Their footsteps fell heavily through the underbrush, as Pete and Jonathan made their way through one of Smallville's surrounding forests. It was dark where they were, the full branches of the tall tress creating a ceiling above, shading them from the late afternoon sun. They had been walking through Jeremiah Holdsclaw's land for the past few hours, trying to discern the maps Chloe had hastily sketched out for them. A small square labelled "Storage Hut" was their next destination, for it was as good a place as any to continue the search they had been on for the entire duration of the day. Looking in all his known hideouts and properties, finding the exact location of Jeremiah was turning out to be that of a very complicated situation in the search for their missing son and friend. The day was beginning to end, but Pete and Jonathan's spirit and determination had yet to falter.
"How much further?" Pete questioned the elder man as he stepped around a felled log.
Jonathan looked down at the map, then to a compass he held within his hand, and glanced around him. "I'm not sure, Pete. We should be at the hut by now." He continued to look around through the trees, and Pete followed suit.
A few moments later, Pete called out in a hushed voice, "Hey, Mr. Kent. Look – over there," he said, pointing to his left, "Do you see it?"
The father squinted and finally made out the boy's discovery. "It's the hut! Let's go, but be quiet. We don't want to alert this man if he does have Clark." The two crept along, hiding themselves behind trees, and away from the sight of the broken windows that adorned the worn-down structure. They stopped about ten metres away from the building, concealed behind a fairly large tree stump.
"Can you see anything?" Pete whispered, as they peaked around opposite sides of the stump.
"No, not from here. We need to get closer – if we go around the right, we should be able to crawl along the side and look in one of those windows," Jonathan suggested to the boy.
"Works for me, you lead." Pete responded, as he turned towards his friend's father. Following him as they rushed along the ground, Pete didn't look where he was stepping and suddenly tripped on a large tree root. It sent him flailing to the forest floor where he landed with a yelp. Scrambling back to his feet, he cursed himself, and ran over to join Jonathan who had bolted to the side of the building upon Pete's fall.
"You alright?" the elder questioned, as the two knelt on the ground. Pete nodded, rubbing at his scraped elbow.
"Let's just get this done with," he whispered in response. Cautiously, they rose up on their heels to peak inside the window above them. The glass was dirty, cracked in some places, but they managed to see beyond it into the large, dank room. What they found shocked them to their very core.
"Holy ----" Pete cursed, and Jonathan didn't even berate him for it. He was too aghast at the site be fore him to say much of anything.
Finding his guts, Pete spoke "We...We need to get hi-him out of there...Just. How?"
"I don't know...I just, I don't know." The father's voice wavered, "Oh, Clark..."
They continued to be transfixed on what the window beheld to them. The usually strong, invulnerable teenager they knew was lying helpless on his deathbed, almost literally speaking. His tall body was littered with lacerations and bruises, showing evidence of the horrible things his kidnapper had done to him. Chest rising and falling rapidly as he drew in sharp breaths to his oxygen-deprived lungs, Clark Kent's eyes flickered as he drifted in and out of consciousness, almost unaware of his surroundings as agony consumed his mind and body. His captor stood nearby, rinsing his hands in a rusty, dilapidated sink, and unbeknown to him being watched by two very determined individuals.
Pete spoke, "We need to get him," nodding his head towards the native man, "out of commission. Take him down like the rat he is." Jonathan blinked in approval, still watching his only son suffering in torment. "Okay, Mr. Kent. You know how you told me that the star blade there gave him Clark's abilities? I say it's the only way we can overtake him. If the blade can hurt Clark, it should be able to do the same to Jeremiah, right?"
Jonathan turned to the younger boy, clenched his jaw, and nodded. "Right. It's just sitting on that table there, so if we go in, you distract him, I'll grab the knife, take care of Jeremiah, and we'll get Clark out of there..." He trailed off, still unsure of the whole idea.
Pete putting a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "We can do it, Mr. Kent. We have to. Clark has saved all of us so many times, it's about time we return the favour."
