark figured that he was going to have to make some choices.
Still, in order to help Cheshire, Clark needed to know what was wrong with him, so during computer class, he tried to research a little. But he didn’t know what he was looking for, and a week passed in this way as he tried to uncover the answers that might save his friend’s life.
If Clark was sure about anything in this, it was that Cheshire’s life was in danger.
“Um... Chloe?” Clark walked up behind Chloe, who was studying her computer screen intently.
Chloe gave a little jump, then turned to Clark with narrowed eyes and a sigh. “Could you not just appear behind me? Where do you even come from when you do that?”
Clark shrugged. “Biology?”
“Riiight. What is it?” Chloe stretched her leg out, hooked her right foot under the chair next to her, and pulled it forward. “Sit, mister.”
Clark sat and folded his hands. “What do you know about circular marks?”
“Like... crop circles?” Chloe squinted one eye and tilted her head to the side.
“No, I mean like burns. On a person. Can that happen?”
Chloe frowned and bit the inside of her cheek. “Cigarette burns. Or cigarette lighter burns.”
“No, bigger that that.” Clark made a circle with his forefinger and thumb. “About this big.”
“...That’s pretty big.” She paused and her brow creased more deeply. “Should we be calling social services?”
“Maybe we should be calling someone, but if I do that he won’t trust me anymore,” Clark told her meaningfully. “Don’t tell, Chloe, please.”
“Well, I have no idea who you’re talking about. It would be hard to tell.” Chloe turned to the computer. “What else can you tell me?”
Clark tilted the chair back. “Hm. His memory is bad. Does that help? Like he forgets stuff that just happened, or happened the day before.”
“Okay. Short-term memory problems. Does he have long-term memory? Can he remember who he is, and all that?”
“I’m not sure,” Clark said after a pause. “I don’t think so. We had a pretty intense conversation about historical stuff the other day, and that would require long-term, right? I’m not sure if he can remember who he is.”
Chloe nodded slowly and sat back in her chair. “Memory loss, though. That’s probably head trauma.”
Clark turned the corners of his mouth down.
“Is there anything else?” Chloe prodded. “Any other symptoms? Have you seen a bump on his head?”
“No, the burns are on his head. The rest of his head looks fine... Other than the fact that he’s bald.”
Chloe’s eyes widened for a second. “He’s bald? As in chemo bald?”
“I don’t know,” Clark admitted.
“Okay, let’s go back to the burns on his head. Where are they?”
Clark positioned his index fingers on either side of his head to show her. “I don’t know if this is important, but when I first met him he had the shakes, not shivering because of the cold. He still did it after I got him warmed up, and he had a hard time standing on his own. And the circles under his eyes were really dark at first-”
“That’s still consistent with head trauma,” Chloe pointed out. “Or drug use.”
Clark pinched his lips together at that idea. “And he’s sort of sore. He doesn’t complain, but when he moves I can tell he’s hurting. I don’t know where, but when I looked, there were just some light bruises.”
“It’s probably muscle soreness, then.” Chloe crossed her arms and frowned deeply. “Where is this guy? No, wait...”
Clark sat up straight and tried to look as innocent as possible.
“This is the singing guy from the park, isn’t it?”
“How do you do that?” Clark demanded.
“That’s logic. How many people in Smallville are that hard up?” Chloe shook her head and stood. “He’s homeless, Clark. There are probably lots of things wrong with him- don’t look at me that way- and some of those things might have come from the way he’s treated on the street.”
“I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know, but I think he’s in trouble, and anyway, he was only singing so people would think he was crazy and leave him alone.”
“That might be a good idea,” Chloe whispered. She looked to the side, sighing unhappily. “The marks on either side of his head. That sounds familiar. If he doesn’t have a bump...”
“Yeah?” Clark lifted his head hopefully.
“It might have been electroshock.”
“Electroshock?” Clark got up and came closer to her. “You mean you think someone electrocuted him? On purpose?”
“It’s... not that uncommon a practice. In mental institutions.” Chloe dipped her chin to avoid Clark’s glare. “If he spent some time in the Cuckoo’s Nest, he would know how to make people think he was crazy. It might also explain why he doesn’t want anyone contacted. They might try to take him back.”
“Well, if they were electrocuting him, I don’t blame him!” Clark exploded.
“Neither do I, but if he’s having complications from that, he needs a doctor,” Chloe said softly.
“No. He’s getting better.”
“Clark-”
“No, he really is. It’s slow, but he’s better than he was at first.”
“I hope so. The deep freeze can’t be helping.” Chloe dropped her arms and went back to her computer. “Give me a little time and I’ll see if I can come up with something to help.” She opened up her email. “I know a girl who’s premed at KSU.”
“Don’t-”
“I won’t.” Chloe typed for a moment. “I knew you were preoccupied about something. I thought it was Lana, and the winter ball coming up.”
“I learned my lesson at homecoming,” Clark replied irritably. Oddly, he hadn’t thought of Lana for a long time, it seemed.
“Okay. Well, good. I didn’t want to find you naked in a field again anyway.” Chloe clacked on her computer for a minute without saying anything.
Clark smiled and hugged her shoulders from behind. “Thanks, Chloe.”
“What are friends for, if not to save each other from vaguely homoerotically charged bullying pranks? I still think Whitney and his pals should should have spent some time in lockup for that. When I found you that morning, I thought you were dead.”
“Close to,” Clark murmured. “But I made it. I’m okay.”
“Just be careful about this thing, with the park guy. If he really is in trouble, it could be dangerous. You could get hurt.”
“I’ll watch my back,” Clark promised.
***
The boy came up to him with a wavering smile and a bag that smelled deliciously of warm, homemade bread. The boy was always bringing him food. That much, Lex understood.
He knew who he was. Of course he knew who he was. Vaguely.
He just had a hard time putting together the particulars was all. What had happened, how he’d gotten there. He knew, for example, that he needed to stay unnoticed. That he remembered.
On days when he remembered the boy, it was odd to think back to the day before when he hadn’t remembered. He wondered, often, how long they’d been doing this. Had he been out here forever, accepting help from a young man with a heart so big and warm that he never got cold?
