Rain poured down from the dark and overcast sky down in Smallville, as at the Kent farm and walking inside the gloomy and dark yellow house of the ranch was Jonathan Kent, who was drenched with the water that was heaving down from the heavens outside and nothing but a despondent expression on his face. The time now was around four in the early morning; however, the outdoors looking like it was midnight with the murky and teeming skies and humid atmosphere. For the father who was dragging his legs up the porch of the home with his head bowed down to his feet though, the whole twenty hours he had been living seemed like an eternity of pure wretchedness.

Sighing loudly, Jonathan ran his fingers through his sodden dirty blonde hair and smeared away the liquid that was dripping down his face so he could take a deep breath and place his hand on the knob of the door that was in front of him. Opening it up, he could instantly feel the rush of warm air from the dwelling hit his body and cause trembles to uncontrollably escape his shoulders with the loving emotion his own home held, and the sentiment would have been so idyllic if it wasn't for the everlasting despair that he felt within his body.

The second he took a step into the house nevertheless, his feet bringing irrigate to the place mat he walked on, he could hear the sound of chairs screeching on kitchen wood and in his sight two people come running up to him. Another exhale fell out of his lips as he saw this too, and Jonathan only simply took off his wet coat and threw it on the floor in misery while he listened to his wife and the teenager in the abode let out their shouts for his sudden and long absence.

"Jonathan, your soaking wet! Where have you been?" Martha exclaimed, her eyes wide when she saw her husband's approach as she sprinted up to him. Instead of getting the reply that told her where the man had been for over an hour, leaving her and the boy panicked and worried, she saw him walk past her with his shoulder bumping into hers forlornly.

"It doesn't matter." Jonathan merely said, rubbing his tired and restless eyes in exhaustion as he walked into the kitchen, and right when he was about to take a seat in one of the chairs that was already pulled out, he listened to the words that he dreaded to hear enter his ears.

"Mr. Kent, Clark has been getting worse." Pete told him, gulping loudly as he watched the father spin around and look at him in fear and alarm. "What?" Jonathan felt like he had yelled those words at the top of his lungs when in reality, they came out in a small and weak whisper as Martha took a step in front of the downcast teenager and put her hands up in the air somewhat in despondency.

"He keeps waking up in coughing fits Jonathan-he can hardly even breathe anymore." Martha choked out with her voice stumbling in misery, as Jonathan immediately didn't waste any time standing around when he heard this. He forced his drained legs to run out of the kitchen and into the living room with both Pete and Martha following him, and he fell down to his knees at the couch where his son laid moaning in agony and clutching onto the blankets laying on top of him as tight as he could with his right hand.

"Clark, Clark son, it's dad. I need you to wake up Clark." Jonathan softly spoke into his ear, watching him roll his head over and gulp saliva down his dry and irritated throat as he blinked away the sweat that was on his eyelids and cracked his dry lips open to force a weary smile on his face.

"Hey dad. You…get that tractor…fixed?" Clark whispered with a slight chuckle, closing his eyes tightly in pain afterwards as Jonathan snapped his head to his wife, who was standing by the end table with tears clearly forming in her eyes from the boy's condition.

"He's delusional--Martha, go in the kitchen and get a wet washcloth to bring down the fever some." He told her, seeing her immediately scamper out of the living room while he turned back to the boy who was groaning wearily and trying to keep himself from passing out because of the burning and throbbing anguish that was in his stomach and chest. Brushing away the few strands of hair that was in front of his eyes, the father strained a grin on his lips while he stared into the eyes of his son that held nothing but pain and anguish, wanting him to be able to take it all away but knowing that he couldn't do anything like that.

"Seriously Mr. Kent, where were you? You were gone for over an hour." Pete suddenly spoke up, walking closer to the man as Jonathan sighed heavily and dropped his eyes to the floor while he listened closely to what the boy had said. It was obvious that his choice to leave the two, even if it was only for a short time, was a huge mistake. His son could have died any second while he was outside wanting time to turn back so he could change everything that had happened. Licking his lips, he shook his head and combed Clark's hair back with his fingers as he looked up at the ceiling for a second before staring back at the teen on the sofa dejectedly.

"I told you Pete, it doesn't matter." Jonathan's words only made Pete sigh himself and roll his eyes at the man's stubbornness as he fell down in the rocking chair beside the older Kent and gazed sadly at his friend, who put all his effort into opening his eyes to look at his father somnolently.

