March 1st, 2004

JM: Young tilted head closeup

Smallville: Penance (Prologue) (Clark/Whitney)

Author’s notes: My first fic ever, yay! Its kinda AU, the timelines and parts of the story are not exactly in sync with the series. I have modified them to fit the Smallville in my mind :) Also, there are many original characters in the story. They are assumed to have been associated with the lives of the main characters Whitney, Clark etc. The football coach mentioned in the story is also a different one.

I have included some of my own characterizations for Clark and Whitney. For example, Clark of the series is this complex confused teen still struggling to come to terms with his superpowers. But I’ve set this story one year after the point that season 1 ended and feel that Clark by now would have to some extent, grown into his extraordinary status and has perhaps begun to accept his destiny as the friendly neighborhood superboy. In this story, his mindset is that of a young man who’s gained confidence in his powers and is boyishly proud of himself, even a little cocky but in a cute way:) He’s so much more sexier being naughty anyway.

Similarly, Whitney is not the vain quarterback he was a year ago. Circumstances have humbled him, he’s quieter and has emotional issues revealed in the story. (yeah right :p) But he’s still a fighter. And his sarcasm and sense of humor is still in tact.
Whitney is my favorite character in Smallville who I think deserves much more and so this is centered on him. But like they say, authors are mostly sadists, so...

This chapter is really really short.. just a prologue in Whitney's POV. The following chapters will be longer and you wont have to read all this author notes bull there :)

Disclaimer: Isn't it obvious? I don't own Whitney or Clark or anything else from the Smallville world. Just borrowing them for awhile for private entertainment. No copyright infringement intended.



So okay, even the 'Whit-man' ain't perfect. I have done things, bad things, and made mistakes I shouldn’t have and God, do I regret them. Of course I do. Why do you find that so hard to believe?

Fate, chance, destiny or whatever the fuck that is, has always had a particularly great interest in me. Kept real close watch you know, rapped my knuckles just when I needed it. Not like in the academy… Worse. Made sure I paid my dues you know, with interest.

So Lana left. Football scholarships vanished. Dad died. Didn’t think there’d be any more bills left to pay you know. But fuck was I wrong. I forgot about this one, but my fate, my destiny didn't. 

This is all my fault. I brought this upon myself.

And so you see this is why tonight, here, I find myself strung up, dead tight, in the same corn field, to the same wooden stake, cold and buck naked. Similar pieces of rope cutting my flesh and similar streamlets of blood flowing down my body. But not the same flesh, not the same blood. And the same bloody sign of “S” on my torso to mark the damned.

The scarecrow.

Not the same scarecrow though, I’m afraid.

I am very afraid. Fact I am scared shitless. Marine training be damned.

There’s no escape anymore. This is my penance.

And.. Clark, I really can't tell you how much I regret... I’m…sorry that I… I feel…I know I shouldn’t have… I should at least have... damn it.

I never should have returned.


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JM: Young tilted head closeup

Smallville: Penance (1/?) (Clark/Whitney)

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Chapter 1

Whitney Fordman was in town. On vacation. It had been a little over a year since the Fordman household saw its biggest upheaval in, well, ever. Whitney’s dad died after a long battle with heart disease and Whitney himself soon skipped town to join the Marines. Something he wouldn’t have otherwise done had he not lost that damn football scholarship. The guy was on his way to greater glory than any selfless life-risking country-serving job could ever get him, well, at least during peace-time. Such is the irony of our times, a 30 year old kid running around in tights with a ball clutched to his heart is worshipped by one and all, while the real heroes fighting for real honor, saving real lives, do so in quiet oblivion.

Tell me about it.

Nope, not complaining. Noooo cribbing either. Just sayin' .. making a … implication-less observation. Lets move on shall we?

So back to Smallville. Yep Whitney was back. His backbone straight and stiff just like his dad would have liked to see. Calmer, or maybe quieter? Slimmer, and leaner, but well-muscled, absolutely hot if you ask me… in a totally straight-guy-to-straight-guy kind of way mind you. His eyes, they were so.. intense and.. something about the way he looked at me.. a very cursory glance I might add, hardly a nanosecond. Figures, why should the whit-man himself come up and say hi to a local farm boy. No matter how close(?) we’d become during the last month we spent together.

But something about those eyes…

His hair was shorter, like the crew cut you see in war movies? Only Whitney’s hair being Whitney’s hair.. there was still something wild and wavy about them. Or was it just my imagination? And since when do I imagine male hair?

Get a grip Kent.

Look at Chloey’s hair. Isn’t it cute? All wild and wavy?


I cant believe how close me and Chloe have gotten in the last one year. Hell you’d think with Whitney out of the way, and the fucking necklace out of the way, me and Lana would have hit it off big but, well, didn’t happen. We both seemed to suddenly miss the magic. The thrill of the chase, the challenges that our potential relationship faced.

We missed Whitney. Too much.

Chloe on the other hand, came to me as a breath of fresh air. Everything we do together becomes exciting and thrilling because she infuses it with her energy and enthusiasm. She is bright and funny and sexy and God, so good to me.

She loves me you know. And I… think I love her too.

I just wish my life was not so complicated. I wish there weren’t so many secrets between us that I know keeps me isolated even from her. This is my curse I guess. The curse of the gift. To never be able to share my life with someone.. heart, mind, body and soul. Don’t get me wrong, the identity crisis and the living-in-perpetual-hiding aside, I wouldn’t trade my gifts, my alien status with anyone for anything. Very few get the chance to earn their salvation like I did. My arrival on this planet brought a world of troubles into this one and its caused so many people so much pain. Not many people get to make amends the way I can. And specially now when with my heightened senses, I hear the pain so loud and see the misery so clear, I couldn’t stand not being able to help.

