He couldn't stop staring at it. There it was, clutched in-between the pliers and dripping blood down the handles and onto his skin as he simply stared at it. He couldn't stop staring at it. The bullet blazed a eerie green glow, shinning brightly for its small yet narrow size while it sat grasped in the metal tool shaking some for the reason that the man holding it had his arms quivering like never before. Jonathan couldn't stop staring at it. The pellet was made out of pure Kryptonite, the radiance it was giving off clearly showing so as he tried his best to make himself believe that. It was his son's deadly weakness that made him vulnerable and ill, and there he was on the ground bleeding to death because of what he had just done. And what he had just done was going to haunt his mind for the rest of his life.

Knocking back the fear and fright down his throat, the father shakily let the pliers in his hands fall down to the ground so it could release the cartridge as he closed his eyes lightly and took a deep inhale to pacify his nerves down. "Get rid of that thing Pete." Jonathan told the boy next to him, who looked up and nodded his head as he crawled over to where he was and grabbed the tool and bullet while biting his lower lip tightly since he had no choice but to at least glance at the teen that was on the ground. It was a nasty, revolting sight that he had to look at, making anyone want to gag or run away to throw up as he unsteadily stood up to his legs and instantly turned around to get his eyes away from the view.

Pete felt like everything that had occurred happened way to fast to make it all seem like a dream--a strong daze he simply wanted to stay in forever. His way of thinking was blocked out by a thick floating cloud in his head and his eyes weren't blinking with the shock he was in. How was he supposed to go on living with what he had seen less then a minute ago? His friend's father had actually incised Clark to get the bullet out that he was now carrying. He had performed surgery on him. How was he supposed to forget that? How was he supposed to stay sturdy and tough for the parents when deep down inside he was close to collapsing?

Stumbling over to the tool table on the other side of the barn, Pete licked his dry lips as he laid the bloody pliers and sticky bullet down on the desk, looking around petrified and nervously for something to place the shell in as he quickly glanced behind him at the couple that was by their unconscious son. From what he could see, Martha was running her hands through the boy's hair and Jonathan had picked up the blade on the floor and was just sitting there shaken up more then anyone else to what had happened. Blowing air through his cheeks, he turned back over to the table and started chewing on his lip when he spotted a lead box, grabbing it instantaneously and fiddling around to seize the bullet he once had in his hands, and when he did, he stuffed it in the empty lead box and slammed it shut.

Back over where the parents where during this moment, Martha kept her fingers brushing Clark's sweat-soaked hair as she covered her mouth and swallowed back the vomit that raised in her throat from her son's wound that was placed on his chest and near his stomach. Red liquid continued to gush out rapidly, pouring onto his skin and sinking onto the floor as the green veins that use to be on his body were now gone, leaving it clear to see the pale tissue that was covered in blood. Jonathan on other hand was doing anything but gaping at the boy's injury. His eyes were set on the knife that was in his hands and in front of his eyes. It was drenched in thick, crimson fluid. His son's blood. His son's blood that he had made drain out of his body. He had sliced his flesh merely to get the bullet of meteor rock out of his carcass, and now, he was facing the results.

So much had happened in the past twenty minutes. It all started with him fighting with Clark, and then, he was dead in his arms. Before Jonathan knew it, he was exchanging blows with a stranger and then shot him, killing him to death. He had murdered someone, and the thought slipped back into his mind. It was another thing that was going to haunt his conscience. That and what he had done to his son. After killing the man, he was in a rush to save the boy, and then did the best he could to take the bullet that he was shot with out of his body. To do so, he stabbed and cut him open. Jonathan's fingers and hands went numb as he released the knife uncontrollably and listened to it hit the floor with a strike, the metal hitting the ground as its sound echoed in his ears with the silence flowing into his hearing.

With Martha at the boy's head, him by his chest and Pete on his right side, stillness was the only thing heard as they all tried to take in what had took place and what the ensues was going to soon be. Looking up at her husband who was in a daze, Martha gulped fearfully as she grabbed a white dishcloth with her shaking hand, slowly placing it down on Clark's stomach and turning away for a second to hold back her reaction as she wiped away the blood softly. The second time she averted though Pete saw that the scene was getting to ghastly for her and jumped in by taking a towel that was still in the brown bag the father had brought in and gently started swabbing the wound too. Bringing her head up slightly so she could stare into the dirty blonde haired man's eyes, the mother guzzled down another set of bile before she felt another tear slide down her cheek and her mouth open up so a voice that sounded nothing like her could speak.