"I-It…w-won't stop h-hurting…dad." Clark stumbled, water glistening his eyes as he closed his eyelids after saying those words and he drew in a loud yet painful breathe of air to keep him from crying out in torment. While Pete balled his hand into a tight fist and placed his elbow on the armrest of the rocking chair so he could put his knuckles to his mouth, Jonathan felt his lips moving but no words coming out, and he nodded his head leisurely while he kept brushing the boy's hair with his fingers.

"I know son…I know. Just hang in there." Jonathan couldn't feel himself go on any longer with the shame of trying to tell the teen everything was okay when deep down inside they both knew that it wasn't. Gently taking Clark's hand in his, he cupped it with his fingers as he held it to his face and closed his eyes while listening to the sound of the heavy, hurting groans fill his ears. He couldn't even imagine how much pain his son was going through right now. It killed him that he had to go through this aching hell too. No one as caring and benevolent as him should be going through the torture he was dealing with that very moment.

Suddenly being snapped out of his dismay thoughts though, Jonathan turned his head behind him to see his wife come trotting back into the living room with a damp rag in her hands, and he let go of Clark's wrist so he could grab it from her and compel a fake smile on his lips.

"Thanks honey." He said, turning back over to his son as he dabbed away the shinning sweat on Clark's face with the washcloth before laying it down gently on his forehead while he moaned weakly and rolled his head over to the other side of the couch. As he did, the room stood silent until one worried voice spoke up.

"Mr. Kent, what are we going to do? Clark isn't getting any better; I don't even think he's healed any yet." Pete told him, looking over at Martha who was standing next to him and then glancing over at the father who sat still on his knees, gaping at the sick and whimpering boy on the divan in front of him. The man knew he couldn't reply with 'I don't know' anymore. Things were getting way out of hand to just sit around and do nothing now, if his son was going to make it to see the next day he was going to have to do something-even if it was just figuring out a plan.

Hearing a faint groan enter his ears, Jonathan sucked in his lips sorrowfully as he watched Clark slowly loose his struggle to stay conscious, his breaths becoming steadier and less moans escaping his mouth when abruptly the father turned his head over to the teenager sitting in the rocking chair.

"Uh, h-how about you go upstairs and get another pillow for him Pete." Jonathan suggested. Pete sat motionless for a few seconds however as he looked at the man's eyes and saw what he really wanted. It was obvious that he needed to do something that he didn't want him in the room for, the fact not making any sense since he sat through watching him practically perform surgery on his friend as he nodded his head slowly while getting up from the seat gradually to back over to the staircase with a loud exhale.

"Okay." Pete nearly whispered to the man as he made his way over to the steps and gradually walked up them to the second floor. While he did, Jonathan turned back over to Clark, pulling away the blankets that covered his body and hearing his teeth start to chatter a little after he did while he bit his tongue so hard he thought it was going to crack. The blue pajama top that was once azure was now leaking dark red blemishes by his stomach, and Martha covered her mouth with both of her hands in sorrow as she saw this.

Slowly lifting the shirt up, shudders falling upon the boy when his father's cold and wet fingers touched his skin, Jonathan gulped loudly as he saw the bloody gauze seeping out more of the crimson liquid from his abdomen and chest, and he closed his eyes gently as he shook his head. "He's losing so much blood." He whispered miserably while he crossed his hands together on top of Clark's stomach and put pressure down on his torso, trying his best to ignore the whimper that the boy let out when he did as he looked over at his wife next to him.

"Martha, um, can you go get some more gauze?" Jonathan asked, seeing her nod her head and rush out of the living room yet again, as he looked back over at the teen on the couch. Just the few seconds he sat there seemed like forever with the remembrance of the last time he had to do this, and he wanted to cheer out in relief when Martha came back into the room with a roll of gauze in her hands.

Taking it away from her, he simply wrapped a few strands around his son's stomach before tapping it down with the medical tape that his wife also brought for him as he lowered the shirt down and pulled the blankets back up to bring warmth to Clark once again which made the shivers his body let out slowly stop.

A few seconds after he finished doing that the sound of someone coming down the steps filled the room, and Jonathan snapped his head over to the staircase where Pete came jogging down with a white pillow in his hands. Walking over to the father, he handed it to him and almost neglected the false smile he gave him as a thank you while he took a seat back down in the rocking chair and watched the parents continued to try to help his injured friend.

Lifting up Clark's head slowly, the older Kent in the room placed the pillow down on the sofa and gently lowered the neck on the cushion with a sigh as the boy cracked his eyes opened and looked straight at his father with a groan.

