Sunday. A day of joy and delight, glee and happiness. Far down in Smallville and at the Kent farm, everyone inside the living room of the house felt the very opposite of that. The weather outside was dismal, rain pouring down from the sky and hammering down on the ground as lightening occasionally made it's way through the atmosphere, and with that came along the rumbling thunder. It wasn't something that would bring you in high sprits in other words. All morning it had been ominous outside, so the three people in the cheerless residence weren't surprised that the supposed to be wonderful day of the week was now murky and depressing. For them, it matched the way they felt.
Walking down the hallway of the distressed feeling home, Pete sighed heavily as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his tired head to the ground, licking his dry lips while he watched his feet that had nothing but socks on move against the carpet. Twenty-two hours. It had been twenty-two hours now that his life had changed in a way that he was never going to forget. His friend nearly died, and was still dying as he stood there. All those screams he heard one morning ago, all the images of seeing the farm boy cry out in pain still haunted his mind like nothing he had ever been through before. It was all still bothering him with the fact of knowing any second he could listen to someone come and tell him that his comrade was dead.
Everyone in the house felt guilty for what happened, but they all knew they couldn't change what was done. Pete knew that Jonathan was thinking how he could have stopped his son from being shot by doing something or helping him out of the way, and however, for the younger boy, he was thinking guiltily way more complicated.
He came up with the conclusion that if he and his friend never fought three nights ago he would have never probably been in the barn reflecting on how much everyone hated him. He would have never been shot. The boy knew that he shouldn't be thinking like that since what happened clearly happened, but just like everyone else, he was thinking about it no matter how hard he tried.
Sighing, Pete leaned on the wall next to him, pulling his hands out of his jean pockets as he started to chew on his bottom lip and look to the left of him. Since the hallway he was in now was pitch dark, the only light really on in the house was the kitchen that was out of his sight, all he could see was the faint sight of the front door that was a long ways ahead of him. And he could only see that from the illumination of the moon that shinned through the windows of the house.
Knowing that the father and oldest man in the house right now was fast asleep in the living room, the boy blew air through his cheeks and dropped his shoulders as he thought about talking to someone, anyone who was around. The last time Pete did have a conversation with someone in the past day without having to be told to do something was around four in the afternoon of the Saturday that had passed, and it made him start to feel lonely and about to burst with questions. He wanted to know if his friend was going to die. He wanted to do if they were going to do anything to help him stay alive. He wanted to know so many things, but for some reason, was too afraid to ask those queries. Both parents were going through such a hard time he just felt if he started to bug them that they'd feel even worse.
Groaning tiredly, Pete ran his hands down his face in exhaustion as he nearly slid down the wall he leaned against in weariness, wanting to get some sleep so badly yet at the same time afraid to even close his eyes. He knew why he didn't want to go into slumber, so not stressing out his brain anymore, he stood up straight and took a deep breath, which ended up coming out as a long yawn before he began to walk down the hallway and took a shortcut by the staircase into the kitchen.
As soon as he did, he saw a red haired woman sitting down at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands and her eyes locked down on the mug too, the light that filled his eyes almost making him shut them for a second while he took a few steps into the room and gulped loudly. The squeaks on the wooden floor that his feet made caused the lady to snap her head up and see him unlike he wanted however, and she smiled the best she could, also weary herself, at his presence.
"Hi sweetie." Martha greeted, pushing the cup aside as sat up in the chair and watched the teen come walking in some more so he could be a little closer to her.
"Hey Mrs. Kent." Pete strolled over to the table where he pulled out a chair and took a seat down in it, uncontrollably yawning once again as he placed his elbows down on the stand and then his chin in his palms. Silence flowed between the two after that as he sat still, staring at the wall in front of him almost vacantly while the mother took sips of her russet. As a few minutes went by this stayed the same, Pete began to know that if he didn't say what was on his mind, the only discussion he was going to have period was going to be uncomfortable tension or 'how are you?'s and simple replies, and that was obviously the last thing he wanted.
