Lex had expected to end up spending the rest of the night laying awake, planning the apology he was going to give in the morning. But within minutes, the exhaustion over took him. He was out cold.

When he woke up, though, his mind was still alive with the stress. It was so much worse, well rested. He had no idea what he had been thinking, going into Bobby's private things like that. Picking locks in the house where he was a guest. Even arguing at the dinner table had been incredibly out of line; the right thing to do would have been to request to call Dean, who could give him more information and speak to Bobby if something was amiss. He was fairly certain Bobby would have agreed to let Lex use the phone, if he had spoken to him rationally rather than constantly whining and complaining. The pain and exhaustion, not to mention the meds, were taking their toll on Lex's mind.

None of that mattered now. He had already ruined things. Lex took a little time to pack the few belongings he had brought, and he went out into the living room. He had no grand apology planned. It didn't matter; he didn't expect any personal or professional relationship with Bobby going forward, so there was nothing to preserve. He would simply apologize for invading the man's privacy, ask for his phone, and be on his way.

Bobby sat on the couch in the living room. The photos from the locked desk were strewn out in front of him, on his lap, on the table, over the piles of papers and books. Lex couldn't see Bobby's face, but he didn't have to.

All at once, he knew what to say.

"Dean once told me that everyone who hunts has a story."

Silence.

He hadn't been expecting a response, anyway. "I'm not a hunter, not really. I dabble in lore because of… a younger friend of mine. I was 16, and he was nine, and he was kidnapped and almost killed by a Djinn. Of course, I didn't know what to do."

Bobby didn't speak. Didn't even look up at him.

Lex took a deep breath. "I'd known the kid for all of a couple of weeks, but I think some part of me knew when I first met him. That I would do anything to protect him. It's because I instantly put him in the place of my own brother, who died before his first birthday."

For the first time, Bobby looked up.

Lex came to sit on the seat across from him. He didn't, couldn't, look Bobby in the eye. "For 12 years, I believed I had killed him. My father walked in to find Julian dead, and me standing with a pillow over him. And he never looked at me the same way again."

Bobby lowered his head.

"And then," Lex went on, "a few months ago, I come to find out. I didn't kill him. My mother did. Postpartum psychosis. She believed it was a mercy kill, that my father was going to pit Julian and me against each other, make us hate each other, fight for his affection."

A heavy sigh. "Lex..."

"And at first, it was a weight off. I wasn't a murderer. Julian's death wasn't on my hands. But it was. In a way that was so much worse than before. You see, I used to be able to tell myself it was an accident. Accidents can happen to anyone, no one's to blame. But if my mom killed Julian as a mercy, to save him from my father, why wouldn't she take me, too?" He shook his head. "She killed Julian for me. If I'd never been born, he would be alive."

"It's not your fault."

Lex finally looked Bobby in the eye. "And whatever happened to her, the woman from the photos? Was that your fault?"

Bobby's eyes fell closed.

Lex took a deep breath. "Everyone who hunts has a story. I'm sorry I judged you before I got to know yours."

When Bobby looked up at Lex, his eyes were solemn. "Likewise, son."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Lex looked around the room. "If you're willing, I would love to continue a conversation with you when I'm well. The wealth of knowledge represented in these volumes…"

Bobby sighed. "And it sounds like I have a few things to learn from you. I called Dean this morning." He smirked. "Aliens, huh?"

"I wish I could tell you everything."

"No, I'm sure you have people to protect. But as much as you can tell me about kryptonite…"

Lex nodded. "I have a few years' worth of findings compiled in a couple of binders. I'm working on digitizing the information, and I'm happy to share everything I know."

"Same to you," Bobby said.

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

This time, when Dean reached the cave, he was ready.

He had raided the mansion for weapons, particularly explosives. He had double checked that they were loaded with kryptonite, and he even loaded in extra kryptonite from a lead lined room where Lex stored the meteor rocks—apparently, the kryptonite couldn't hurt Clark from behind the lead, which seemed incredibly specific to Dean, But maybe it had something to do with radiation. He had grabbed a few hours of sleep and a shower so that he wouldn't be distracted when he went down there. And he had made sure to pick up that metal octagon on the way out.

