Note: Well look who decided to crawl back out from the rock. I've honestly not written anything for the last two years, as real life has had nothing but drama. So for now, I'm back with a new fic. I don't really have an official summary yet as it would give away too many spoilers. Please leave feedback below as it helps feed the starving muse.
Chapter 1
****
Seventeen-year-old Lois squinted as she tried to see beyond the dimming headlights. They had been fading at an alarming rate since she turned them on after the rapidly setting winter sun made them necessary, leaving the road ahead washed in a weak yellow glow. The windshield wipers dragged across the glass with a tired squeak, smearing flakes of snow into watery streaks. The small, drifting snowflakes that had been a minor annoyance earlier seemed to be picking up in both size and intensity.
The black 1981 Challenger had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday from her father after Lois and her sister Lucy moved to LA to live with him. Her mother had been sentenced to mandatory rehab for alcoholism, and the car had quickly become more than a gift: it was freedom, responsibility, and, Lois suspected, a bribe.
Sam Lane had wanted her to choose medicine. Lois had dug in her heels for journalism instead, and the argument two days ago had been enough to send her packing. She had thrown what she could into the back of the car, emptied her bank account, and headed east.
Hours behind the wheel had stripped the romance from running away. Metropolis had been the plan, but the longer Lois drove, the less realistic it seemed. Eventually, she would need money, a place to stay, and a real plan if she wanted to become the journalist she kept insisting she would be. But the more she thought it through, the thinner the plan became. Even if Ellen could take her in, Lois did not know if she could survive living under her mother’s roof again, not with Ellen trapped in the familiar cycle of being drunk, hungover, or apologizing for both. The thought made the darkness outside feel even colder.
Turning her attention back to the road, Lois realized just how lost she was. She had gotten on the rural highway when a car accident closed the interstate she had been traveling on. While she had initially seen police officers directing traffic around the detour, it had been a while since she had seen any. She checked the gas gauge, then glanced at the folded map lying uselessly on the passenger seat; none of the crossroads she had passed had stayed in view long enough to find. She had been hoping for some sign of approaching civilization, but all she could see on the horizon were barren fields and bare trees.
Then, as if Lois’s situation couldn’t get worse, the engine seemed to slow as though it were running out of power. The dashboard lights flickered, and the heater fan gave a weak, rattling sigh. She had just enough momentum to pull over to the side of the road before the engine died. Her attempts to restart it failed, and the engine cranked more slowly each time she tried. Giving up, Lois felt tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Over the last two days, they had been burning in the back of her eyes, but now she could not stop them. She knew her situation was hopeless.
The rapidly increasing darkness and falling snow would make walking to get help a potentially deadly decision. Without the heater running, she could feel the temperature dropping inside the car; the cold crept through the soles of her shoes and settled in her fingers. Reaching into the back seat, Lois retrieved the comforter she had used to keep warm when she stopped the night before and wrapped it around herself. The fabric smelled faintly of old laundry detergent and the stale air of too many hours on the road.
Even if she could walk to get help, where would she go? There was not even a house in sight, much less a payphone. Lois forced herself to catalog the facts the way she would for a story: dead battery, dropping temperature, no road signs, no traffic, no idea what county she was in. The list did not make her feel better, but it kept her from sobbing for another few seconds. She was utterly stranded in the middle of nowhere. Worst of all, Lois was not sure anyone would care enough to help her even if they knew her situation.
If her life were a B movie, this was the part where some psycho serial killer with a chain saw would appear out of the darkness to deliver her a grisly death. While she had not cared for those movies before, she could not help but look around frantically. As she did, she noticed headlights approaching from the opposite direction.
Deciding to take a chance, Lois grabbed the door handle, opened the door, and got out.
****
At the same time, Clark Kent was driving back to the farm from Smallville, hands steady on the wheel while his mind kept circling the same old things: bills, school, the empty house waiting for him, and the snow swallowing the road ahead. He had worked a long day at the feed and grain, and even though he did not get tired like a normal person, the cold and the work had left him feeling hollowed out in a way his strength could not fix.