Getting self-righteous are we?

Yeah a little. How times change. Cant afford to be the awkward freshman no more. And God be my witness, if I ever hurt someone, and believe me I can, if I am ever tempted to use this gift for any.. you know.. not good things, I might as well go stand under the fucking kryptonite shower till I’m nothing but... lamb chops.

“Finally! I am so starving!”

Chloe and me were at the Zinc, the new Smallville hangout having dinner after a long day at the Torch. Things have really picked up at the local newspaper and both Chloe and me are working quite hard to pave the way, rather finance the way we need out of this small town and into the big city Metropolis. College, journalism, Metropolis reporters.. its all there on the cards. But right now, back to the starving.

The table was laid out with steaming delectable lamb chops and iced soda.

“Slow down Clark, you’ll give yourself a heartburn if you eat at that supersonic speed!” Oops. Didn’t notice I was doing it again. Hunger pangs. Enough to bring any super strong renegade alien to his formidable knees.


“Besides, leave some for me will ya?” I gave her a lop-sided smile and stuffed my face again.

“Hey did you know Whitney was in town?”

“Who doesn’t. Its all people talk about. How he seems changed, more mature blah blah.”

“Yeah Yeah. He went to see Lana the other day.” Obviously, Chloe was gauging my reaction. Obviously I continued to stuff my face.

“She says he’s really like a different person altogether. So chivalrous. They spent the evening together here at the Zinc…”

Pausing at appropriate moments. Hmm.

“And basically talked and talked, catching up on old times. He told her about life at the corp. Although he still didn’t talk to her about his dad”

I looked up.

“Yeah its like denial or something. Whitney totally refuses to talk about his dad. Changed the subject every time she brought up the funeral day”

“Obviously. Now why does she have to go dig up stuff so old?” The guy’s still hurting. Leave him alone for Christ's sake.

“Well Lana just wanted to apologise I guess. She feels guilty she wasn’t there when he needed her most.” That was partly true. Maybe I should apologise too, since I was part of the reason why she wasn’t there.

But then, apologies and Whitney don’t mix. Neither give nor take. Non-covert display of sentiments and Whitney don’t mix. Period.

“So anyway..”, Chloe was saying something. Better not zone out now. “Then when Lana said she had to leave, and they started out of the bar, you wont believe what happened next.”

“What happened?”

Pause. Suspense. I like it.

“He walked up ahead and held the door open for her.”

Couldn’t help but laugh at how zapped Chloe looked right then.

“Yep, new man alright. Speaking of whom..” I was sitting facing the door so I saw him come in. Alone. No Lana. Chloe turned her head to see what I saw. She waved, she caught his glance and he smiled. He started walking towards us.

Whitney was walking towards us.

“Hey” . His voice was soft. His eyes were.. there’s something about those eyes I can't quite… maybe if I use my x-ray vision? eww gross.

“Hey Whit. Its been so long.” Chloe got up to hug him, gave him a peck on the cheek. His smile couldn’t get any wider. Then he turned to me. Turning down the wattage a bit.


“Fordman”. I got up and shook hands with him.

“You doing okay?”.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“I’m good. Yeah.”

“Hey come join us for dinner. I wanna know everything you've been upto this last year!”. Take it away Chloey.

“Well actually, I'm here to meet some guys from school. Look how about tomorrow? I’m leaving the night after but we’ll definitely catch up promise you that” He shrugged apologetically.


“Leaving so soon? You just got in.” That was me. Clark Kent. Answer me nice will ya Whit-boy. I wont steal your girlfriend again. Honest.

“Duty calls.” that shrug again.

“Anyway, catch ya later Chloe. Kent.” I nodded. Chloe was at his throat, sorry neck again. He smiled a little shyly I think, and moved towards another table in the middle of the diner.

Of course, he was there to catch up with his old high school buddies. Some of his old team mates and gang members were still in Smallville. Four of them sat on this table dressed in their best black leather and cigarette-and-tequila colognes. Frankly, I never thought Whit was such great friends with this particular bunch. Never trusted them much anyway.

“Things sure have changed since last year” I remarked casually while slugging my drink like it was beer (not that I know anything about it! No sir), nodding towards the fivesome.

Chloe looked around, her mouth full of lamb chop. “Hmmm” was all she was capable of right now.

“I just wonder if someone keyed Whitney in on these four. I mean, most of his good friends moved out of Smallville. And this group here hasn’t exactly been playing the model citizens.”

Chloe knew I was referring to the number of assaults and vandalisms the group had been involved in in the past. I'm sure they had other sinister means of making a living too.

“Hey they’re his buddies. They’ll tell him themselves, in a fit of drunken unabashedness. Showoffs that they are.”

He seemed to be really enjoying himself. Dressed for the part himself, in blue jeans, white tee and black leather jacket, and I really should stop staring at him now. One nostalgic party that one. I sure had happy memories myself of these five…. They were all there.

The night of the scarecrow.

“Why do you care anyway? I don’t remember you guys being pally or anything. ” Chloe brought me back to the present, but she was still thinking back to the damned incident from the past.

“Well yeah, but now I think the guy is cool. And it wasn’t always like that. The guy was a total jerk initially..”

Chloe knew what I was referring to. She always knew.

“I don’t hold it against him, or any of them for that matter, what happened that night. But I can't forget it either. It was one of my first experiences with polite society you see, after having come from such a sheltered “pampered” life on a farmyard .. let me tell you… not recommended.” I pouted very seriously, well, about as serious as can be with your mouth stuffed full of food. Chloe to my absolute delight, broke into one of her huge hearty laughs. Jeez she’s beautiful. I joined in.