Then there were days when he couldn’t remember the boy, and that was truly frightening. Something had happened. Something bad. He’d learned something. Something dangerous. His head spun in circles as he tried to place that smile, oh that smile. Sometimes it was as though everything of the boy, his warmth, his sweetness, his pretty long lashes and sleek body, all of it faded away, except for his smile. When the boy didn’t manage to come one day, that thought kept Lex warm. The tenuous memory of a beautiful bright smile from this silly boy who called him Cheshire for some inexplicable reason.
“Who...” Lex shook his head as he looked into the boy’s eyes. Sadness overwhelmed the usual spark of cheerfulness. Lex closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. Why did it hurt so damn much? “I mean... I can’t remember your name.”
“It’s Clark,” the boy whispered patiently. He approached Lex and then pulled his blanket up over his shoulders.
“I haven’t always been like this,” Lex swore. He didn’t know why it was important for Clark to know this, but he had become awfully fond of him, at some point. Maybe he couldn’t remember all of the particulars, but Lex felt a great affinity with Clark. Maybe he had been friends with him for years, all the while his memories floated around, inchoate and ephemeral. Slipping through his fingers whenever he tried to grasp them.
Clark shrugged, looking down at Lex with his particular brand of sweet ingenuousness. “I haven’t always been like this.”
“Hm? Heh.” Lex dipped his head and laughed softly. “Somehow I believed you appeared fully formed. Perhaps on a wave of the ocean.”
“What? On a clamshell? Do I look like Venus to you?”
“More like Adonis, but I can’t allude to him from what I know about you.”
“What’s he known for?”
Lex shrugged. “Aside from being also associated with Greek mythology, after being imported loosely from the other religions of the ancient world of course, as the majority of Greek personas and thus in turn Roman... He’s one of many gods tied to nature and vegetation that goes through a cycle of death and rebirth. The cycle of the year- birth, flourishing, wilting, and dying, then over again. That’s his story.”
“Like a farmer god?”
“You could say that, I suppose.” Lex nodded, sort of impressed that his mind could hold onto so much detail.
“Well, my dad’s a farmer, and I help on the farm.”
“Have you ever died?” Lex asked cheekily.
“Not yet,” Clark replied with just as much cheek.
Lex turned his head and brushed his nose against Clark’s cheek. “Well, if you ever do, Mr. Adonis, I suspect you’ll rise from the dead.” “That’s comforting.” Clark cupped Lex’s cheek and kissed his forehead. “How are you feeling? Still sore?”
“A... a little.”
“Sounds like you’re getting better.”
Clark reached into Lex’s coat, and Lex stiffened.
“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling over Lex’s ribs. “I really am.”
“It’s okay. I... I trust you.”
“I’m glad. Cheshire, could you... Would you mind to come with me somewhere?”
“I can’t go anywhere, Clark. You know that.”
“But why? Please, just a little-”
“No, I...” Lex touched his head, trying to piece together the specifics. He shook his head when he realized that whatever he remembered, he couldn’t tell Clark about it. If Clark knew anything about it, he could be in danger, and he would never hurt those he cared about because of this trouble he’d gotten himself into. “I can’t go anywhere.”
“A shelter maybe? Get inside.”
“No. I can’t.” Lex knew that those kinds of places would be watched. Who wouldn’t watch a shelter for a man on the run with no money and no place to go? “Please trust me about this.”
Clark wrapped his arms around Lex and held him tight. “You need to let me take care of you.”
“I can only accept so much. If anything hurt you, I just couldn’t stand it.”
“You don’t... You don’t need to worry about me. You really don’t.” Clark rubbed his back. “What’s scaring you? Is it what happened to your father?” “My father?” Lex blinked dumbly trying to remember. What happened to his father? What happened to his...? “Dad. They- they killed him.”
A crash. That’s what the nurse had said as they rolled Lex in for his next round of electroshock. A car crash.
Lex felt Clark’s warm lips pressing against his cheek. He opened and closed his eyes several times, fighting against whatever was welling up inside of him.
How many times had he forgotten that his father was dead? How many times had that bastard been mourned? Maybe it was appropriate for Lionel Luthor to be forgotten over and over by the only person who would really have missed him. Lex knew that Lionel hadn’t died in a crash. That was just how the local mob disposed of bodies.
***
It was hardly the first time that Clark had gone to the place he’d left Cheshire only to find him missing, but the feeling of panic he got never seemed to diminish. It had been three weeks since he’d met Cheshire, and the young man was always, always in Clark’s heart, no matter what else was on his mind. From that jock flipping out and trying to popsicle Chloe to the girl whose metabolism went into a meteor induced hyperdrive at Lana’s sixteenth birthday party held at the firehouse, even if Clark was busy, Cheshire wasn’t far from his thoughts.
The first step was to look from alley to alley. There was a chance that Cheshire had needed something, and he wasn’t so helpless that he wouldn’t go looking for it, or leave the alley if it looked like there was someone dangerous around. Clark just wished Cheshire would agree to go to, and stay in (which was the real rub), a shelter, where it would be warm and safe. Who knew how much energy Cheshire was wasting that could be used to heal himself.
“Cheshire?” Clark called frantically, after he’d been searching for his friend for more than ten minutes. His heart jerked in his chest at the thought of losing Cheshire, especially when he still needed Clark. He called out the name again and listened hard for any response. It was possible that Cheshire had forgotten him again, and so forgotten that Cheshire meant himself.
Each time Clark called out Cheshire’s name, he stopped to listen, and every time, it seemed like the noises of the city grew louder and louder. When the sound of a honking horn seemed to be right inside his ears, he paled and jumped, and then covered them, shocked and frightened. Now the whole city seemed to be descending upon him, and he didn’t understand how this could happen.
Clark dropped to his knees and huddled over. A passerby dropped money in front of him, and the well-wishing thundered in his ears: “HAVE A HAPPY HOLIDAY, SON!”
Then, there it was, a sound magnified that seemed like a bomb going off.
Clark hadn’t realized he was moving until he was standing in front of a man with a gun and his beloved Cheshire, who was pressed against the wall with one hand clutching his stomach.
