Mid-morning time overtook the citizens of Smallville as a wonderful Saturday daylight filled everyone's senses, the daybreak nearly ending so afternoon era could allow the people to officially start what they needed to do as the sun shinned brightly down on the farm land and corn fields and a strong but gentle breeze occasionally blew by. Down at the Kent farm however, the three people in the yellow house weren't exactly as cheerful and happy as everyone else in the urban was.

Not along ago a terrible, awful event happened to them all and now, all they wanted was for things to slowly get better. In the living room was a couple sitting by the couch in two separate chairs, looking over a pale, ailing boy who was unconscious on the sofa with a thin blanket covering his bare chest and two pillows sitting behind his head.

Up on the second level a white, thick cord was trailing on the floor from a certain bedroom however, leading through the turns and overtop of the stuff that was thrown on the ground as it soon stopped suddenly right in front of a wooden door where you could hear the talking of another a teenage lad. Inside the room, Pete Ross sat sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom he was in, a phone pressed to his ear and the cord tangled in his fingers as he kept himself occupied by holding his hands tightly together to stop himself from shaking while he talked to the person on the other line.

"Yeah…yeah mom, I-I will, I promise. I-….I told you, I don't know when I'll be back. No, Clark and I are just…spending some…time together. You know, catching up, all that stuff. Okay…mom-ugh. Okay, I'll be home by dinner. Yeah, I'll tell Mrs. Kent you said hi. Yeah mom, I'm fine…my voice is not shaking mom. Listen, I got to go--I'm fine! Yes, I swear. I love you too. Bye." Hanging up the white phone on the receiver, Pete sighed heavily and closed his eyes while he bowed his head to the floor, feeling the powerfully thump in his head and his brain feeling like it was about to burst out of his skull overpower his mind as he groaned loudly. He had a headache, and it was no doubt from what had just happened.

More than an hour ago he had seen his best friend on the barn floor bleeding to death and nearly dead as he and the farm boy's parents tried their best to save his life and take the bullet that he was shot with out of his body. They got the slug out, yes, but if they saved his life was even a mystery to kismet.

Downstairs were Martha and Jonathan, sitting by the couch waiting for their son to wake up from unconsciousness, as he sat there in their upstairs bathroom with a phone in his lap and a distressing expression on his face. He did not know what was going to happen next. He did not know if his friend was going to wake up or stay alive. He didn't know if he could say sorry to him for the things he'd said the night before. In fact, none of them knew anything about what was going to happen next. Everything had happened so quickly that it was a miracle they were able to live the seconds they were living. In less than an hour Clark was shot, died, came back to life, and had his father cut him open to get a bullet made out of his only poison out of his body. Now, he was on a sofa comatose as they all wondered if he was going to make it through the night or even wake up.

And suddenly, during that moment, Pete realized that he was scared. He was scared beyond any fear he had ever felt before. Clark could die any second and he would never see him again or hear him talk, hear him laugh, hear him sigh at his annoying jokes and pick up lines or feel him hit him on the shoulder when he did something stupid. Knowing that he might never be with him again frightened him, and that's what kept him from going downstairs to look at his pale, inexpressive face. He was hiding from the fear he was feeling.

Exhaling loudly, he put the telephone aside and onto the floor so he could get up from the edge of the bathtub, blowing air through his cheeks before stumbling over to the door with the mess of towels and medical material scattered all over the ground. Turning the doorknob, he suddenly felt the nice, blissful gust of cool air touch his face and unwind his shoulders so he could close his eyes gently let the world around him vanish for the split second he had forgotten about everything around him and everything that was happening.

But it was only for a second, and once the moment was over, everything came rushing back to him and it was almost like the weight of the world fell back onto his shoulders. Biting his lower lip, Pete ran his hands down his face as he made his way out of the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light off or even close the door. He was taught to leave a place like he found it anyway.

Sauntering into the hallway, he softly placed his fingertips on the walls next to him, his hand strolling across the wallpaper as he walked slowly when abruptly once again he felt the swift blow of air drift across his face and cause him to dart his eyebrows down in confusion to where the wind was even coming from.