"Jonathan," Martha said carefully in melancholy, seeing Jonathan gradually raise his head and look at her face sadly as she cleared her throat to speak clear and not in a whisper.

"I…I think he would be better off in the house." She suggested, looking back down at the boy with a shaky breath as the man nodded his head leisurely, forcing himself to snap back into reality where his son was lying on the floor departing his life and bleeding to fatality as he ran his fingers through his hair and continued to nod his head up and down.

"Um…y-yeah. Yeah, t-that sounds good. Pete, go ahead and…um, grab a few towels so we can try and stop the bleeding and Martha, go inside and get the couch situated for him." Jonathan informed the two, running his hands down his face afterwards as his wife nodded her head and got up from her sitting spot, running over to the door and out of the barn as Pete snatched at least three long, white and blue towels from the floor and handed them over to the father. Taking them out of his hands, Jonathan placed one of them down horizontality on Clark's wound as blood immediately started to soak it, making it so he had to press hard with two hands on his stomach and grunt as he grabbed another one next to him. He was just waiting for the moment where the boy would stop bleeding because he ran out of blood. In the mean time however, he had to concentrate on getting him inside the house to fix him up there.

Finishing spreading all the towels on the wound, Jonathan made his way up to Clark's head where he grabbed the neckline of his shirt and tugged on it strappingly so while he started to pull the light blue and soaked with blood shirt off him he listened to the sound of the other teen's voice fill his ears. "Why hasn't he healed yet Mr. Kent?" Pete asked him, glancing down at the boy's stomach and then up at the father who shook his head sadly and sighed heavily.

"I have no idea Pete." Jonathan wretchedly told him, scooting up to his son's head and licking his lips as he gulped loudly for what seemed like the millionth time. "All right, you grab his legs and I'll grab his shoulders. On the count of three lift, okay?" He enlightened him, getting a simple nod from the boy as he crept over to his friend's long legs and took a hold of both of them to grab them tightly with both of his hands. As he did that, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Clark's so he was holding both his arms and shoulder plus making sure the towels stayed draped on his wound. Grunting, he got on his knees and bit his lip as he looked up at Pete and moved his head up and down as a affirmation for him.

"One, two…three!" Both groaned loudly as they lifted the heavy body up in the air, nearly falling over to the side when they got up to their feet as Jonathan closed his eyes tightly and moved his feet backwards over to the door thus they could carry him outside and across the field. It took forever for them to get him by the barn entrance though. With the shock making their limbs weak and light, it was hard to be hauling a one-hundred-eighty-pound boy in their arms while one of them tried to keep the cloths he had tied somewhat on his chest and make sure not to slip and drop him.

"Oh god, lay back on your mom's pies Clark." Pete mumbled to himself, his voice not loud enough for Jonathan to hear luckily, as they made their way over to the large door and took the step outside, the sun straight away beaming down on their backs as late morning time and early afternoon era roamed around Smallville. Through the corner of their eyes, they could still see the red haired woman running to the house, showing that it was a long run to the dwelling, which didn't make them feel better with the fact they were carrying someone in their arms. Sweat started to drip down both men's faces as they kept their eyes glued on the boy, who had a thin layer of body water shinning up his pale face and his head lolling in Jonathan's chest with every step he took.

Trying to move faster every time he did look at Clark however, the father heaved a large exhale of breath as he closed his eyes and kept his feet moving on the dirt and grass while he tried to collect his thoughts the best he could to make time go by faster. He would do anything to get his mind off of knowing that his son was dieing. And it was the deliberation of what he had said to him during their fight that made his body go numb and tears to form in his eyes.

"Mr. Kent!" Pete exclaimed suddenly, not getting Jonathan's attention quick enough as his hands slipped from Clark's arms and his upper body hit the ground with a loud thud while his voice was loud enough to be heard all the way from the other side of the field, which got the mother's notice right away.