She leaned across and kissed me on my left cheek all red 'supposedly' because of the bitter chill. Frankly I don't know why my cheeks are always so red like I have makeup on or something! Stupid and embarrassing. But she loves it. Gave a wickedly distracting smile and sat down. I flashed one in return and she continued.

“So what changed?”

“Only the fact that I got to know him a little better. Wasn’t so mean as he pretended to be. Just another insecure teenager fighting to keep his popularity, his social status and his girlfriend. That aint so bad now is it?”

Chloe was nodding, watching me intently. Wheels were turning in her clever little mind I could see, without my enhanced vision.

“Plus, fate hasn’t been entirely partial to him. I bet he would have given everything up, his popularity, his social status, his girlfriend, maybe even his life if he could get his dad back in return. I know I would have.”

Chloe is the closest friend I have. I can tell her anything. Anything except you know what. So anyway, I meant every word. I do not hold anything against Whitney. And then again, it wouldn’t do for a super strong renegade alien with formidable knees to hold something so trivial against a mere human now would it. //ducking oww//

“Uh-huh.. so the famous Kent soft corner for damsels in distress isn’t exclusive to damsels after all…” The wicked smile returning to her face.

“Funny. Watch it or you might find yourself in distress too…”

Chloe sighed her deepest, “Any time sweetie.”

Hmm. Think I might just take her up on that soon enough..

Unfortunately tonight’s not the night. Sex with Chloe was like everything else with Chloe.. challenging, exciting and leaving me absolutely spent and exhausted by the end of it. You’d think it’d be difficult to exhaust... well, you know, me! Believe me, its not. Its highly exhausting to constantly hold back and never be able to let go completely.

So anyway, we finished our dinner and left the place around ten at night. I dropped Chloe home in dad’s old wagon and then headed for the loft, yawning. Gonna sleep like a log tonight.


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JM: Young tilted head closeup

Smallville: Penance (2/?) (Clark/Whitney)

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Chapter 2

Whitney was back for only a week. Still wasn’t too sure why he returned. There was nothing to come back to, aside from his mom of course. Whatever, he went about the expected practice to catch up, meet his old buddies and clap them on their backs, run into old girlfriends and compliment them on their new pregnancies or something.

Meeting Lana was, well, different. Lana was the love of his life as far back as he could remember. There were so many girls before her. But none after. Lana was his salvation. His dream, his life partner. Lana was... in love with Clark Kent.

Still is, as was quite obvious by the bitter disappointment that came over her face when he asked her about him. Surely, he asked as casually as possible, she must have hooked up with him you know. But she didn’t. Or he didn’t. Or maybe they didn’t who knows. Point is, Lana is not with anyone right now, not even Clark.


Not exactly. Instead, Whitney was concerned by the sadness he saw on Lana’s face which he should only be trying to alleviate using his famous charms shouldn’t he? And why was Clark, who put him through hellish misery during high school over Lana, not interested in the very object of their contention anymore?

Clark had had more time to process this fact than Whitney. He had mulled, he had moped, he had moved on. To Chloe. How times change don’t they?

So anyway, Whitney dropped Lana home is his old red truck, that still rode like a dream by the way and on his way back home, he stopped at the gas station.

That’s where it began.

“Whitney? Is that you?”

Whitney turned around and came face to face with Mark Webber, his ex-classmate and ex-teammate and ex-gangmate. They were never too close but they sure went a long way back. Whitney couldn’t help but grin happily to see a familiar face.

“Hey Webber!”

They greeted each other like classmates on a reunion, slapping palms together with a loud smack. Mark suddenly pulled him into a giant bear hug. He sure seemed happy to see Whitney.

“Whats up dude? You’ve been gone so long. How long has it been?”

“Almost a year yeah”

“Academy treating you well?”

“Oh” Whitney laughed a little. “yeah absolutely man. Life in the services has been good for me. Hell a year ago I would have gone anywhere to escape Hellville.”

They both chuckled slightly at the other commonly used name for their town. Mark nodded vigorously.

“Yeah man. Wish I could get out too. But I guess I am destined to manage gas stations a little longer than initially planned.” Mark winked away the bitterness in his tone.

Whitney smiled. Couldn’t think of anything useful to say.

“Hey I remember. It was sure hell for you man.” Mark punched him slightly in the shoulder.

“But you’re a fighter aren’t ya? Hey remember the time we had a fist fight over the touchdown we missed, me and you? Right in the centerfield during the big match hey. You sure got a fist on you man.”

He laughed wildly. Whitney joined in.

“And don’t tell me you forgot the punch in the gut in the locker room when you were mouthing off about Lana.”

“Hey” Mark out both his hands up and gave his seriously serious look. “Honest mistake man. You know I couldn’t tell you were standing right behind me!”

And the laugh track again. They chatted a while longer remembering old times when they both were different people.

“Jeez man” Mark said, wiping his eyes of tears that had sprang up with the hard laughter. “We sure had some good times man.”

Whitney couldn’t agree more. However bad the last year might have been, he had to agree he was king for a long long time before that. He had everything, popularity, football, Lana.


“oh and remember the night after the game?”

Whitney froze.

“We grabbed that scrawny kid and hung him on the scarecrow post like a fucking pig on a stake”. Mark was laughing harder than humanly possible. “What's his name? Clark Kent eh? Didn’t look so scrawny without his clothes though don’t you think?” He winked again and scowled and chuckled again.

“Boy was that fun or what! Fucking crazy fun man!”

Whitney suddenly wanted to get back home soon as possible.

“Yeah well, Mark I gotta get moving now.”

