#lachlan luthor

Got any secert children LIONEL doesn't know about?

I used to womder what kinda sick bastard is capable of making Lionel what he is. I no longer wonder that. So tell me? How do you live with yourself? When you struck your child did it make you feel like a man? Did it make you feel strong to hurt a child that was weaker than you? How does it feel that you fucked up this man so bad that you caused generational trauma that will probably span throughout your bloodline to the end of days?

He was at a loss. 

Her rejection had cut him and instinctively he had wanted to lash out in anger; that same anger that brought them to this moment.

"Martha…" Lionel tried again. When she looked away, he felt his heart plummet. Refusing to fight, he stood and quietly walked away.

He didn't return to the house and chose to follow the path out to the private pier. There he paused at the end and stared out at Crater Lake.

Good fer nothin' failure, he heard his father.

Could he change the past?

Did he even want to change anything in the first place?

He certainly would have liked to not have suffered in his childhood but it would mean changing himself completely too. What his parents had done and not done to him had made him into the man he was. He wasn’t a monster, per say, but he was ruthless and determined. His desire to escape this hellhole of an existence had motivated him to become the best and at the top, and that meant anyone who got in his way had to be either controlled or eliminated by any means.

He was startled out of his thoughts with the pop of the toast from the toaster and he risked a stolen glance toward his father to see if he had noticed. The old scot was immersed in the morning paper, no doubt reading the sports section to see what he could bet on this time, and had not noticed or bothered to acknowledge the skittishness in his son this morning. If he played his cards right and kept his head down, he might avoid the beating later that night.

Lionel rubbed at his eyes and wondered what deity or cosmic power he had pissed off to land him in the past. He doubted a desperate prayer to be sent back to that prison in the future would be heard or answered. Whatever had happened, he would deal with it like a Luthor. He would face it head on and control the situation until a favorable outcome was achieved.

“Lionel,” his father called to him gruffly and he winced at the sound of his name in that voice. He was certain at some point he was going to have a panic attack the longer he had to listen to the old man. “Eat yer damn toast an’ lets go.”

Lionel said nothing as he finished buttering the toast and stuffed it into his mouth. He grabbed a disposable cup from McDonalds and washed out the two day old coffee in it before filling it from the fresh pot, and then hurried after his father. He fell into step behind Lachlan and ate large bites from the only food he was probably going to get until later in the evening.

“So what’s the job,” he dared to ask the man as they left the apartment and headed down the old, wooden stairs of the complex they were renting in. The light in the stairwell flickered off and on as they descended to the next level, his eye catching sight of exposed wiring from a hole in the wall where another tenant had lost his temper or had been in a fight. Wallpaper was peeling off the wall and there were the signs of water damage from a leaking pipe a few years ago.

He was not surprised at how easy it had been for Morgan to stage a fire accident. This place was so run down that he probably could have waited for an actual fire to break out on its own rather than have Morgan stage one. But he had been so impatient and desperate with his existence that he needed to escape before his father carried out his promised threats.

No one understood why he had done it. No one except Morgan understood. He could have revealed all to the courts what he went through, but he knew they would tear apart his testimony and call him a liar as well as a monster. No one believed the victims in these types of cases, Clark certainly hadn’t.

So he spared himself of that humiliation and kept his silence. Better to be perceived as a monster than as a liar.

He suddenly found himself bumping into his father’s back and silently cursed at his ineptitude in paying attention to his surroundings. Lionel fumbled with his cup of coffee and barely managed to keep himself from spilling it before glancing up at his father to see why he had stopped. The elder Luthor did not comment or acknowledge his fumbling, his attention on the man at the bottom of the stairs.

Lionel peered around his father’s thin frame at the stranger and realized he had forgotten about this encounter. Back then he hadn’t known who the man was, but now that he was older and had lived through a lifetime already, he knew the man. He also remembered getting smacked upside the head for saying something his father did not approve of.

He kept his silence as he studied the other man. He was average height and looked like he stepped right out of a gangster movie. The man wore a grey, pinstripe suit and a pair of shiny black shoes with white spats as guards. A matching grey fedora sat askew upon a crown of slick, dark hair and cast dark eyes in shadow. He had a rough looking face from years of sun and smoking, a handlebar mustache finishing the appearance.

He held a silver handled cane over his shoulder as he stared up at Lachlan and his son. Lionel didn’t need to search his memory for a name. There was no way he could ever forget Moxie Mannheim, not after that whole debacle that actually led to his parents’ deaths. How he had forgotten his first encounter with the man, he wasn’t sure but probably attested it to time and a desire to forget about his youth.

“Boss Moxie,” Lachlan greeted before taking the final steps to the ground floor. Lionel stayed where he was, not wanting to get involved or be within range of his father’s temper. He couldn’t remember what he had said or done that had set the old man off, so he figured he would stay out of it entirely unless Moxie addressed him directly.

“Lachlan,” the crime boss of Intergang nodded in greeting and his father took the final steps to stand before the man. Lionel stayed where he was more out of fear of doing something wrong and suffering his father’s wrath again, than being actually afraid of Mannheim. He was confident he could take on the old crime boss if it came down to a fight, but even then he wasn’t foolish enough to try.

“Boss,” his father greeted with a seriousness that was all business. He watched his father and the crime boss talk, his attention drifting away from the two as they talked about the job they had been hired for. He caught a few hushed words while he found the peeling wallpaper next to him far more interesting, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the two men when a ‘clock’ had been mentioned.

