Pure, utter silence echoed the barn of the Kent farm where Jonathan stood frozen in his spot with his arm in the air and a gun in his hand. His eyes refused to blink as he stared simply in front of him where the dead body of Morgan Edge laid slumped down on the ground, blood dripping from his black suit jacket and down onto the ground from his chest where his heart was. And while Jonathan stood there unmoving, hardly even breathing himself, he tried to take in what had recently happened. He had just killed a man. Took away someone's life in a second-degree murder. He knew it was something that would lay on his conscious for eternality while he held the gun in his hands, his fingers still on the trigger and his arm arched now to the wall that was ahead of him.
He had just killed a man. He slaughtered someone all because they killed his only son. His son was gone. That thought had entered his mind once again and made him close his eyes gently with tears welling up in them. Clark was gone--killed. That man had found out his lone, deadly weakness and made it into a bullet so he could shot him to death. His lungs suddenly cut off air and he could feel himself about to break down. The little boy who had grown up into a teenager and then a young man over the years was departed. He would never see him again. Never see the bright smile he grinned or hear him laugh the chortle that made him beam happiness. He was dead, and because of that, he let anger overtake him.
He had just killed a man. With a handgun in his palm, he had committed homicide for the reason that his son was lying lifeless on the floor. It was about ten minutes ago he was fighting with the boy, and then when he turned his back, he was dead. Jonathan's hand started shaking as he felt his arm go weak and drop down to his side, the revolver immediately falling to the ground when his fingers unwrapped around it and his head bowed to the flooring below him. Only fate could inform him on what was going to happen next. How was he going to tell people that he not only killed a man, but his son was gone unexpectedly and his life was taken away from him at such a young age?
He had killed a man, and it was over with. All that had happened in that barn was going to be the past before he knew it, and Jonathan would soon forget it all even occurred. And if he didn't, he would make himself do so. In the meantime, while he stood in shock, behind him and like a statue was Pete, whose eyes were wide and his mouth cracked open as he felt his heart beating in fast paces. The father wasn't the only one who was traumatized at the moment. He had came in the shed and found his friend inert by a tool table. The thought that he was trying to push away the best he could made it's way back into his mind, and as soon as it did, the teen put his head in his hands and let out a shaky breaths.
Last night would be his last conversation with his best friend, and it was a conflict. A fight that he would regret for the rest of his life. If he had just come sooner, if he had just entered the barn faster, then he could have stopped it. He could have said he was sorry like he came to do and stopped what had happened. He could have changed the outcome of what happened. But he didn't, and now, two men were dead. Inhaling unsteadily, feeling like his lungs were filled up with water that was making him suffocate in twinge, Pete lifted his head up and saw no change with the father who stood still, making him gulped the loudest he ever did and turn around with all his strength. It felt that like his legs were stone though, and when he finished rotating around, they turned to jelly.
The sight in front of him was sickening-appalling, but most of all, painful to look at. He laid there, dead. No longer alive to the rest of the world. Looking behind him quickly, Pete felt his face crumble up when he saw Jonathan with his head bowed and his arms dangling by his side, meaning he had to be the first one to be brave and look at what they were rebuffing to accept. Slowly, he moved his legs, making sure that he didn't suddenly fall to a face plant in case they abruptly gave up from how numb they were feeling, and with a few large steps, he made his way over to the corpse that was on the wooden ground.
When he tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down there however, he ended up dropping to his knees and yelping deeply when his knees hit the floor. Sighing through his clutched teeth, Pete brought his head up and bit his tongue until it was about to split when he took a good look at the sight that had changed from the last time he looked at it.
There Clark was, his face white and his lips blue with his azure flannel shirt dark red in the middle and soaked with blood while his right arm was sprawled out and his left one was lying gently on the ground. With his eyes shut serenely and his hair drooping to the base yet not touching it, the boy focused his eyes on the one thing that kept him knowing he was unresponsive for good. His chest. It was oozing out more blood by the second and drenching the chemise he wore even more while it didn't move at all, showing that he was breathing. And if he wasn't breathing, his heart was beating, and that meant he was dead. The invulnerable Clark Kent was dead. It was so strange and creepy saying that in his head, almost as if he wouldn't accept it. The boy he had learned came from another planet was lying lifeless on the floor.
Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Pete tried to be strong through the moment he felt like he was about to break down, but it was getting harder and harder as he stared at the boy in front of him. Leisurely raising his hand up and gazing at it for a minute, he took notice of the fact that it was shaking violently, something he never remembered it ever doing in his whole existence. He was obviously in shock, and that proved it. Pushing himself to move it straight forward, he let it lightly fall in between his comrade's chest and stomach so he could feel the sticky liquid on his skin and soak into his nerves. Simply lowering his head afterwards, he allowed the tears that were trying to get through to soak his eyelids and sink through the skin, making puddles around the bottom of his eyes and the corner of them too. He stayed this way for about a minute until his expression and reaction to what was going on changed suddenly and rapidly.
Pete froze the very second something happened, something that made him think he was crazy, mad, or even delusional. He froze when he felt something on the torso he was softly touching. He froze when he felt Clark's chest move. With one immediate act in his mind, he snapped his head around when his eyes went wide to show the water floating around in pools of different colors. "Mr. Kent!" Pete called out; his voice quivering against his will as extremely slowly, the man turned his neck around and looks at the dark colored boy sadly and despondently.
"I think he's alive." He deduced, getting his attention right away as Jonathan's eyes went broad and he instantly ran over to where he was, plunging to his knees without hesitation and placing his two fingers behind the boy's neck. While he stood still, making sure not to move or probably even inhale air himself, he waited for the sign that would show him everything was going to be okay. Biting his lower lip, he waited for what seemed like forever to find a pulsation on his son while he waited, and waited, and then found one.
"He's alive." Jonathan breathed out, moving his hand away from the back of his neck and gulping loudly as solely when he thought everything was going to be all right, the very weak and hardly there pulse he had found told him that it wasn't. The teen was shot and now living, and they couldn't take him to a hospital like normal people would be because he wasn't a typical teenager. If they found out his secret, then he would be gone again. Looking over at the father with a confused expression, the African American boy leaned his head in and placed both of his hands on the ground as he stared at his worried and baffled face that was trying to think of many different thoughts.
"Mr. Kent, what are we going to do? He was shot." Pete reminded him, glancing back over at the body and wincing when he saw that blood was now soaking the sides of his shirt and slowly creating a puddle on the floor. If he wasn't going to die of a bullet impact, then it was defiantly going to be of blood loss.
"There's only one thing we can do," Jonathan said, getting up from his knees and backing away from his fallen son swiftly as he cleared his throat to get the lump out of it that was still trying to block his air.
"Take the bullet out." As soon as he finished his sentence, Pete shot his eyebrows up and felt his eyes go wide for the third time that morning as he gave him a look that pretty much said he was idiotic and senseless. Watching his words though since the man was older then him, he glared over at the teen again before turning his head back over and looking at him fearfully.
"T-that's way to dangerous Mr. Kent--it could kill him!" He exclaimed, seeing him walking backwards even more and shaking his head as he gulped a loud lung full of air down his esophagus to calm his nerves down and licked his dry lips while running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair.
"We have no choice Pete." Jonathan simply told him, spinning around and rushing towards the door when suddenly a voice caught him off guard and made him stop at once. "Mr. Kent, where are you going!?" Pete called out in confusion, not wanting him to leave him all alone as he watched him turn his head around but keep his back toward him as he was close to the barn entrance, making it so there was a long distance between him and the younger boy.
"I'm going to need some things to do this Pete--make sure he stays alive though." Jonathan shouted to him so he could really hear him, getting a nod from him as he went back to running out of the barn, only getting to the large door when once more he froze rapidly not because he heard a voice, but a strange sound. Spinning around, he saw Clark abruptly awake, gagging up blood from his mouth and trying to sit up however having no luck as his body shook brutally in spasms, and his face crumbled up in anguish. Both him and Pete exchanged quick looks before he walked backwards again, keeping his eyes on his son as he clutched his teeth together in fret of what was going to happen next.
"Just keep him awake Pete!" He yelled, and this time promptly running out and away from the barn to leave Pete sitting on his knees panicked while he watched his friend cough and shudder cruelly in sheer agony.
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The sun beamed brightly against Jonathan's back as he ran down the long field of his farm, his legs cutting through the grass and his chest heaving large exhales while sweat dripped down his face and to his shirt. Never in his life had he ran this fast. With his legs moving quickly and his feet nearly tripping a few times, he tried his best to go faster although he was sprinting as hasty as he could all while staring at the yellow house that was his destination. If he simply got inside then everything would be okay-or at least he would have one thing done and only a small amount of things to do next.
