Lex lay back on his bed. His cheek still stung where Martha had applied the antiseptic, even though it had been almost twenty minutes since she had left his room. She'd patched up his wounds and left him to wait for Jonathan, who was still cooling down. For all the anger in her eyes, Lex had expected Martha to tend to him roughly, but her hands had been as gentle as ever, even as her eyes pierced him with daggers.

Lex supposed it didn't help that he'd thrown the first punch.

The guy had it coming. Jonathan and Martha didn't have to freak out about it so much. But he also couldn't be surprised by their reaction. He knew exactly how they felt about fighting. They'd always been firmer with Clark about it, because Clark could accidentally kill someone with an uncontrolled punch, but they made their position on violence abundantly clear to both of their kids. Lex was absolutely in for it.

He was going in for a disciplinary hearing at the school tomorrow, but they'd probably just guilt him and suspend him. He wasn't sure exactly what Jonathan was going to do. If he'd still been living with Lionel, he could imagine the bastard coming up with some vicious and creative punishments for him. By some cruel twist of fate, Lex was sure Jonathan's anger and disappointment hurt more than any of them. Lex would have given anything to go back and make a different choice, but he doubted he would have been able to stop himself. The guy he'd fought with was a jerk. He'd strung up some freshman kid in a field, just like Lex had been strung up when he was fourteen.

But Martha and Jonathan were just going to tell him that violence didn't solve anything. And it hadn't. Lex had thrown the first punch and drawn blood, but he'd ultimately lost the fight. There had been a lot for Martha to patch up.

In the time Lex had lived with the Kents, he'd tried hard not to be too much trouble. He'd forgotten chores; he'd mouthed off to Martha; he'd fought with Clark. But those had all been small things; he'd been able to quickly apologize and make things right. The worse thing he'd done was breaking curfew, though only by twenty minutes, and only once.

He swallowed hard—coming home twenty minutes after curfew had earned him two weeks' grounding, and this was so, so much worse than that. Lex had never done anything nearly this bad.

Jonathan hadn't spoken a word while driving Lex home, his face red with anger. He'd been kind of rough with Lex, too, gripping his arm too tightly as he walked out to the truck from the office, fast enough that Lex had to trot to keep up. Jonathan had never once struck him in the time he'd lived with them, but he couldn't help worry that this might call for an exception. Lex could take pain, no problem, but he wasn't sure he could take Jonathan dishing it out.

Lex tried to see the situation from Jonathan's perspective. Jonathan was always telling Lex that, as Clark's older brother, Lex had to set a good example for him. If Clark saw Lex as a role model, and Lex was fighting kids at school, Clark might start fighting kids at school, too. Except Clark could actually kill someone. If Lex were Jonathan, he'd be thinking about ways to set an example, all right. Ways to make an example out of Lex, so that Clark didn't get any ideas.

Lex realized his heart was racing. He couldn't wait this out any longer. Those two weeks of being grounded, with Martha and Jonathan giving him their disappointed looks all the time, had already been more than he could take. Of course, the worst part was the end of the two weeks, when they'd released him from his grounding. They'd reiterated to him how much they loved him and worried about him, and how he needed to set a good example for Clark and be a role model in the community as both a Luthor and a member of the Kent family, and how they were expecting him to do better in the future. How they had total faith he could do better, because he was their son, and he was an amazing young man . . .

Lex had been through abuse bordering on torture before, but he'd never experienced that kind of pain before. It had forced the tears from his eyes, made him feel so vulnerable and humble and undeserving. He'd had to listen to the whole thing, knowing all the while that he would mess up and disappoint them all over again. He was a Luthor. It was what he did.

And this? This was going to be so much worse. The punishment was going to be bad enough—Jonathan dragging him by the arm had hurt—but by the end of it, when he was most convinced he deserved all of it and worse, they'd forgive him and tell him all about how much they loved him and believed in him.

. . . Or would this be the time they finally learned what had always been true? Would they kick him out? Would they do something worse than kicking him out?

Whatever it was, he couldn't take it. He couldn't.

He had to run. If they'd been planning to kick him out anyway, might as well get a head start.

