Title: Awareness

Author: ty-rant84

Summary: Why is everything the same?

Archiving: Just ask

Feedback: Rocks!

Parts: 4/1

Disclaimer: I'm not in the owning way, no.

Rating: PG (maybe a little bit higher. It's got some questionable references. I just don't think it warrants a higher rating like PG-13)

A/N: Oddly enough, I'm still listening to Switchfoot. I have no life.

The house was quiet when they got back. Visiting hours were over. They had to be home now. They couldn't stay with their… their son.

The table was still set. The shopping bags were by the door. It only made them remember even more of the past day.

Dinner was perfectly set up. It was like the pictures on a calendar. The perfect family set up. The dinner was on the table. The only problem, only things out of place, were the forks on the table in a stack where Jonathan had left them to go and find Clark. It was the last most normal thing he could have done. After that, nothing was normal anymore.

There was another thing out of place, though. There was a single sheet of paper on the counter. It was propped up against the sugar jar. One white paper folded into thirds. It said 'Mom and Dad' on it.

Martha walked over slowly, lethargically, towards it and picked it up with a trembling and shaking hand. As it was unfolded, Jonathan kept watching in a frozen state of horror.

"'Dear Mom and Dad…" Martha trailed off in her reading and her eyes opened up wide. "Oh god… he- he…" she broke down in sobs and slumped down to the kitchen floor. Collapsing against the edge of the counter, she just kept crying and leaning into herself more. Trying to get so close that she would disappear. So she could just not deal with this right now. So she could stop living with the pain and reach a level of unawareness. Why did her son so this? Why didn't he come to them? Was it so bad?

Jonathan came over and kneeled down next to her. He took the letter from her weak hand and started to read it to himself. By the time he was finished, he was crying with his wife. He tried to understand his sons reasoning. Clark always did have that hero complex. He didn't have to take it to this state of reasoning, though. Why did – why ask questions now, there was nothing they could do about it now. They should have paid more attention before he… just before.

Maybe Clark wasn't the well adjusted boy they had believed him to be. He'd just been so good at lying that he'd managed to keep it from them. Another lesson they'd gone overboard on. Never tell the truth. Someone could get hurt.

After about an hour of silence, Jonathan saw the sun go down through the window above the sink. He struggled to his feet and stood for a minute, catching the last rays as they fell behind the cornfields. He leaned back down and picked up his wife, his Martha, his only family left.

They stayed quiet even as they changed into pajamas. Martha laid down on the bed, not even bothering to lift up the covers. She lay on top of the perfectly made bed. Jonathan sat down next to her and brushed her hair out of her face. Something else she ignored in her state of confusion. She flinched away from his touch.

-.-.-.-.-.

Martha jolted up as the phone rang. Frantically, she looked around, trying to figure out what was happening, where she was. Finally, she picked up the ringing phone and brought it to her ear. "Hello?" she whispered through her disused voice.

"Hello, this is the office at Smallville High. We were just calling to see if Clark was sick, since he hasn't shown up to school yet. Normally, parents should call in if the child is ill so we don't mark him as skipping school."

"… Oh. Clark- Clark is…," Martha paused as she remembered what had happened the night before. What Clark had done. She started crying again.

Jonathan woke up to the sobs of his wife. He looked over and saw her on the phone. Reaching over, he took it from her and asked, "Who is this?" quietly.

"This is Smallville High. Is Clark sick today? He hasn't shown up at school."

"Clark… yes, he's sick."

"Thank you, and sorry fo-"

Jonathan hung up.

-.-.-.-.-.