With heavy hearts and a newfound determination, Jonathan and Pete headed around to the entrance of the old cabin, and prepared themselves for the coming disturbance. Silently turning the knob of the surprisingly unlocked door, Jonathan peered around the wood to find a smaller room directly inside, with an open doorway leading into a larger room – the one in which his son was being held. Putting a finger to his lips in silence towards Pete, the elder man cautiously stepped in and over to the side, where he stood flat against the wall. As Pete followed suit, Jonathan shuffled along the wall, thankful for the old rugs placed on the hardwood floor, which aided in silencing the falls of his work boots.
But not silent enough apparently, as a voice rang out through the cabin.
"Who is it? I can hear you, you know!" It was Jeremiah Holdsclaw, and his direct attention on them, although expected, still came across as a shock to Pete and Jonathan as they realized the true nature of their mission. There was no turning back now.
With a nod of approval to the dark-skinned boy, Jonathan stepped forward into the doorway, revealing himself to his son's abductor. Recognition dawned across the native's face immediately.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Jonathan Kent. I knew I wouldn't see the last of you anytime soon. And look, here you are. Come to try and save your freak of a son?" Jeremiah taunted him.
"Yes, actually, I did. Now if you don't mind--" he was cut off by Jeremiah unleashing a blast of heat from his eyes, igniting the wooden doorframe to the left of Jonathan's head.
"I do mind, Mr. Kent. Don't think I'm not afraid to kill you. I've just about completed the same task on this worthless liar here," Jeremiah laughed, gesturing towards the moaning teenager.
"I'll never let you do that, Holdsclaw." Jonathan stated, as Pete suddenly ran out from behind him over towards his fallen friend.
With his head turned towards the intruder, Jeremiah didn't notice Jonathan grab for the Kawatche knife on a nearby end table. Lunging towards the unsuspecting native man, Jonathan drove the blade deep into the left of Jeremiah's chest, right into his cold, black heart. The wounded cried out in pain, relevant to that of which he inflicted upon the innocent boy across the room, as he dropped to the floor, the knife still buried deep within his chest. A golden light enveloped the room, basking everything in a soft yellow glow. And as soon as it came, it disappeared.
Still struck by his actions of taking another man's life, as deserving as it may have been, Jonathan stood stock-still. Staring down at the now-deceased man before him.
"Mr. Kent!" a voice called out to him. Pete. Of course, and Clark. He had to save his son. Snapping his attention towards the boy, Jonathan quickly stepped across the room to his restrained son.
"It...It doesn't look good, Mr. Kent," Pete whispered, solemnly stating the obvious as the two stared down at the injured teen.
Jonathan tentatively reached out a hand to brush away sweat-dampened hair from his son's pale forehead. His mood was sombre as he took in Clark's ill-fated state. The boy had gone through pure hell, and he was paying for it dearly. "Let's...Let's get these ropes off him," he answered. As they removed him from his restraints, Clark mumbled incoherent words aloud, though his eyes stayed closed. "Come on, son. Open your eyes, Clark. It's dad," squeezing his son's hand in his own, Jonathan repeated soft words of comfort to Clark.
Alas, Clark's lids blinked open, revealing deep green-blue orbs of sadness as his tears of anguish began to well up.
"It's okay Clark, you're going to be alright. We're going to take you home," Jonathan whispered calmly.
"D...dad?" Clark mumbled, rolling his head side-to-side. "It hurts, dad...it hurts so bad,"
His own tears flooding his vision, Jonathan swallowed deeply and replied, "I know it does Clark, I know." He then put his arms under his son's legs and back, and lifted his battered, bleeding body against his chest, cradling the teen like a child for the second time in as many days. Turning towards the door, he allowed his son's dark-skinned friend to lead the way, as he opened the door for the elder man.
"We've got to get him back to the farm, Pete," Jonathan spoke, as he began carefully walking through the forest, cautious to avoid any tree roots in his attempts to not jostle his son any further. As it was, the boy moaned painfully as he used the last of his energy to grasp fistfuls of his father's flannel shirt tightly in his hands, as if to focus on something other than the intense pain coursing through his damaged body.
Jonathan continued to utter soft words to the boy, keeping him conscious and aware of the fact that he was free now, that his night of torture was over. He was safe.