Uncontrollably flowing the air stream, Pete turned a small corner and spotted the one and only bedroom with the door wide open, showing a bed in the middle of the space, two dressers and a computer on a desk along plus curtains blowing in the air with the casement unlocked. It was Clark's room. He knew it from the second he turned the corner. Now, he had the choice to walk inside the area or spin around and go downstairs where he would face his friend lying on the couch and the two parents next to him sadly waiting for him to wake up from the unconsciousness he was deep in.

And without hesitation, he went in the room, avoiding his problems yet again because of the fear he was comforted with. There he practically grew up in the room. Every day after school he would come over to the Kent's and hang out in his friend's room, talking with the farm boy or playing games with him and having a good time. So many memories were in this room. So many memories were all around him. Another reason he was afraid of what would happen if Clark died. Facing reminiscences and knowing that he couldn't go back and enjoy them again was pure hell, and honestly, the emotions he was feeling was hell enough. Adding on something else wasn't what he needed.

Groaning some, the teen stuffed his hands deep inside his pockets and walked in the room, walking by one of the dressers and sucking in his lips when he saw the photo frames of Clark's parents and his friends on the top with a few other belongings spread around them. Pete could not help but close his eyes and bow his head when he saw how much his friend's comrade's meant to him because there he knew that about fifteen hours ago he had yelled at Clark telling him how upset he was that he ran away and didn't even bother to talk it out with him.

Pete knew why he said those things too. He didn't do it because he was mad he ran away and didn't face his troubles-he was here making sure he didn't go downstairs all because he was terrified of fate. No, the only reason he had said those things was that during those three months he didn't have his best friend there by his side. He had to think that he was never coming back and they were never going to be friends again. It was where facing his reminiscences came in again. It didn't matter now though. He just prayed that he would be able to see him open his eyes again. That's all he wanted.

Sighing, Pete made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge of the divan, taking his hands out of his pockets and running them across the soft, smooth covers that allowed the bed to be neatly made. The thoughts of all the sleepovers he had in this room came rushing his mind and caused him to moan in frustration, stuffing his head in his hands and closing his eyes tightly as he tried his very best to stop the memories. He didn't understand why it was now they were all coming back to haunt him. He had a reason why, but he didn't understand.

It was easy to know that guilt was making this happen to him. Everything he saw, everything he touched he would remember some moment in time he had spent with Clark. The boy who was downstairs lying on the couch nearly dead. He was dieing. The invincible Clark Kent was dieing. Pete repeated that at least five times in his head and took notice of the strange feeling he had felt when he did. Clark was dieing. How could that be happening? How could he be slowly fading away from life? How…why?

Those two questions remained in his mind as he got up from the bed and made his way over to the open window that had brought him to the room in the first place. During the moment he stuck his head outside of the casement and titled it to the side, everything he had been thinking before slipped out of his head and one thing stayed saying over and over again. His friend was dieing--breathing his last breath as he stood there in the farm boy's room scared, petrified, and worried. Pete didn't even know what he was feeling anymore with the mixed emotions running through his veins. Was he frightened, concerned, timid? He was feeling too many things to know.

With one last heaved sigh, he leaned his arms against the transom and bowed his head as he felt more breeze run into his face and blow again his cheeks. He didn't know how long he was going to stay up here in Clark's room. He didn't know if he was ever going to even come out. All he did know was that he wasn't going to go downstairs and face his fear until he completely had too. This meant he was putting a load on Jonathan and Martha as they watched their son die right in front of their eyes. For if he did go downstairs, it would mean accepting the fact that Clark was dieing a horrible, painful death in a deep unconsciousness. And he wasn't going to do that.

So Pete stood there, falling into his own thoughts as he felt the cool wind brush against his face and the sun beam onto his body while he stood in his friend's room wondering what would happen next in the twisted event fate was putting them all through…

To be Continued…