He needed tools. Appliances, anything that would help him take out the bullet that was made of meteor rock, his son's only weakness. A knife was the first item on his mind. Towels were next. Then, anything that would help. All he needed was to get inside. He wasn't even half way there as he kept his legs moving even if they felt like they were about to collapse. Jonathan was so tired, so exhausted. Air was the one thing that his lungs weren't getting and his face was turning red all while the sun shinned it's light against his body. He couldn't stop now though. Taking one second to do so could mean wasting time to save Clark. He needed to save Clark.
Reaching the other end of his abode, he instantaneously grabbed the back of his red pick up truck to keep him standing before he started to jog over to the kitchen door where he grasped the handle and swung it open, nearly breaking it as it hit the wall to the side of it. He couldn't stop now. He was so close to getting the things he needed. As soon as he entered the kitchen however, the first thing he noticed was the red haired woman sitting at the table who suddenly jumped up in surprise when she saw the way he entered the room. In addition, just by his expression, she could tell something was wrong.
"Jonathan, what's--" Cutting her off by ignoring her at first, Jonathan ran over to the contour area of the kitchen and gulped saliva down his desiccated throat as he looked behind him at his wife and struggled for breath. "Barn. Go to the barn now Martha! It's Clark." He informed her, at once seeing her cover her mouth with her hand and nod her head while she rushed over to the screen door and opened it back up to run out into the field he had recently came back from.
Pausing for a second, he almost forgot why he even came here with the panic of remembering that his son was lying on the shed floor breathing his last breaths. He could die any second while he stood there doing nothing, which meant he had to do something. Anything that would help. Looking around and trying to see if there was anything there, Jonathan spotted a large, folded brown bag by the sink and he scampered over to it quickly. Clutching it in his hands and opening it up, he spun back around and back over to where he was before so he could pull out a kitchen drawer and search throw it with one hand. "Damn it!" He cursed, shoving it back in and then yanking another one open so it flew all the way out and fell onto the floor.
Wasting no time, he bent down to his knees and rummaged through that one, grabbing all the sharp knifes he found and stuffing them in the paper bag while he stood up and tugged two more drawers onto the floor so he could simply fall to his knees once more and search through them once again. He threw all the sliver wear across the floor and only grabbed the blades and daggers that he found. None of them were sharp enough though. He needed a razor-sharp knife to get the bullet out of his son's chest. Running his hands down his face, he looked back up and abruptly caught sight of a small black stand that had at least five knifes in it, making a smile slip onto his face as he stood up and rushed over to it.
Seizing all of them, Jonathan held them in his hands, then placed them down on the contour so he could observe them, and see which one was the sharpest. The unexpected noise of the grandfather clock in the living room interrupted him and caused him to look over at the clock to the right of him that was hanging on the wall, and a slight wince came out of his mouth when he saw the time. Ten o'clock in the morning. Time was going by too fast. Quickly picking the one he thought was the sharpest, he then pulled out the three drawers in front of him and snatched all of the dish towels that they held, bending back down and stuffing them in the bag as he hastily looked behind him again at the timepiece. He knew that every second that went by his son was using up his last breaths, and he wasn't going to lose him now.
Not without a fight anyway.
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Back in the barn, Pete sat still as he watched Clark slowly stop coughing and his shaking come to an end, blood dripping down the sides of his cheeks and soaking his lips as he let his head smack against the ground and his eyes close gently while he rolled it to the side. It hit the other boy that he was gradually falling into unconsciousness and it was the one thing he was suppose to prevent when he did however. He knew what would happen if he did fall into darkness too, and he did not want that to happen at all.
"No Clark, you have to stay awake! Come on man, j-just try to….just try to stay awake." Pete stumbled; frankly not knowing what else to say with the panic that was flowing through his veins and making him want to curl up into a ball and cry. He didn't know what to do as his friend merely lied there on his deathbed. Cracking his eyelids open, Clark moaned loudly in pain as his face crinkled up in torture when he gasped for air that was rebuffing to come into his lungs. Every inhale was like a ball of fire lighting up in his chest and every exhale was a suicide from the smarting in his stomach. He didn't know how much longer he could stay awake, and Pete clearly saw this.
