Chapter 4
Jonathan knew, with absolute certainty, that he would hear his son's scream in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Staring down into the gaping wound, it seared itself into his memory, as well. Devoid of blood, it glowed green from the small rock shard that was stuck fast in Clark's femur.
He was expecting the wound to bleed, Clark had proven he was human enough to bleed, but it wasn't. When the rock pulled free, the wound simply gaped open, the remaining piece of meteor standing out in green relief against the muscle that surrounded it. Jonathan stared at the sight in morbid fascination for a moment, then scampered to the other side of the pit to vomit. Finally, he regained control of himself and it was then that he realized the painful moans had ceased. Clark was unconscious. Terrified, Jonathan jostled him, slapped him, but there was no response. Left with nothing to do but wait, Jonathan crawled behind Clark and pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in his son's ebony hair and wept.
As the long minutes passed, questions haunted him.
*Why can't I be a better father? Why can't I break the trend my father started and be more open, more understanding, more loving? Why do I have to judge Clark based on how my father judged me?*
When Clark had first come to them, he'd been overjoyed. Now was his chance to right the wrongs his father had done. Not that Hiram Kent had been a bad man, or an especially bad father, he had simply been - distant. Jonathan never really felt he could reach his father, talk to him about things that mattered. And then he and Martha were given this incredible gift and he vowed to be different for his son. He would be there. He would listen. But then Clark had shown these amazing abilities and his good intentions had been replaced by fear. Fear of being found out. Fear of Clark being taken from them. Fear that a man like Luthor would take his son and use him for his own purposes. It had already happened once, with Phalen. It turned his gut to ice when he considered it happening again.
His fear had made him unreasonable at times. He hadn't wanted Clark to join sports, afraid his son would lose control in the heat of the game. Then Clark had lost his abilities for a time and finally had the chance to play. Jonathan cringed when he recalled how much joy his son had gotten from a simple game of basketball. He'd denied Clark so much in life because of his damned fear. He was even trying to deny Clark his friendship with Lex, his mistrust and fear of the Luthor's ran that deep. He thought of Lionel Luthor having any knowledge of just how special Clark was and it made him want to vomit again.
Jonathan sat against the cave wall, his unconscious son cradled against his chest, wrapped in arms that still shook with fear and reaction, and thought of his son's indomitable spirit, the way he felt almost obligated to use his powers to help anyone who needed it.
*I would have him hide himself away and all he wants to do is help. I would protect him from the world and all he wants to do is lead a normal life. He says he understands but it breaks his heart to always have to stand aside and watch . . . I don't deserve him.*
"Oh, Clark!" His thoughts gave way to words without him even realizing it. "Don't you see? I just want you to be safe. You're the most important thing in our lives and if we should lose you. . . I don't know how your mother and I could go on. Nothing else matters to us. You know that, don't you? The farm, the house, none of it means anything without you here with us." Jonathan spoke in a whisper, his breath barely brushing Clark's hair. He felt the unnatural heat radiating from Clark's body and another whisper lifted through the pit. "Please, God, let my son live."
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Martha flew along the road to the south pasture, her red hair flying out in a banner behind her. The farm path was unusually smooth after the rains and she gave the powerful engine as much throttle as she dared. It had been a long while since she'd ridden the powerful Harley, and longer still since she'd attempted to drive it. Still, she gave it as much throttle as she dared, the dread in her chest outweighing any thoughts of danger or speed. The green fields passed by on either side, but she was only concerned with what lay ahead.
"Please let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong." The mantra repeated in her head as the wind whistled against her ears. Finally, she saw the truck ahead and slowed the powerful engine.
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"Jonathan!"
In his dream, he was laying on the hammock next to Martha. They were laughing at some silly joke he'd told her, content to be together and in each other's arms. It wasn't often they could spare a sunny afternoon lazing about but since the work was done for the day and Clark was down for a nap, they'd decided to take advantage of the shade and spend time just being Jonathan and Martha.
"Jonathan! Clark!"
Jonathan frowned. Why would Martha be calling him? She right here. And why did she sound so panicked? Something was definitely not right but his fuzzy brain wouldn't let him give up the peaceful dream so easily.
"Jonathan! Answer me! For God's sake! Answer me!"
The terror in her voice finally got through to him and Jonathan stirred. He blinked, surprised that it was so dark then the events of the day came rushing back. He pulled himself out from behind Clark and stood up, his hand on the wall of the pit keeping him balanced. He had to stop her before she came any closer!
"Martha!" he screamed. "Stop! Stay where you are! Don't move!"
"Jonathan?" Martha looked around the field. She heard him, but she couldn't see him. "Where are you? I don't see you."