The snow coming down now had started as freezing rain earlier in the day, and the roof in the storeroom had begun leaking onto a pallet of fifty-pound bags of feed that morning. The whole place smelled of damp grain, wet burlap, and cold concrete. Between moving the fed bags and helping half the farmers in town load weight bags into their pickups for the storm, Clark was ready to be home.
He was thankful Christmas break had started, even if the thought of waking up Christmas morning in the quiet farmhouse made his chest ache before he could talk himself out of caring. Ever since his parents died when he was ten, Clark had been mostly alone. Foster homes had come and gone until one became bad enough that he ran away, and Wayne and Nellie Irig had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go.
A few months ago, Clark had moved back into his parents’ house and begun repairing the damage left by years of disuse. Wayne and Nellie had been good to him, but privacy had become more important than comfort. The strange things happening to him were getting too hard to hide.
In science class, his eyes had burned moments before the projection screen burst into flames. Later, in the field, he had accidentally set a hay bale on fire and then frozen it while trying to blow the flames out. Since then, distance had felt safer. Clark did not know how anyone would react if they learned what he could do—or if they discovered the strange, spaceship-like object his parents had found him in years earlier.
The farm gave him privacy, but it also gave him more loneliness than he liked to admit. At night, every creak in the old house reminded him how much space one person could fail to fill. His only steady company was a gray-and-white feral cat he had named Scruffy, who had decided to take up residence in the barn and accepted Clark’s bowls of water and cheap cat food with cautious meows.
Maybe for Christmas, he would get Scruffy a toy and some treats. Maybe that would entice the cat to let him pet it.
Focusing on the road as he approached the turnoff for the farm, Clark noticed a black car parked on the shoulder just past the turn, its shape half-blurred by snow and exhaust hanging low in the frigid air. For one sharp second, he thought about driving on; strangers meant questions, and questions were dangerous. Then the driver’s door opened, and a young woman got out into the wind and snow. She waved her arms in a way that told him she wanted him to stop. Whatever caution he had vanished under the plain fact that she was stranded and scared. Clark slowed to a stop, the tires crunching over icy gravel, and rolled down his window.
“Need some help?” Clark asked as the girl approached the door of his truck. A gust of wind shoved snow across the open window and stung his cheek. She looked about his age, though he did not recognize her as one of his classmates. She was undeniably attractive, with shoulder-length dark hair and a stubborn set to her chin that made her seem braver than the weather should have allowed. Her face was tinged pink from the cold, and the comforter wrapped around her made something protective twist hard in his chest.
“My car died, and I can’t get it to restart,” Lois explained, taking in the appearance of her would-be rescuer. He did not look like a chain-saw-wielding serial killer. The driver of the truck was a boy approximately her age, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He wore a flannel shirt and a brown coat, and he stayed where he was instead of crowding her. Lois filed that away without letting herself relax too much.
Knowing there would not be any traffic on the road, Clark put his truck in park and opened his door to see if he could help her. He was careful to move slowly, to keep his hands visible, to make himself seem as harmless as a six-foot farm boy could manage. While Clark was not a mechanic, living on a farm most of his life had taught him a thing or two about engines.
“Let’s see what it does,” Clark said as he got out of the truck. “Can you try starting it for me?”
“I’m Clark Kent,” Clark said, extending his hand as they walked back over to the Charger.
“Lois Lane,” she said, taking his hand.
“Go ahead and try it,” Clark said when they reached the driver’s door.
Lois got back in her car and paused for a moment before trying the key again, hoping the car would start this time. When she attempted to start it, the engine turned over only once before all it would do was click.
“Battery’s dead,” Clark said. “Could be the alternator. It might start with a jump, but if the alternator isn’t charging, you won’t get far.”
“Where’s the closest place I can get it fixed?” Lois asked. “I need to get moving again. I’m trying to get to Metropolis.”