For Clark, it was practically slow motion as Cheshire turned his head and met Clark with the familiar expression of uncertain recognition mingled with pain and fear. Cheshire was telling him to run. The man with the gun whipped it around and aimed it at Clark. A frown deepened as the bullets bounced off his chest, ripping up his flannel shirt but not doing much actual damage. As the man stared at Clark in utter bafflement and emptied out his gun just to be sure, Clark walked toward him, snatched the gun from his hand, and bent it in half before throwing it away.
“What the fuck are you?” the man demanded, backing away. Before Clark could answer, the man had fled the alley.
Once again, Clark’s ears were filled with sound- a wild heartbeat- and he turned to Cheshire, who was sliding down the side of the wall as he watched Clark with huge eyes.
“Please don’t be scared,” Clark pleaded, coming over to Cheshire and dropping to his knees. “Please. Please, don’t be scared.”
“I’m hallucinating. Hallucinating, again. I am crazy,” Cheshire murmured.
“You’re hurt. He shot you!” Clark touched Cheshire’s hand, the one that was clutching his wound.
“I-I know. Clark. Clark’s your name, right? I...” Cheshire shook his head. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“Don’t say that!” Clark shouted. “You don’t die, remember? You said you don’t die!”
“No... You don’t die. Bullets fly off your chest.” Cheshire closed his eyes and smiled weakly. “That was amazing. Even if I’m hallucinating... you’re my hero, Clark.”
“Cheshire-”
“I have a secret. I have a secret, and I want you to know,” Cheshire interrupted.
“I....” Clark tried to choke back a sob, and he bent over Cheshire, cradling him in his arms.
“My name. I want you to know it. You can’t ever tell anyone you knew me, though.”
“I won’t. I won’t ever tell, anyone ever. Believe me, I’m the Fort Knox of secrets,” Clark whispered.
Cheshire laughed softly, then coughed. Flecks of blood appeared on his lips. “My name is Lex. Please call me Lex. I’m tired of being no one. I miss being me.”
A hot tear trickled down Clark’s cheek and landed on his friend’s. He pressed a kiss to the cold, pale forehead, and whispered, “Lex.”
From: to be announced
Type: Fic
Request: the boys out in the snow, fire-side cuddling with hot chocolate (after rescuing) Rating: PG
Title: And the Mome Lex Outgrabe, or Baby It's Cold Outside
Warnings: underage romance
Summary:Clark visits Centennial Park in Metropolis with his family and his friend Chloe to see the winter lights, and while there he meets a young man in need.
Gifter's Notes: This is an AU set roughly in what would be season one. Changes should become apparent as we dance along.
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wave~”
The winter wind was crisp and unforgiving as it whipped through the trees of Centennial Park. Clark and Chloe walked along, side by side, taking in the sights before them while his parents were on the other side of the park being mushy. Clark had never been to Metropolis during the winter before, so his parents had offered to bring him to see the moment the lights were put up at the end of November. The lights bedecked the trees and fences in a sparkling blue and white. With a layer of snow all over everything, it was clean and pristine and shiny. All lit up and glowy. Clark felt like he’d stepped onto another planet.
“All mimsy were the borogroves~”
Clark turned his head slightly and frowned at the singing pile of laundry that leaned against the back wall of the building that housed the public background.
“And the mome raths outgrabe!” the bundled form cried.
Clark jumped backward in surprise.
“Don’t stare, Clark,” Chloe told him in a hushed voice, grabbing his arm. “What if he has a knife?”
“Is that a person? Why he’s singing?” Clark whispered back.
As they drew closer, the bundle sang again, “One, two! One, two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!”
“That is less important than the question, why are we not moving away from the crazy homeless guy in the park? You’re not from here, Clark. Time to move on.”
Clark let go of her arm and walked closer to the bundled up man. Beneath his feet, the snow crunched. No one had come this way since it had snowed today. There were no footsteps surrounding the back of the building, only the front. No one had tried to help this little guy at all.
“Hey. What’s a mome rath?”
The pile of worn clothing looked up. Two startlingly clear gray eyes peered out from beneath a low pulled black knit hat.
The voice that emerged was a dry slur. “Depends.”
“On what?” Clark couldn’t even see the man’s mouth.
“On... on how... lost in the Tulgey Wood you happen to be.”
“And if I can hear your vorpal blade go snicker-snack?” Clark asked. He wasn’t yet sure if this man was joking or not. Or if he was drunk, because he sounded a little out of it.
“Then you may well be beyond hope.”
Clark bent down to the where the man was huddled. He must be cold. Now that Clark was closer, those clothes didn’t look very thick, and he could tell the guy was shaking a little. He peeled off his winter coat and handed it to the man. “Here. Something to help protect you from the mighty Jabberwock.”
With a flicker of amusement in his eye, the man replied, “You’ll get cold, boy. Keep your coat.”
“I don’t get cold,” Clark told the man. It was true. He didn’t.
With what seemed to be a reluctance, a pride from a man who should have been used to handouts, he reached for the coat. Clark waited for him to don it before rising. The man seemed even smaller wrapped up in Clark’s big blue coat.
“Are you gonna be okay here?” Clark asked.
“Clark!” Jonathan called loudly. Within a moment he was storming over, and the young man curled over into a ball and stared at the snow. Jonathan repeated, “Clark. C’mon. You’re worrying your mother.”
“But I just wanted to-”
“He’s got a coat. Come on.” Jonathan gave a dark look to the tightly wrapped bundle before them.
“Galumph back home,” the man muffled through his scarf. “I’m too far lost in the Tulgey Wood for anyone to pull me out now.”
Clark frowned unhappily and turned to his mother, looking plaintive. Martha shook her head and reached for Clark’s hand. The pressure to go with his family was intense, even though it was cold out there and would only get colder. Clark pouted and looked back at the small, bent figure.
As he started to walk away, Chloe flitted over and dropped some money near the man. She scampered back next to Clark and rubbed his arms so he wouldn’t freeze. But Clark wasn’t worried about himself freezing. Not at all.
