For the most part, Lex just tried to stay out of Bobby's way. He spent most of his time in the little guest room, which was just as well. Thanks to the poison, he found himself dead exhausted if he stayed awake for more than five or six hours at a time. As much as he hated to admit it, Dean had probably been right. Luthor Corp could run itself for a few days. Lex was in no shape to be running it; he couldn't afford to be seen this weak.

Part of him wished he had still gone to stay at one of his other homes, or even with the Kents, even though Dean also probably had a point about things being safer here, since his father didn't know who Bobby was. Bobby didn't speak much, and neither did Lex. Lex almost found it to be a shame, because the house was loaded with so many great books, and he would have loved to talk to Bobby about how he got them.

But Lex doubted that Bobby wanted to make much conversation with him, anyway. So Lex came out for meals, and not much else. Even more annoyingly, he had to actually eat three meals a day, which was more than he ate even when he hadn't been recently poisoned, making it hard to even smell food without feeling nauseous. He tried skipping a meal once, and Bobby came into his room and wouldn't leave until he agreed to come out and eat. Apparently the doctor had said something about Lex needing to eat regular meals to Dean, who had passed it on to Bobby.

The time passed unbearably slowly. Lex read a couple of books he had brought in his suitcase, and he slept a lot. He couldn't quite bring himself to ask for his phone back. He wished he could have words with Dean about this whole situation, but he supposed when he got to that point he was going to have to admit that he had been wrong about a few things, so maybe he wasn't looking forward to that conversation as much as he could have been.

On the second night, Lex came down for dinner—he had offered to help with the cooking, and Bobby had barked at him to go back to his room and rest—with a thought in mind for how to diffuse things and hopefully make things a little less awkward. "Bobby, I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

Bobby carried a pan from the stove to a pot holder on the table. "If this is another attempt to get out of here before it's safe…"

"No, it's sort of the opposite. I was hoping you'd allow me to pay you for the space. It would make me feel better about this whole thing."

"Forget about it."

"It would be no trouble."

"I'm sure it wouldn't. Keep your money, kid."

Lex was breathing in to say something else when one of the phones on the wall started ringing.

"Go ahead and serve yourself up," Bobby said. "This one could take a while."

Lex sat down at the table, but he didn't touch the food. It didn't feel right.

Bobby picked up the phone. "Hello... Good to hear from you, Garth. How's things?"

Lex shifted in his seat at the table. It was sounding like a social call. He wondered how long he should actually wait before starting to serve up food.

"Oh, that doesn't sound good. Can you tell me more about those markings?"

Lexi blinked, straightening up. It sounded they were talking about something related to a hunt. Was that what Bobby did? Answer people's questions about lore? It was the kind of thing Lex could see himself doing, if he had been raised the way Dean had. Maybe he had dismissed Bobby too soon.

"OK, son. What you're dealing with is called a Djinn. They put you into a sort of a dream, and you're dead within 24 hours. Now, what you need to do is get a silver knife, dip it in lamb's blood, and stab that sucker in the heart."

Lex couldn't keep his silence at that. "How do you know he's not dealing with a variant?"

Bobby ignored Lex. "Can you get that? I can send in someone to help."

"He's hunting alone? Something he's never seen before? Who is this kid, how old is he?"

Bobby waved his hand dismissively at Lex. "OK, Garth. Call me when you get back… No problem." He hung up the phone and came to the table.

"Call him back," Lex said.

"Excuse me?"

"You couldn't have gotten enough information from him in that time. What if he's dealing with a variation? Not all Djinn are the same."

"They all die the same way."

"When I was 16, I encountered a mutant Djinn. Green tattoos, he'd been infected with an alien mineral. To kill it, he needed blood from a limb that had been infected with the same mineral."

"You lost me at alien."

"I didn't believe it myself at first. But—"

"I know you're a friend of Dean's, but you should know we don't deal in conspiracy theories."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Lex felt his jaw pulse. Lex knew how Clark felt about his secret, but Dean should have told Bobby something, especially if he was giving information to people whose lives depended on it. "Neither am I, unless they're true."

"Well, the hunter I was talking to said blue tattoos. So he hadn't been possessed by an alien or anything."

"How do you know that Djinn hadn't been infected by anything else?"

"I've been doing this a lot of years, kid."

"I haven't, and the first Djinn I ever encountered was a mutant. Are you willing to bet that guy's life that the one he found isn't?"

"I can only give him the information I have, Lex. Hunters, we risk our lives every time we go out there, but we take a much bigger risk if we go in assuming aliens are involved."

"But you don't know. And you were the one supplying the information that makes the difference between life and death."

"What are you trying to say, boy?"

Lex bristled at the diminutive. "I'm saying if you're wrong, his blood is on your hands."

Bobby's expression grew dark, his face starting to turn red, and Lex knew he'd hit a nerve. "I know that. I live with that. What do you think I have all these books?"