“Smallville’s about nine miles down the road,” Clark said. “Jerry Roberts runs the repair shop, but he closed a few hours ago. With the storm coming in, most of town shut down early so people could get home. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“No. I was trying to make it at least to St. Louis before I stopped.” Lois glanced toward the dark road. “Does Smallville have a hotel?”
“No. Closest one is in Grandville, about thirty miles from here. And in this weather, with that battery? I wouldn’t risk it.”
“I don’t exactly have another option,” Lois said. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“We can try the jump,” Clark said. “If it holds, you can follow me to my farm and wait out the storm there. Tomorrow, or whenever the roads clear, we’ll get your car to Jerry.” He saw Lois tense and quickly lifted one hand from the doorframe.
“Only if you want to. I can write down the farm number and the sheriff’s name if that helps.” The offer sounded risky the moment it left his mouth. He had spent months arranging his life so no one got too close, and now he was inviting a stranger into the one place he could still hide. But the alternative was leaving her in a dead car while the temperature dropped, and that was not something he could live with. Lois still seemed to hesitate, so he added: “It’s only a mile. And you can’t stay out here with no heat and no food. They’re saying it could drop below zero tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Lois asked. “I don’t want to put anyone out.” She knew how her parents would react if she brought a boy home and offered to let him stay for dinner, much less the night.
“You’re not,” Clark said. “And honestly, I don’t think you’d make it far in this weather.”
“If you’re sure… okay,” Lois agreed. She was not sure why she trusted this boy, but she noticed the details: he had given her a choice instead of pushing, answered her questions directly, and offered names she could verify. Right now, that counted for more than she wanted to admit.
“We’ll see if we can get the car started,” Clark said before going back to his truck. Clark moved his pickup nose to nose with Lois’s Charger, grabbed the jumper cables, and raised both hoods. With fingers numbed by the wind, he connected the cables. The engine gave off a faint metallic heat under the sharper smell of cold oil.
“Try it now,” Clark called, letting Lois stay in the car and at least out of the wind.
Lois turned the key. While the engine cranked slowly, it eventually caught and started. But as soon as Clark disconnected the jumper cables, the car began to lose power. Clark went over to Lois’s window and indicated for her to roll it down.
“Alternator’s not charging,” he said. “Plan B. I’ve got a tow rope in the truck. I’ll pull you to the farm, put the charger on the battery, and let it sit overnight. I’m going to turn the truck around and get you hooked up. Roll your window up so you can keep some heat in.”
Clark packed the cables away, turned the truck around, and backed into position for the tow rope. He hooked the rope to the Charger and secured the other end to the truck. Fortunately, Lois had not made it past the turnoff for the farm before she broke down, so they did not have to risk turning the car around in the worsening storm. Getting up, Clark went to Lois’s window, which she rolled down when she saw him approach.
“Put it in neutral and try to keep the rope taut,” Clark said. “We’ll turn onto the first road, and the farm’s about a mile in. If anything feels wrong, honk. I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” Lois said. “I can do that.” She rolled her window back up to try to keep warm. As Clark had said, the temperature seemed to be dropping, and the snow was coming down harder, ticking softly against the glass. Clark returned to his truck, and soon Lois felt the jerk of the tow rope before her car began to move, following Clark’s truck down the road. The steering wheel vibrated under her hands as the Charger rolled over ruts hidden beneath the snow.
As the teens made their way back to the farm, the storm swallowed the road behind them. Snow blurred the fields, muffled the engine noise, and erased their tire tracks almost as quickly as they appeared. Fence posts flashed past like dark matchsticks in the white haze, and the only steady points in the world were Clark’s taillights glowing red ahead of her.
Neither of them noticed the dapper gentleman in a black suit and bowler hat standing half-hidden behind a tree. He drew a silver, remote-looking object from his coat pocket, adjusted the dials with careful fingers, and disappeared into thin air.
Last edited by Daytonagirl; 06/21/26 08:21 PM.
