Clark blinked, trying to clear his vision of the brillant lights dancing before them. Hacking slighty, he sucked in sweet breathe to replace that had been sucked out of him. Slowly, he started to rise from the ground when it struck him. He'd just been thrown thirty feet from an explosion in front of about thirty people, three of whom were now racing over to him, expecting to see a concussion, a broken rib, a dead body, something. Clark knew he couldn't explain how he wasn't even scratched, much less how the pavement where he'd hit had an idention of his back and head. The fact he wasn't hurt could be explained away, chalked up to luck or a mistake of the eye. But a dent solid pavement? That was solid proof, and how could the family refute a Clark shaped hole in the ground? The situation was getting more dangerous for him by the second, and all he knew was that the less he was here, the better. Hoping they might not notice that, he sat up and was about to stand when a pair of hands rested on his shoulers, propelling him back down, covering the hole from prying eyes.
"Easy, son, that was quite a fall you just took. Don't be getting up just now. You hit your head pretty hard and you need some medical attention, all right?" The voice surprised Clark in its serenity among the chaos, a slow, steady rythm to it he didn't recall hearing before. It had a slight southern drawl to it, and crispness that proved the person it blonged to was used to being in charge of a situation. Not the type that he needed examining him on the first off. Rotating his neck, he looked up at the man above him.
He looked about fifty, with salt and pepper hair and a bushily mustashe and beard that obscured most of his face. His eyes had a gray, hard tint to them and were wide with concern. Clark could have sworn he saw a gleam of satisfaction glow there for a moment, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be certain. His face was sprinkled from lines, and his skin looked soft. His face was pale and complexion so fine it was obvious that he made of a point of not spending much time outdoors. Sporting a pair of dingy black jeans, scuffed leather dress shoes, and a once-ruby polo shirt, Clark recognized him from the crash. This man was one of the first he got out from being pinned haphazardly between a seat and the ground, and he'd been helping with first aid the whole time. He had explained himself as the new guidance counciler at the school, and he had enough sense to grab the first aid kit and fire extinguisher from the remenants of the bus. Clark remembered he had medical experience from Vietnam, which is why he'd taken charge of the medical care of the wounded, and now Clark was his focus. He knew from expierence that fooling doctors, nurses, or anyone who knows what they were looking for was a very tricky thing. It took time and attention to detail he never picked up on at times such as these. Feigning injury at an accident site was something he was never any good at.
"Really, I'm okay Mr..." he sighed, blanking on his name. Clark brushed back of his hair with his free arm, studying the man with interest.
"Mr. Jones, son. I'm afraid I didn't get your name either," he said as he pulled out a flashlight to examine Clarks eyes and few bandages to sop up the blood coating him. Clark was so cover in blood that the man hadn't yet realized it wasn't his own, something that Clark wasn't intending for him to find out.
Still pinned to the ground by Mr. Jones assertive arm, Clark offered his name. "Clark Kent, sir, and would you mind letting me up now? I feel fine, really. I wasn't thrown that far and those patients over there need more of your attention than I do. The paramedics will be here soon, but most of them are still-" He stalled in a desperate attempt to waver the man's curiosity. In the distance, sirens were roaring toward them, becoming louder by the moment. Still, the man refused to move and had Clark in the very awkward position where he couldn't see anything aside from the cluster of two other teachers staring anxiously down at him and Mr. Jones flash light beam.
"Clark, I'm helping you right now. You can't honestly tell me you aren't at least sore from that fall and now the ambulence is coming to help the others. Now, follow the light with your eyes."
Obediently, Clark did as the counciler told him. All he wanted right now was to get this guy off his chest and home before the police could ask too many questions. This was a rotten situation to be in after the promise he'd made his father. He liked to leave the scene before anyone arrived or woke up, typically, and now the accident was swarming with officials, all of whom had questions they wanted answered, questions Clark was sure he could.