"Jonathan!" Martha shrieked when she saw her fallen son on the ground, his legs being held in Pete's hands as Jonathan turned his head around to her and signaled with his hand for her to keep going over to the house that she was so close too. And having no other choice, she did so, leaving him to turn back around and swear at what he did.

"Shit." He whispered to himself when he saw a fresh, large pool of blood soaking the cloths and trickling onto the grass below him as placed both his arms around his shoulders again and held them even tighter when he picked him up again. Wincing as they continued to go back to walking, Pete clutched his teeth together as he lifted Clark's legs up to get a better hold on them, looking at the sky to make sure he didn't look at the wound which was tempting to do because it was so unusual actually seeing his friend bleed. Ever since he found out his secret he always thought he would never die, and here he was on his last line that was about to snap any moment now.

"Who the hell was that guy Mr. Kent? The dude who shot Clark." Pete inquired, the question sudden as he regretted it the second after he asked it. The father was in a state of panic and distress and he was asking him who had shot his son. It wasn't really the best thing for a person to do, which made him hit his head mentally at his stupid actions. Even if they were dense though, the man still answered the query he had a right to know the reply too.

"Some guy named Morgan Edge. I honestly don't know Pete." Jonathan responded, looking down at Clark and knowing that it frankly didn't matter who shot him. The guy was dead and he wasn't coming back. For some reason though Jonathan felt a almost fury that made him want the man to be alive again, all so he could beat him up with the vigor of knowing what he did to his son and all the pain he put him through. He could still hear the sound of the shouts and cries that Clark gave out--the painful screams that the boy had roared as he thrust the knife down his skin. He was almost happy when Pete spoke up again to get him from going any further with his thoughts.

"Mr. Kent, w-…what are we going to do when we get inside? If Clark hasn't healed then…" Trailing off into silence, Pete felt his lips slowly close as he stopped himself from talking any more, locking his eyes on his cataleptic friend and questioning why his inhuman body hadn't restored itself back to health. Sighing when he heard the teen's words, the father gulped loudly as he glanced back at the barn and then back at his son with a miserable expression.

"We're going to try and stop the bleeding Pete. Until he does heal we need to prevent any more blood loss." Jonathan informed him, grunting as he brought Clark closer to his chest and felt his head roll over to the other side while Pete nodded his head at his words. It took what seemed like eternity to make it over to the house, but eventually they made their way into the driveway, passing by the red truck as sweat dripped down both men's faces and exhaustion overflowed them. And just when Jonathan felt himself giving up and losing his strength again, they could hear the sound of a screen door opening up, which made him snap his head behind him to see his wife at the kitchen doorway holding the gate open for them.

"Hang in there Clark, we're almost inside." The father whispered gently to his unconscious son, continuing to walk backwards as he made his way into the kitchen with Pete's help, together lowering Clark down on the tile floor and dropping to their knees. When they did so, Martha pulled a few stray pieces of hair behind her ear and sat down next to her husband who was looking panicked and worried as he gazed away from her almost intentionally. During this time, Jonathan took a second to look at what he was truly missing when he stared at his son now lying on the wooden floor with his head resting on the side. Clark's face was pure white, the same shade the color of the towels were when he first got them as a faint smear of blood was smudged around his lips and his bare chest was soaked with red liquid and his stomach had a deep gash formed in a line spilling out blood from his body.

Gulping back the bile that was forcing to come up his throat and out his mouth, he ran his hand down his face again while he closed his eyes for a second and then opened them back up, placing both of his palms in his head full of hair shakily while he looked down at the floor. He was expecting his son to heal by now. He was waiting for everything to go back to normal by a simple repair that his body would make. He was hoping that the severe, ghastly wound he had made worst was going to go away in a blink of an eye.

And as he waited, nothing happened. Lowering his head sadly, Jonathan took notice of the fact that he was going to have to act soon with resuming to save his son because every second he lingered was every second he could be drawing his last breath. Suddenly spotting a large, white first AID kit that was next to him, he sucked in both of his lips as he saw that his wife was far ahead of him and thinking of what to do next, which was a good thing since he had no clue what to do at the moment.