Looking up at the woman, he sighed heavily. "When is Clark going to heal Mrs. Kent?" He merely blurted out, catching Martha off guard when he saw her freeze and slowly place the mug she had in her hands down on the table with a gulp. The mother didn't have a clue how she was suppose to tell the boy in front of her the answer to that question, knowing what he wanted to hear was soon and that everything was going to be okay but seeing that would be a lie, stuck in an oppressive situation.
"Um…" Rubbing the back of her neck tensely, Martha sighed and looked at Pete sadly, as he waited for her answer. "We…we don't know honey." Martha honestly told him, watching him suck in his lips and nod his head as he leaned back into the hard kitchen chair he sat in and cross his arms over his chest.
"Yeah…yeah, okay." Pete replied with despair as he sat motionless once more and forced back the lump in his throat. He knew that if his friend would have healed by now and gotten better he would have, so frankly, that rejoin wasn't much of a surprise to him. So he sat there not caring that stillness was the only thing he heard, fiddling around with his fingers while he listened to Martha take another sip of her coffee. Eventually however, the silence got a little too annoying, and the teenager shot his head up to look at the mother for a second time.
"Am I going to get the chance to say sorry to him?" Pete suddenly asked, gulping loudly as Martha took a second out to think about his question before nodding her head and smiling wearily at him.
"Jonathan told me he did, so I'm sure you and Clark will make up soon Pete." Martha assured him, understanding that the emotional ache he must've been going through had to be hard with the fact that he, just like her husband, didn't have happy last words to a boy who was on his deathbed. What she said didn't make Pete feel any better though. In fact, immediately after she spoke, he let his head fall down on they table and he repeatedly hit his forehead on the wood while she jumped up from her chair a little and grabbed his hand to rub it gently in reassurances.
"Honey, it's okay, it's okay." Martha tried to comfort him when she saw that it was obvious the teen didn't know that his friend and the father had made up, but when he brought his head, instead of getting him to nod, she saw tears glistening in his eyes and sadness written across his face.
"Mrs. Kent, I'm never going to have the guts to say sorry to him. He's just going to die thinking that I've hated him from the day we met." Pete groaned as he allowed his neck to drop once again, and this time he folded his arms over the table so he could burry his head in them with misery. Martha couldn't help but feel sad for the boy when he did this, and as she continued to rub the back of his hand, she leaned her head to the side and leaned forward to him some.
"Pete, sweetie, he doesn't think that. He's probably feeling more sorry then you are right now-he isn't angry." She promised him. He only looked at her in somewhat of disbelief when she said that. He couldn't seem to believe her for some reason with that since she hadn't even had her own conversation with the boy, and yet again, neither had he, so with a sigh, he nodded his head. Trying to think about what he'd say when he would apologize to his friend, he bit his lower lip glanced over at the red haired woman.
"Mr. Kent and him made up?" Pete inquired again, seeing her nod her head with a remorseful smile for him as he groaned heavily. He couldn't see how the father had cleared things up with Clark if he himself couldn't find a way. How was he supposed to go in there and face him, after being a complete jerk, and say sorry? He couldn't find a way at all, and it made him growl to himself and lean his right cheek on the cold table.
As he did, he could see the clock in front of him that hung on the kitchen wall, and it told him that the time was now six in the morning, which meant in four hours it would be exactly a day since his friend was shot and nearly killed. It also meant it would be a day that he had been a coward and chickened out on every time he could fix things up with his friend.
"I guess I have no excuse not to say sorry then, huh?" Pete asked, already knowing the answer he that question for once which made Martha nod her head, and he exhaled loudly, his chest heaving up and down while he stood up from the chair and ran his hands down his drained face with a mutter.
"I hope he isn't angry at me." He said in a way that told the mother in front of him that he prayed she was right, and as he rubbed his temples drowsily, he listened to a soft and caring voice enter his hearing.
"Go and see if he's awake, maybe you can talk to him right now." Martha suggested, gesturing over to the exit of the room, which also led into the living room with her head as Pete looked up at her with a smile, and this time, he nodded his head. As he ambled out of the kitchen though, he froze at the entrance to the other room he was about to walk in, and he looked confusedly at the floor for a second as he listened carefully to the silence that only the mother heard.