Glancing behind him, he grimaced as he saw no one coming back into the hangar, and with that being the one thing that he wanted at the moment, he felt a huge disappointed drop into his body. Snapping his head back over to Clark, he simply grabbed a dirty rag he spotted on the tool table that was next to them and lightly wiped away the blood that was on his face while he clutched his teeth together and sighed through them. How was he suppose to keep a boy awake who had a short time ago been shot and woke up from the dead? He knew that he had no control over falling comatose right now and that made the situation worst. Running his hand down his head, he bit his lower lip and held his hands together to keep them from trembling as he sniffed and closed his eyes to think.
Silence flowed into his ears, the only sound the resonance of farm animals outside as he relaxed for a second to consider what he could do all while doing as he did, the boy was falling into obscurity. Suddenly and just in time, he remembered something he saw on TV once that might help. It was an old soap opera his sister made him watch, but maybe it would work. At the moment, he would do anything though. "Clark, I-I'm going to talk to you, and I want you to listen. Keep your eyes open so I know you are awake man, okay?" Pete told him, his voice staggering against his will with the alarm that was rushing through him.
Seeing him respond by opening his eyes weakly, hardly even telling he had them unlocked, he took a deep breath and breathed out to calm himself down as he rapidly realized that he had nothing to talk about. On the show his sister made him watch, they talked about what had just recently happened. He had came here to find him on the floor deceased. Cursing in his head, he started to chew on his lip another time as he gulped loudly and ran his hands down his face in fear.
"You remember that time when we were six man? A-and we were playing on the playground at school when some girls came up to us and we knocked them over because we thought they had kooties? You didn't talk to me for three days when we were grounded man. Those three days seriously felt like forever too." Pete said, knowing that back then he was a kid and didn't know how to wait a minute. Now, he was a teenager and had to go three months without his friend. It only made him think about the fight they had last night and caused him to wince sadly. And when he looked back down at Clark, he saw that the story wasn't helping him stay awake, and this made him sigh with almost a sob.
He didn't know what to do. All he wanted was for Mr. Kent to come back and tell him what he was suppose to carry out and execute. Having a better idea now, he moved closer to Clark and made him move his head over so he was looking straight into his face with his help by his hand being on his sides as he slowly tore his eyelids apart to look at him. The boy's eyes were glazy and foggy while water was floating around in them and his face was crinkling in pain from the effects of the Kryptonite bullet in his body. The dizziness he was experiencing was obviously from the blood loss he was suffering from too.
"Okay Clark, I'm going to ask you something, and your going to tell me the answer, got it?" Pete inquired with a slight hint of demand, hearing him moan and close his eyes as suddenly, Pete could feel a fresh puddle of blood form out of his stomach, which made him grimace in gloom.
"Listen man, I know this sucks. But I have to keep you awake. Your dads going to be back soon, but he needs me to keep you awake until then. If not you….you might not wake up again." This time getting to him, Clark opened his eyes up and nodded his head the best he could, which was hardly even noticed if it wasn't for the fact that Pete was holding the sides of his skull. It didn't take him long to pick out a memory that he could ask questions to however, and he licked his lips while he scouted up to his head and let go of it gently.
"Remember that time when we got tickets to a Linkin Park concert from my brother, Clark? What happened when we got to the stadium man?" Pete asked him, watching him crack his lips open to talk but having trouble finding his voice for a second. Waiting until he did, the teen sat there on his knees as he looked at his friend endure the moment in pain, wishing he could take it all away or even turn back time so he could walk into the barn sooner and stop what had happened. Groaning, Clark choked up some more blood that fell onto his shirt before he let his head drop to the ground with a bang as he replied agonizingly.
"W-…we fo…found out t-the…t-t-t-ickers were…fake." Clark breathed, exhausted afterwards while Pete nodded his head and grinned wearily.
"Yeah…yeah. And what did we do when we got home?" He queried, not getting a reply right away like the last time as the boy gasped air to breath and balled his hands into fist from the throbbing shooting through his body. His chest was on combustion and his stomach was aching in raw, excruciating soreness while the results of having Kryptonite in his body was taking place and putting that agony in a place were he couldn't take the pain anymore. All he wanted to do was fall unconscious into sweet slumber. Let oblivion overtake his senses and stop the hurting. Stop the torment. Just stop everything.
"We-…..we played…a-all t-their CD's….full blast…o-on your s-s-teteo. Y-your mot-ther was…a-about to ki-ll us…when t-the nei-ighbors…called t-the police on…us." Clark stumbled, closing his eyes subsequently as he could hear Pete say a simple 'yeah' at what he had said with a chuckle. He remembered the day like it was yesterday.
