[A/N: Waazzzzup! I'm back, after my internet got working again. All these
stupid modems are so temperamental!
I'm uploading it, not only because I'm trying to avoid work, but because this story has been buried in, like, page 4 of the updates. Because of that, I haven't gotten any new reviews in two days, and that worries me. Am I expecting too much?
Anyway, I really like the reviews I got. Webgirl gave me a great idea- to have Pete tell Chloe about Clark before he tells Clark himself- but I already had this chapter written (the last of the pre-typed! Egad!) and it sets up the plot for the next one. I'll see if I can get Petey out of this sticky situation while sticking to the storyline in my head, but it's hard to compete with a super-powered alien on these types of things. I can only do so much! The characters are running this story!!
Besides, Pete running over and dragging Chloe into this whole thing would seem a bit out of character. By no means has the show gone deep into the psyche of Pete Ross, but you can assume that he would be more loyal to his old and best friend than risking his immediate appearance on the Wall of Weird. Despite several shipper's Clark/Chloe romance/revelation fics, I still refuse to believe that Chloe's journalistic instincts would fail her at the discovery of Kansas' own ET. But that's just me. Webgirl, I'd love to drag that plot in somehow.
As for everyone else, thanks for reading! My mind is still blown by the fact that people want to read what comes from my demented mind. No need to discourage you now with lengthy, pointless author's notes!]
4. Found
:Creek: opens the cellar doors, oblivious to the secrets hidden behind them.
The raindrops the size of ping pong balls drenched the old issue of the Torch that was Pete's only protection. Chloe was going to kill him, but it was old, and the only thing Clark had in the barn.
Pete set the paper down to pull open the rusted storm cellar doors. It was a good two minutes before the lock budged, and another three yanking at the hinges. [Clark must be the only one who comes here. He's the only one who can get in!]
He creeped down the stairs, now not so confident that he was alone. It was something he couldn't explain, but there was an odd presence in the room. Pete had been around a lot of the supernatural since the meteor shower, but this was something else. Something out there.
The rain's noisy pitter-patter was the only thing that made Pete feel safe. But, as he watched the dirty window of the underground room become covered in water, that would not be for long. Unless he wanted to flood the Kent's cellar, he was stuck. Damn.
Realizing that he would be there until the rain stopped, he looked around for that thing--the answer he came looking for. Pete leaned against the workbench and observed his surroundings. Loads of labeled cardboard boxes seemed to be the norm with storm cellars, and the Kents' didn't look any different. Pete really only half-expected it to be, but only because they gave him reason to think so.
He inspected a partially eaten hot dog lying in the saw dust. When it looked clean (no glowing green bits), Pete took a bite and saved the rest for later, in case he was stranded.
It was funny: ever since Clark had become some sort of superhero to the town, Pete hadn't really been scared for his safety. And since he had discovered Clark's abilities, it seemed more and more likely that his friend would always come to the rescue, some way or another. He didn't like to take it for granted, but Clark's overwhelming sense of blame for everything, from Chloe's fall from a third-story window to the death of Lana's parents, had come in handy more than once. The boy had managed to save every one of the 45,000 people in the town, all at least once.
Pete chuckled. It really amazed him that nobody had actually put two and two together about the Kent boy. And remember, this includes Chloe, intrepid reporter and discoverer of most of Smallville's meteor mutants from the past six months, and Lex Luthor, boy billionaire with some of the best resources and connections in the world.
[Wow. Being alone for a good half hour really gives you time to ponder. Better start looking around.] Pete didn't want to speak out loud, even though he had been moving freely about the storm cellar for a good amount of time. He was starting to get that weird creepy feeling again.
As he paroozed to various boxes, Pete became alarmed at how normal the Kents looked from the outside. Hell, for years he had bought that very facade. The stubborn farmer husband; the warm, giving housewife; the all- American farmboy, complete with purely plaid wardrobe. Mostly, it was true; Jonathon, Martha and Clark were the kindest, most trusting and trusted people he had ever met. Who woulda thunk the had such enormous skeletons in their closet?
And they were about to get bigger.
Something that was, well, off caught Pete's attention. His eyes were ripped from the inconspicuous labels on the boxes as he focused on the tarp- covered mound shoved into the corner. And judging by the scuff marks on the floor leading to it, Clark hadn't put it there. Super-boy surely would have been able to pick it up, and Pete knew Jonathon sought his son's help with the heavy work as much as possible. It was definitely worth an investigation.