Solemly, Mr. Jones clicked his mini-light off and snapped Clark from his thoughts. "You don't apprear to have a concussion, but I'd like you to head off the hospital anyway. A few tests will confirm my analysis, they'll patch you up, and you can go home. A few days on the couch and a couple asprin and you'll be okay," Mr. Jones diagonsed and he stood, calling a paramedic over from the swarm around the real victims.
"What kinds of tests?" was Clark's question, uneasy growing in the pit of his stomach. 'Dad is going to kill me!' pounded in his skull.
"X-rays, cat scan, maybe a few blood tests," Mr. Jones replied off-handedly, as though these were nothing but a rotuine to him. Little did he know, they were enough to devistate Clark and unmask his secret to the world. 'Not gunna happen today, sorry,' he decided, recognizing the moment to take action and barreling into it head on.
Lugging himself off the ground, Clark's eyes solidified and became resolute. There was no way on this side of hell this Mr. Jones was going to get him into that ambulence. His face set, he looked at the middle-aged teacher conferring with a medic. "Look, you need all that space for Mrs. Meyer with internal bleeding, Mr. Anderson with about five cracked ribs, Ms. Blanc with that crushed leg of hers, and all of the others. I'm fine. Just let me go home for now. I promise if something happens, I'll head straight to the hospital," drawing in a lungful of air to continue his argument, he noticed his dad coming toward him. They'd seen the parade of rescue vechiles and had come to investigate. 'Perfect,' he thought. "Now my father is here, I'd just like to go take those asprin and crash on the couch like you suggested." Waving his dad over, he saw the grudging look on Mr. Jones face. He was not going for this plan. Opening his mouth to pop any ideas Clark had of fulfulling it, Clark countered before he could get the words out. "And don't worry, the police have my number, they'll call to question me later."
With that, he turned to his father and proclaimed that while Mr. Jones wanted him to go for a ride to Smallville Medical Center, he'd prefer to head home. That he didn't have any real injuries and would just be taking up space on a busy day. Mr. Jones eyes only grew in size and disbielf when Jonathan agreed to the plan, thanked Mr. Jones for his concern, and slipped a caring hand on the small of Clark's back to guide him toward the truck so he could drive him home. Faking a slight limp, Clark went with his father and they drove away in the other pickup his father had driven down, leaving Mr. Jones staring, jaw slightly ajar, with some mild interest and more than few questions that needed to be answered. Clark just hoped they could find some answers before they heard from him again.
As they drove away, two pairs of eyes followed their truck down the path and toward their home. While one turned away rather quickly, the other scanned the area before snapping off a quick succesion of pictures to add to the collection in the woods.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.
"Easy, son, that was quite a fall you just took. Don't be getting up just now. You hit your head pretty hard and you need some medical attention, all right?" The voice surprised Clark in its serenity among the chaos, a slow, steady rythm to it he didn't recall hearing before. It had a slight southern drawl to it, and crispness that proved the person it blonged to was used to being in charge of a situation. Not the type that he needed examining him on the first off. Rotating his neck, he looked up at the man above him.
He looked about fifty, with salt and pepper hair and a bushily mustashe and beard that obscured most of his face. His eyes had a gray, hard tint to them and were wide with concern. Clark could have sworn he saw a gleam of satisfaction glow there for a moment, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be certain. His face was sprinkled from lines, and his skin looked soft. His face was pale and complexion so fine it was obvious that he made of a point of not spending much time outdoors. Sporting a pair of dingy black jeans, scuffed leather dress shoes, and a once-ruby polo shirt, Clark recognized him from the crash. This man was one of the first he got out from being pinned haphazardly between a seat and the ground, and he'd been helping with first aid the whole time. He had explained himself as the new guidance counciler at the school, and he had enough sense to grab the first aid kit and fire extinguisher from the remenants of the bus. Clark remembered he had medical experience from Vietnam, which is why he'd taken charge of the medical care of the wounded, and now Clark was his focus. He knew from expierence that fooling doctors, nurses, or anyone who knows what they were looking for was a very tricky thing. It took time and attention to detail he never picked up on at times such as these. Feigning injury at an accident site was something he was never any good at.