Lex's heart rate spiked even faster, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He didn't think he could get out of the house without being seen if he went down the stairs, but he was pretty sure he could climb down the side of the house. There was a drain pipe and a few other places to hold on.

He didn't know where he would go, exactly, but he knew he couldn't stay here. He was sixteen now, though, and he looked older than he was, and the Luthor name had been out of the news for awhile—he probably wouldn't be recognized. He might be able to find some work somewhere, if it came down to it. He had a little cash saved up, which he grabbed from his sock drawer and shoved into his pockets; he could get a bus ticket out of the town, maybe even out of the state.

Climbing down the side of the building was a lot harder than it looked, but he was able to make it to the ground. As soon as he was down, Lex began to run. He glanced around himself a couple of times to make sure he wasn't being watched, but Clark was out at Pete's house, and Martha and Jonathan were in their own room, absorbed in discussing what they were going to do about Lex's misbehavior. He had to be long out of sight before they came to his bedroom and noticed he was gone.

Running fast was no problem. His heart was still just about ready to pound its way out of his chest.

He must have been a quarter mile away from the house when it occurred to him that he should have at least grabbed a change of clothes; he was going to be awfully sweaty from running. He also wouldn't be able to take any of the local buses. Hazards of a small town—everyone knew the Kents.

And how was he supposed to get a job? He didn't have an ID, or a driver's license. He was going to be homeless.

What had he been thinking, running away? He hadn't thought; he'd just run. He'd just been scared, and he'd reacted instead of thinking.

Well, now he really couldn't go back. He'd have to find a way to survive on his own. Homelessness probably wasn't better than what the Kents would have done to him for getting into that fight, but now that he'd also run away, he had no choice but to suck it up.

. . . No, homelessness was still definitely worse. But it was probably what he deserved for betraying them.

Really, though, the knowledge that he'd been such a disappointment was the worst part of all. What right did they have to add to that?

Bus ticket prices had gone up. The money he had saved was only enough to get him a couple of cities over. He'd gotten off the bus in Granville and wandered awkwardly at the bus stop for a little while before turning his attention to the streets, looking for dropped coins. Over the course of the day, he managed to collect ninety four cents.

He knew this was stupid. This wasn't going to get him anywhere. But he had no idea what else to do, and he still felt nauseous every time he considered going back to the Kents.

Eventually, the sky went dark, and Lex realized he needed to either find a place to sleep or find a way to get home. He found a park bench in a deserted grassy area and settled down. The bench was even colder than the night air, but Lex at least had his coat on. He didn't want a repeat of the hypothermia from his freshman year, but that had been a much colder night, and he'd been almost naked.

Maybe they'd find him here. But if nothing else, they'd have had some time to cool down. That was, if they weren't even angrier with him for running away . . .

Lex tossed and turned on the park bench. There was nothing he could do about it tonight; he was out of money. His best bet was to try to sleep and figure out this mess in the morning.

He woke in the middle of the night to a firm tap on his shoulder.

Lex sat up straight. Between a couple of street lamps and the moonlight, he could easily make out Clark's figure standing in front of him, his face twisted with absolute rage, hands curled into fists.

"What are you doing, Lex?" Clark reared back for a punch.

Lex barely had time to cringe, let alone dodge—Clark's punches could really hurt—but when the hit landed on his shoulder, it didn't hurt at all. Clark geared back for another. "Whoa, hey!" Lex cried.

Clark landed two more light hits. "Why did you run?"

"I'm sorry!"

"You should be!" He threw yet another punch.

Lex flinched at each one, but he felt no pain. Clark was coiling his little fist back as far as he could and throwing it at Lex with great speed, but landing it at the surface of Lex's skin with such a light touch, Lex could barely feel it. The extent of his younger brother's control over his anger, and his total misjudgment of strength, made Lex want to laugh. The fiery pain in Clark's eyes made him want to cry.

"Mom was so worried!" Clark threw another punch that barely touched Lex, and his bright blue eyes watered. "I thought you were dead! Because why else would you be just gone?"