“Come on man, what say we grab a few beers? If you wait, Hector, Dan and Brent would be here soon. We could go on a nostalgic rampage all of us!” Mark really wanted this. Whitney didn’t and it was obvious.

“Oh come on man, loosen up your military jocks a bit!”

“uhh not today Mark. How about we do this tomorrow night? Wherever you say.”

“OK. 9 tomorrow night, Zinc bar. Drinks on me.”

“It’s a night.”

“Alright.” Mark looked really happy. Guess the old Whit-worshipping was still going strong.

//Hmm, maybe it wont be so bad.//

“See you then!”

“Yep” Whitney waved at him and got into his truck and drove away. The wind in his face was soothing. Most of his usual buddies were not in Smallville. And he had two days of leave left. Might as well go. No self-respecting marine off-duty lets a chance to gorge on free alcohol pass him by.

Besides, it dulls the pain you know.


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Smallville: Penance (3/?) (Clark/Whitney)

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Chapter 3

Friday, 2115 hrs

Whitney walked into the Zinc a second time this week to meet a bunch of his old buddies from high school. Mark, Hector, Dan and Brent. Their table sure seemed a fun place to be. There were shots of tequila and vodka and God knows what the fuck else. Obviously the new entrepreneurs behind Zinc weren't looking at IDs closely enough. As soon as he entered, the first thing Whitney noticed was how dark the place was. The next thing he saw was.. Clark Kent. And how his eyes shone like amber even in that darkness. Eyes fixed firmly, warmly at Whitney. Eyes that beckoned him to the table that wasn’t Mark, Hector, Dan and Brent’s.

Its amazing how normal and peaceful Whitney looks on the outside.

//Good thing he cant look inside of me huh.//

After talking briefly with the couple and promising Chloe to do something the next night, Whitney turned away from Clark and Chloe’s table with a weird feeling at the pit of his stomach. The feeling you get when you know you were supposed to do something very very important but just cant remember what it was. Like when you hear this song and you know you’ve heard it before but cant figure out when. Like this face you know you’ve seen before but cant place where. Like you have been living an empty existence and your soul has fled you and then it flitters right in front of you and you are close enough but not close enough to catch it and it drifts away again, your only chance passes you by and you are once again left with empty nothingness.

//Get a grip Fordman. At least know what you are ranting away about. //

Whitney reached the foursome’s table and remembered to smile again. They all got up and greeted him with great enthusiasm. He felt like a hero returning home. Which was half true anyway.

“Hey Fordman, how's it going”

“Good good. Great to see you guys”

“yeah you too man, you look all.. I don’t know.. polished” Chuckles.

“yeah they shine me every morning” Bad joke. But they laugh anyway.

And so it went. Mark, Hector, Dan, Brent and Whit. The king and his subjects. The devil and his minions. At least that’s how it was a year ago. Somehow the new Whit wasn’t the same jackass everyone worshipped any longer. The new Whit was so.. quiet and reserved and…

Friday, 2255 hrs


They’d been at it so long. The guys were a spoiled clientele obviously. The beer and the vodka and the tequila flowed and flowed and the conversation slurred and slurred.

Finally they got up and filed into Whitney’s red truck to go for a drive. Whitney was totally wasted so Brent took the wheel. He took off his jacket and lay back on the seat between Hector and Mark with his eyes closed. The guys seemed like just another bunch of school kids only decked in black leather and downing alcoholic beverage. It occurred to Whitney, however drunk he was, that the others didn’t seem as drunk either. Maybe it was just him who’d been working his way through all the vodka and tequila while others stuck to the beer.

He wasn’t far from the truth.

Brent was saying something about football. Figures, he was the second best contender for the much coveted scholarship after Whitney. In his currently intoxicated state, he could talk of nothing else.

“Fordman, you were one pain in the fucking ass”

Peals of drunken laughter. Left, right and center. Mark laughed hard, Whitney harder.

“You my man, had everything I ever wanted. I was a better quarterback any day but all that asshole coach Higgins ever noticed was you.” Another slug of beer.

Hector spoke up next. “What did you do to him anyway? Gave him a taste of Whitney Jr. in the shower?”

“Sure did spend a lot of time there supposedly alone.” This was Dan.

They were sniggering. Whitney thought he ought to be upset about the things being said but couldn’t get himself to care enough. They were accusing him of doing better than them in football by bloody jerking off the coach.

“Cut the jealousy crap guys. I was good and you know that.”

“Jealousy?” Brent was all incredulous and angry at the same time. “Man you don’t know shit. You should have seen yourself that last week you were here. You were so pathetic. You were a disappointment to us all. Jealous my ass.”

Whitney still didn’t care enough. He downed another gulp of vodka straight up as Brent continued.

“Whining for Lana, whining for the fucking scholarship. Whining for Clark.”


”Clark?” Whitney was as wide-eyed as a drunk sod could get. “What the FUCK do you mean?”

The ex-friends exchanged knowing glances with smirks on their ragged faces.

“You think nobody knows? You jackass.”

“But I..”

“Everybody saw your face that night when we strung the farmboy up at Reiley’s. You were so hot you couldn’t keep it down long after we drove away leaving him there man.”

Brent suddenly swerved and made a sharp left turn. The truck was almost flying now. Whitney was not sure if he was hearing things or he was hearing things. His head hurt and his insides were burning with all the alcohol and no food. And Clark? He squinted at his friends again. They couldn't be serious could they? No of course not, they were still pulling his legs. And it was making his head spin like crazy. Dan’s lips were moving. He put his hand on his forehead and strained to listen.

“Let me let you in on a secret..”

This was going to hurt.