"Do you hear that?" Pete questioned, watching Martha stand up from her seat in worry and jog over to where he was as he leaned his neck to the side and blinked a few times while he paid attention to the noise that he was hearing.
"It sounds like…" He trailed off into quietness when he saw the woman next to him eyes go wide and her hand cover her mouth.
"Oh dear God, it's Clark!" Martha exclaimed as she ran into the living room, followed by Pete where she bent down to her knees at the couch and soon saw a bright light fill the living room, which she saw in time the darker colored teen had turned on a lamp. It was a good thing too, because this allowed her to see the sweating and pained expression that the boy on the sofa had, his head rolling back and forth and loud moans escaping his mouth.
"Clark, Clark sweetie it's mom. Wake up Clark, wake honey." Martha practically begged, her voice stumbling in tears when she heard an agonizing cry enter the area, and she bit her lower lip tightly to hold back her sobs while she snapped her back behind her to look at Pete. Immediately, the teen saw what her face said, and he spun around to the side to where the rocking chair he didn't notice before was, and sitting on it was a sleeping father where he shook the man's shoulder ferociously.
"Mr. Kent!" With only one yell Pete was able to snap Jonathan awake, who shot his eyes open in alarm and looked over at the boy confused before seeing his feared appearance, and right away he knew wasn't right. The last time he had been awoken abruptly, it was because something was wrong with his son, so he knew, he just knew, it was what was wrong this time. And he was right. The moment he looked over at the couch he saw his wife on her knees trying her best to get the sick boy awake, and he stood up from the chair and walked towards the couch hastily.
"What's going on Martha?" Jonathan asked, also bending down to his knees as he watched in grief Clark groan and whimper in pure anguish. He couldn't even look at the sight for a second before he lost his breath and had to lock his head over at his wife, who put her hand to her mouth in fear, tears welling up in her eyes when she couldn't get her son to wake up. For some reason she was getting thoughts that he wasn't going to wake up either, and she had to force herself to talk to get those deliberations out of her mind.
"I-I don't know, we were just in the kitchen when we heard him a-and-." Choking out a weep, Martha felt a tear fall down her cheek and drop down to the floor as she cupped her mouth with both of her hands while she felt someone grab her shoulders, and she looked over at her husband to see him looking at her sympathetically.
"It's okay Martha." Jonathan knew that she was panicked, and when it came to Clark, she didn't do well with being panicked, so forcing a small, extremely small though, smile on his face, he watched her nod her head and take a inhale to turn around back over to their son, who was still unconsciously in a state of terror. No one in the room knew why, but they all did know was that it was either he woke up, or he didn't. And they preferred the first one over the second.
Turning over to the couch, the father clutched his teeth tightly as he moved closer where the boy laid, and with more strength then he probably wanted, he grabbed his shoulders and grasped them tightly as gently, he shook him up and down.
"Clark, Clark son, wake up. Wake up Clark!" Jonathan felt himself start to panic when no matter what he did, the boy didn't arose, and he couldn't help but freeze suddenly when he found himself trying to ignore the moans that the teen was giving out. He gulped loudly while to the right of him Pete tilted his head to the side in confusion in anger to his hesitation too, and while he knew why he wasn't doing anything, he was just mad he was letting it get to him. It was obvious what was happening was bringing a memory of when he had to take the bullet out of Clark, so with no choice, the darker colored boy in the room stepped forward.
"Wake up for us man, wake up." Pete whispered, shaking his friend's shoulders for the father until he found himself snapping back into reality, which didn't happen for a few minutes, and when he finally see what was going on, he winced at his space out. Before Jonathan could take over again however, a rapid cough was heard, and immediately Clark shot up from the couch gagging while being winded.
"Oh Clark!" Martha cried out, moving closer to the sofa when Jonathan shook his head, held his hand out, turning his head over to face her so he could swallow saliva down his parched throat, and run his fingers through his dirty blonde hair uncertainly.