"I'm sorry, okay? Just—"

"Why did you leave?"

"Because . . . your dad was mad at me for fighting. I thought he might kick me out anyway." Or worse.

Clark's jaw dropped. "Really? That's why?"

"I'm supposed to set an example for you, you know?"

"You're so stupid!" Clark landed a rapid fire series of punches to Lex's chest. All Lex felt was a little gust of air with each one, followed by the lightest touch. He wanted to try to block Clark, but he wasn't sure if Clark's fists would slow in time to avoid hitting his hands, and he didn't really want a broken wrist. So he held still while Clark doled out the punches. "They love you!"

"Well, maybe they shouldn't! I used violence, and now, look, you're hitting me."

Clark stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Lex shook his head. "I'm not mad at you. You . . . look up to me, that's what your mom says."

"So how did you think I'd feel when you ran away?" Clark's voice broke, and a tear streaked down his cheek.

Lex's breath caught. He knew he'd been acting stupid, some part of him knew all along, but he hadn't realized how stupid he'd been being. Of course the Kents wouldn't kick Lex out. Clark would have been absolutely devastated. "Come here," Lex said.

Clark climbed onto his lap on the bench, wrapping his arms around Lex's waist. Lex held him tightly to his chest; it was freezing out, and Clark was warm. Clark shook a bit, though with anger or sadness, Lex wasn't sure.

"Did you even think about me when you ran away?" Clark's voice broke. "Were you even going to miss me?"

Terrible guilt weighed on him, heavier than anything he'd even felt the day before. He'd been so focused on his own fear, he hadn't even thought about how he was leaving his little brother behind. "I'm so sorry, Clark. I was just thinking about how mad your mom and dad were going to be."

"They weren't even really that mad about the fight when they found you missing, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I guess they called the school for more information and got ahold of the other guy's parents. I can't believe you took on the football captain!"

"He played that scarecrow prank on my friend's younger brother."

"I know, that's why Dad and Mom weren't that mad."

"I wasn't even in trouble?"

"Well, probably some trouble. But not as bad as you're gonna be now!" Clark coiled his fist back again, but he dropped it before landing a punch. "Sorry," he said softly.

Lex swallowed hard. "How did you find me?"

"I ran around everywhere looking."

"I'm two towns over."

"I run fast."

Lex pulled his little brother closer to his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Clark rested his cheek on Lex's shoulder. "Not yet, you're not. They're gonna ground you 'til you die."

"I know. I don't care."

"It's gonna suck."

"Yeah, but you're gonna be there."

Fear had blinded him. Martha and Jonathan could do anything they wanted to him—it shouldn't have made him run. They could lose faith in him, or they could hold onto it even as Lex continued to disappoint them. They could ground him for as long as they wanted, or make him do extra farm chores until his arms fell off. They'd never beat him or starve him or humiliate him, but even if they did, Lex should never, ever have run without thinking about his brother.

"You left me," Clark said softly.

It might as well have been a knife in his chest. "I'm so, so sorry." Lex wrapped his arms tighter around Clark.

Clark squeezed him tighter, too. "I would never leave you."

Lex was pretty sure Jonathan's lecture wasn't going to hurt as much as this one. "Tell you what. For as long as I'm grounded, I have to play with you for an extra hour every day."

"Two hours," Clark said.

"I might not have time, after all the extra chores."

Clark looked up at him with wide, blue, watery eyes.

Lex sighed. "Two hours," he said. He'd just have to do his homework after Clark went to bed.

"Deal." Clark sat up and pulled away, standing from the bench. "We should go. Mom gave me some money for a bus ticket back."

Something didn't add up. "Mom sent you to run all over Kansas looking for me?"

"Well . . . no . . ."

Lex raised his eyebrows. "You stole the money."

Clark shrugged. "This way, we'll be grounded together. So you don't have to do it alone."

Lex's voice caught. He wasn't sure whether to laugh at that one. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Clark."

"Yeah, well, you should remember that next time you think you might want to run away."

"I will." Lex pulled himself up from the park bench, and they both began to walk toward the bus stop. It was time to face the music.

And that was okay.