Cold and wretched silence echoed through the kitchen of the Kent house as rain lightly tapped down on the rooftop. The morning weather was gloomy and gray, and not near as sunny and bright as it usually was at that time of the day. While not a thing had changed from an hour earlier in the farm house, Jonathan stood by the coffee machine pouring cups of coffee for himself and his wife who was sitting at the table with Pete. The teen had his head rested upon his crossed arms, and the mother simply sat there trying her best not to break down all while the room ricocheted in pure silence.
Ever since Clark's incident a while earlier that left them all panicked and in shock, no one could seem to get themselves to talk. It was too hard to say words while someone in that very house was dying, his life being taken away from them while they sat there in thought of what they could do. The event had obviously woken them up to the fact that the situation was getting incredibly serious.
With a sigh, Jonathan picked up the two black steaming cups of coffee and walked over to the table where he leaned over from behind his wife and gave one to her with a weak smile as she took it graciously. "Here you go honey." He said, standing up straight and then leaning against one of the cabinets with a mug in his hands so he could take a gulp of the one liquid that would keep him awake. As he did, Martha placed her cup down on the table and looked over at the boy next to her, and as she rubbed his arm kindly to get him to look up at her tiredly, she forced a grin on her mouth.
"Are you sure you don't want something to eat Pete?" Martha asked, knowing that he hadn't eaten in the time that he had came here, which was worrying her as he shook his head and yawned loudly before standing up and pushing back his chair to do so, the squeal on the wooden floor making chills run down his back.
"No thanks Mrs. Kent, I think I'm just going to head into the living room for a while." Seeing both her and Jonathan nod at his words, he stuffed his hands into his pockets while he left the kitchen and gulped loudly at the thought of how he had just turned down wonderful food that he had actually been craving for a while now. The thought left his mind as soon as he entered the living room though, and immediately, the first thing that came into his sight was the brown leather sofa that had his sleeping friend on it. It caused him to wince slightly and clutch his teeth together as he found himself moving his feet slower into the room the more his eyes stared at his slumbering body.
Even far away, you could see the boy's pale and sick face that was unconscious, and while he slept on his side, you could still see his chest hitching in pain every time he inhaled for breath. Anyone would feel indignant at the sight, so it wasn't any easier for Pete to get closer to the couch. He eventually made his way over there though, and he gulped loudly while taking a seat in the cushioned rocking chair with a pop of his lips. There he was, right in front of him and yet he seemed like he was a distant away.
Sighing miserably with this thought, Pete leaned back in the chair and put his arms to his chest as he listened to the quietness around him throb in his ears and make him lick his lips and soon enough clear his throat a little and shrug to himself. "Hey man. Um...long time no talk, huh?" Bowing his head to the ground and clapping his hands together nervously, Pete gulped tensely and felt himself taking deep breathes as he started to get angry at himself for not talking to his friend before, and now he was stuck doing it when he wasn't even awake. Shaking his head, he looked up at Clark and inhaled broadly while moving forward to the divan.
"Listen, um, y-you know I uh....I really never knew how to say what I always felt face-to-face with people, and, well, your pretty much face-to-face right now...but um, since your out of it, I'm going to take a chance and practice this whole, um, apologize thing while I can. Maybe when I finally do get the guts to say it to you it won't come out so crappy." Pete told him, pulling on his fingers evidently nervously while he gulped loudly and tapped his feet on the ground. Even in the woods, not going to be able to hear a thing, Pete felt like he had to get every word he was going to say to the teen right, and this caused him to sigh heavily and put his head in his hands and shake it back and forth
"Clark, god...I-I was a complete jerk Friday night. I don't have a clue what came over me. To be honest, I think I was on drugs or something, because those things I said to you...I didn't mean them man. None of it, your my best friend, you always have been. I wouldn't have spent all those times as together as kids if I didn't like you-that'd just be a waste of sandbox time." Compelling out a chuckle for no reason, he dropped his shoulders and looked up at Clark. At least when he was sleeping he was in less pain. At least when he was sleeping he didn't have to deal with the stuff that was going on in his life. Running his hands down his head, Pete blew air through his cheeks and closed his eyes gently, leaning back into the rocking chair and hearing it make a few squeaks while he groaned in regret to everything bad he had done to his sick friend in front of him.
