A vacant stillness was the only thing heard in the living room of the Kent house as Jonathan sat rocking himself back and forth quietly in the chair he sat in, his hands in his lap and his eyes locked on the sleeping boy that was slumbering on the sofa in front of him. While he did, the room he was in simply echoed in silence. It was the only thing that his ears heard, and he didn't even bother to wonder if that was because he wanted to make that happen or if that was because it was the only sound the area had going on. He just sat there immobile like he had been doing for the past hour.

The father couldn't help but sigh as he bowed his head to the floor some and leaned back into the seat he sat in, licking his cracked and dry lips while he blinked impassively and sniffed expressionlessly. "Hang in there Clark…hang in there son." He whispered those words almost uncontrollably, doing it so many times in the past twenty-eight hours that they felt so empty now he needed to find another way to reassure his son, other wise, he wasn't going to live. He needed reassuring. He needed his family to be there for him. He needed so much that the man couldn't give, and it left him sitting there, rocking himself back and forth vacantly with an unfocused mind to the world around him.

So much was going on lately that he was too busy thinking about what he was going to do, if his son was going to stay alive, if the next hour was going to mean a death in his family that Jonathan couldn't concentrate on what was in front of him, no mater what it was. He merely swayed himself in the rocking chair and allowed the tranquility that roamed around to throb in his ears. He was too taken in his thoughts that he honestly didn't see the fact that the room wasn't full of quietness, and that the boy on the couch wasn't slumbering peacefully though too…

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There was silence. Pure silence. Panicked, fearfully, silence. It made him want to break down and cry--run away from the place he was in now. The room he was in now. The familiar scene that he didn't want to be in now.

"Dad! Come back, please!" Clark watched his father walk away from him like he didn't hear a word he said as he snapped his head over to the right of him but stood still like a force was keeping him immobile and glued the ground. Jonathan continued to walk out of the barn however, ignoring his plea.

"Dad, please, you have to save me! Dad, come back!" Shouting this at the top of his lungs, Clark cried heavily and balled his hands into tight fists that were down by his sides while he closed his eyes firmly in terror.

"Dad, I'm sorry, just come back, please! You have to save me!" Biting on his lower lip tightly and giving up when he saw his father simply continue to walk away, he took a deep breath and then let out one more sob to be prepared for what was going to happen. He knew what was going to happen, and with a shaky inhale, he braced himself for it, for it all.

It never came though. Minutes went by he stood there with his eyes closed tightly, and this made him wonder if things were going to be different this time. Feeling a small smile fall onto his lips, he peeked his eyes open only to jump back in surprise to see non other then a white haired man wearing thin clear glasses and a vice grin standing face-to-face in front of him.

"Where's my blood?" Morgan asked as a loud gun shot ricocheted the loft, and with a gasp, Clark looked down shakily to see a silver gun pressed hard to his stomach. As he stumbled back and then fell on his back to the floor, Edge laughed and tossed the pistol to the side while he walked up to the fallen boy and grabbed him by the neck with a malevolent chuckle.

"There's my blood." He sung as he threw him aside before bending down to the ground and grabbing his gun once again to aim it at the teen, who went wide-eyed and tried his best to get away while he did this, nonetheless his attempts were useless as the man fired off four shots straight at him.

The impact slamming him fully into the ground, Clark could feel himself diminishing into the darkness that his mind desired to sink into while he could hear quietude plummet back into his hearing. It caused him to feebly roll his head over to the right of him and gulp back the blood that was raising in his throat as he watched his father resume walking away from him. "Dad…help me." With that said, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to go limp, falling into the world of the deceased.

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"Kal-El…it is time." Clark woke up suddenly lying down in a black room, everything around him being so dark he couldn't see a thing as he squinted his eyes to get use to the obscurity around him. Slowly he stood up from laying down on his side, having to balance himself with his hand at first to steady himself on the ground and keep himself from falling back down as he listened to the echoes of a voice fill his ears.

"Kal-El…it is time." He knew who the person speaking was, but his mind was so foggy and unclear, he couldn't think, he couldn't call out to who it was. All he could do was stand there; taking deep breathes listening to their deep voice echo the span around him.

"My son…it is time." It hit him like a ton of bricks then what was going on, and with a gulp and a shake of his head, he looked up at the nothingness above him with anger.

"Leave me alone Jor-El!" Clark shouted, spinning around and making an effort to run away but stumbling when he did and falling face first to the ground below him with a thud, and pain shot through his whole body as he hit the floor.

"My son…death awaits you." Turning over to his back when he heard this,, Clark's eyes went wide and he shook his head even more as he backed away like the man was actually in front of him while in fear, he yelled back.