“Whitney Fordman, star quarterback for the Smallville Crows. You were everywhere and everyone loved you, wanted you, wanted to be with you. You were Da Man man. You were king. But that was until that Kent boy showed up in school. Then you exposed yourself as the cheap cock-sucking white trash you really are!”

Whitney was sure he was hallucinating.

“Nobody wanted to face off with you 'cause you were the school hero and all. But that night at the scarecrow, it suddenly made sense. You fucking fairy. That’s how you got to coach Higgins didn’t ya?”

The truck was flying at supersonic speed. And Whitney wasn’t sure who spoke next. It all blended together.

“You say we’re jealous? Well maybe yeah. You had everything anyone ever wants in high school and outside of it. And you know what's the worst part of it all?”

“Jeez man I don’t think I wanna know” Was that squeak actually his voice? Whitney wasn’t so sure, and then came the first box right in his face. Whitney’s head jerked back only to land at Hector’s shoulder who pushed him back to place.

He was baffled beyond reason. He started to struggle to get out from between them but he was being held down. The alcohol was slowing him down and he was no match for three sturdy sober guys all hell bent to keep him from getting away while the fourth was whisking him off to God knows where.

“You don’t have a choice slut!”

The words had been spit out with such menace it almost cleared up his head of the haziness and replaced it with fear. He still didn’t wanna know. Whitney managed to get his left arm free and lashed out at whoever he could reach. A slap landed on his face and he was pushed forward in the seat. Both his arms were twisted behind him so painfully he couldn’t help but scream. He yelled all the obscenities he learnt at the academy as he felt the wire chords going around his wrists and cut into his flesh. Deep. Whitney had never felt so helpless in his life.

Then someone grabbed his hair from behind and pulled his face back. It was Hector.

“So may I continue?” oh-so-polite.

“What do you want from me?”

“Only that you listen Fordman. Can you do that for me?” Hector was stroking his face with one hand like a lover but his eyes were that of a crazed maniac so full of hatred. Whitney tried the chords at his wrists and tried moving his legs but couldn’t get an angle to make impact. He realized he had no choice. Fear gripped at his heart. He sagged a little.

Hector smirked.

“The worst part Whitboy is that you had it all but you never realized the true worth of anything. You deserved nothing, and you threw everything away. You are an ungrateful little piece of shit!”

An arm snaked around his throat with the clear intention to slowly torture-choke him and it was working.

“What were we to you huh? Stupid sidekicks to be at your beck and call?” Whitney still didn’t understand. Nor did he know where the different voices were coming from. None of this was making any sense. He was too busy choking.

“You think you were the only one who wanted Lana ?”

Here it is.

“You kept us all at bay but she didn’t love you. Never did. She was never yours to keep Fordman then why didn’t you just let me have her?”

“Who’s me?” Whitney could have kicked himself if he could. He really shouldn’t be trying to act smart and witty right now.

A big punch landed in his gut. And Mark’s voice rang out “Quite chatty aren’t we?” Another punch and another and another.

“We were always together in all our transgressions remember? You were never above us. But when it came to the little princess Lana, you’d get all so god damn self-righteous!”

The hits rained anew.

“You’re nothing you … you’re fucking nothing!”

“Your kind cant love. You don’t know how”

“My kind? Guys please…” Whitney finally managed to get something out of his already swelling mouth. Couldn’t believe he was begging already.

Suddenly the truck was flooded with lights. A car was heading towards them from the opposite direction. The guys shoved Whitney down to the truck floor and pressed their feet onto his prone body.

One of them kicked his legs apart and dug his foot cruelly in between. Whitney screamed a second time that night. But his voice was drowned in the loud gunning of two engines.

The car passed them by before it even registered in Whitney’s agonized mind that he could have been rescued.

“What do you think this was Fordman? A homecoming party for the golden boy?”

Whitney thanked God for his terrific sense of sarcasm. Surely they couldn’t see his head nodding away on the floor.

“You think you’re this smart alec who got to escape fucking Hellville huh? Fucking bastard. Tonight you’re gonna regret you ever came back.” They picked him back up and gagged him with a black grease-covered truck rag and threw him on the floor again. Then the kicks started again.

“Lets make it a night you’ll never forget what say?”

Reiley’s field was thirteen minutes away.


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JM: Young tilted head closeup

Smallville: Penance (4/?) (Clark/Whitney)

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Chapter 4

Whitney still couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Surely he was dreaming. He was stuck in one of his twisted nightmares. And it didn’t fucking make sense! He had just been kidnapped and assaulted by four guys he considered his friends not so long ago. And tonight he was being told that they never were his friends at all. That they had hated him all this time.

They were definitely homophobic and thought that he was… was gay? They hated him so much for being the star quarterback? They hated him so much because he was with Lana? They hated him so much because he had been popular? They hated him because he was in the fucking army?

Apparently, the four had targeted all their frustrations and anger of their own lives at him. A year ago they wouldn’t have dared. And now, what changed? Had he come back even looking like the awkward rookie that he was among the marines? Had there been some sort of vulnerability, some look of weakness about him?

“What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Whitney was so miserable he could cry. What had he done to these guys?

On the other hand, its quite possible he might have been totally nasty to them without knowing it. Its not like he didn’t enjoy his exclusive status in school. And his list of misdemeanors ran long and wide too. But the only time Whitney had felt he had really really crossed the line was... was with Clark when he made him the scarecrow of the year because of his jealousy and possessiveness. And he had not even bloody apologized. Not properly, not enough. To think that Clark never really seemed to hold a grudge against him and rather, had helped him out so many times… made him feel all the more worse about the stupid incident.

