Tranquility flowed through the living room of the Kent house as three people sat down in the area; four counting the unconscious boy on the couch. It was late in the night as Jonathan, Martha and Pete sat tired and weary waiting for the teen that had recently been shot and put through a colossal amount of anguish, to wake up from the oblivion that he had fallen deep into.
Sighing loudly, the father rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the hard chair he was now sitting in, after switching with his wife when he had seen the fatigue she was dealing with. He gulped loudly through his dry throat and leaned forward to the couch in front of him. It was almost as if the heartbreaking sight of his unconscious, pale son didn't even disturb him anymore with how long he had been staring at him -- hours straight just sitting there by the sofa waiting for him to wake up. But through all the hours, he hadn't. Jonathan quickly glanced at the clock on the wall and saw the time was two thirty in the morning, which meant him, his wife and his son's friend had woken up a half an hour ago after a few hours of sudden sleep.
Pete, who was still sitting on the floor, had his knees up to his chest and his chin resting on them sadly, his eyes closed and his mind half asleep again, as he thought about the troublesome day he and the parents had been dealing with. For him, he was still trying to recover from the episode that happened the morning that was now behind them while the parents just prayed to God that their son was going to be all right.
In the past seventeen hours Clark had been shot, had surgery practically done on him and the rest of the day was spent with everyone losing faith on him healing quickly like his body was suppose to. At the moment though, all Pete wanted was for his friend to wake up so he could apologize to him for the things he had said Friday night. The parents wanted pretty much the same thing too, only the father wanting to say sorry for the fight they had and the mother only wanting her little boy to be awake and healed. Their wishes weren't coming true however with the fact the teen was still deep in nothingness.
Blowing air through his cheek, Jonathan let his shoulders drop as he picked up the boy's insipid hand and held it in his, rubbing it softly and sucking in his lips to hold back the tears in his eyes as he listened to the drained voice of the other teen in the room speak. "A red bull sounds really good right now." Pete just about mumbled, turning his head over to the right side, leaning that cheek on his knees as Martha chuckled lightly, and Jonathan forced a small grin on his face for the boy's sake.
"You called your parents and told them you were spending the night, right honey?" The mother asked him, looking down at him as she sat up straight in the rocking chair and saw him nod his head with his eyes closed and his body half-sleeping.
"Yeah, I called them back up around nine." Pete said, yawning loudly afterwards as let his back rest completely on the sofa and blinked a few times when he opened his eyes to the brightness around him, even if only two lamps were dimly lit in the room. Just as Jonathan sighed and was about to reply though he suddenly froze, his eyes shooting wide and his body jumping up from his seat some when he felt something squeeze his hand weakly, and it wasn't until a feeble groan filled everyone's ears they saw what he was taken aback and stunned at.
"I think he's awake!" Jonathan exclaimed. As he sat down on his knees, he quickly let go of the wrist and held the boy's face softly with his hands as Martha and Pete dashed over to him, the mother right by the sofa and the other by the back of the couch, leaning over it so he could get a view of the now awake boy.
"Clark!" Martha nearly gasped, running her fingers through the teen's hair as Jonathan rubbed his skin softly and tilted his head to the side some. "Clark, how do you feel son?" He asked, licking his lips and exhaling to calm down his shaking nerves as Clark groaned heavily, attempting to roll his head over to the other side but failing with the fact that his cheeks were being held by his father's hands.
Gulping back the lump in his throat, Jonathan looked next to him at Martha, who looked like she was about to cry and then up at Pete who was wincing and balling his hands into tight fist to also keep himself from breaking down. The boy looked so weak and sick, his face as white as a sheet and his eyes closed tightly in pain as a thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. Letting go of his face and running his hands through his dirty blonde hair, the older Kent sucked in his lips and rubbed Clark's hand softly as he rolled his head back and forth and whimpered tenderly.
"Clark, do you remember anything that happened?" Jonathan inquired, flinching loudly after he spoke just by speaking those words. It was hard to even talk about what happened the morning behind him, but asking his son, who had to deal with it all was the like swallowing fire. As everyone in the room held their breath to wait for the boy to answer, Clark practically felt himself close to tears with the throbbing all through his body.
It was hard enough to breathe, but at the moment he was straining to even open his eyes. His eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds with how heavy they were, and when he finally could get them open, it was just enough so he could blurrily see his father's face and his mother's soft, caring expression. Nearly choking when he tried to speak, Clark coughed loudly and hoarsely while he tried to gasp for air, eventually finding his voice and opening up his mouth with all the strength he had left in them to mumble out one word.
"Shot." The vigor he had left in him disappeared after he said that and he closed his eyes gently in tiredness and anguish. The light felt like a knife was piercing into his eyeballs anyway, so the darkness that swept over his mind was almost pleasuring with the headache that was pounding into his head. It was the last of his worries though with the agony in his stomach and chest. Jonathan started to chew on his bottom lip after he heard his son reply, the reminiscences of what happened that morning flashing back as he nodded his head and stroke the boy's hand some more while he gulped back the lump in his throat.
"Y-…yeah. Do you remember anything after that?" Jonathan asked, feeling himself ball his hand up into a fist as he took a good look at the boy. He was a complete wreck. Never had he seen Clark like this, and that didn't make looking at him that very moment any better. Letting out a quite cough, one that didn't even escape his mouth, the teen wearily nodded his head and let his skull rest back in the soft, relaxing pillow that made him want to fall deep into slumber again.