"Everything's going to be okay son." Jonathan comforted him with a soft, tender voice as he saw his son's pained expression, stroking his cheek as he watched Clark try to open his mouth, only to have the strength to do so suddenly disappear. He felt so immobilized by the agony that ran through his body. He could hardly even talk without fire burning in his chest, and each breath he took was like being stabbed with an acid blade that made him want to fall into oblivion so badly.

Finally breaking his lips apart, he took a deep breath and tried to disregard the torture that flew through his body as he stared into his father's kind and comforting eyes. "I-I'm…I'm d-dying…aren't I…dad?" Clark asked, his words making the whole room fall mute as Martha held back her sob and Pete mumbled out a 'oh god' as he put his head in his hands wretchedly. Jonathan simply sat taken aback at what the boy had said unlike the others though. He didn't have any idea how to reply to what he had asked. He either had the choice to lie, which he was sick of doing, or to tell the truth, which would just be stupid with the already vulnerable state the teen was in.

Jonathan leisurely looked behind him at his wife with sad eyes that broke her heart, the panic of not knowing what to say filling his body, as he took rickety breathes and slowly turned back over to the sofa where his son laid. Grabbing his hand gently in his, the father sucked in his lips to hold back the water in his eyes as he gulped back the lump in his throat and nodded his head shakily.

"I-…I think so Clark." Never had saying those simple words before felt like such a task to do. His voice stumbled in tears as his words were nearly cut off with the bulge in his windpipe that made him want to cry all while he saw the terror that Clark's eyes held when he answered his question. He wished that very moment that he had lied to him instead of telling him the reality of what was going on with just the fear and heartache that his face had. The father could have sworn that the physical pain his son was feeling was replaced with the trepidation he could see in his eyes too.

"Dad…" Clark whispered as a tear slid down his cheek and dropped to his neck. "I don't want t-to die." Jonathan couldn't help but allow the sobs that were wrecking through his throat escape his lips as he held the hand he had in his palm in a tighter grip while besides the sound of his wife's own cry he heard the choked breathes of the boy on the couch.

"Everything's going to be all right Clark, you're going to be all right." Jonathan assured him with a teary and crackling voice, this time not having the feeling like he was lying since he knew after he heard those words actually come out of his son's mouth he wasn't going to let him go anywhere. Feeling a tear drop down from his eyes and fall down on the couch below him, the father sniffed loudly and took a good look at the nearly crying boy in front of him. The anguished look he detained was just too much to take anymore, and Jonathan simply got up from his knees to let go of the hand he held that dropped back down on the sofa so he could back away and gulp loudly.

"Pete, keep an eye over him, I-…I'll be right back." He told them, spinning around and praying he'd make it out of the living room before anyone spoke up. He wasn't even able to make it another step before an angry voice entered his eyes on the other hand, and he bit his lower lip firmly to hold back the water that he wanted to let fall down his face.

"Mr. Kent!" Pete exclaimed, shooting up from the rocking chair in annoyance as the father slowly turned around and swallowed back the bulge that was stuck deep in his throat while he put his hand up in the air and inclined his head some.

"Pete…please." Jonathan's teary words obviously got to the teen, and he sighed heavily as he fell back down in the seat with a nod. After he did, the man spun back around and jogged into the kitchen, not noticing his wife following him as he rubbed his face jadedly and leaned over the sink with a loud sob that he had to get out of his system. In his whole life, he had never seen anyone hold so much physical pain before in their words and expressions, and now, just taking a glance at his son was too heartbreaking. He couldn't look at him without knowing he had put him in the torture he was in.

He wasn't able to stay alone in the room for long though when he heard a loud yell enter his ears. "Jonathan!" Martha nearly shouted, running into the kitchen soon after he did and stopping as soon as she saw her husband turn his neck over to her that showed her the tears that were just about falling out of his eyes.

"Martha, just leave me alone." Jonathan sternly said even if his voice was feeble and stumbling in weeps. Silence echoed the kitchen after he said that, his head facing the basin once again as the only sound that did fill the room was either the loud sniffs from the father or the squeaking of the wood floor when the mother took a few steps forward.

"Jonathan…Clark needs you right now-you can't keep running from him." Martha told him, seeing him simply stay motionless as she walked up to him some more.

"He's scared. He knows he's dying." She softly reminded him, taking another step forward as he brought his head up and looked up at the ceiling above them while trying to hold back more sobs that he desired to discard. Sighing some, the mother put her arms to her chest and leaned her head to the side while speaking almost unfortunately.