"No…no, I'm not going to die. I'm not dying; I don't care what you say!" Getting up on his knees and then on his feet, he ignored the fact that he was about to collapse back to the ground and ran as fast as he could into the darkness that was around him until he looked behind him and ended up tripping over something that landed him back face first on the ground.

As this time a pain that his body couldn't accept went surging through every inch of him, he groaned in sobs while he listened to the echo of Jor-El's words fill his ears. "Death awaits you my son. Death awaits you." He said this over and over again, and each time he did, he moaned even louder until his grunts got to the point where they became screams.

"Stop it! Stop it!""

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"Stop it! Stop it, stop it!" Clark shot up from the couch with sweat pouring down from his face as he threw his neck forward and the blankets on his body onto the floor all while screaming these words that got Jonathan to jump off the rocking chair in alarm.

"Stop it! I'm not dying! I'm not going to die! Stop it!" Clark continued to roar at the top of his lungs as his father quickly snapped awake and grabbed his shoulders to shake them back and forth with strength when his son just got louder.

"Clark-Clark, calm down! It was a dream Clark-son, wake up Clark! Wake up damn it!" Jonathan saw what was going on, and while through the corner of his eye saw Martha come rushing into the living room in panic of what was going on, he let go of the boy's shoulders and then took a hold of his cheeks tightly.

"I'm not dying! I'm not dying, stop it!" Clark sobbed heavily whilst he yelled this, and with a swift exchange to his wife, Jonathan gulped loudly and cursed under his breathe as he tried to figure out a way to awaken the teen.

"Wake up son!" Jonathan yelled once again while he held onto Clark's face firmly as behind him, he could hear the sound of someone come running down the stairs, and he could see soon enough Pete jumping over the banister and looking at the two adults in the room in worry of what was happening.

"What's going on!?" He asked over the loud screams Clark was giving out, and he looked over at Martha when the father wouldn't give him an answer to see her gesture for him to come over to her with her hand. While he did, Jonathan got onto the couch by sitting on the edge of it on his knees and looked his son straight in the face that he held tightly.

"Calm down son, wake up! Wake up already!" After yelling this louder then the boy was screaming his words, Jonathan watched Clark snap his eyes open and stare straight into his, and the room went utterly silent for at least five seconds before the boy broke down completely in his father's chest with loud cries.

Wrapping his arms around his back immediately, Jonathan simply allowed him to do so, and while he stared over at the two people in the far corner of the living room, he bowed his head to the sofa and sighed heavily with sorrow. "Oh Clark…oh boy." He nearly mumbled those words while running his fingers through Clark's hair as he cried heavily, and that's how the scene stayed as he kept his head lowered down to the ground.

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For once something other than silence filled the yellow farm house as early morning time arouse for the four people in the residence, and as two teenagers sat in the living room, one on the couch with his back bending over and his head nearly in his lap, two adults were in the kitchen fighting with each other.

"No Jonathan, you're pressuring him! You're telling him if he doesn't get better soon your going down to see Jor-El, that's what you're doing, and that's what caused what just happened!" Martha yelled, pointing her finger at him as she stood walking away from her husband in anger while he sat in a kitchen chair at the wooden table with his head in his hands guiltily.

"You don't know that Martha." Jonathan told her as she shook her head back at him and threw her finger over to the living room.

"Then why was he screaming the things he was Jonathan? You cannot say that he wasn't having a nightmare about Jor-El from those screams!" The mother couldn't have been more angrier then she was at that moment as she bellowed at her husband, and as she did, he pushed back the chair he sat in to stand up and tilt his head to the side and speak up in fury himself.

"Clark has every right to know what we're going to do Martha, no matter what the plan is! I don't care if it's dumping him in a river; he has a right to know!" Jonathan's voice was less loud as hers as he yelled while she once again shook her head in disagreement.

"But you shouldn't have told him in the condition he's in!" Martha augured, which got at her husband's nerves when he rubbed his tired face and walked up to her in exasperation and he threw his hands up in the air while darting his eyebrows up in question.

"What was I suppose to do then, lie right to his face as he dies?" Jonathan this time yelled back however, didn't matter since his voice was interrupted the second it finished.

"Well which would you rather have, lying to him and have him calm and composed or in that living room right now having a break down!?" Martha shouted with a hoarse throat as she flung her arm over to the right of her into the living room once more to show where their son was as Jonathan growled to himself and walked back over to the kitchen chair was where he sat back down in it to rub his tired face.

"I'm not going to lie to my son as he's on his death bed Martha." He said while Martha wrangled back, and as they bickered, in the living room and trying to block out the noise was the two teenagers, one as said sitting on the couch and the other on the rocking chair.

With a blue bucket in his lap, Clark bent all the way over in his lap with his head in the pail as he vomited heavily, and as he did, Pete rubbed his back gently while he kept his eyes locked behind him at the kitchen and the fighting parents. He tried to focus on his friend to comfort him as he retched, but the moment the couple started talking about things that got him worried like the boy's condition, he just couldn't go back to not listening.