"Really, I'm okay Mr..." he sighed, blanking on his name. Clark brushed back of his hair with his free arm, studying the man with interest.
"Mr. Jones, son. I'm afraid I didn't get your name either," he said as he pulled out a flashlight to examine Clarks eyes and few bandages to sop up the blood coating him. Clark was so cover in blood that the man hadn't yet realized it wasn't his own, something that Clark wasn't intending for him to find out.
Still pinned to the ground by Mr. Jones assertive arm, Clark offered his name. "Clark Kent, sir, and would you mind letting me up now? I feel fine, really. I wasn't thrown that far and those patients over there need more of your attention than I do. The paramedics will be here soon, but most of them are still-" He stalled in a desperate attempt to waver the man's curiosity. In the distance, sirens were roaring toward them, becoming louder by the moment. Still, the man refused to move and had Clark in the very awkward position where he couldn't see anything aside from the cluster of two other teachers staring anxiously down at him and Mr. Jones flash light beam.
"Clark, I'm helping you right now. You can't honestly tell me you aren't at least sore from that fall and now the ambulence is coming to help the others. Now, follow the light with your eyes."
Obediently, Clark did as the counciler told him. All he wanted right now was to get this guy off his chest and home before the police could ask too many questions. This was a rotten situation to be in after the promise he'd made his father. He liked to leave the scene before anyone arrived or woke up, typically, and now the accident was swarming with officials, all of whom had questions they wanted answered, questions Clark was sure he could.
Solemly, Mr. Jones clicked his mini-light off and snapped Clark from his thoughts. "You don't apprear to have a concussion, but I'd like you to head off the hospital anyway. A few tests will confirm my analysis, they'll patch you up, and you can go home. A few days on the couch and a couple asprin and you'll be okay," Mr. Jones diagonsed and he stood, calling a paramedic over from the swarm around the real victims.
"What kinds of tests?" was Clark's question, uneasy growing in the pit of his stomach. 'Dad is going to kill me!' pounded in his skull.
"X-rays, cat scan, maybe a few blood tests," Mr. Jones replied off-handedly, as though these were nothing but a rotuine to him. Little did he know, they were enough to devistate Clark and unmask his secret to the world. 'Not gunna happen today, sorry,' he decided, recognizing the moment to take action and barreling into it head on.
Lugging himself off the ground, Clark's eyes solidified and became resolute. There was no way on this side of hell this Mr. Jones was going to get him into that ambulence. His face set, he looked at the middle-aged teacher conferring with a medic. "Look, you need all that space for Mrs. Meyer with internal bleeding, Mr. Anderson with about five cracked ribs, Ms. Blanc with that crushed leg of hers, and all of the others. I'm fine. Just let me go home for now. I promise if something happens, I'll head straight to the hospital," drawing in a lungful of air to continue his argument, he noticed his dad coming toward him. They'd seen the parade of rescue vechiles and had come to investigate. 'Perfect,' he thought. "Now my father is here, I'd just like to go take those asprin and crash on the couch like you suggested." Waving his dad over, he saw the grudging look on Mr. Jones face. He was not going for this plan. Opening his mouth to pop any ideas Clark had of fulfulling it, Clark countered before he could get the words out. "And don't worry, the police have my number, they'll call to question me later."
With that, he turned to his father and proclaimed that while Mr. Jones wanted him to go for a ride to Smallville Medical Center, he'd prefer to head home. That he didn't have any real injuries and would just be taking up space on a busy day. Mr. Jones eyes only grew in size and disbielf when Jonathan agreed to the plan, thanked Mr. Jones for his concern, and slipped a caring hand on the small of Clark's back to guide him toward the truck so he could drive him home. Faking a slight limp, Clark went with his father and they drove away in the other pickup his father had driven down, leaving Mr. Jones staring, jaw slightly ajar, with some mild interest and more than few questions that needed to be answered. Clark just hoped they could find some answers before they heard from him again.
As they drove away, two pairs of eyes followed their truck down the path and toward their home. While one turned away rather quickly, the other scanned the area before snapping off a quick succesion of pictures to add to the collection in the woods.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.