***
Clark was supposed to be in bed when he zipped back over to Metropolis that night. He knew his parents would be upset that he’d snuck out, but they had always tried to teach him that charity was a good thing, and you should give of yourself whatever you could to those less fortunate. When he appeared outside the public restrooms, he couldn’t see anyone around. The man wasn’t against the wall anymore. The winter lights were still on, but it had started to snow again. His eyes scanned over the fresh, fluffy snow more closely, looking for some indication of where the little guy had gone.
Softly, Clark sang what the man had been singing that morning: “And the mome wraths... outgrabe...”
Then he spotted a few footsteps trailing from the back wall of the restrooms around to the entrance. They were partially filled with snow already, so he was lucky he’d come now. Soon the trail would have disappeared.
“Hey! I’ve got a blanket! And um, stuff.” Clark peered into the entrance. There was an open area inside the building, probably meant to be a waiting area for people in the bathroom. He had to look around twice before he recognized the bundle huddled in the corner. Too still.
Clark rushed over to the man and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
“Ah!” The man startled, jerking back against the wall.
“It’s just me. I wanted to bring you something. It’s too cold out here at night,” Clark tried to explain.
The grey eyes seemed to clear as he recognized Clark’s face. He pulled his scarf down just enough so that Clark could see his mouth and chin. Clark looked over the man’s features with wide eyes. He was a lot younger than Clark had expected. No five o’clock shadow. No age lines. Just two purplish smudges beneath the eyes of a long, thin face.
“You shouldn’t be here. Leave me alone.”
“I... I brought you some hot soup. Chicken soup. My mom made it. And...” Gosh, he looked young! Too young to be out here curled up like he was used up by life and done with the world. Clark reached over and tucked the blanket around him more securely. “You’ll like it. When was the last time you ate?”
His thin, rosy lips bowed in displeasure. “You shouldn’t be around me.”
Clark ignored him and unscrewed the top of the thermos to pour the soup in. “Just try it.”
He pressed the top into the young man’s hand. Their eyes met for a moment, and then the man gave in and began to sip it.
“This is good,” he proclaimed after downing most of the broth.
Clark poured him some more. “What do I call you?”
“You can call me-” He blew on the soup. “-Cheshire cat.”
“But you’re not a cat,” Clark argued quietly. This guy wasn’t nearly as crazy as he pretended to be. And if he was, it was a wonderful kind of crazy.
“I’m more like a stray than not, I think. Here you are bringing me food. Are you hoping I’ll purr for you?”
“I’m just kind of hoping you don’t freeze to death out here.” Clark knew he’d broken the rules of their easy rapport by talking openly about mortality, but he really was worried about this little guy more than ever now that he saw how young he was. He looked like he could still be in high school, maybe, since he didn’t have any whiskers.
“You don’t get cold. I doubt I could die, even if I wanted to. You and I are both very strange,” Cheshire said in a monotone. He finished the soup and wiped the corners of his mouth almost daintily. “But I appreciate the meal.”
“No problem.” Clark set the thermos next to his friend. It was still half full, and the little guy could eat on it later.
“Feels nice to be warm. You’re warm.” Cheshire moved closer to Clark and laid his head on Clark’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on Clark’s all the while. “I told you I was a cat.”
“Do your parents know where you are?” Clark asked with concern lacing his voice.
“Mm. My parents are gone.”
“Gone? Oh.” Clark’s head hung slightly. “I was adopted. I’m not sure what happened to my bio parents.”
“But those people with you, they were your family, yes?”
“Yeah. Well, my parents, who adopted me, and my friend, Chloe.”
“They seem nice.”
“They wanted to leave you,” Clark said sulkily.
“I’m sure most decent parents don’t want their kids around creepy homeless people in the park. And your friend gave me a twenty.”
“You’re not creepy.”
“I cultivate creepy. It keeps people away.”
“But why?” Clark watched Cheshire’s long face relaxing.
“It’s just the way it is.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have any place to go,” Clark whispered. His fingers touched the cold, smooth cheek. “You should come home with me.”
Cheshire’s eyes dropped. “I can’t do that.”
“But why-?”
“I don’t... I can’t. Please don’t ask.”
Clark wrapped his arm around Cheshire and rubbed him a little. The guy looked like he could really use some sleep, and since the cold didn’t bother Clark, he could stay with him through the night and make sure he was safe.
“You asleep?” Clark asked softly. He was tempted to sneak Cheshire home and hide him in his bedroom the moment Cheshire’s eyes closed.
“Hm. So what do I call you?”
Clark frowned, since he was pretty sure Cheshire should have heard his name earlier in the day. “Call me Clark.”
“Clark,” Cheshire repeated in a warmer tone.
“So what’s a mome wrath?”
“The interpretation is a little fuzzy, depending on whether you believe in the egg man or the author. Mome could mean ‘from home,’ like you’re lost, or you lost your home. Or it could mean, ‘solemn’ or ‘grave.’” His voice grew weaker as he spoke.
“And what’s outgrabe?” Clark prodded.
“It’s a verb, more or less. It’s something between bellowing and whistling. Like moaning. Like dying.” Cheshire shook his head. “Unn.”
“Like your singing. What is it?” Clark looked down again and touched the bottom of Cheshire’s chin.
“Headache. Won’t go away.”
To his alarm, Clark spotted a trickle of blood coming out of Cheshire’s nose. “You’re bleeding!”
Cheshire made another noise and pulled his scarf up to his nose.
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“Can’t, Cl... Clark? Is that your name? I can’t go to the hospital.” Cheshire dabbed his nose and looked at the blood on his scarf wearily. “Can’t ever. Can’t ever, Clark”
Clark squeezed Cheshire closer to him and tried to press back his worry that instead of helping a homeless man, he was sitting with him during his last moments before death. He periodically tried to ask Cheshire questions, but he didn’t seem as capable of answering them anymore, so Clark was relieved when Cheshire finally drifted into sleep.
***
“Son? Son!”
Clark woke with a wide yawn as he felt the tapping on his shoulder and snuggled into his warm blanket a little.
“I don’t know where you boys can go, but you can’t stay here. Try the shelter on 36th Avenue.”
Clark jerked his head up and looked around. He felt his heart start pounding when he realized that it was morning already. His first action was to check Cheshire’s pulse, then his nose to see if it was bleeding again. That done, he looked up at the police officer poking them.