And as he did this, the sick teen heaved roughly with a couch one last time before he fell back into the couch and gasped for breathes like he hadn't inhaled in days while he rolled his sweating head over to his right side and squinted his eyes bewilderedly.

"What…are they…yelling…about?" Clark breathed, gulping what saliva he had down his throat as Pete snapped his head over to his friend and shook it wretchedly at his query.

"Nothing man, don't worry about it." He told him while patting him on the shoulder and then grabbing the bucket from him so he could swing it over on the end table that was next to him and turn back over to his comrade with a forced smile to see him sink down into the sofa with a groan.

As Clark did, he clutched onto the blankets that were somewhat wrapped around him, his shaking body longing for warmth as he leaned his head into the soft pillows behind his head and let out one more painful moan. Doing this got Pete worried, and he moved forward to brush away some of the brown strands of hair on his friend's brow to feel his forehead with the back of his hand and then his cheeks in concern until a weak and frail chuckle was heard.

"What?" Pete asked a little too defensively, leaning back into the chair as Clark kept his eyes closed but slipped a smile on his face.

"You're acting like my mom." Hearing these words, Pete stood still for a few moments before shooting up from the rocking chair and rolling his eyes at his friend's sarcasm, walking away and about to go upstairs if it wasn't for the fact that he stopped half way there and turned around with his lips sucked in fearfully.

"You have a fever." He informed him as Clark opened his tired eyes and looked at him wearily with another delusional sarcastic remark.

"Yeah, I think…that's why I've been…throwing up Pete." Ignoring it and turning his head over to the kitchen entrance; the darker colored teenager bit his lower lip in panic and felt himself balling his hands into tight fist as he called out to the two parents in the house.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent." Pete waited for them to come, but when he heard them simply continue to fight, he rolled his eyes in pure frustration and stormed into the room they were in mumbling 'oh come on' with aggravation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, getting both Martha and Jonathan to snap their heads over to him as Jonathan looked at him in worry as however, Martha in a little bit of annoyance.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked in concern as Pete pointed out into the living room with a gulp.

"I think he has a fever." Getting them both to swap worried glances before jogging out, Pete walked back into the room where he watched the father and mother run over to their son that was now half conscious and fall to their knees in apprehension. As the mother pressed the back of her had to the boy's forehead, she looked behind her at her husband and the teen.

"Pete's right. Jonathan, can you go into the bathroom and get the thermometer?" Martha turned over to her husband to see him nod his head.

"Yeah." Jonathan simply replied while he jogged out of the living room and away from the three, leaving the red-haired woman to go back to comforting her son who now had his eyes shut tightly in pain. Grabbing his hand gently and stroking it tenderly, she tilted her head to the side while moving closer to the sofa and sniffing some at the sight in front of her.

"How do you feel sweetie?" Martha inquired as Clark's face crumbled up in agony and he pushed his hand against the couch to sit up all the way once more in sickness.

"I think I'm going to throw up again." He choked out, which got Pete to rapidly grab the bucket that was on the end table and hand it back over to Clark, who took it and strangled out raucous and painful coughs. Trying to hold back her tears while he did this, Martha rubbed his back softly before Jonathan came walking back into the room, and he sighed sadly as he saw this sight while giving the thermometer to his wife and then turning over to his son's friend.

"Pete, you know where the cups are in the kitchen, right?" The father asked as Pete nodded his head while stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

"Um, okay, go ahead and fill a small one up with cold water for me and bring it back in here." Jonathan told him as he obeyed him and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen.

When he did, the older farmer in the room turned back over to the sofa and gently took the thermometer from his wife to place it in his son's mouth. After that, he then took away the bucket that was in his lap to put it back on the end table next to him when he saw that his son was done heaving. As Clark started to groan in pain less then two seconds the stick was put in his mouth however, it left the father no choice but to lightly grasp his shoulders and allow him to lie down in the couch with leisure as he bent down to his knees like the mother next to him was doing herself.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay Clark. It's going to be okay." Jonathan whispered as he brushed away a few strands of hair from his face in console. Silence echoed through the living room after that, the only sound heard was the teen's teeth hitting against the cold metal in his mouth as soon enough the other young adult came walking back in with a clear glass in his hands, and he handed it over to the father who spun around when he came back into the area.

"Here you go Mr. Kent." Pete handed it out to him as he took it gratefully and smiled wearily while he placed it down on the end table that also had the blue bucket sitting down on the wood.