He didn’t remember what the job had been about, only that he was suppose to break into some manor here in Metropolis and recover some antique. The job had been a failure, of course, and he had never managed to recover the item they were suppose to steal. But now that he was reliving this moment again and he had passively picked up a word he probably would have felt unimportant the first time, he had to wonder if this job had anything to do with a certain antique clock a certain watchmaker would be repairing in a few months.

“Lionel!” His attention was brought back to the here and now as he heard the heavy stomps of his father as he ascended the few steps back up. The smack across the head took him by surprise despite knowing it was coming and he stumbled back onto the staircase steps, the wooden stairs pressing into his back as he stared up at his father fearfully. “Gewd fer nothin’ boy. Get yer head together an’ stop embarrassin’’ me in front of the Boss.”

“Sorry, Da,” he replied, sitting up and rubbing at his back before touching the side of his face where he had been struck. The skin stung and he was certain there would be a red welt later. He looked past his father and saw that Mannheim was watching him carefully. Lionel swallowed thickly at the attention, memories of what the man had tried to do to him resurfacing. “Boss,” he greeted, uncertain as to what was expected of him. He couldn’t remember!

“Your father was telling me you’re pretty good at picking locks,” Mannheim showed him a little mercy and Lionel wasn’t sure if he should feel grateful or not. Boss Moxie wasn’t known for mercy or patients.

“I can pick most doors within seconds,” he answered confidently. He did have a talent in lock picking and it wasn’t limited to just doors. He could easily crack open basic safes and probably his own vault given enough time. “I take it the item we’re after is in a safe?”

“Yes,” Moxie answered and then reached into his coat for something. Lionel stiffened out of instinctive reflex and only relaxed when it was a piece of paper that had been pulled out of an inner pocket. “This has the details of the safe.”

He scrambled back to his feet and took the last couple steps to take the paper from the crime boss. Now that he was focusing on the task instead of allowing his thoughts to wander on why he was here and what he remembered about this day, he was professional. Perhaps the most professional his father has ever seen him even.

It disturbed him a little at how easily he could have become a criminal alongside his childhood friend, Morgan. If his thoughts and dreams hadn’t been about leaving the Slums and making a name for himself, he probably could have ended up taking Mannheim’s place as the crime boss of Intergang and ruling the city that way.

He had to be careful here then. If he was truly in the past, anything he did now could affect his future. As appealing as the thought of him being a crime boss was, he preferred to be a filthy rich billionaire instead. People were more willing to do business with a business than they were with a criminal syndicate.

Lionel opened the piece of paper and saw that it was a design for a very complicated safe. How the hell was he suppose to break into this with just a simple lock picking kit? He studied the details and frowned deeply, “I’m going to need more than a lock pick to get this cracked.”

“Such as?”

He looked up at Mannheim questioningly then schooled his features when he realized the man was testing him. “This is a Class A safe, costs about twenty grand and is usually found in the homes of wealthy clientele.” The kind that had more money than they needed. He would have bought one of these back in the day if it had still been considered top of the art.

He looked down at the paper again as he continued to speak, “Its designed to drop an extra security lock should its outer wall be breached. The only way to crack this is to successfully input the correct code or…”

Mannheim raised an eyebrow at him, “Or?”

“Or prevent the seal from being breached long enough to stop the failsafe from latching into place.” He held up the paper and pointed out on the diagram where the seal was and how the latches would drop into place as soon as it was breached. “You would have to drill into the door and feed a rod inside that stops the latch from dropping.”

“And if you fail to prevent it?”

Lionel frowned at the question, his eyes meeting Mannheim’s and being reminded as to why he was afraid of this man. If he failed in breaking into the safe, he would have more to fear than his father beating and violating him later that night. He swallowed nervously as he answered, “You would need more time to drill through the latches. By then, the authorities will most likely be on their way.”

“Then I suggest that you do not fail, Mister Luthor.” Lionel realized he was addressing his father and not him. He stepped aside so the two men could talk again while he took the time to study the safe’s details. There really wasn’t a way to get into the safe quickly. He needed the passcode and that was something he remembered he hadn’t been given the last time he lived through this.

Moxie Mannheim soon concluded his business with his father and Lionel looked up in time to meet the elder Luthor’s gaze. He found himself swallowing nervously again and silently berated himself for being afraid of a ghost.

A ghost that could and will hurt me.

“Da?” he carefully inquired.

“Yew had better be able to get intew that safe, boy,” his father warned and snatched the diagram from him. Lionel wanted to glare and argue that he could, but his father never tolerated any backtalk from him. “Let’s go. The owners won’t be gone fer long an’ we’ve got ah bit of travelin’ ta dew.”

“Yes, Da,” Lionel hung his head and followed after his father with a great deal of reluctance.

“Don’t call him that,” Lionel hissed from the thin cot he sat on in the brig. He had a rosary in his hands, one that his son had never seen before; wondering where he had acquired it or why he had it to begin with. 

His father wasn’t religious as far as he knew.

”Why not?” Lex reached up to grip the bars of the cell to study his father better. The man did not look well. He hadn’t since the occupation. He looked… sickly.

Mr and Mrs luthor, Do you think you were good parents?

Lachlan glared at the reporter, “O' coorse ah was. Th' laddie didn’t git where he was by bein' a weaklin, noo did he? Isnae that richt, loue?” He glanced over to his wife. She was a comely red-head whose looks would have made her desired by the school boys in her youth if gin and an insufferable husband hadn’t prematurely aged her.