“Sorry,” he murmured before giving Cheshire a shake.
“Wha?” Cheshire opened his eyes, then put his hand to his head. When he spotted the policeman, he pulled his scarf up and his hat down and inched away.
“It’s okay, Ches,” Clark told him in a calm tone. “We just need to go.”
“Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch,” Cheshire murmured, shrinking away from the policeman and refusing to look in his direction.
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” the policeman replied. “For now, you need to get on your feet and out of here, or we’ll have to bring you in. New city ordinances require us to keep the park clear of vagrants and panhandlers.”
“He hasn’t asked for anything,” Clark said irritably as he tried to pull Cheshire up. Cheshire leaned heavily on Clark, and for a moment his legs seemed to turn to jelly. Clark caught him and held him fast. “It’s okay. Just one step after the other.”
Cheshire groaned and pressed his head against Clark’s shoulder. Somehow, Clark guessed that his friend’s head was hurting again, and there was more damage than he’d first suspected. For now, though, he was going to get Cheshire away from the cops.
“I’ve got you,” Clark whispered to Cheshire as they wobbled along, out of the public bathroom and along the pathway that led past the colorfully lit trees. It was just barely dawn, and if he didn’t get back home soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. But he couldn’t leave Cheshire there, not now, not alone, and he couldn’t really bring him home, either. Not after the way his parents had shooed him off the day before.
They just didn’t understand that there was something special about Cheshire. He was just hurt, that was all. If Clark could make him better again, then other people would see it too.
“Can’t... I need to...” Cheshire looked up suddenly, his eyes wild and wet, and stumbled back from Clark, who let go of him only out of surprise at the sudden movement.
“Wait!” Clark cried, grabbing again for Cheshire’s hand.
“No, no.” Cheshire fell into the snow and stared up at Clark dumbfounded.
“Just let me help you up,” Clark insisted. “I-”
“Who are you?” Cheshire demanded, struggling backward on his own. The thermos had fallen to the ground, and the rest of the soup spilled onto the clean snow.
“Who...?” Clark tented his brows and licked his lips. “Cheshire, we met yesterday, remember? I brought soup.”
The lack of recognition in Cheshire’s eyes hurt. It sliced straight into Clark’s heart. How could their time together the previous night have just been erased? After a moment of looking into Cheshire’s frightened face, Clark realized that Cheshire forgetting who he was felt less painful than it was scary. It was easier to see the young man as injured, rather than as mentally unbalanced. Clark didn’t really want to believe that. It couldn’t be true, could it?
He crouched down beside Cheshire slowly and said in a slow, quiet voice. “Hello. I’m Clark. I just want to get you out of the snow, okay?”
The distrustful gray eyes narrowed then flickered back and forth a little, taking in Clark’s face, then his clothing and build. “Do you work for my father?”
“No, Cheshire. I’ve never even met your father.”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Cheshire’?”
Clark felt his eyes sting. “I don’t know your name. I have to call you something, don’t I?”
“I suppose.”
Clark extended his hand, slowly, and kept his eyes on his forgetful friend as he did so. For a long moment, he just kept it there, suspended and waiting, almost as if he expected his Cheshire cat to sniff it before letting himself be petted.
When Cheshire took the hand, Clark felt a wash of relief. He helped Cheshire to his feet once again.
“We need someplace warm, and dry, too,” Clark continued in as calm a voice as he could muster.
Cheshire looked around the park in clear confusion. “How did I get to Centennial Park? How did you find me? Are you with the hospital?”
“No. I found you when you were singing by the building back there.” Clark pointed with his free hand.
“I was singing? That sounds unpleasant.”
A smile tickled Clark’s lips. That sounded more like his friend from the night before. “You’re not a bad singer. I thought it was pretty good, for acappella.”
The two of them walked together in silence, past the trees, past a few morning joggers of questionable sanity to willingly be out in this cold. Under other circumstances, Clark would have enjoyed an early morning walk in the park with a friend. At the moment, his heart was pounding too fast, and his mind was too cluttered with worry for this foundless stray that had fallen into his life.
***
Clark slipped into the kitchen silently, looked around swiftly, then zipped upstairs to change quickly before his parents saw him in yesterday’s clothes. A moment later, he came jogging down with his backpack over his shoulder.
“Mornin’,” Martha said cheerfully, walking in the front door.
“Morning, Mom. No time for breakfast. I have to get to school. Promised Chloe help with The Torch.” Clark bounded past her in a rush.
“Running off again so soon? You can’t have been home for five minutes,” she remarked casually. Clark turned with an obvious look of surprise on his face. Martha chuckled. “Where were you last night?”
“Um.” Clark blinked. “Nowhere?”
“Your father wouldn’t be satisfied with ‘nowhere.’” Martha set down the bag of flour she’d brought in and looked at Clark expectantly. “You didn’t just pop out of existence for a few hours.”
“I was, um. Out looking at the stars,” Clark lied. He bit his lip, surely looking like a complete idiot.
“Sweetheart, try not to stay out all night. We expect you to stay awake in school.” Martha sighed and brushed her hands on her pants. “You should get going. You’ll be late for the bus,” she instructed, before turning for the kitchen. “And your father will want you to do your chores when you get home.”
It felt like a bungie cord in his chest had just snapped, and he could breathe again. Clark nodded, although she was no longer looking, and hurried out the door before he had to deal with whatever his father had to say.
***
After spending most of the day worrying about his friend, Clark sped home faster than he’d ever gone before, and completed his chores with a record even for himself. He’d left Cheshire that morning in an alley by a pipe that was giving off heat, but Clark was still worried about him and wanted to get back to him before it was dark.
“Not so fast!” Jonathan yelled, as Clark blurred upstairs to get some warmer clothes for Cheshire.
Clark reappeared and stood in front of his father. “You want me to go slow?”
“I want you to walk around this place like a civilized person, and not ignore your parents when they’re talking to you,” Jonathan told him sternly. “What’s got you so geared up?”
“Um, I missed my chores this morning. I wanted to help.” Both brows went up sheepishly as he pushed his lips out.
“Well, you can help me by getting this fence repaired before supper,” Jonathan replied. “C’mon.”