"We're somewhere between the truck and the tractor . . . down in a pit of some kind."
"Is Clark with you?" There was a moment of silence that made Martha's heart pound.
"Yes. He's here."
Even with the distance and the rising wind, she could hear the break in her husband's voice. "Jonathan, what's wrong?" Again the silence.
Jonathan dragged a tired hand over his forehead. How was he going to tell her? How could he tell her that their indestructible son was unconscious and possibly dying beneath the earth that had sustained them for so long.
"Jonathan!"
He could hear her moving closer. "Stop, Martha! Clark is . . . Martha, this whole place is littered with meteor rocks and he's hurt."
Martha stuffed a fist in her mouth and bit down hard as the memory of her dream hit her full force. She couldn't lose it now. She had to keep calm. She had to save her son.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked, searching the field with her eyes. The long grass waved in the slight breeze. Martha squinted as she followed the line from where the tractor sat to where the truck was parked. Then she noticed a slight break in the landscape about twenty yards from where she now stood. "I think I see where you are."
Jonathan had had plenty of time to think about this so he didn't hesitate. "I want you to get the rope that's in the truck bed. If you're sure you know where we are, pull the truck to within about fifteen feet of us and hook the rope to the front bumper. Then I want you to crawl over to the edge of pit, drop the rope down and I'll rig up a harness and you can pull us out. You got that?"
Martha nodded even as she started to run toward the truck. "I got it. Hang on, I'm coming."
To Jonathan, the pit amplified the sounds of his wife's progress. He heard the truck start, heard rumble of the gear shift as she put into drive and slowly crept forward, heard the grass being crushed beneath the thick tires as she pulled closer. He knew the exact second she put it into park and let it idle while she got the rope and hooked it to the truck's front bumper. The grass swished as she moved toward him. He could almost see the way it swayed as she passed. Then the line of grass that had hidden them so completely parted and an angel from God's own heaven looked down at him.
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Martha's fingers had never moved so fast. She fastened a sailor knot in record time, thanking God that she remembered her Girl Scout training. With the end of the rope tucked in the waistband of her cutoffs, she got on her stomach and crawled toward where her husband and son were trapped. She couldn't see it through the thick grass that waved in front of her face, so she kept putting out a hand to feel ahead. After a long minute, her hand grabbed air and she pulled the grass out of the way. Her first impression, as she looked straight down into the hole, was that she was looking into the depths of her own personal hell.
Jonathan stood in the center of the pit. His blond hair was covered in dried blood and Martha could see the cut that ran along the side of his head. His clothes were covered in mud and filth and darker stains she had no immediate desire to identify. His face was drawn. Lines of weariness and pain were deeply etched around haunted eyes.
"Where's Clark?" she asked, barely containing the horror she felt.
Jonathan said nothing, he just moved is gaze from her face to a spot on the floor. Martha looked straight down and was helpless to stop the strangled cry that escaped.
Clark lay on his back directly below her. His left pant leg had been cut away and she could see the open, black wound on his thigh. His tee-shirt, so white when he'd left her this morning, was dark with dirt and blood and she could see the deep gashes in his chest where he'd been cut with rocks when he fell. His normally light skin was deathly pale, highlighting the dark bruises that marred his handsome face. She could hear his labored breathing.
"There's a piece of the meteor rock wedged in the bone. I couldn't get it out. I think . . . " Jonathan's face crumbled for a moment, then the calm control he'd been working on all afternoon took over again. "I think it's killing him. We have to get him home and get it out before it's . . . we have to hurry."
Martha nodded as she hastily brushed away the tears that threatened. *This is no time for crying, Martha Kent,* she told herself sternly. *You will keep yourself together.* She dropped the rope to her husband and watched as he fashioned a harness of sorts. She cringed as he slipped it over Clark's injured leg and then forced more tears back when he moaned in pain. Martha heard Jonathan speaking to Clark, soothing words that she hoped her son could hear. Then Jonathan was standing, their son clutched to his chest, and she knew she had to move.
Jonathan listened as Martha crawled back through the grass. Then the truck shifted and he and Clark were dangling above the pit floor. Inch by agonizing inch they rose into the air as Martha slowly backed the truck up. He held Clark tightly with one arm while keeping a hand wrapped around the rope. Clark moaned and his eyes fluttered. "Hang on, son, we're almost there." Jonathan repeated the reassuring phrase over and over. Then they were level with the grass and sliding into the light of the Kansas sunset.
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AN: A special shout out and thank you to Karri for the beta work and suggestions for this chapter.
*You have done well, Padawan. ;-)
Yay to Becs who told me Jonathan Kent's father's name! (I changed it just for you :o)