"I'm really sorry. I mean it, I was a total jerk-in fact, just give me an award for the biggest jerk in the whole word!" He exclaimed a little too loud, frustrated with himself obviously as he balled his hands into tight fist and held them behind his neck so he could lower his head back to the floor and hold back the tears that were starting to form in his eyes. What made this whole thing silly was the fact that the boy wasn't even wake; hence everything he was going to say was just going to be pointless. Pete didn't care though. He went on with what he had to say. Maybe he'd feel a little better afterwards and a little less guilt then he was feeling now after he did.
"And you know, you and your dad getting in a bigger blow out the next day probably didn't make what I did any better. I would say if I could go back in time and stop myself from doing what I did I would have...but we all know if I could go back in time, I would have stopped you from getting hurt. Man, you must feel like hell right now. God...you almost died an hour ago. You almost left us for good again." Pete whispered those last words, biting his lip that started to shake as he took a deep breath to regain his composure, and he stood up straight with a shrug and a calm face to wrap up what he had to say, who was still fast asleep on the sofa with his hands clutching onto the blankets wrapped around him.
"I really am sorry Clark. I know I hurt you big time, and there's nothing I can do to take that away." Pete said, sitting motionless and simply staring at his friend when he finished before laughing aloud and shaking his head with a snort.
"Yeah, definitely needs more practice." He mumbled as he put his arms to his chest and rocked himself back and forth in the seat for fun when tedium started to overcome him. Just when it did, he could sense someone walking into the living room, and he turned his head around to see the dirty-blonde haired man come strolling over to him with a weary grin and stop when he saw that he was sitting by the boy on the couch in worry that something was going on.
"Is he awake?" Jonathan asked with a quiet voice, getting Pete to shake his head sadly which only made him smile some and jog over to him, grab the hard chair that was by the end table and take a seat down in it to lean his head forward at the teenager next to him.
"We figured out a plan." The father's words got Pete to jump up and look at him with a beam as he darted his eyebrows up and felt for once hope jumble in his body.
"What are we going to do?" He anxiously inquired, seeing however, the man put his hand up in the air showing that there was some kind of but in whatever he had in mind, and when he talked; he felt that hope he once had slowly fade away.
"It...might...be permanent though Pete. Martha...um, really doesn't agree with it." Jonathan gradually informed him, finding it not so easy to tell the boy this as he tilted his head to the side in query to what he had to say. And as he did that, he sunk down in the seat he was half standing in and sat back in it while listening to his mind telling himself that really nothing was going to change no matter what the farmer was going to say.
"What is it?" Pete questioned, locking his eyes on Jonathan who was looking at the ground when he took a deep inhale and then exhaled to speak.
"If he doesn't start to get a little better by the end of the day…" Gulping loudly, he closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling with a miserable pit in his stomach.
"I'm going down to see Jor-EL." Immediately looking over at Pete to see his reaction to what he said, he saw him standing still, almost in shock, and in his mind, he screamed loudly. It was all he could come up with though. That man was their only hope to saving their son, and yet everyone thought he wanted to go see him. He didn't, and he wasn't going to unless he had to, and that's what brought up what he had to say next.
"In the mean time we're going to do our best to get him recovered Pete. If he feels better maybe he'll start to heal." Jonathan suggested, snapping the boy out of his stunned world when he spoke this as he froze for a second and then nodded his head very slowly with thought.
"You know, that sounds just crazy enough to be right." Pete told him, suddenly once again feeling like someone had walked into the room, which made him turn his head over again and this time see a red haired woman come sauntering in with a black steaming mug in her hands as she took a seat down on the armrest that was next to the chair her husband sat in. While she smiled wearily at the two, the dark bags under her eyes could be shown, and she took a sip of the coffee in the cup in her palms with a chuckle.
"This is Clark we're talking about." Martha, clearly listened into their conversation, chortled when swiftly she snapped her head over to the sofa when she heard a weak voice enter the living room.
"I...heard that." Clark choked out, his voice hoarse while he forced on a enervated smile, and as he did, the mother looked over at Jonathan with her hand to her mouth and water forming in her eyes and Pete, with too much to think about, got up from the rocking chair and shook his head with a clear of his throat.
"I, uh...I think I'm uh...going upstairs or...somewhere...for…a while." He uttered out and spun around while jogging out of the living room as Martha jumped up from the couch armrest and watched him do so.
"Pete-" She tired to make him stay, but when Jonathan grabbed her arm gently and mouthed the words 'let him think' to her, she took a seat in the chair he was in before and turned her attention over to her now awake son who opened his eyes open to see them with a groan.