“But I uh...” Clark looked back up the stairs. He hoped the blanket Cheshire had would be enough, and he followed his father back outside.
Several hours later, after he’d followed his father from one chore to another, then indulged his mother in sitting down for a rather restless dinner, he sped to Metropolis with a care package in hand.
Just before entering the alley, Clark slowed down and combed a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to scare Cheshire again. He wouldn’t let Clark help him, if he was scared. It was hard enough getting him to come with him anyway.
“Ches?” Clark called softly. He frowned at the empty alley. Was it too much to ask for him to stay put? He walked further in, scanning the area for signs of movement. Just as he was beginning to worry that Cheshire had moved on, he saw a flicker of motion by the dumpster.
“Hey! I brought you dinner, and... Do you remember me?” Clark tilted his head slightly and watched as Cheshire abandoned the dumpster and came closer into view.
“I know you, don’t I? Who are you?”
The forgetfulness this time didn’t bother Clark as much, even if it made him sad for Cheshire.
“I’m Clark.” Clark held his ground, not wanting to intimidate the little guy. “I brought some food. And some clothes. Are you hungry?”
Cheshire touched the side of his head and swayed weakly. “Why can’t I...? I know I’ve met you before. Haven’t I?”
“Yes. This morning. And yesterday,” Clark answered gently. The resulting expression on Cheshire’s face was heartbreaking. Unlike this morning, he seemed to actually believe Clark that they’d met before. Clark wondered if this would be the same every time he and Cheshire talked, forever introducing himself. Endless first meetings. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“I think I’m broken. He broke me,” Cheshire murmured. The tips of his fingers pressed against his temple.
Clark took the moment of distraction and approached Cheshire. After setting down his little care package, he touched Cheshire’s hand.
“What? No. I...”
“Shhh.” Clark moved Cheshire’s hand away so he could look. His eyes bulged in startlement when he saw the burned flesh on the side of Cheshire’s head. Red, angry, glaring, and perfectly circular, once the hat was out of the way, the mark was completely obvious. “What happened to you?”
A better question might have been, who did this to you? But Clark wouldn’t press his luck, and Cheshire was shaking his head already.
“I can’t remember,” Cheshire replied apologetically. Clark turned Cheshire’s head a little to see a twin burn on the other side of his head. He swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the tightness of his throat. Someone had hurt Cheshire. Someone had deliberately hurt him, and now he was out on the street singing to people to get them to keep away from him.
Warm fingers slipped under the hem of Cheshire’s knit hat and pushed it back so that Clark could see if there was any further damage.
“Oh!”
Cheshire’s head was as bald and smooth as an egg. Clark’s fingertips trailed over it. It only made him wonder more what had happened to this poor man.
“My... my head’s cold,” Cheshire murmured, pulling the brim of his hat down once again, over the baldness and over the welts on either side of his head.
“We should get a doctor to look at those,” Clark urged.
“No, no, no. No doctors, please. Please.”
“I’m scared,” Clark said candidly. He didn’t know how to make Cheshire go to a hospital. What if Cheshire got worse while Clark was away?
A bubbling laugh came out of Cheshire. “Don’t be. Don’t be, Clark. No one’s coming after you.”
Clark shrugged awkwardly. “I brought stew.”
Cheshire pressed his lips together. “If you keep feeding me, you’re never gonna get rid of me.”
“I hope not,” Clark replied. Now that Cheshire seemed comfortable with him, Clark put his arm around Cheshire’s shoulders to guide him to a better place to eat.
***
Luckily, the snow from the first unseasonable fall melted quickly, but it was still bitter cold out, and proved to get colder as the winter progressed. Everyday Clark would visit Cheshire whenever he could. Some days Cheshire remembered him. Most days he didn’t. Clark suspected Cheshire’s injuries made it hard for him to remember things, but he thought that Cheshire was getting better, little by little. Or he hoped so, and hoped he wasn’t imagining it.
If he had his way, Cheshire would be in a hospital, or Clark would take Cheshire home to be warm and safe and taken care of, but his friend categorically refused this kind of help, and Clark figured that he was going to have to make some choices.
Still, in order to help Cheshire, Clark needed to know what was wrong with him, so during computer class, he tried to research a little. But he didn’t know what he was looking for, and a week passed in this way as he tried to uncover the answers that might save his friend’s life.
If Clark was sure about anything in this, it was that Cheshire’s life was in danger.
“Um... Chloe?” Clark walked up behind Chloe, who was studying her computer screen intently.
Chloe gave a little jump, then turned to Clark with narrowed eyes and a sigh. “Could you not just appear behind me? Where do you even come from when you do that?”
Clark shrugged. “Biology?”
“Riiight. What is it?” Chloe stretched her leg out, hooked her right foot under the chair next to her, and pulled it forward. “Sit, mister.”
Clark sat and folded his hands. “What do you know about circular marks?”
“Like... crop circles?” Chloe squinted one eye and tilted her head to the side.
“No, I mean like burns. On a person. Can that happen?”
Chloe frowned and bit the inside of her cheek. “Cigarette burns. Or cigarette lighter burns.”
“No, bigger that that.” Clark made a circle with his forefinger and thumb. “About this big.”
“...That’s pretty big.” She paused and her brow creased more deeply. “Should we be calling social services?”
“Maybe we should be calling someone, but if I do that he won’t trust me anymore,” Clark told her meaningfully. “Don’t tell, Chloe, please.”
“Well, I have no idea who you’re talking about. It would be hard to tell.” Chloe turned to the computer. “What else can you tell me?”
Clark tilted the chair back. “Hm. His memory is bad. Does that help? Like he forgets stuff that just happened, or happened the day before.”
“Okay. Short-term memory problems. Does he have long-term memory? Can he remember who he is, and all that?”
“I’m not sure,” Clark said after a pause. “I don’t think so. We had a pretty intense conversation about historical stuff the other day, and that would require long-term, right? I’m not sure if he can remember who he is.”
Chloe nodded slowly and sat back in her chair. “Memory loss, though. That’s probably head trauma.”
Clark turned the corners of his mouth down.