"You-…you t-tried to…g-get the…b-b-bullet o-…out." Clark stammered, not being able to talk anymore, which made him unwind his tensed body into the sofa and roll his head over to the other side of the couch. Never in his life had the boy felt this groggy before. Besides the twinge aching in his stomach and chest, drowsiness enveloped his body, his arms and legs feeling like they had just done months of farm work without his powers and his mind wanting siesta so badly, as if he hadn't had sleep in years.
Jonathan winced when he heard those words, bowing his head down to the ground as he realized that his son was thinking the only reason he put him through so much pain, so much affliction was because he was angry with him, or didn't know that he would have died if he just let the bullet stay in his chest. The father knew he had no choice for his actions, but leaving the boy to die would be better then the anguish he was going through now. It killed him to know that, and it caused the sudden change in subject that he provided.
"What hurts son?" Jonathan queried, sniffing back the tears in his throat as Clark cracked his dry lips open and let out a breath of air that he was holding in just to try to stop the stinging in his chest and the strong nausea in his stomach while he replied when he found the power to talk.
"E-e…everything." He stumbled, squeezing his eyes tightly when a new pain washed over his whole body. It felt like someone had just punched him in the abdominal, making him want to heave out his innards. It was a feeling that was all new and all painful for him to experience.
"Oh sweetie." Martha softly cried out, bending down to her knees and pushing back Clark's damp with sweat hair as he wearily opened his eyes to see her gentle, compassionate, loving face looking down at him. He would have smiled if he had the strength too. Once again turning his head over to the other part of the couch, he moaned agonizingly when suddenly something caused him to stop and he darted his eyebrows down confused.
"Pete?" Clark choked out, thinking about trying to sit up but shaking off the thought when he realized it would be too hard for him as Pete looked over at Jonathan in worry, not knowing what to do with what the boy had said. Most of all, how was he suppose to talk to him while knowing he had just woken up from a seventeen hour unconsciousness? When it came down to a quick respond, two words were all he could come up with.
"Hey man." Behind the couch, Pete was digging his fingernails into the backboard, gulping loudly and biting his lip while he watched Clark gaze deep into his eyes and look at him confused and puzzled. "Wh-….what are y-you…doing h-here?" The farm boy asked, exhaling loudly afterwards as Pete once again looked at the father panicky, not wanting to answer the question one bit however realizing he had no choice. With one thought, he laughed nervously and shrugged a little while staring at the parents instead of the boy to actually speak the words he felt like a criminal for speaking.
"You know me man, just…dropped by for a friendly visit when your parents told me what happened." He lied. He had just lied to his best friend who was pretty much dying that very second. Pete didn't even know how he felt during that moment, besides guilty and immoral for what he had done. Not only then, but two nights ago.
The things he had said to Clark were just wrong, and he realized that now. Actually, he realized it less then three hours after he did say them, but the point was now, seeing Clark lying on the couch groaning in pain, he saw the emotional grief he had put him through. It was bad enough going to have to deal with the two girls he had left behind, but dumping all that weight on him on Friday night probably made his life even worse. Pete couldn't help but shake his head and sigh loudly while Martha sniffed and ran her fingers through the boy's hair and Jonathan kept his hand in his palm.
Silence was the only noise that filled the room after Pete's words were spoken besides the occasional whimpers from the teen lying on the couch. At least five minutes went by that everyone stood still until suddenly something caused everyone to snap their heads over to the sofa. Clark abruptly inhaled sharply, half way through shooting up from the couch when pain struck his body and he collapsed back down, placing his hand over his mouth as he closed his eyes tightly and gagged on the bile he was trying to hold back. Martha saw what was going on and she jumped up from her knees and tried to help the boy sit up.
"Jonathan, quick, get a bucket!" She shouted, placing her arm behind Clark's back to force him to sit up. And with the help of Pete they got him sitting upwards even through the grunts and cries he let out with his hand still over his mouth.
Luckily it wasn't long that Jonathan ran back and forth from the kitchen and he returned into the living room rapidly with a yellow kitchen bucket as he fell down to his knees, hitting the floor hard but getting the pail under Clark's mouth just in time. The boy couldn't hold back the vomit in his mouth anymore and immediately threw up in the bucket, gagging it all out, gasping for air in-between vomits as Martha rubbed him on the back, and Jonathan watched in sadness and repel at his son's heaves.
The time that Clark sat there throwing up wasn't long, but for the parents and the teen behind the couch, it felt like forever seeing him pant for breath and then have to vomit again. Finally, the queasiness started to slow down and the vomiting stopped. As Martha brushed away strands of hair on his glistening with sweat face, Jonathan swung his arm around and placed the bucket down on the end table when suddenly his wife's shriek caught him off guard and he spun around just in time to catch his son from falling back on the sofa.
"Clark!" Jonathan exclaimed, his hands on each of his shoulders as he gently lowered the Clark down on the sofa, his read resting on the left side of the pillow as he groaned softly and sporadically took hitched breathes. "Oh son." He whispered sadly as Martha covered her mouth with her hand and Pete lowered his head to the ground.
Pulling the thin blanket up to the teen's neck, the father sighed heavily and brought the rocking chair that was next to him closer to the couch and sat down in it as he could see Pete and Martha looking at him alarmed and worriedly. He could only lean forward and blow air through his cheeks as he listened to the boy whimper half consciously and see his wife and the other teenager look at him for wise words.
"It's going to be a long night." Jonathan simply told them. And as he sat there watching Clark cry out in suffering, he merely wondered what was going to happen next.
To be Continued…