"Hey mom." Whimpering in agony as unnoticeably as he could, the farm boy smiled somnolently and gulped saliva down his desiccated throat, which felt like a thousand needles went piercing through his skin when he did, so as he closed his eyes tightly in pain, the mother rubbed his shoulder sympathetically.
"Hi sweetie. How are you feeling?" Martha asked, tilting her head to the side while she tried her best to force back the sobs she longed so badly to cry out. In front of her was the side of her son she thought she would never see in her whole life. He was helpless-vulnerable, for once, the boy she had always thought was going to be invincible forever was on the sofa that her eyes were locked on dying, and it was so hard not to cry. But she did her best not to, just for him, because she knew that he didn't need her to break down. So all she did was sit there rubbing his shoulder as he attempted to clear his gruff throat and open his eyes up again
"Can...I answer...that later?" With a rasping titter, he slowly allowed the grin he had on his lips to fade away, finding it less painful in a strange way not to shove a smirk on his face. As he finally cracked his eyelids open again to blurrily see his two parents standing in front of him, he tried to focus his eyesight while could feel his father grab his hand and stroke it gently when the red-haired woman sat back in the rocking chair.
"Hang in there for us Clark." Jonathan said as he sighed and leaned forward to suck in his lips while he cupped the boy's hands with his. With the somewhat of light from outside letting him be able to see what was going on in the living room, he was able to gape at the ailing Clark, who was staring right back at him with almost begging eyes for him to stop the suffering he was going through. And more then ever did Jonathan want to make what his son was being tormented with just disappear, but he knew that couldn't happen, so with another silent sigh, he watched the teen's expression suddenly change from distressed to crumbled up and in revolt.
"I feel like...I'm going to...throw...up." Clark mumbled, rolling over to his back with much difficulty while he feebly covered his mouth with his hand and propped his head up some on the support of the couch. As he did, Jonathan quickly turned over to Martha and pointed over to the kitchen, and with only a few words, it was understood what she needed to do.
"Martha, go…" Getting her to nod her head and jog out and into the kitchen, the man turned back over to the boy where he let out a deep exhale and moved the chair he was in closer to the sofa so he could start rubbing the back of his hand again as he tried to get his stomach under control. Lowering his head to the ground while the teen did, he dropped his shoulders and inside his mouth, bit his tongue until he thought it was going to crack and bleed just to keep himself from not shedding a tear, something his wife and him were trying to do so the boy didn't have to worry about them for once.
"Don't scare me like that again son." Jonathan attended to whisper those words, but instead, they came aloud and clear enough for Clark to turn his head back over to him and dart an eyebrow up with a gulp to hold back the bile in his throat, and as he did that, he took deep breaths for the nausea in his stomach.
"I'm not going...to puke...on the floor...dad, don't worry." Trying to get at least a small laugh out of his father, Clark smiled softly only to see the man bring his head up and look at him gravely, which caused him to turn serious as while and immediately drop the little humor that being delusion brought him and wonder inside his head what was going on.
"I'm taking about when you wouldn't wake up Clark...and then couldn't breathe. We really thought you were going to die there for a second." Jonathan honestly told him, water glistening in his eyes against his will when he said those words. Grunting some when trying to lift himself up, the teen shrugged somewhat and licked his dry lips when he heard his father's reply, not knowing that he felt that way about what happened less then an hour ago since to him, it wasn't that serious, just painful.
"I'm sorry. I 't...get myself...to get it all...up." Clark felt like an idiot saying that, however, knowing it was the only way to put it, he watched Jonathan nod his head and sniff loudly as he put both his and his own hand to his mouth with wretchedness.
"Just hang in there for me, okay? Promise me you'll do at least that." He solicited him, seeing a smile slip onto his lips while he nodded his head and squeezed back as tight as he could on the grip his father had on his hand.
"Promise." Clark spoke those words just in time, because a few seconds later, Martha came walking back into the room with a blue bucket in her hands, and she placed it down on the end table that was behind Clark's head and then took a seat down in the rocking chair once again. And this brought up a scratchy silence that soon enough made the sick farm boy speak up.
"So why...haven't I...healed yet?" Clark asked both of his parents, hoping to get a direct reply since they had twenty-eight hours to think of why he was still on the couch wounded, and yet they exchanged glances and stammered, which made him think things he never wanted to deliberate until his mother spoke up with a teary voice.