“Is there anything else?” Chloe prodded. “Any other symptoms? Have you seen a bump on his head?”
“No, the burns are on his head. The rest of his head looks fine... Other than the fact that he’s bald.”
Chloe’s eyes widened for a second. “He’s bald? As in chemo bald?”
“I don’t know,” Clark admitted.
“Okay, let’s go back to the burns on his head. Where are they?”
Clark positioned his index fingers on either side of his head to show her. “I don’t know if this is important, but when I first met him he had the shakes, not shivering because of the cold. He still did it after I got him warmed up, and he had a hard time standing on his own. And the circles under his eyes were really dark at first-”
“That’s still consistent with head trauma,” Chloe pointed out. “Or drug use.”
Clark pinched his lips together at that idea. “And he’s sort of sore. He doesn’t complain, but when he moves I can tell he’s hurting. I don’t know where, but when I looked, there were just some light bruises.”
“It’s probably muscle soreness, then.” Chloe crossed her arms and frowned deeply. “Where is this guy? No, wait...”
Clark sat up straight and tried to look as innocent as possible.
“This is the singing guy from the park, isn’t it?”
“How do you do that?” Clark demanded.
“That’s logic. How many people in Smallville are that hard up?” Chloe shook her head and stood. “He’s homeless, Clark. There are probably lots of things wrong with him- don’t look at me that way- and some of those things might have come from the way he’s treated on the street.”
“I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know, but I think he’s in trouble, and anyway, he was only singing so people would think he was crazy and leave him alone.”
“That might be a good idea,” Chloe whispered. She looked to the side, sighing unhappily. “The marks on either side of his head. That sounds familiar. If he doesn’t have a bump...”
“Yeah?” Clark lifted his head hopefully.
“It might have been electroshock.”
“Electroshock?” Clark got up and came closer to her. “You mean you think someone electrocuted him? On purpose?”
“It’s... not that uncommon a practice. In mental institutions.” Chloe dipped her chin to avoid Clark’s glare. “If he spent some time in the Cuckoo’s Nest, he would know how to make people think he was crazy. It might also explain why he doesn’t want anyone contacted. They might try to take him back.”
“Well, if they were electrocuting him, I don’t blame him!” Clark exploded.
“Neither do I, but if he’s having complications from that, he needs a doctor,” Chloe said softly.
“No. He’s getting better.”
“Clark-”
“No, he really is. It’s slow, but he’s better than he was at first.”
“I hope so. The deep freeze can’t be helping.” Chloe dropped her arms and went back to her computer. “Give me a little time and I’ll see if I can come up with something to help.” She opened up her email. “I know a girl who’s premed at KSU.”
“Don’t-”
“I won’t.” Chloe typed for a moment. “I knew you were preoccupied about something. I thought it was Lana, and the winter ball coming up.”
“I learned my lesson at homecoming,” Clark replied irritably. Oddly, he hadn’t thought of Lana for a long time, it seemed.
“Okay. Well, good. I didn’t want to find you naked in a field again anyway.” Chloe clacked on her computer for a minute without saying anything.
Clark smiled and hugged her shoulders from behind. “Thanks, Chloe.”
“What are friends for, if not to save each other from vaguely homoerotically charged bullying pranks? I still think Whitney and his pals should should have spent some time in lockup for that. When I found you that morning, I thought you were dead.”
“Close to,” Clark murmured. “But I made it. I’m okay.”
“Just be careful about this thing, with the park guy. If he really is in trouble, it could be dangerous. You could get hurt.”
“I’ll watch my back,” Clark promised.
***
The boy came up to him with a wavering smile and a bag that smelled deliciously of warm, homemade bread. The boy was always bringing him food. That much, Lex understood.
He knew who he was. Of course he knew who he was. Vaguely.
He just had a hard time putting together the particulars was all. What had happened, how he’d gotten there. He knew, for example, that he needed to stay unnoticed. That he remembered.
On days when he remembered the boy, it was odd to think back to the day before when he hadn’t remembered. He wondered, often, how long they’d been doing this. Had he been out here forever, accepting help from a young man with a heart so big and warm that he never got cold?
Then there were days when he couldn’t remember the boy, and that was truly frightening. Something had happened. Something bad. He’d learned something. Something dangerous. His head spun in circles as he tried to place that smile, oh that smile. Sometimes it was as though everything of the boy, his warmth, his sweetness, his pretty long lashes and sleek body, all of it faded away, except for his smile. When the boy didn’t manage to come one day, that thought kept Lex warm. The tenuous memory of a beautiful bright smile from this silly boy who called him Cheshire for some inexplicable reason.
“Who...” Lex shook his head as he looked into the boy’s eyes. Sadness overwhelmed the usual spark of cheerfulness. Lex closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. Why did it hurt so damn much? “I mean... I can’t remember your name.”
“It’s Clark,” the boy whispered patiently. He approached Lex and then pulled his blanket up over his shoulders.
“I haven’t always been like this,” Lex swore. He didn’t know why it was important for Clark to know this, but he had become awfully fond of him, at some point. Maybe he couldn’t remember all of the particulars, but Lex felt a great affinity with Clark. Maybe he had been friends with him for years, all the while his memories floated around, inchoate and ephemeral. Slipping through his fingers whenever he tried to grasp them.
Clark shrugged, looking down at Lex with his particular brand of sweet ingenuousness. “I haven’t always been like this.”
“Hm? Heh.” Lex dipped his head and laughed softly. “Somehow I believed you appeared fully formed. Perhaps on a wave of the ocean.”
“What? On a clamshell? Do I look like Venus to you?”
“More like Adonis, but I can’t allude to him from what I know about you.”
“What’s he known for?”
Lex shrugged. “Aside from being also associated with Greek mythology, after being imported loosely from the other religions of the ancient world of course, as the majority of Greek personas and thus in turn Roman... He’s one of many gods tied to nature and vegetation that goes through a cycle of death and rebirth. The cycle of the year- birth, flourishing, wilting, and dying, then over again. That’s his story.”
“Like a farmer god?”
“You could say that, I suppose.” Lex nodded, sort of impressed that his mind could hold onto so much detail.
“Well, my dad’s a farmer, and I help on the farm.”