Pete tip-toed over to the thing, feeling like an idiot, but affirming his mode of transportation at the same time. He carefully tried to pick apart the tight knot that was wrapped around the black plastic, but shrugged, figuring that if Clark tied it, there was no use. But Jonathon was an idiot for leaving this big ol' secret in the same room with all of his sharp farming tools.
Once it was unwrapped, it wasn't hard to peel the tarp off the mound. Pete was expecting some sort of implement that a farmer might use, or even a tank of green fluid for Clark, but he was definitely taken by surprise.
He couldn't define it, or the vibe he got from it, but it seemed like some sort of craft. It was polished and silver, or something like it. It could be steel or lead, but it would have rusted under all that tarp in the storm cellar. As Pete knocked on it, and experienced a pain in his knuckles, he realized it was something different. Something... alien.
The word was fed through his brain, though he didn't remember thinking it up. The craft seemed to be talking to him, and Pete didn't like it. As he rubbed the fist that had touched it, he figured out why his hurt was so familiar. It wasn't the craft. It was Clark.
Pete Ross had been Clark Kent's best friend since kindergarten. It would have been longer, since the meteor shower when Clark was adopted, but the Kents' hadn't enrolled him in pre-school. Still, there was many a time when Pete had playfully punched Clark on the arm. It could have been over a joke, or over Lana, or to persuade him to do something. Only since Pete's discovery did he realize it always hurt because of those weird powers Clark had. It was the invulnerable thing that helped him against Brett and, Pete guessed, everybody else he'd dealt with lately.
The same hurt he got from the ship. [The ship. The meteor shower. The pain.] "Hell no..."
For a second, an outlandish idea popped into Pete's head. Clark was adopted around the time of the meteor shower, when they were three. A three year old could fit into that little... thing, which was definitely out of this world. Literally. Which meant...
[No. My best friend is not an alien. Clark is not an alien. No fucking way.]
:Thump: Pete whipped around, and saw the doors of the storm cellar rattle at the hinges. His heart stopped as he heard Clark's voice.
I'm uploading it, not only because I'm trying to avoid work, but because this story has been buried in, like, page 4 of the updates. Because of that, I haven't gotten any new reviews in two days, and that worries me. Am I expecting too much?
Anyway, I really like the reviews I got. Webgirl gave me a great idea- to have Pete tell Chloe about Clark before he tells Clark himself- but I already had this chapter written (the last of the pre-typed! Egad!) and it sets up the plot for the next one. I'll see if I can get Petey out of this sticky situation while sticking to the storyline in my head, but it's hard to compete with a super-powered alien on these types of things. I can only do so much! The characters are running this story!!
Besides, Pete running over and dragging Chloe into this whole thing would seem a bit out of character. By no means has the show gone deep into the psyche of Pete Ross, but you can assume that he would be more loyal to his old and best friend than risking his immediate appearance on the Wall of Weird. Despite several shipper's Clark/Chloe romance/revelation fics, I still refuse to believe that Chloe's journalistic instincts would fail her at the discovery of Kansas' own ET. But that's just me. Webgirl, I'd love to drag that plot in somehow.
As for everyone else, thanks for reading! My mind is still blown by the fact that people want to read what comes from my demented mind. No need to discourage you now with lengthy, pointless author's notes!]
4. Found
:Creek: opens the cellar doors, oblivious to the secrets hidden behind them.
The raindrops the size of ping pong balls drenched the old issue of the Torch that was Pete's only protection. Chloe was going to kill him, but it was old, and the only thing Clark had in the barn.
Pete set the paper down to pull open the rusted storm cellar doors. It was a good two minutes before the lock budged, and another three yanking at the hinges. [Clark must be the only one who comes here. He's the only one who can get in!]
He creeped down the stairs, now not so confident that he was alone. It was something he couldn't explain, but there was an odd presence in the room. Pete had been around a lot of the supernatural since the meteor shower, but this was something else. Something out there.
The rain's noisy pitter-patter was the only thing that made Pete feel safe. But, as he watched the dirty window of the underground room become covered in water, that would not be for long. Unless he wanted to flood the Kent's cellar, he was stuck. Damn.