"Thanks." Jonathan almost whispered as suddenly, a faint beeping sound as heard, and he snapped his head over to the couch where he took the thermometer out of his son's mouth and placed it to his eyes to only feel them go wide with utter shock. The two other people in the room waited to know why this happened too, however, all he did was simply lean his elbow on the armrest of the sofa next to him and groan heavily as he rubbed his face tiredly and despondently, and it was at least two minutes before he spoke up.

"Well, we know what's keeping him sick." Jonathan mumbled while handing it over to his wife, who at first was confused but then covered her mouth with her hand and gasped.

"Oh my god." Martha couldn't help but choke up at the thought of how much pain her son had to be going through with just how high his fever was, and shakily, she got up off her knees and pointed over to the kitchen with melancholy.

"I-I'll go get a warm washcloth to try and bring it down some." She implied, getting him to nod his head and look behind him at her while she did.

"Good idea honey." Jonathan told her as he sighed heavily and felt himself dropping his head to the floor in despair after she left the room though. He couldn't help but ask himself how anyone was suppose to try to get better with how much worse they were getting by the moment. There was no way his son was going to heal, not on his own anyway. There just wasn't.

Suddenly hearing the sound of someone speak up, he brought his head up to look at teen that was standing up by the couch to see him with his head tilted to the side looking at his friend on the sofa. "Hey Mr. Kent?" Wincing some, Pete looked over at the father as he pointed down to the unconscious farm boy that had his hand resting on his stomach and his other hanging over the end of the divan.

"I don't think he's with us anymore." Saying this got Jonathan to close his eyes for a few seconds with a deep exhale before moving closer to the couch and sucking in his lips to hold back his tears as he stroked Clark's warm cheek with gloom.

"Oh son." He whispered as the second he did, Martha came back into the room, and she saw this scene so just like her husband slowed her down but she eventually made her way back over to the sofa where she bent down and placed the tepid cloth on the boy's forehead and then backed away with a gulp. The older man in the room licked his lips and cleared his throat as his wife did as he ran his fingers through his hair and put his arms to his chest too.

"Um, n-next time he wakes up, i-if any of you two are around him, try to get him to drink some water. H-he's got to be dehydrated." Jonathan stumbled some as he then ran his hands down his tired and exhausted face while behind him, Martha also put her arms to her chest but for her with ire, and she shook her head in anger and annoyance to him.

"You're not seeing Jor-El." These sudden words got Jonathan to immediately shoot up from sitting down on his knees, and in frustration, he spun around to snap back at her.

"Martha!" Knowing that fighting in front of both of the teenagers in the room, even if one of them wasn't conscious, wasn't going to make things better, the father tried to stop the dispute before it got to far, but however his wife had different plans as she shook her head and took a step forward.

"No, Jonathan, I don't care what else you do but you are not seeing that man again!" Martha yelled, which caused Jonathan to let out a long sigh through his clutched teeth while he looked up at the ceiling, and in his head, counted to ten before replying.

"Are son is dying right now Martha. That man is our only choice." He informed her, his words coming out slowly since it was obvious he didn't want to admit that fact himself. Martha felt tears well up in her eyes as she continued to shake her head though.

"No he isn't, we have many choices to keep Clark alive Jonathan, we just have to think!" Shouting this with a voice that stumbled in tears, Martha moved forward and grabbed her husbands hand when he didn't retort back, and she cupped it with hers to hold it to her face as she stood chest to chest with him and gulped back the lump in her throat sadly.

"Please Jonathan…don't see him. You don't know what he's going to do to you, or to Clark. He's the one that drove him away to Metropolis in the first place." Reminding him of that, the mother could feel a strand of water drop down from her eyes while she spoke those words all while her husband pulled away from her grip and balled his hands into tight fist in frustration.

"Martha, that's the point! He has some kind of plan for Clark-he's not going to let him die like this." Jonathan tried to tell her but she moved forward once again and put her hands on his chest in wretchedness.

"Don't see him. Please." Martha listened to silence echo the living room after she said those words, both her and Pete, who was sitting on the armrest of the couch, staring at him waiting for him to reply and Jonathan simply stared into her begging eyes that were glistening with water before uncontrollably caving.

"Fine." Shrugging with a sigh, he fell down in the rocking chair as he put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands while he closed his eyes miserably. "I won't see Jor-El." Jonathan told them as Martha let out an exhale of relief and walked over to him to wrap her arms around his shoulders and whisper two words in his ears that honestly he ignored with no difficulty.

"Thank you." While Martha said this, Jonathan sat back in the chair and shook his head somewhat in resentment, as he knew that he was going to regret making that promise. He knew that he was right, Jor-El was the only man that could save their son, and yet he had just told his wife he wouldn't see him no matter what. On the other hand though, he still had a good feeling that he was the one doing this to his son in the first place. But that was the point. That was the plan.

That was his plan anyway.

To be Continued…