"Pete, I-I'm going to need your help here. G-…get some gauze out and….and some, uh, and some bandages." Jonathan stumbled, ignoring his body respond as he kept his eyes looking at Clark's face for an unknown reason. He could not seem to stop though. It was so strange, so distressing to see his face pale and his eyes closed gently while you could tell he was fast into oblivion--soaking up the nothingness that was around him as his body laid dieing of many things. After a few minutes of staying like this, Jonathan felt someone tap him on his shoulder, making him crock his head around and see Martha looking into his eyes despondently with a wet rag in her hands.

Not even brothering to smile as a thank you, he took the washcloth and twisted back around to his son, tenderly wiping the blood away from his chest and stomach to nearly gag when more simply poured out and soaked the wet material with red liquid. "For the love of God." Jonathan simply mumbled, dropping the rag and putting his head in his hands as he rubbed his face miserably. He knew there was going to be consequences to what he had done, and this was just the start of it all.

"M-Mr. Kent." Hearing the sudden voice, Jonathan brought his head up to see Pete handing him a few gauze swabs and a large roll of the cloth over to him, seeing him take it away from him and guzzle saliva down his dry throat as he sighed heavily. As he unrolled the spool of gauze, he looked to the side of him at his wife and licked his lips dismally as he spoke despondently. "Uh, Martha, it-it might be a while until Clark….until Clark gets better honey. How about you go get the couch more comfortable for him." He recommended, watching her nod her head as she got up from her knees and jogged into the living room so he could look back down at his hands and block her from his view.

Gripping the bandages in his hands, Jonathan sighed as he grabbed the gauze and dropped it down on Clark's chest where the bullet wound was, seizing a roll of tape that Pete handed him afterwards all while he pressed hard on the wound. Ripping a piece off to put it on the corner of the gauze, Jonathan did this over again with the other edges as he tried his best to bandage the boy's gash up however, seeing that even if he put gauze over the wound blood still seeped through it like water on a paper towel. Clutching his teeth together, he grasped another layer of the cloth and placed it down on top of the other one, taping that one down too and seeing that this it worked. Closing his eyes tiredly, he ripped off a few slices of white medical tape to get ready and bandage up the large slash that he had created as he glanced up at Pete who looked at him worriedly.

Immediately starting, he placed a cloth down on the cut and pressed hard down on it; biting his lower lip as he saved time and put two more gauze covers on top of that so in no time, he had the wound covered up. "Pete, I'm going to need more tape--you stay here and keep pressure on his stomach, okay?" Jonathan said, getting up from his spot and running over to the staircase where he jogged upstairs and into the bathroom. Back down stairs, Pete blew air through his cheeks as he shakily put his hands down on Clark's torso, backing away first but getting his hands on the abdomen and overlapping his right hand with his left as he pressed hard down on the gauze and grunted a little as he tried his best to stop the bleeding.

While he did, he couldn't help but bring his eyes up some and stare at his friend's face. It was so washed out with his brown hair dangling in front of his eyes and his cheek resting on the wooden floor as his body battled between life and death. It was more surreal for him then the parents to see the boy like this. He never imagined that he would wake up this morning after fighting with Clark last night to be spending his daybreak trying to save his life. Pete just hoped that he got the chance to say how sorry he was for what he said, because if he didn't…

"Martha, how's the sofa coming along?" Jonathan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts just in time, making it so he had to look into the living room where the father came jogging down the stairs looking at his wife he was trying her best to make the couch a bed for her son. Rushing back into the kitchen, the older man went down to his knees as he snatched the roll of gauze that was next to Pete and moved up to Clark's head where wrapped his arms around his shoulders again and braced his body again the unconscious boy's back.

"Thank god they created ER man." Pete said to himself once again, taking the roll of gauze away from Jonathan as he smiled wearily and thanked his sister once more for making him watch all the shows he thought would never come in handy in real life. Now it was though. Watching Jonathan lift Clark's upper body off the ground, Pete gripped the start of the long bandage in his hands and started to wrap it around his friend's stomach and chest, which took at least three minutes to do and finish.