Everything was good back then. They were happy friends and nothing was bad. He didn't even know his secret back then because Clark didn't know he was different. Stopping to think of another story, he gulped loudly and ran his hands down his face again in panic when he could tell his friend was falling unconscious.
He had a right to too. How could he make him stay awake against his will when he was going through so much anguish? Abruptly picking up the sound of someone running into the barn though, he snapped his head over to the entrance and saw a red haired woman come running in and looking around for someone or something, making him feel some relief to know that a adult was now there and he didn't have to do all the work. "Mrs. Kent, over here!" Pete called out, seeing her turn her head over to them and gasp when she saw the sight he was sitting by.
"Oh my god!" Martha exclaimed, rushing over to the two and falling down to her knees like he had done before when she got there to run her fingers through Clark's brown, bushy hair and feel tears well up in her eyes from the sight she was seeing.
"What happened Pete?" She asked him, looking down at the boy's stomach and placing her hand over her mouth when she saw the piles of blood beside him and the blue shirt now drenched in liquid.
"I-I don't know, I came here when he was…" Not even daring to finish the sentence, Pete turned his head back over to Clark, who slowly was trying to open his eyes and look at his mother who was close to tears at the sudden sight of seeing her son nearly dead on the floor. Finally cracking them open, he could barley see the two blurry figures above him, one of them on the right and the other on the left as fingers brushed his hair and voices entered his ears. It was almost as if everything was in slow motion despite the fact that it truly wasn't. Every movement they made was slow and fuzzy while their voices came out faster then they moved.
"Where's Mr. Kent? What's taking him so long?" Pete abruptly asked the woman, seeing her lift Clark's head up and into her lap as she looked back down at the boy's face which was crumpling up in pure anguish that made her want to sob. Luckily for her, it was all a distraction so she did not look over to the other side of the barn where the dead body laid that she hadn't even noticed from the time she came into the shed.
"I don't know, he just came running into the kitchen and told me to come here. What is he doing Pete, why isn't he here?" Martha asked him back, wanting to know because here her son was dieing and there he was in the kitchen looking for belongings for who knows why.
"H-He said he needed the things to get the bullet out." Pete informed her, Martha's reaction immediately being shocked as she shot her eyebrows up in bewilderment. "What!? That's too risky, it could kill Clark!" She said, seeing him nod his head, as he didn't reply though, instead looking down at his friend, which was the same thing the mother did as they watched him loll his head from side to side in agony. Clark honestly didn't know how much longer he could stay awake…
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Jonathan scuttled up the stairs to the second level of his house out of breath as he held the brown grocery bag in his hands, the top nearly overflowing with dishcloths and stilettos as he held onto the banister with his other palm and jogged up the steps, skipping them two by two in a hurry. Rushing into the bathroom, he flew the door open and switched on the light, bending down to his knees where the cabinet was to the sink and searched through it to see if there was anything he needed or could use there. His mind was two much in a in a rush that he didn't have the time to think about how stupid his actions were. He needed to save his son, and that's all that mattered.
Standing back up, he spun around over to the long yet short closet and opened that up to see a bunch of bath supplies and towels on the shelves. Grabbing all of the textiles, he stuffed them down into the bag until he heard the paper rip at the sides while he closed the door and took a deep breath in to simply catch a gulp full of air. He froze for a second and closed his eyes to make sure he had everything he needed. Towels, knives, and the sharpest blade in the house, which was made out of pure Tucson metal. He had all he needed. Now, he just needed to get back into the barn and hope that the boy was still alive. Taking one simple second to inhale and try to stop his arms from the trembling they were doing, he sucked in his lips before nodding his head to himself and exhaling stridently.
Leaving the bathroom with the light still on, he rushed down the stairs and right when he was on the last two steps, tripped and fell flat on his face unexpectedly with a loud thud. Cursing aloud when all the things in the bag fell out onto the floor, Jonathan swiftly stuffed them back into the sack and wiped his brow while he stood back up when he was finished and gulped what water he had in his move down his parched throat as he looked over at the clock in the kitchen. Ten minutes had gone by, and for him, that was too much. Closing his eyes once more for a quick moment, he took time to make a quick prayer to God that he didn't lose his son before he scampered over to the door and swung it open so he could sprint outside and run down the long field again and soon to be back into the barn.
Now, only time could tell what was going to happen next.
To be Continued…