He spent a few minutes placing the explosive strategically. He wanted to make sure that if he set them off, the cave would truly be destroyed. Of course, he also wanted to make sure he would be able to get out alive, so he had only chosen triggers with a timer.

The last thing he did was to press the octagon into its place on the wall.

Predictably, the wind and beams of light started back up again. It was a lot less impressive the second time around. As if the whole thing was a show.

"Return to your home, Dean Winchester. Leave this place. There is nothing for you here."

"You remember me. I'm flattered." Dean held up the trigger button. "Do you have scanners for weapons, too? Or just people?"

There was a slight pause.

Then the wind kicked up heavier, the roaring becoming painful in Dean's ears. The lights brightened, a few tendrils hitting him in the chest. "You dare challenge a superior species?"

"I'm not looking to challenge you. I just want Clark back."

"Kal-El's transformation is not complete."

"Yeah, well, I kind of prefer it that way. Could we get on with us? I'm guessing you don't want the caves destroyed. And honestly, I'd kind of rather not destroy them. I think the Kawachi people would be kind of upset with me." He held up the trigger. "But if you force my hand…"

The wind picked up still further. Bits of rock began to ran down from the walls, and Dean had to jump at the last minute to dodge one. He almost dropped the trigger in the process; he gripped it tighter in his hand, just in time for the lights to flash even brighter.

"Leave this place, Dean Winchester," the voice bellowed. "This does not concern you."

"Do you think I'm bluffing? Does your programming even cover bluffing? I'm not. Bring my friend back. I know you can."

A new gust of wind hit Dean in the chest, and he flew back. This time, he made sure to grab onto his trigger even tighter, but when his back hit the wall, his thumb slipped.

Dean swore under his breath. He wasn't going to get out in time.

There was a deafening explosion, and rocks rained down. He dodged one, but another hit him in the shoulder, hard enough that he went down. He huddled on the cave floor, shielding his head with his arms as best as he could.

But debris just kept stacking up on top of his body, pressing in until he could barely breathe. The lights had stopped; the wind was gone. He didn't know what had become of Jor-El. Soon enough, the explosions and the showers of rocks died down, and Dean tried to dig his way out, but he was pinned.

"Help," he croaked out, then, mustering his strength, he pulled in a deeper breath. "Help!"

Nothing for a moment. Then, a weak voice: "Help me."

"Clark?"

"Who is in there?" Clark's voice sounded strained, like he was in terrible pain.

Of course he was in terrible pain. Dean had just blown up the cave with a bunch of kryptonite bombs. "It's Dean. Hey, I'm stuck under some rocks, I can't get out."

"I… I don't think I can help you…"

"Are you stuck, too?"

"No, just...weak...it hurts..."

"Sorry, man, this didn't exactly go according to plan. Hey, did you have your phone on you when you got zapped away?"

"Maybe, but I don't have it now."

"Checked all of your pockets?" Dean wished he could see Clark. Or really anything.

"Uh. I...don't have pockets."

Some thing about the way he said it gave Dean pause. He didn't know how to ask if the AI had returned Clark with anything, including his clothes. But one way or another, Clark couldn't stay here forever. "Can you walk?"

"I can try…"

"If you can get out of the cave, you'll be fine. You'll get your powers back. Can you run and get your dad?"

"How long have I been gone?"

"Not too long, just a couple of weeks."

"It felt like minutes."

Dean winced. "Your parents will be happy to see you."

There was a soft shuffling, and then dragging footsteps. "I think I can get out," Clark said, although it sounded more like he was running a marathon then like he was walking across a room.

"Great. Please hurry, I'm losing feeling in my legs."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Clark said, his voice sounding more distant but a little stronger as he apparently made his way away from the kryptonite.

Dean let his breath out, and he tried to relax.