The grease in his mouth was making him want to hurl. Maybe he should, perhaps it would get some of the alcohol out of his system and he could have a minute chance of fighting the bastards. He tried the chords at his wrists again only to feel a leather booted foot dig itself into his struggling hands almost breaking his fingers. Couldn’t even scream.

Suddenly the truck stopped moving. The doors opened and Whitney was heaved out of it like a bag of garbage and dumped on the ground.

That’s when he saw the scarecrow.

“What took you so long?”

This voice was new. Oh my God. There was someone else too. Whitney looked towards where the voice had come from.

There was a figure standing in the headlights of the truck still on and he could hardly see him. The figure started to move. Move out of the direct glare of the lights. Move closer to where Whitney lay among his abductees. Move to where he could clearly see who this was.

Whitney had no idea who this was.

“Of course you don’t know who I am.” The guy was tall and dark and well-muscled, he had greasy hair and a rough stubble with a cigarette between his lips and smoke coming out of his nostrils. He was dressed in black leather pants and a black sleeveless vest. And there was a glowy something ... a kryptonite tattoo on his right shoulder.

“My name is Nigel.”


“Nigel Mahaney.”

Suddenly it all made sense. For a split second, Whitney actually felt relieved. Only to return to total panic immediately after. Boy was he in trouble.

Mahaney noticed the way Whitney suddenly let his head fall to the ground and waited for the next blow as he walked towards him. He took the gag out of his mouth and Whitney let out a huge breath.

“Whitney Fordman. Haven’t had the pleasure of your acquaintance before. You skipped town before I got back.”

The voice was strong and deep and in any other situation might even sound sexy and seductive. It was also disturbingly accent-less.

Mahaney was circling him now. Whitney so wanted to writhe in pain but he decided he didn’t want to give the bastards the pleasure, and stayed still. The others were obviously Mahaney’s stooges. Some people stay sidekicks all their lives.

“Wade was my kid brother you know. I loved him. Like every brother does as I’m sure you know. Do you have a brother Whitney? May I call you Whitney?”

//What's with these people? They totally intend to talk me to death. //

Whitney made a brave attempt to speak up, spitting out some of his blood in the process.

“If I had a brother like yours I’d have made sure to keep him from getting in trouble. And if I’d failed, I would have hauled his scheming ass to jail myself. And that’s Fordman for you thank you very much.”

Whitney had never seen an evil smile before. People in Smallville are too nice to smile and not genuinely mean it. People in the corp don’t smile period. And then a kick landed right in his face. Followed by another this time in the gut. Whitney cursed, not drunk any longer and feeling each pain very very acutely.

“You are responsible for my brother’s death. And justice must be done.”

“That’s not true, I…” Another kick in the jaw.

“Lets not waste your precious time Mr. Fordman, considering you have so little left.”

Pause. If Whitney was expected to say something at this point, he disappointed. Whitney was scared now.

“If you haven’t figured it out already.. Mr. Fordman .. its payback time”

Then Whitney was dragged up and thrown onto his own truck face down. Pretty much the way he had thrown Clark onto it two years ago. The moment the image of that night popped into his mind, something came over Whitney he never thought was possible in his lifetime. A sudden calm descended over him. Just as it hit him that if this was the last night of his life, figures that it should turn out this way. Exactly the same way.

//Judgment day cometh.//

He felt sharp blades at so many places on his body cutting away his tee shirt and jeans and most of his flesh along with them. It stung, it hurt so bad.

“Say something Whitney, don’t be so quiet.”

This was Mark mocking his minor attempt at bravery. Whitney lay on his left cheek and stared at Nigel as he stood quietly beside the truck staring back at him with bloodlust gleaming in his eyes. He was bleeding from his thighs and arms and waist and where else not. His shoes and socks were pulled out leaving him in his boxers. He was picked up again and dragged towards the scarecrow post. This was so familiar. It all felt so familiar. Like he’d been here before. Of course, he was Nigel then. But he was Clark now.

He was Clark. Whitney didn’t realize it, but he had smiled slightly at the thought.

They undid the wire chords only to rope him spread-eagled to the scarecrow instead. Whitney closed his eyes and felt the spray snaking an alphabet on his chest. There he stood in the glare of his own truck’s headlights, beaten and naked and marked, bound hands and feet to a wooden stake. Déjà vu.

“You think the little slut likes it?” It was Brent. He sure was stuck at the whole homosexual thing more than anyone else.

“Let's find out” That was Hector and he cut off the boxers off from Whitney as well. Whitney closed his eyes. The pain couldn’t get any worse. Could it?

And they laughed and cussed and called him all kinds of names and continued with the physical molestation this time more focused on his exposed genitals.

“That’s enough” This was Nigel. The stooges turned around to face him. Nigel came toward the bound figure. He blew smoke into his face.

“This isn’t over Fordman. You’re gonna pay for the life of my brother….” Whitney let his head rest on the wood behind him. The oppressor took out the cigarette from his mouth and pressed it into Whitney’s bare shoulder, just on top of the kryptonite tattoo. Whitney’s screams reverberated in the air for a whole minute. Then the stub fell to the ground.

“….With yours.”

“Come on boys. Let's give Mr. Fordman here a little privacy.”

“Goodnight Mr. Fordman.”

And the victor (as if there had been a fucking fight) turned and moved away from the scarecrow and towards a black car standing a short distance away. Two of the four went with him while the other two walked towards Whitney’s truck

“You know..” //Whitney don’t do it. Don’t do it Whitney . Shut the hell up//

Nigel stopped.

“When… when that old car wreck came crashing down on your brother..?”

Nigel stiffened.