Lowering the heavy body back down to the ground, both Jonathan and Pete merely stared at each other and the teen as the father started to brush his now damp and straw feeling like hair with his fingers forlornly. "Oh Clark." He whispered, sighing loudly as he shook his head at what had happened to his son. The two sat there in silence for a while when Martha stuck her head through the kitchen entry and called out for the younger boy's name with a tone of sadness and a lump in her throat making her words teary and unclear at times.

"Pete, sweetie, can I get your help?" She asked him, smiling wearily as he nodded his head and got off his knees.

"Sure thing Mrs. Kent." Pete told her, leaving the kitchen and allowing Jonathan to sit alone in stillness as he gently brought Clark's limp head into his lap and sustained running his fingers through his hair. Now, the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own, heavy breathing, the quietness flowing into his ears as he let the world around him fade away so he could simply ogle at the boy on the ground in wretchedness. Jonathan couldn't believe all this was happening. The questions of why he wasn't healed yet, how it happened, and why the person named Morgan Edge even shot him left his mind and the mere contemplation to him not believing that there his son was on the kitchen floor with bandages wrapped around his stomach and chest filled the space in his head.

"I'm sorry son. I am so sorry." Jonathan apologized dolefully, stroking the teen's soft and clammy cheek with his hand as he tried to hold back the tears threatening to fall down from his eyes. The intensity to do so kept him from hearing footsteps enter the kitchen some and being able to see Martha freezing in her spot when she saw him by Clark's head brushing his hair gently. Walking back to the kitchen entrance, she leaned against the wooden post as she listened quietly to her husband talking to the comatose teen.

"I didn't mean what I said Clark. I swear I didn't mean any off it--I have no clue why I said it in the first place. I do care son. I care so much about you a-and…" Stopping for a moment, the father closed his eyes tightly as he choked back a sob from his throat, inhaling loudly afterwards to get himself calmed down and able to speak again so he could finish his sentence to the unconscious boy.

"And that's why I had to do this to you. Please understand that…please." Jonathan cried his last words out, hanging his head down low and sucking in his lower lip to keep himself from crying. Covering her hand with her mouth, the red haired woman at the doorway felt a tear slide down here face as she closed her eyes firmly to have another streak of water glide down her other cheek as she heard the words that Jonathan had spoken. Everything that was happening and how her husband was acting all came together now that she heard what he had said to their son, who was dying by the second on the floor. Feeling someone pass by her, she opened her eyes up and lowered her hand from her mouth as she saw Pete right next to her suddenly, and she sniffed back her tears as she caressed his shoulder and got him moving over to the father slowly.

"Mr. Kent." He spoke softly, a few feet away from the older man as Jonathan turned his head around and looked at him, wiping away the water on the corners of his eyes and taking a loud snuffle while nodding his head and gulping loudly. "Take his legs again Pete and we'll carry him over to the couch." Jonathan said, doing the same thing he had done for the third time now as Pete did what he was told to do, grabbing both of Clark's legs that were covered in blue farmer's jeans as the father wrapped his arms around his son's. Getting off his knees, he lifted the boy up off the ground and nearly fell back down when the weight was put back on his body, not prepared for any of it as the two began to walk out of the kitchen and into the living room and passing by Martha on their way.

Half way into the family room Jonathan turned his head around since he was the one walking backwards and looked at the sofa, which had a few pillows on it, and at least two blankets making it look like a bed neatly folded and tucked into the cushions. Making their way over to the divan, Pete let go of Clark's legs and put them on the couch as Jonathan soon did the same when he placed his upper body gently on the sofa. The boy looked so weak and fragile lying comatose as his head was rolled to the side and on a fluffily pillow while his right hand laid tenderly on his stomach and his right by his side.

Bending down to his knees, Jonathan tilted his head to the side as he stroked his son's cheek once again, hearing his wife walk over to him and stoop herself down to his level as she looked at the teen and sniffed some with despondency.

"What do we do now Jonathan?" Martha asked, looking up at him when she finished inquiring the question as he sighed loudly and let his hand fall from his son's skin and down onto the couch in sorrow. "Wait." Jonathan simply told her as he stared at Clark who was deep into oblivion now. It was all they could do. Wait.

Wait and worry.

To be Continued…