With the start of Lex's freshman year at Smallville High came more freedom for him, in addition to more rules. He was allowed to hang out with friends or in the library at the school for up to an hour after school ended, but he had to make prior arrangements if he was going to take any longer getting home. He was allowed to go out in the evenings, but only if his homework was done, his room was clean, his chores were finished, and Onyx was taken care of.

The most important rule, though, was that he had to be home by ten unless there was a school event or sleepover he'd gotten permission to attend. The curfew would raise to eleven when he turned sixteen, and to midnight if he was still living with them at eighteen. Jonathan made it very clear that missing curfew without permission was grounds for a hard lecture and a long, strict period of restriction. Lex didn't seem to have any problems with it at the time.

On the day of homecoming, Lex never came home from school at all.

At first, Martha was the one who was concerned. "He said he didn't want to participate in homecoming."

"Well, maybe some of his friends changed his mind." Jonathan was glad for that—the kid could be a bit uptight.

"I don't know, honey. He's been having a hard time making friends, and the few he has don't really seem like the type to be into it."

"Trust me, sweetheart. He's absolutely fine. I bet we'll see him at the game tonight."

They didn't see him at the game. Jonathan still wasn't worried about it—the stadium was big enough that it was hard to pick out anyone—but Martha barely watched the field, constantly scanning the bleachers and gripping onto Clark on her lap, tight enough that it would have hurt him if he had been any other kid.

She was still scanning the passing faces as they walked to the car. "I don't see him, Jonathan."

"He probably blended right into a crowd of other teenagers."

"He stands out."

"Not when he's wearing his hat." Lex had taken to doing that whenever he was around other kids his age—Jonathan was thankful that the teachers at the high school were understanding about it.

"What if he wasn't there?"

Jonathan sighed. "Then he's at a friend's house getting ready for the dance. He should have asked us permission, but he probably knew we would figure it out."

"I don't like it."

"We'll talk to him about it. But this is the first time he's done this. I don't think there's any need to overreact."

Jonathan had completely changed his tune by 11:30. The dance had ended at eleven, and there was no sign of Lex.

Martha paced in the living room, wringing her hands. "Jonathan, what if something happened?"

"Something did happen. He defied us, that's what. He's testing us, you know. You know what my father would've done to me if I pulled something like this, he'd have—"

"You're not making our son cut a switch."

"No, I know." Jonathan's face felt warm. "But he's grounded for at least a month."

Martha frowned. "That's harsh."

"He's making his mother worry about him. That's unacceptable."

"Can we revisit punishment when we know whether he's safe?"

Jonathan forced himself to take a deep breath. He went over to grab his jacket. "I'm gonna find him. Trust me, Martha, he's at a house party with some kid whose parents made the mistake of going out of town on Homecoming weekend. God help him if he's been drinking."

He gave Martha a quick kiss before heading out to get in his truck and driving toward the school.

Jonathan drove past a cornfield on the way to the school, and his mind flashed back.

He swallowed hard—it couldn't be, could it? It was one freshman out of hundreds each year, and Lex . . .

Oh, no.

Jonathan turned the truck around and drove to Reilly's field. He pulled up to the edge, took a flashlight out of the backseat, and began to search through the cornfield.

"Lex?" he called.

A very weak voice answered back: "Help me."

Jonathan ran toward the voice. He reached a clearing and shone his flashlight up at the figure hanging from the post. Lex's eyes were half-closed, he was badly bruised and bleeding in several places, and the bright red S stood in stark contrast to his nearly-blue skin.

"Oh, no." Jonathan dropped the flashlight and rushed forward to untie his son. It must have been hours since he was hung there, and it was freezing outside—Jonathan could see his own breath. "Hang in there, Lex."

His eyes fluttered open. "Jon'thn. I missed curfew."

Jonathan almost laughed, though he didn't smile at all. He untied Lex's feet first, then he wasn't sure how to proceed—if he untied his arms, Lex would fall to the ground. Finally, Jonathan mustered his strength and lifted the whole pole with his son on it, laying it down gently so Lex was on his back before untying the ropes and pulling Lex's arms away from the pole.

Lex winced as he was adjusted, and shouted aloud when Jonathan tried to move his arms. "Sorry, son, this is gonna hurt." Jonathan slowly moved Lex's arms back to his sides.

Lex hissed, and his eyes filled with tears. "O-ow."

Jonathan was going to kill whoever did this to his son.

He swallowed his anger for the time being—it wouldn't help. "Can you walk?" Jonathan helped the boy to stand, but Lex kept tripping over his own feet. He wasn't even shivering. That was a bad sign. Jonathan had learned more than he'd ever wanted to about hypothermia in his senior year, the year he'd passively gone alone with his friends when they'd played the prank on some poor freshman. The main perpetrators' families had ended up covering the poor kid's medical bills, and Jonathan's father had made him learn about exactly what was happening to the boy they'd strung up, in addition to the other punishments Jonathan had had to endure. It had been one of the worst weeks of his life.

In the end, Jonathan ended up carrying Lex back to the truck. He sat him down in the passenger's seat, turned on the car to get the heater blowing, and went back into the field to find Lex's clothes.