“He was holding me by the neck under it, he wanted to crush me. But thanks to this… this friend of.. m-mine, I escaped and it crushed him instead. Your brother.”

Whitney had no idea why he said it. Nigel’s expression that he could make out even in the semi-darkness did nothing to stop the steady flow of words from his mouth that Whitney couldn’t control any longer.

“You see this.. this f-friend of mine.. he.. he’s a good man. He can’t be angry. Or selfish. Or jealous. What I did to him.. and he saved me. That’s something almost... superhuman don’t you think?”

What the hell?

Whitney was asking himself this question too. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop himself. He was phasing out.

“I wish I had his soul you know. I wish… and pray.. that I had his soul”

“If you wanna pray for something Mr. Fordman…”

Nigel started walking again. “Pray for the sun not to rise.”

And then they were gone. And he was there, alone and he chanted to himself over and over..

“I wish I had his soul.”


Next Chapter >>
JM: Young tilted head closeup

Smallville: Penance (5/?) (Clark/Whitney)

<< Previous Chapter

Chapter 5

Saturday 0415 hrs

Whitney Fordman was this year’s scarecrow. If he wasn’t mistaken, the last scarecrow ever was.. how could he forget.. Clark Kent. But there wasn’t any ever since. Clark had somehow managed to get the Crows to abandon the dreadful tradition since. Good old Clark. Beautiful Clark. Always running around saving someone.

//Can you save me too Clark? You did it before. Can you do it again?//

//Will you?//

Smallville is always cold. Its the onset of winter and the chill in the wind is totally unbearable.

//But don’t go by what I say, my opinion is biased here. What with the no-clothes thing you see. Not even underwear. Its cold.//

//Was it cold the night Clark was here? Must have.//

That night, Lana had cuddled up next to him in the truck as they drove to the dance. She had shivered slightly and Whitney had given her my jacket. She looked so sweet in his oversized jacket. Like a little bundle of eternal love and beauty. He should have been the happiest teenager in the world at that moment. He wasn’t. Whitney couldn’t stop thinking of the scarecrow.

He was the guiltiest teenager in the world and knew it and felt it.

//Like I feel now. 19 going on 20 but a teenager still right? God its cold.//

//It hurts. So much. I deserve it. I deserve it. I let dad die. I let him down then I let him die. Mom cries at night. She has me and still she cries. Oh wait, I’m not around anymore am I? No.//

And Lana? He hurt her too. Actually didn’t she dump him? Yes.

//I must have driven her to it. I deserve this. This was meant to be. I deserve to be the scarecrow. Not Clark. Never Clark. God its so cold. Think warm Whitney. Ignore the pain. It will go away. How long can you possibly bleed. It’ll stop when there’s nothing left won’t it?//

Whitney was laughing. He was shivering to the bone and hurting all over and laughing at his own sick joke. Then as suddenly, he stopped.

//Think warm. Think warm. Warm. Warm. Warmer. Warmest. Hot. Hot. HOT. Ok not working//

The ropes cut through his flesh and his whole body was riddled with cramps. He didn’t even have the energy to struggle. He wondered if he struggled at all. Throughout the night. Did he struggle? At all?

Something got into him and he started jerking his limbs in a vain attempt to break free.

Gave up.

//I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve…//

And then suddenly he heard his naval instructor bellowing at him.





“You wanna be a marine? YOU WANNA BE A MARINE?”

“Y-Yes SIR.”


Ok I get it.

“Because I have what it takes to be a marine. SIR”

“Standard test paper answer private. I want the truth son. Why did you sign up?”

Back to stammering.

“S-Sir like I said…” He looked at his instructor. He drew a deep sigh.

“Because I blew my football scholarship sir. And this was where my dad wanted me to be.”

“He ain’t around?”

“No sir.”

“You think that’s good enough reason to be risking your life and the lives of all American citizens? You know what you will be responsible for private?”

“SIR. I am not here for kicks or for lack of choices SIR. I am not here under any pressure either. I am here to fulfill my father’s last wish and I intend to live up to every expectation while doing so SIR”

“You sure you wont give up after say a month?”

“Fordmans don’t give up SIR”

“Marines don’t give up either cadet. If you wanna be both, DON’T FUCKING FORGET THAT!”


He had given up. He couldn’t fucking move for Christ's sake! He was cold. He was so cold. He had been mercifully passing out but then waking back up all night. He couldn’t feel his limbs any longer. The blood had started to clot on his wounds due to the severe cold too. So cold. He deserved it. He deserved it. He deserved…

Whitney’s red truck pulled up into the field. Running over the corn. //Poor corn. I’m so sorry.//

The truck’s headlights craned directly at him. Whitney had gotten used to the dark. The bright glare hurt and humiliated.

Nigel got out. So this was it. This was the end.

“Sun aint up yet Mr Mahaney.” His clattering teeth hardly allowing him to speak.

“I know. Don’t worry. I wont kill you till the horizon lightens. I want you to see your last sunrise before you go to meet your maker”

Whitney laughed. “Maker! That’s funny. Yeah, Maker!” He fucking laughed.

Nigel smiled too. “Yes... Whitney.” He moved close. Really close.

“And what a maker he must be to have made something so …” He pressed a palm to his cheek. “.. beautiful and …” put his other palm flat on his stomach. “ exquisite…”

Whitney flinched as hard as he could. This was totally unexpected. His eyes got as wide as they could get.

Nigel was moving his hands now. Down his neck to his chest. Down his belly to his groin. To his scrotum. Whitney gasped. No. No. NO!