Realizing that he would be there until the rain stopped, he looked around for that thing--the answer he came looking for. Pete leaned against the workbench and observed his surroundings. Loads of labeled cardboard boxes seemed to be the norm with storm cellars, and the Kents' didn't look any different. Pete really only half-expected it to be, but only because they gave him reason to think so.
He inspected a partially eaten hot dog lying in the saw dust. When it looked clean (no glowing green bits), Pete took a bite and saved the rest for later, in case he was stranded.
It was funny: ever since Clark had become some sort of superhero to the town, Pete hadn't really been scared for his safety. And since he had discovered Clark's abilities, it seemed more and more likely that his friend would always come to the rescue, some way or another. He didn't like to take it for granted, but Clark's overwhelming sense of blame for everything, from Chloe's fall from a third-story window to the death of Lana's parents, had come in handy more than once. The boy had managed to save every one of the 45,000 people in the town, all at least once.
Pete chuckled. It really amazed him that nobody had actually put two and two together about the Kent boy. And remember, this includes Chloe, intrepid reporter and discoverer of most of Smallville's meteor mutants from the past six months, and Lex Luthor, boy billionaire with some of the best resources and connections in the world.
[Wow. Being alone for a good half hour really gives you time to ponder. Better start looking around.] Pete didn't want to speak out loud, even though he had been moving freely about the storm cellar for a good amount of time. He was starting to get that weird creepy feeling again.
As he paroozed to various boxes, Pete became alarmed at how normal the Kents looked from the outside. Hell, for years he had bought that very facade. The stubborn farmer husband; the warm, giving housewife; the all- American farmboy, complete with purely plaid wardrobe. Mostly, it was true; Jonathon, Martha and Clark were the kindest, most trusting and trusted people he had ever met. Who woulda thunk the had such enormous skeletons in their closet?
And they were about to get bigger.
Something that was, well, off caught Pete's attention. His eyes were ripped from the inconspicuous labels on the boxes as he focused on the tarp- covered mound shoved into the corner. And judging by the scuff marks on the floor leading to it, Clark hadn't put it there. Super-boy surely would have been able to pick it up, and Pete knew Jonathon sought his son's help with the heavy work as much as possible. It was definitely worth an investigation.
Pete tip-toed over to the thing, feeling like an idiot, but affirming his mode of transportation at the same time. He carefully tried to pick apart the tight knot that was wrapped around the black plastic, but shrugged, figuring that if Clark tied it, there was no use. But Jonathon was an idiot for leaving this big ol' secret in the same room with all of his sharp farming tools.
Once it was unwrapped, it wasn't hard to peel the tarp off the mound. Pete was expecting some sort of implement that a farmer might use, or even a tank of green fluid for Clark, but he was definitely taken by surprise.
He couldn't define it, or the vibe he got from it, but it seemed like some sort of craft. It was polished and silver, or something like it. It could be steel or lead, but it would have rusted under all that tarp in the storm cellar. As Pete knocked on it, and experienced a pain in his knuckles, he realized it was something different. Something... alien.
The word was fed through his brain, though he didn't remember thinking it up. The craft seemed to be talking to him, and Pete didn't like it. As he rubbed the fist that had touched it, he figured out why his hurt was so familiar. It wasn't the craft. It was Clark.
Pete Ross had been Clark Kent's best friend since kindergarten. It would have been longer, since the meteor shower when Clark was adopted, but the Kents' hadn't enrolled him in pre-school. Still, there was many a time when Pete had playfully punched Clark on the arm. It could have been over a joke, or over Lana, or to persuade him to do something. Only since Pete's discovery did he realize it always hurt because of those weird powers Clark had. It was the invulnerable thing that helped him against Brett and, Pete guessed, everybody else he'd dealt with lately.
The same hurt he got from the ship. [The ship. The meteor shower. The pain.] "Hell no..."
For a second, an outlandish idea popped into Pete's head. Clark was adopted around the time of the meteor shower, when they were three. A three year old could fit into that little... thing, which was definitely out of this world. Literally. Which meant...
[No. My best friend is not an alien. Clark is not an alien. No fucking way.]
:Thump: Pete whipped around, and saw the doors of the storm cellar rattle at the hinges. His heart stopped as he heard Clark's voice.