Title: the eyes that no one owns

Fandom: "Supernatural"/"Smallville" crossover

Disclaimer: none of them are mine; written because… just 'cause. title from Anne Sexton.

Warnings: AU for "Smallville" during season four; AU for "Supernatural" pre-pilot

Pairings: none, really

Rating: PG13

Wordcount: 1150

Point of view: third

She was not always wealthy. In fact, as a young girl she was quite poor, living in the slums of London. She was a whore's daughter, never knew her father(or maybe she did—daughter of a whore, she became a whore herself, and might have even serviced him), and had no schooling to speak of. She had no prospects, no safe haven, and when old Marjorie told her a legend about dealmakers and crossroads, she wasted no time in following the instructions.

The demon came to her in the guise of a gorgeous man: tall, broad, dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. By light of the moon, she'd never seen so beautiful a creature.

"What do you want?" the demon asked her, blue eyes turning red.

"Wealth," she answered. "More money than I could spend in a thousand lifetimes."

The demon nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek. "It is yours, my dear." He pulled her close, sealing his lips over hers.

The next night, one of her frequent clients, third cousin to the queen, asked her to marry him. She said yes and his fortune became hers.


In ten years, the demon came back for her. He caressed her face and brushed his stolen lips across her skin. "Would you like to make another deal?"

"You would do that?" she asked, gazing up at him with faux-innocence.

"Yes," he whispered. "There's a thorn in my side that I need to dispose of, and you provide the perfect opportunity."

"Tell me."


And so she was given a son in four years time. Henry was delighted, of course. Everyone told her what a beautiful child he was. She merely smiled up at them, cradling her boy, her salvation.

Take care of him, the demon had said, this time with yellow eyes. He'll have an important part to play in the future. Raise him well. Keep him safe, and your deal will not come due.

And what do I name him? she inquired.

The demon shrugged. It doesn't matter.

She named him Jason, after the man who won the Golden Fleece.

Her son would do even better.


Jason was smart and talented; but he lacked ambition. She taught him all she knew, provided the best teachers, and he still floundered. She gave him everything in the world and could tell he still wasn't happy.

She'd wondered for years where he came from, who the demon had stolen him away from. But she'd never gone searching. She figured there are some things a mother just didn't need to know. Maybe he'd be happy, though, if he knew what he was missing.

Not that he ever would. Not if she had anything to say about it. He was her boy, no one else's. Not anymore.


She had his entire life planned out, even the woman he would marry. So she sent him to Paris, knowing the girl he'd meet there, sweet and perfect Lana Lang.

When Jason followed Lana to Smallville, she wasn't surprised in the least, though Henry was pissed. It was all part of the plan, to keep Jason happy and safe, and if he wanted to be with the girl(like she knew he did), then she was content.

But Jason called her up, five weeks into his position at Smallville High, and just breathed over the line for a minute.

"Darling?" she asked, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

He scoffed. "You bitch."

She sucked in a breath. "Jason, what?"

His voice got low and mean, like she had never once heard him before. "You really thought I'd never find out?"

"Find out what, Jason?" She had a good idea, though.

"Goodbye." He said it softly. Concretely.

But she would not let him go without a fight, and she had a private jet taking her to Kansas within the hour.


She'd made it a point to know everything that happened in her son's life, so she knew exactly where to go to find him. If he wasn't at his dorm, he'd be at Lana's—she located him within ten minutes of setting foot in Smallville.

He was sitting in The Talon, sipping hot chocolate from a dark mug(her boy never had liked coffee) and across the small table from a man in a leather coat. Her breath caught as the man turned and she saw him in profile—he could be Jason, had Jason's life been any harder. Had Jason been only a few years older.

Jason looked past his double and met her eyes, his face shuttering. His double followed his gaze, eyes settling on her.

She had never been easily intimidated, and she'd come to reclaim her son. She'd raised him, given him anything he'd ever wanted, and she never lost.

"Jason, darling," she said, pausing by the table. "It's so good to see you."

"Hello," he responded, voice colder than she'd ever heard it. "Genevieve, I'd like you to meet my brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester."

She smiled at Dean, the one sitting at the table, and then stiffened as someone came up behind her, edged around her, to sit in the third chair.

Dean nodded to her, a sharp smile on his face. The other, Sam, had no expression as he said, "Ma'am."

"Jason," she said, "I don't know what these men have told you, but I swear they cannot be your brothers. Let's speak privately."

"You're not goin' anywhere alone with him," Dean interjected, voice slightly deeper than Jason's. Dangerous. "Ma'am," he added, with an ironic twist of his lips. "Since somehow you stole him, we don't trust you. You understand."

She wanted to be offended. "He is my son," she bit out, anger clouding her judgment about making a scene. "I've spent twenty-one years taking care of him!"

Dean met Sam's eyes, then Jason's. "It's your call," Sam said.

Jason looked up at her; she didn't recognize the expression in his eyes. "I told you," he said. "Goodbye."

She shook her head. "You're mine, Jason. And I'll get you back." She glanced at Sam, then Dean. "One way or the other." She strode from The Talon, defeat bitter on her tongue.


That night, as she paced in her mansion in London, the demon, the second demon that gave her Jason, came to her.

"You've failed," he said. "They were never supposed to meet, Jason and his brothers."

"Well, they have," she snarled, glaring at it. "So now what are you going to do?"

"We had a deal, whore," he murmured, trailing fingers along her jaw. "You failed to keep your end."

Fear shot through her. "No, please—I can still get him back."

"He's met Dean," the demon told her. "He will never go back. It's a strong bond, twinship. Even one cut by years."

She didn't understand, but the demon's fingers tightened around her neck and she never got the chance to ask.