“Have you ever died?” Lex asked cheekily.
“Not yet,” Clark replied with just as much cheek.
Lex turned his head and brushed his nose against Clark’s cheek. “Well, if you ever do, Mr. Adonis, I suspect you’ll rise from the dead.” “That’s comforting.” Clark cupped Lex’s cheek and kissed his forehead. “How are you feeling? Still sore?”
“A... a little.”
“Sounds like you’re getting better.”
Clark reached into Lex’s coat, and Lex stiffened.
“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling over Lex’s ribs. “I really am.”
“It’s okay. I... I trust you.”
“I’m glad. Cheshire, could you... Would you mind to come with me somewhere?”
“I can’t go anywhere, Clark. You know that.”
“But why? Please, just a little-”
“No, I...” Lex touched his head, trying to piece together the specifics. He shook his head when he realized that whatever he remembered, he couldn’t tell Clark about it. If Clark knew anything about it, he could be in danger, and he would never hurt those he cared about because of this trouble he’d gotten himself into. “I can’t go anywhere.”
“A shelter maybe? Get inside.”
“No. I can’t.” Lex knew that those kinds of places would be watched. Who wouldn’t watch a shelter for a man on the run with no money and no place to go? “Please trust me about this.”
Clark wrapped his arms around Lex and held him tight. “You need to let me take care of you.”
“I can only accept so much. If anything hurt you, I just couldn’t stand it.”
“You don’t... You don’t need to worry about me. You really don’t.” Clark rubbed his back. “What’s scaring you? Is it what happened to your father?” “My father?” Lex blinked dumbly trying to remember. What happened to his father? What happened to his...? “Dad. They- they killed him.”
A crash. That’s what the nurse had said as they rolled Lex in for his next round of electroshock. A car crash.
Lex felt Clark’s warm lips pressing against his cheek. He opened and closed his eyes several times, fighting against whatever was welling up inside of him.
How many times had he forgotten that his father was dead? How many times had that bastard been mourned? Maybe it was appropriate for Lionel Luthor to be forgotten over and over by the only person who would really have missed him. Lex knew that Lionel hadn’t died in a crash. That was just how the local mob disposed of bodies.
***
It was hardly the first time that Clark had gone to the place he’d left Cheshire only to find him missing, but the feeling of panic he got never seemed to diminish. It had been three weeks since he’d met Cheshire, and the young man was always, always in Clark’s heart, no matter what else was on his mind. From that jock flipping out and trying to popsicle Chloe to the girl whose metabolism went into a meteor induced hyperdrive at Lana’s sixteenth birthday party held at the firehouse, even if Clark was busy, Cheshire wasn’t far from his thoughts.
The first step was to look from alley to alley. There was a chance that Cheshire had needed something, and he wasn’t so helpless that he wouldn’t go looking for it, or leave the alley if it looked like there was someone dangerous around. Clark just wished Cheshire would agree to go to, and stay in (which was the real rub), a shelter, where it would be warm and safe. Who knew how much energy Cheshire was wasting that could be used to heal himself.
“Cheshire?” Clark called frantically, after he’d been searching for his friend for more than ten minutes. His heart jerked in his chest at the thought of losing Cheshire, especially when he still needed Clark. He called out the name again and listened hard for any response. It was possible that Cheshire had forgotten him again, and so forgotten that Cheshire meant himself.
Each time Clark called out Cheshire’s name, he stopped to listen, and every time, it seemed like the noises of the city grew louder and louder. When the sound of a honking horn seemed to be right inside his ears, he paled and jumped, and then covered them, shocked and frightened. Now the whole city seemed to be descending upon him, and he didn’t understand how this could happen.
Clark dropped to his knees and huddled over. A passerby dropped money in front of him, and the well-wishing thundered in his ears: “HAVE A HAPPY HOLIDAY, SON!”
Then, there it was, a sound magnified that seemed like a bomb going off.
Clark hadn’t realized he was moving until he was standing in front of a man with a gun and his beloved Cheshire, who was pressed against the wall with one hand clutching his stomach.
For Clark, it was practically slow motion as Cheshire turned his head and met Clark with the familiar expression of uncertain recognition mingled with pain and fear. Cheshire was telling him to run. The man with the gun whipped it around and aimed it at Clark. A frown deepened as the bullets bounced off his chest, ripping up his flannel shirt but not doing much actual damage. As the man stared at Clark in utter bafflement and emptied out his gun just to be sure, Clark walked toward him, snatched the gun from his hand, and bent it in half before throwing it away.
“What the fuck are you?” the man demanded, backing away. Before Clark could answer, the man had fled the alley.
Once again, Clark’s ears were filled with sound- a wild heartbeat- and he turned to Cheshire, who was sliding down the side of the wall as he watched Clark with huge eyes.
“Please don’t be scared,” Clark pleaded, coming over to Cheshire and dropping to his knees. “Please. Please, don’t be scared.”
“I’m hallucinating. Hallucinating, again. I am crazy,” Cheshire murmured.
“You’re hurt. He shot you!” Clark touched Cheshire’s hand, the one that was clutching his wound.
“I-I know. Clark. Clark’s your name, right? I...” Cheshire shook his head. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“Don’t say that!” Clark shouted. “You don’t die, remember? You said you don’t die!”
“No... You don’t die. Bullets fly off your chest.” Cheshire closed his eyes and smiled weakly. “That was amazing. Even if I’m hallucinating... you’re my hero, Clark.”
“Cheshire-”
“I have a secret. I have a secret, and I want you to know,” Cheshire interrupted.
“I....” Clark tried to choke back a sob, and he bent over Cheshire, cradling him in his arms.
“My name. I want you to know it. You can’t ever tell anyone you knew me, though.”
“I won’t. I won’t ever tell, anyone ever. Believe me, I’m the Fort Knox of secrets,” Clark whispered.
Cheshire laughed softly, then coughed. Flecks of blood appeared on his lips. “My name is Lex. Please call me Lex. I’m tired of being no one. I miss being me.”
A hot tear trickled down Clark’s cheek and landed on his friend’s. He pressed a kiss to the cold, pale forehead, and whispered, “Lex.”