"This might not be something your body can heal instantly from sweetie. It...it might take some time for you to get better." Martha informed him, feeling guiltier then ever telling him this when he looked at her with the eyes of pure melancholy, and as he pulled away from his father's grasp to try to sit up some more on the couch, he looked at them both in question.
"Is...that the plan...then? To wait...for me to...get better?" Clark asked, not knowing if his tone came out in just speculate of that was the plan or if that was the plan and it was a stupid plan if it was. As the parents once again looked at each other, Jonathan sighed heavily and rubbed his face tiredly while he leaned back in the hard chair he sat in.
"Kind of." Looking over at his mother, Clark started to get a little worried when no one talked after that, and he chewed on his upper lip in fear of what was going to happen to him as he asked in a stumbling voice to his mother a question that made her look over at her husband with an angry expression.
"What...is it...then?" Seeing this look, Jonathan gulped loudly and ran his fingers through his hair while he looked up at the ceiling and told himself over and over again in his mind that this shouldn't be harder then telling his son's friend, and yet, it should be at the same time. It was his son who was dying, and he had every right to know what he had in mind of what they were going to do, so with one shoot, he took a deep breath and looked down at the boy with his hands balled up in tight fist.
"If you haven't gotten better by the end of the day...we've decided that I'm going down to see Jor-El, Clark." Jonathan told him, ignoring his wife's snort as she stood up from her chair and walked away from him and behind the sofa in anger.
"You've decided." Martha muttered, clearly not in the whole choice that he made as Jonathan gave her one glance before looking back at his son, who was in less shock then his friend, but still in confusion to his actions, and soon enough, someone in the room spoke up through the stillness that was heard. The only person that appreciated it was the person who spoke however.
"If you are...going to see him, then...I'm coming too." Immediately after hearing Clark's words Jonathan shot up from the chair and growled to himself, running his hands through his hair again only this time in anger as he shook his head at his son.
"Clark, no! I don't want you in this, okay?" Jonathan yelled, honestly wanting to kill himself after he did when he realized he hadn't handled something the way he should have and instead lost his temper again, and that was realizing it on his own, not by looking at the deadly glare his wife gave him. Clark simply laid there for a few seconds when hearing those words though, not because they were shouted in anger, but because of what they said, and he shook his head in disagreement to what he had to say.
"It's kind of...too late dad, look...where I am...now." Clark reminded him, sniffing and gulping loudly as Martha put her arms to her chest, tilted her head to the side, and somehow made her husband look at her livid face. Returning it with a guilty one, he sighed heavily and groaned while he fell down in the rocking chair and put his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth as a few minutes went by that only quietness was heard. And he didn't know how the two in the room handled it, but when it was over; he licked his lips and looked up at his son sadly.
"I only want to have to go down to see him if things get to the point where we can't handle this anymore Clark. And right now, we can. We have a plan, and we're going to work with it. So please...just...don't worry about all of this. All you have to do is try to get better son." Jonathan told him, moving in some and gently taking his son's hand once more, as he held it in both of his and leaned his head forward.
"Can you do that?" Watching Clark slowly nod his head, Jonathan wearily smiled while he closed his tired eyes and gradually nodded his own head, leaning back into the rocking chair as a good peace over washed the room. And the father would have fallen asleep too if it wasn't for the boy talking once again, his voice almost not even hearable with the fact that he was almost falling back into slumber also.
"Wasn't...Pete here...before?" Clark suddenly asked, his question causing Martha to scamper over back to where she was as she nodded her head and gestured her hand to Jonathan to try to get him to talk since she couldn't find the right thing to say. They both knew that Pete's story for being at the house was a lie, so as she quickly sat down in the hard chair her husband use to be in, the mother continued to nod her head.
"Um, he still is. He went upstairs for a while." Martha informed him, getting him to nod his head with an 'oh' as he let his eyes close once again, and in too much guilt, she sighed and looked over at Jonathan with a worried expression.
"Honey, you two really should-" As soon as she looked back over at her son however, she saw him fast asleep, and she almost rolled her eyes when she could tell what he was doing was a typical way to get out of talking about something he didn't want to talk about. But both she and Jonathan knew that they couldn't do anything about that, because doing something about that would be parental and right now being parental would be wrong. All they could do right now was sit around and be supportive and comforting for Clark. It was all they could do. And that's what made the situation so frustrating.
To be Continued…