“It’s a pity I’ll have to put you down. I’ll be really sorry to let such a pretty .. package go.”
Nigel’s voice was viciously soft. He let his hands explore the helplessly exposed body and paid no attention to the painful noises he was eliciting from his victim as he alternately caressed and sought out painful wounds and dug his nails in. He pinched the nipples standing erect not 'cause of stimulation but from the biting cold. He stroked and fondled the boy's cock and balls shrunk not from the cold but his impure touch. Whitney was really struggling now.

“Nigel don’t. please…”

Nigel played with Whitney's exposed genitals, twisting his dirty fingers in his pubic hair and pulling, calling him all kinds of dirty names. He tugged and pinched and scratched until Whitney was doing what he had fought so hard not to. He wept.

The laughter that followed was an unmerciful inhuman sound that sent greater shivers down the naked spine than the bitter cold had all night.

Nigel brought one hand round to Whitney’s back and grabbed his ass. He then smacked it so hard Whitney almost forgot about the hand in front torturing his cock. Then he was fingering his crack and let one finger slip into him that made him squirm more in his bondage. Whitney was really screaming now. He didn’t want this. He didn’t deserve this. Did he? And then he phased out again. This time it was Whitney who was laughing.

Like a maniac.

He was crying too. His tears fell on Nigel as the latter kneeled and brought down his teeth to his groin and took a hungry bite. Then he took something out of his pocket. It was a Swiss knife and he flicked it open without once taking his mouth off Whitney. And then he was drawing the blade across the naked thighs and the naked chest and the naked stomach. All this while he kept sucking and nibbling at Whitney’s sac and penis relentlessly.

Whitney was way gone now. He wanted to die right away. To hell with the sunrise. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me!

“Scream for me Whitney”
Nigel was hissing at him as he rubbed his entire clothed front with that of Whitney’s naked one. “Scream.” And he stabbed his left thigh with the knife. Whitney gasped and continued to sob quietly. His face was a total mess with all the blood and tears and scars from the night’s assault. He kept his eyes shut tight.

//End this. Please. Kill me.//

“Talk to me Whitney. I sure love to. I’ll tell you everything that I would do to you…”

Whitney couldn’t decide what was worse, Nigel talking to him or Nigel torturing him.

“I’m gonna tell you how beautiful you are, and how tight your ass is as I am fucking you senseless” the hand gripping at his ass was squeezing him painfully.

“And how sweet your blood tastes..” He was licking at his wounds now.

“And I’m gonna make you beg. And scream. Will you do that for me Whitney?”

Nigel was using his first name as spitefully as he was using his last name before. Whitney decided he’d rather have Nigel torturing him. Quietly.

“If you had to cry for help Whitney, who would you call? Hmmm?”
The knife was being twisted. Whitney panted harder. His mouth flew open to scream but no voice came out.

“Who will it be …Whitney?”
Nigel was totally engrossed in his sick games. Talking was really big on his agenda it seemed. He slowly pulled the knife out and Whitney gasped again. His eyes flew open.

“Shhh... its ok. Its ok little one”

Yeah right. Whitney was manically but quietly laughing again.

Then the caresses started again. Upward direction. “You haven’t answered my question..” The caresses changed to kisses. Upward still.

“Close your eyes Whitney” He did almost automatically.
“Now think and tell me, who is it you want to come and rescue you hmm?”
Nigel reached his face. Whitney’s mind was in extreme agony and thoughts were running around in circles, flashes, white flashes jumping across his eyes..

Flashes of his dad... Daddy’s dead.

His mom, NO! He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want her to see him like this. No.

No one, there was no one else. His friends? Yeah right.

Lana, Lana? Lana didn’t love him. She loved….

Clark. Dear God.

And then there was that fatalistic calmness rushing through him again. So this is how it must have felt. Helpless. Worthless. What if someone had taken advantage of Clark that night the way he was being used now? Who would he have called for?

The knife jabbed into his right thigh. Whitney screamed. “Yes that’s it! Scream Whitney. Scream for me. Who’s your savior Whitney? What's the name? What is it? Answer me..” And the knife turned.

Blinding white pain.

Blinding white flashes again. Bunker. Check your uniform. Where’s his uniform? The Instructor was back.

“Whitney Fordman. Didn’t know the army started letting women sleep in the men’s bunkers.”


“That’s me SIR”

“That’s You SIR?” More laughter.

“I prefer RUNNER SIR”

US Marines Rule Book Page 1 Line 2: Never tell your senior officer what *You Prefer*

“That’s your call sign? RUNNER? What for? To remind you of all the home runs you made in minor league boy?”

“N-N-No Sir its j-just..”

“Quit stammering Fordman! And quit hiding behind your old life’s glories whatever they may have been. You’re a new man now. Doesn’t matter what you did in the past. Don’t matter a fuck how huge a star you might have been boy. What matters is what you do in the Now. Is that understood?”


“Good. Now I don’t like this RUNNER shit. I’d rather you keep your first name as your call sign too. Suits you” And more laughter.

“Now then Mr. Fordman, what's your call sign?”




“Whitney” His voice came out softly and hardly audible.

Nigel looked up. “What?”

“Whitney” “Its Whitney SIR!” The voice picked up. And got stronger and stronger.
Nigel was baffled. He stared at the figure from where he knelt on the ground. And it struck him that Whitney was losing it.




Nigel got up and stared. And stared. He had truly never seen any sight so beautiful. Never heard any sound so wonderful.

Whitney was screaming at the top of his lungs now. He couldn’t stop, He wouldn’t stop. He was screaming for the Whitney he once was and never will be. He was screaming for the Whitney who was loved and cared for and capable of so many good things and he screamed for this Whitney who was alone and degraded and unwanted and worthless. He screamed and screamed and screamed … never to be heard.

He screamed his last.


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