For Sale by Owner
Spoilers: Most directly the pilot, but otherwise makes vague references to several epis.
Archiving: Please ask me first. Otherwise my site as soon as I get it there.
Keywords: futurefic, Dark!Lex
Disclaimers: Not mine. Not even remotely. Belonging to rich people. Summary: Lex knows the truth...
"For Sale by Owner"
The automatic doors opened, flooding light into the musty garage. Lex Luthor stepped inside, smiling grimly as the shadows receded, revealing to him that which he sought from his long ago past in Smallville, KS.
A practically brand new, never been driven, fully loaded Ford truck.
Never been driven, Lex reiterated, chuckling ruefully. Except by himself the day he'd driven it over to the farm... a 'thank you for saving my life' that had soon been returned, unaccepted. It had been a sign and he'd failed to heed it.
But he'd never make that mistake again.
Lex pulled the keys out of his pocket and climbed inside the cab of the truck. It roared to life when he turned the keys in the ignition, and for a moment, all Lex could think about was how much fun the recipient of this gift would have been had he only kept it. This truck should have been used for all sorts of recreation--impressing friends, picking up chicks, the reprehensible hick past-time known only as 'mudding'. Lex was still sketchy on what that was, but someone he'd become close to during his time in Smallville had told him it was 'the thing to do' on a Saturday night.
Yeah, right. Whatever.
Smallville hadn't changed in the years since he'd left it, Lex mused as he drove the truck at a break-neck speed down to the bridge where this whole thing had begun so long ago. He almost lost the limo--he'd ordered the driver to follow him--twice on the way. Partially because he'd forgotten that Enrique was the slowest driver in the world and partially because Enrique was the slowest in the world and it behooved Lex to show him exactly how a man should drive a nearly-new vehicle. By the time the chauffeur caught up to him, he'd already parked the truck on the bank by the side of road. Right next to the fateful bridge that had come so close to claiming his life once upon a time.
Lex remembered that the father of the boy who'd saved his life had parked his own truck there when he came to claim his son.
The boy who'd save his life...
A snarl appeared on Lex's face at this thought. That boy no longer existed to him. He'd disappeared from the world the day Lex saw him on the front page dressed in a blue spandex leotard and red cape, flaunting the super powers he'd used to thwart one of Lex's 'associates.'
He hadn't even attempted to change his appearance really. Just slicked back his hair and somehow trained his face to contort in such a way that it hid his naturally boyish features. Hardening them so that even his own partner at the Daily Planet couldn't tell it was one and the same man. But Lex had still recognized him. He'd have been blind not to.
Superman. That's what they were calling him in Metropolis. Defender of the weak, beacon of truth, justice, and the American Way.
Truth. Justice. Bullshit.
Lex bitterly recalled how he'd befriended this young man--helped him in his feeble attempt to get the girl, helped finance his father's farm, lavished him with more attention than was befitting a farm boy. Defended him when that idiot Nixon went snooping around his parents' property. Bile rose in his throat; it was just enough to make him sick.
Lex stalked to the limo, where Enrique waited with a black-orangeand -white sign. He snatched the sign from the other man and slipped it into place on the dashboard. Then he stood back to admire his handy work.
For sale: with Lex's cellular number written on the bottom in permanent marker.
It was conveniently, located, too. Everyone in Smallville traveled this road at least once a day. Even the traitor's parents. Especially them. They'd see it sooner or later and they'd know who was selling the truck meant for their son.
Their special, indestructible son.
Lex glared at the bridge, recalling awakening from death to the sight of dark, soaking wet hair curling around an angelically innocent and concerned face. He'd made the owner of that visage his friend, trusted him with his life countless more times, but that friendship was as false as Lex's own father. As false as the devil himself.
They'd professed honesty to each other. No secrets between them.
Lex locked up the truck, slipping the keys back into his pocket. He breathed deep, filling his lungs with Smallville air. It no longer smelled like hope to him. Instead, it stank of filth and lies.
The lies ended here, though. Lex hadn't been prepared to see his one-time best friend fighting against him, but it wouldn't throw him off again. He already had a plan to repay this betrayal.
Signaling to Enrique, he climbed into the limousine and directed its driver to a clearing in the woods. Two shovels were produced from the expensive car and Lex instructed the other man to digging. They were looking for glowing green rocks. Kryptonite--what they'd once just called meteor rocks. Lex remembered finding his former friend nearly passed out with a necklace made from the stuff around his neck. He knew it had weakened him; he was dying to see if it would kill him.
This time, however, it wouldn't be an innocent necklace around his neck. He'd test the stuff. See if it could be bent and shaped like metal. A cage maybe... or chains. Huge, heavy chains to string from Superman's limbs. Lex would take great pleasure in seeing his new nemesis crumble under that tainted weight.
When they'd filled several boxes of the radioactive rock, Lex made ready to leave. His mission in Smallville was completed, and he never planned on returning save on the day LexCorp flattened the Kent farm to make way for a shopping mall.
On the way back down that twisting little road, Lex noted with pleasure a local inspecting the vehicle he was selling. The man was a little older than Lex recalled, but he knew the man on sight. As the limo flew past, the farmer's head turned and Lex swore he could feel his uncertain, yet-ever-hating glare on the back of his bald head. The irony of this was that Lex had yet to do something to make the man hate him.
Not yet, anyway.
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