"You know, while you were gone…he kept asking if you were still mad at him." Martha informed her husband, seeing right away his face freeze as he balled his hands into tight fist and soon closed his eyes tightly while inside his mind he was screaming loud swears. He couldn't believe that his son was on his last lines thinking bout if he was still angry with him. It should be the last thought in his conscious instead of his first, and that's what caused more tears to form in the father's eyes as the woman in the kitchen kept speaking, only this time with a question.

"What happened before he was shot Jonathan?" Martha inquired while Jonathan hesitated on answering her query even if he wanted to tell her the truth. All day she had been wondering what had happened in the previous morning, and all the man had told her was that a person had come to the barn and shot their son. She wanted to know what caused him so much guilt though, and why he was regretting the words she didn't know he had said to the boy before the trigger to a gun was pulled. Knowing he couldn't keep it from her any longer, he took a shaky breath and sucked in his lips as he ran his fingers through his now damp hair.

"God…I-…I was an idiot Martha. I don't know what the hell came over me." Jonathan balled his hands into tight fist once more as he turned around to face his wife with a sigh all while he went on with what he had to say.

"Clark needed me. He came to me for answers…for reassuring and….and I just blew up in his face." The father stated, shaking his head and rubbing his temples as he felt a slight headache making its way through his head, causing him to walk over to the kitchen table where he pulled out a chair and sat down in it to put his head in his arms forlornly. He couldn't find the strength to finish right away though, and quietness filled the room until he brought his head up and looked at the wall in front of him blankly.

"The last thing I said to him before he was shot…was that I didn't care." Jonathan felt a strand of water leak out of his eye and glide down his cheek as Martha simply gaped her mouth open a little and stood shocked and sorrowed at what her husband had just said. Luckily, stillness didn't echo the kitchen for that long until he went on.

"Now he's in on that couch slowly leaving us thinking that I hate him." Putting his face in his hands to try to keep his composure, Jonathan clutched his teeth tightly together while a hand was soon placed on his back and he sighed heavily at the person who spoke next.

"Jonathan, I'm sure he isn't thinking that." Martha said, rubbing his back softly while knowing that the guilt trip he was going through had to be distressing. Right away though the man shoot up from the chair and extended his arm out to the left of them, so he could point out into the living room crossly.

"Look at him Martha! You can't look him in the eyes and tell me that he isn't hurt from the things I said." Jonathan told her, not being able to stay calm any longer as he replaced his sadness with anger and stormed away from his wife. Placing his head in his hands again, he trudged back over to the sink and put his elbows on the edge of the contour as he tried to keep himself awake even through the misery he felt.

Martha merely stood still while she stared at him, and it wasn't until at least two minutes later that she shook his head and took a few steps up to him in incense herself. "I don't know what your seeing when you look at him, but when I do I see more fear then any person has ever had. He's afraid Jonathan! He's in pain right now; he knows he's going to die soon if we don't do anything!" She shouted, not meaning to be as loud as she was but not being able to keep herself in check as she felt her own tears well up in her eyes and she watched Jonathan turn around sadly to put his hands up in the air in somewhat of a shrug as he stumbled in sobs.

"I-…" He had to gulp back the lump that stopped him from talking to go on as he shook his head and shrugged dejectedly.

"I don't know what to do Martha." Jonathan finally admitted, however, the relief he wanted to feel not entering his body as a heavier load of worry was placed on his shoulders with the knowing that if he didn't know what to do then there was pretty much no hope for his son to stay alive. Walking back over to the table when his wife didn't respond, he took a seat in a different chair and let out a loud exhale through his clutched teeth before looking up at the red-haired woman to see her also take a seat across from him.

"We need to give Clark time Jonathan. He just woke up a few hours ago, maybe….maybe it's going to take more time then normal for him to heal." She guessed, aware of the fact that she was pulling at straws but having no other choose to do so. Jonathan only sighed heavily at her words however, and she grabbed his hand gently when he did so, making him look her straight in the eyes to see that for once she was doing the consoling instead of him.

"If he doesn't get better by the afternoon, we'll think of a plan together, okay?" Martha asked, leaning her head forward some as he blinked once and thought about what she had said. It wasn't much of a strategy, but the point was it was better then just sitting around and watching their son lay in pain on the sofa.

"By Afternoon?" He repeated, as she nodded her head with a small smile. He slowly did the same as she stroked his hand gently. "Okay…okay." Jonathan whispered to himself as he sat thinking about her preparation. The afternoon was only nine hours away, and compared to the whole seventeen hours they had lingered for the boy to simply wake up, it didn't seem so long to wait.

He just hoped Clark could stay alive by then though.

To be Continued…