A part of Lex knew in that moment that his life experiences were unique. Smallville was special. Aliens were rare. The guy Bobby had been talking to, he was probably safe. But that didn't feel good enough for him. And he felt insulted—turnabout was fair play in his book. "A lot of good that's done you. If I'd had to rely on you when I was 16? I'd be dead."

Bobby stood up straight. "Well, then, tell you what. The minute I get a call about an alien Djinn with green tattoos, I'll give you a call. Until then, you don't tell me what to do in my own house."

Lex stood from the table also, and he stalked toward the guest room.

"Get back in here, Lex, your doctor said—"

Lex slammed the door before he could hear the rest.

----------------------------------------

Dean had heard about the caves, but he hadn't been in them.

If he was honest with himself, he couldn't tell what the big deal was. He didn't understand what any of the paintings meant, if they meant anything at all. Maybe Clark could understand them, but he wasn't around to help out.

Even once the Kents had decided they were willing to help, they weren't able to give a lot of information. The fact was, there were just a lot of things about Clark that nobody understood. His powers development; the way he was affected by different types of kryptonite, green and red; his various interactions with his ship and the caves and what sounded like an AI of his biological father, telling him about his destiny—that part sounded like a load of crap to Dean. He had never been one to believe in destiny or fate, or even to think about those things.

But the disembodied voice of Clark's biological father had apparently been big on fate. According to the Kents, he had said something about Clark needing to be trained or reborn or something. His parents had initially panicked, but at this point, though they didn't phrase it this way, Dean figured they were starting to get used to Clark disappearing for a period of time and coming back.

And so, armed with a single gun loaded up with meteor infused bullets, along with a little metal octagon Aunt Martha had said could come in handy, Dean had entered the cave.

He really wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting to find here. The paintings meant nothing to him, and although there were several winding passageways, including one with a stone table with a triangular indent cut into it, there wasn't anyone around. No glowing lights, no rushing wind, no disembodied voice.

So Dean tried the octagon. He tried placing it on the table; he tried slipping it into cracks on the wall; he tried tapping on it, wondering if it would do something on its own. Nothing happened.

He was about to give up when he spotted an octagonal indent on the wall.

Dean could swear that hadn't been there before. Maybe the cave knew he was there. He placed the octagon into the indent.

For a moment, nothing happened.

But just a moment.

Red, blue, and yellow light came flooding out from the wall; tendrils of it hit Dean in the chest, knocking him off balance so he fell to the floor of the cave. Wind kicked up dust, and one of the passageways glowed, although Dean didn't dare get any closer.

"Hello?" Dean called, his voice sounding raspy even to him. "My name is Dean Winchester."

For a moment, there was only the wind. And then a voice called back: "This is no place for you, human."

"I'm looking for Clark Kent. You took him somewhere, and we need him back."

"Kal-El has only just begun his transformation."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"He will not return to the human world until his journey is complete."

"Journey? To what?"

"To rebirth."

Dean frowned. He was pretty sure he wasn't talking to a conscious person. "What are you?"

"I am the memory of Jor-El, father of Kal-El."

"The memory. I'm gonna say it again. What the hell does that mean?"

"Prior to my death, my consciousness was uploaded —" The voice continued speaking, but Dean didn't understand most of the words it was saying.

"So what, do you like an AI? Artificial intelligence?"

"My intelligence is far from artificial."

"OK. Well. I'm gonna have to ask you to wrap up the whole… Re-birthing thing. Kinda need Kal here."

"Kal-El has only just begun his transformation."

"Yeah, you said that," Dean mumbled. He really wasn't getting anywhere. "Look, Jor. Can I call you Jor?"

"I am the memory of Jor-El, father of—"

"Yeah, yeah. You said that part. Some new information for you. Kal's got a friend, Lex Luthor. Anything about him in your big alien computer brain?"

"He is not part of the plan. Kal must follow his destiny."

"And what destiny is that?"

"To rule over humanity, to live as a god among men."

"OK, but more specifically."

"It is not for humans to know of things beyond their understanding."

"Big talk from the dead guy."

"This place is not meant for you. Individual human lives are of no consequence in the greater plan."

"Kryptonians must've been fun at parties," Dean muttered. "Well, look, the guy's name is Lex Luthor. You should add him to your database or whatever."

"Kal-El's fate has been set since before his birth."

"And Luthor can help with that. Luthor is Kal-El's ally," Dean said, trying to use a word the AI might care about. "He has access to resources and information that can help Clark…uh, Kal-El, reach his destiny or fate or... whatever."

"The assistance of humans is not required."

"Yeah, but I doubt all these monster mutations were part of your plan, you could use someone with power on your side."

"Return to your home, Dean Winchester. This does not concern you."

"Yeah, but it does. You say, Luthor needs Clark to come back and help him. And Luthor is family to me. He's family to Clark, too."

"Kal-El has no family. His blood relations are deceased."

"I'm not talking about blood. I'm talking about family."

The AI didn't respond.

"You hearing me? We need you to bring him back."

"Leave this place, human. I have no more to say to you."

Dean swore under his breath. He yanked the octagon out of the wall, and he stormed out of the cave.