"Martha, go in the kitchen and get that bucket for him." He told her, getting a nod from the woman as she stood up from her knees and ran behind her toward the kitchen, leaving the two men in the living room where the father faced his son again and very tenderly took a hold of the boy's shoulders to pacify him.
"Clark, shhhh. Calm down son, calm down." Jonathan spoke in a soft voice, stroking Clark's cheek gently as he smiled benevolently at him to get him to open his eyes and look at him. When he didn't even do that he hoped for at least a sign that he was conscious and not passed out, uncomfortable tension better then the anxiety he was feeling, and it was like a ton of bricks his eyes went wide and he noticed something horrific.
"Breathe Clark!" Jonathan nearly screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing both sides of the boy's face as the ailing teen shook his head and closed his eyes even more tighter then they already were.
"C-C-C….C-Can-C-Can't." Clark staggered, wheezing in for air and sobbing the best he could when he couldn't even get an inhale of it, and as tears started to flow down his face, Jonathan's mouth dropped open and he shook his head and went into trepidation.
"Oh my god…oh my god, try Clark. Try to take deep breathes now." The father felt like he was going to loose his son right then and there, panic the only thing he felt in his body as he watched Clark bring his head up and if his eyes were open, look up at the ceiling. While he did, Martha came running back into the room with a blue bowl in her hands, and she handed it over to her husband who took it at once and then turned his attention back over to the boy.
"Come on Clark, you have to breathe son!" Jonathan exclaimed loudly, showing his son that if he didn't take a small breath of air soon he was going to die. This got Clark scared, and he pulled his arms from under the blankets that were on top of him so he could clutch his chest and open his mouth to gasp for some kind of expose to his lungs. He only gagged brashly when he tried nonetheless, and he grabbed onto Jonathan's hand and squeezed it tightly while he did.
"D-D-D-Dad." Clark wheezed, cracking his eyelids open and looking straight into his father's eyes to see him do the same when just as he thought he was about to pass out, he felt something rise in his chest, and he throw his head down to the ground immediately where pretty much everyone knew what was going on. Jonathan swiftly threw the bucket under his mouth, and with much difficulty, Clark retched out as much vomit as his stomach needed to get out.
"He's okay; he's going to be okay." Jonathan told both Pete and Martha, knowing the reason to what had just happened as Martha let out a sigh of relief and rubbed Clark's back as he threw up. While she did, and while Jonathan comforted the boy, Pete stood over by the other end of the couch and away from the couple. Still in unnerve from the event that had unfolded, he simply walked backwards towards the wall and he threw his head down in his hands at the thought of how he almost just lost his best friend-again.
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Rain pitter-pattered down on the roof-top of the Kent house as walking upstairs of the residence Jonathan had his hands stuck deep in his jean pockets, his head lowered down to the ground while he sighed heavily and sniffed a little with almost a yawn. It was around six thirty now, a half and hour past from the incident that scared them all for one boy's life as he walked up the staircase wretchedly, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was nothing compared to what fate was going to have in store for them.
The man hated thinking about that though, and as he finished walking up the steps, he took a right turn and saw instantly the bathroom door that was closed shut. It caused him to dropped his shoulders and pop his lips forlornly, and as he walked towards it, he once again couldn't help but remember something that happened in that very place that he was always going to remember. Jonathan was never going to be able to walk around in the house the same way again.
Gently knocking on the door with the back of his fist, his knuckles banging against it lightly, he cracked the door open and saw sitting in the tub with his legs hanging over the edge was Pete, who hand a body sponge in his hands and his eyes locked down on his fingers that was playing around with it.
"Can I come in?" Jonathan asked, causing the boy to snap his head up and roll his eyes before shrugging and going back to fooling around with his fingers and the item in them.
"It's your bathroom." Pete replied, throwing the sponge up in the air and then catching it as he sighed heavily and leaned back into the cold and hard tile he sat on. Ignoring the father who walked into the room too, he licked his lips and folded his arms over to his chest, trying to seem like he didn't want to talk and making the man believe that, but when the farmer spoke, his words made it clear that he wasn't going to leave without a conversation.