When Jonathan returned to the truck, he found that Lex had turned off the heat in favor of cold air instead.

"No, no." Jonathan changed it back. "You need to warm up."

"Iss too hot."

Jonathan grimaced. He wished he'd brought a thermos of hot chocolate—hypothermia was often easier to treat from the inside than through warming the skin—but he couldn't have known this was going to happen. Though of course, he should have known. He should have considered this hours ago, as soon as Lex didn't come home from school. Most of the time, though, he tried to block the whole scarecrow incident out of his mind. He never would have considered that the tradition might have lasted another generation.

Jonathan tried to help Lex put his shirt back on, but the boy cried out in pain every time Jonathan adjusted one of his arms—the way he'd been hanging must have been absolute torture. Finally, Jonathan took off his own jacket, draped it over Lex's shoulders, and zipped it up with Lex's arms tucked inside. Lex struggled for a moment, then nestled back into the seat, eyes falling closed. Jonathan swallowed hard, leaned over to give his son a light kiss on the forehead, and drove straight to the hospital.

Over the next few hours, Jonathan divided his time between the hospital room where Lex was being treated, and a little waiting room with a phone, where Martha drilled him with questions about what had happened. He was thankful she didn't lay any guilt or I-told-you-so's on him—he was already feeling guilty enough. She wanted to come to the hospital, but Jonathan had the truck, and neither of them wanted him to leave Lex alone to go pick her up.

Jonathan made himself put on a stoic face as Lex was subjected to a breathing mask, chest tubes, and an IV. His temperature wasn't rising, and the doctors were starting to talk about the possibility of using dialysis to warm his blood. But they didn't end up needing to—after a couple of intensive hours of care, he was warm enough that they were able to give him cold compresses for his wounds, though they said the strained muscles in his shoulders could take weeks or even months to heal completely.

At four in the morning, the doctor told Jonathan that Lex was stable, but he needed to stay for the next twenty-four hours to be monitored. Jonathan went into his hospital room to say good night to his son, and to let him know he was going to go pick up Martha. Lex sat on the bed edge of the bed, his shirt draped over his pillow. He stared down at his chest, where the red S had barely faded. He was trying to wipe it away with a wet paper towel, but he hadn't made any progress—Jonathan figured his arms were too weak for him to put any muscle into it.

"Hey." Jonathan sat beside him and held out his hand for the paper towel. Lex handed it over to him, and Jonathan carefully cleaned away as much of the paint as he could before helping him get his shirt back on.

When Jonathan looked up at his son, Lex's eyes were shining. "Kids at school, they hate me."

"No, no. They don't hate you, son."

"My core temperature was 83. The doctors said I was lucky. If you'd waited 'til morning . . ." A tear streaked down Lex's cheek. "Those guys wanted me dead, Jonathan."

Jonathan had never felt such a heavy guilt in his life. "No. I guarantee you, they didn't. They thought they were pulling a prank. They don't know any better."

"They beat me up. And they kept . . . taking my hat off so they could laugh at me and slap me. Then they'd put it back on just so they could take it off again."

Jonathan said nothing. He still couldn't believe he'd allowed the same thing all those years ago. He had never been so tempted to kill anyone in his life.

"They're right about me, though." Lex looked away, jaw pulsing. "I'm a Luthor."

Jonathan set aside the paper towel and reached out to cradle Lex's face in his hand, looking him right in the eyes. "You're my son. Do you hear me?"

Lex nodded, though a fresh set of tears rolled down his face.

Jonathan pulled his beloved child into his arms, his own eyes stinging. "You're my son," he whispered, rocking him slightly. "I love you so much."

A quiet sob escaped from the boy, and Jonathan held him tighter.

A light knock on the door—Jonathan glanced up. Martha stood in the doorway carrying Clark. Jonathan gave Lex a couple of pats on the back and stood to greet them.

"Lex!" Clark jumped down from his mother's arms and launched into Lex's lap, wrapping his arms around Lex's waist. "I'll warm you up! Are you cold?"

"No, I . . ." Lex looked down at Clark, who was snuggling his head into Lex's neck. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am cold." Lex wrapped his arms lightly around his little brother, and Clark tightened his grip.

Jonathan pulled Martha into his arms, and she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "Abigail Ross gave us a ride," she said, answering the unspoken question. "Apparently her oldest son was in on the prank. Is Lex okay?"

They glanced toward the hospital bed, where Clark was instructing Lex to lay down so he could put the blankets over him. At the last second, he crawled under the covers with Lex, nestled against his side. "I have to keep you warm," he explained, and Lex laughed.

"I think he's okay," Jonathan whispered.

Martha went over to kiss each of her boys, then she left the room. Jonathan glanced back at his sons one more time before following her. Clark was already asleep, one hand lightly clinging to Lex's shoulder. Lex lay on his side, eyes fixed on his little brother, tears streaming down his face. He gently brushed Clark's hair aside and kissed his forehead.

Jonathan swallowed back a hard lump in his throat and flicked off the light.