"What's wrong Pete?" Jonathan asked, tilting his head to the side as Pete balled his hands into tight fist and clutched his teeth together while he sat up some in the tub and shook his head in anger.
"Clark nearly died again Mr. Kent and yet all we're doing is sitting around and watching him beg for us to stop the pain!" He exclaimed, gulping loudly afterwards when he saw the distressed expression he had put on the man, and he almost winced as he watched him halt for a few moments. It was almost as if hearing those words by someone either then himself or his wife made him comprehend what they actually meant. He was sitting around doing nothing while his son was dying. If any other person heard that they'd be laughing it was so silly.
"Mr. Kent…" Pete tried to get him talking when a minute went by in silence, but all he did was shift positions and gulp loudly. Eventually, he did talk though. "Pete, I know this is hard on you, it's hard on all of us…but we just have to wait and see what happens." Jonathan didn't know why he just said that, but he did, and it caused him to lean against the side of the tub and let his head bang against the wall so he could feel the twinge it brought. He didn't want to wait any more honestly, however, he didn't know what else to do, and as he thought this, the teen held back his growl and looked over at him exasperatedly.
"Do you really think he can wait until the afternoon Mr. Kent?" Pete asked, pouting as the father froze once again and slowly turned his head over to him. He was right. Clark couldn't wait until the afternoon, he didn't even know if he could live the next hour. Jonathan couldn't believe he was taking that risk. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head and gulped back the lump in his throat.
"We're try to think of something to do sooner then that, but in the mean time I need you to be strong for me Pete." He said, simply seeing the boy lean back into the tub when he replied as he took a deep breath of air and then exhaled it dejectedly when a thick stillness came between them. It was a while before someone talked, no one knowing what to talk about as they sat still in the quiet bathroom that echoed with a painful and throbbing silence. It was Pete who spoke up, and he clicked his tongue inside his mouth while looking over at the dirty-blonde haired man miserably.
"Is it wrong that I'm thinking I could have stopped this?" Pete inquired, his tired eyes full of wonder of if he was being wrong for wondering what it would be like if his friend never got shot, and all the father did was grin he best he could, himself also drained.
"What do you think I've been doing?" Jonathan chuckled lightly as Pete darted his eyebrows up in surprise, never thinking that the man in front of him would be thinking those kind of things. The truth was, he always thought Jonathan was the kind of man that avoided those kind of thoughts. His answer amazed him, but it didn't keep him from groaning and putting his head in his head resignedly.
"God, I just wish I never had that stupid fight with him. Maybe I wouldn't be feeling as crappy as I am now." He mumbled as he slapped his forehead in anger to himself while he looked over at the father again and threw his hands up in the air.
"How the hell did you make up with him Mr. Kent? I can't even get the guts to talk to him." Pete admitted, remembering that the last time he did talk to his friend, which was when he first woke up, he felt guilty enough for the things he had said, and as he asked that question, Jonathan sat still in wonder of how to answer it. He stuttered at first, rubbing his face with his fingers as he tried to find the right thing to say to the boy who was obviously at a crossroads with his feelings, and he looked over at him with a sigh when a few seconds had passed.
"You have to realize what you did…and take reasonability for it. I learned the true meaning of that the hard way…don't follow in my foot steps Pete. Talk to him." Jonathan told him, bowing his head to the ground and turning back over to the front of the bathroom where he put his elbows on his knees and his chin his hands. Pete saw that he was more miserable then he was when he did this too, and he sat up completely in the tub and moved closer to the father when he got on his knees so he could be right behind him, and he tilted his head to the side while leaning it forward.
"Clark's going to be okay, right Mr. Kent?" Pete queried, biting on his lip as the man turned around and smiled gently while he nodded his head. "Clark's going to be okay." Jonathan assured him, watching Pete grin broadly and swing one leg over the edge of the tub, and then the other so he could walk out of the bathroom, and as he did, the father couldn't help but think about how hollow and empty the words he just said were. Hollow and empty.
Just like he felt.
To be Continued…