Official Sunday morning emerged the skies of Smallville whilst outside the weather still looked overcastted and dismal, the time now made it so most of the small town was awake and ready to get started on a new day. Down at the Kent farm, Martha and Jonathan had been on a new day for the past thirty hours as they walked around their house keeping themselves busy though as the domicile echoed in silence.

That quietness that had been going on for a while was interrupted when a teenage boy came walking down the staircase of the home, and forcing a weary smile on her face, the mother tilted her head to the side as she saw him.

"Morning." Martha greeted, trying her best to hold back her sigh as Pete squinted her eyes to wake himself up from the doze he had just taken and brought his wrist to his face to roll his eyes with a dart of his eyebrows.

"It's been morning for the past nine hours." He informed her while finishing walking down the stairs, and as he did, he could see the man also in the room walk over by the window behind the couch and pull the curtains open to show a little sunshine that gave the area light other then the lamps that were lit on the end tables.

"Hey, the sun's come out some." Pete pointed out, and the father simply walked past him with a shake of a head when he said these words in despair.

"Hardly." Jonathan walked into the kitchen and left Pete to turn his head behind him to watch him do so before glancing over at the couch and then see his slumbering friend on it, which caused him to point at him and then turn over to the mother in question.

"Has Clark gotten any better?" Pete asked in the little hope that while he was asleep something good would've happened, but when he saw the sad expression the woman gave him, he knew that he didn't even need the reply that she gave him to know things hadn't differed a bit.

"No, he's just been resting ever since that nightmare." Martha told him, and nodding his head disappointedly, Pete sighed heavily and walked over to the comfortable rocking chair that was next to the sofa to take a seat in it and put his chin in his hands and gaze at the sleeping farm boy in front of him. It was almost sickening how white his face was, and it made him glum at the thought of how much he merely wanted to see him grin his Kent Charm smile again.

His thoughts were cut off though when a hand was placed on his shoulder, and he looked behind him to see Martha looking at him sympathetically. "How are you doing sweetie?" She inquired, rubbing his shoulder while feeling him shrug and turn back over to the couch.

"Worried." Pete answered her question with that one word, and he could see through the corner of his eyes Martha nod her head while she continued to rub his back gently. In time, he slipped a small smirk on his face when he spoke up again though.

"And hungry." Hearing this got the red-haired woman to shake her head and while she took her hand off her shoulder, she pointed over to the kitchen to the left of them in stubbornness as even as she did, the boy kept a weary, guilty grin on his lips.

"That's it, I'm fixing you something." Martha insisted, knowing that the past day she had offered to feed the boy in front of her however, every time she tried to get him to eat a meal or even a tiny snack he declined it. At first she thought it was because he was still trying to get over what he had recently saw happen to his best friend, now she knew he was just being stubborn and didn't want her going through the trouble.

Making it so she went into the kitchen before he could even say a word, Martha could see through the corner of her eye Pete sigh and stand up from the rocking chair as he followed her into the room himself.

"Mrs. Kent, it's all right, really." Pete jogged into the cooking area and chuckled as he saw the mother digging through the cupboards, and turning around, she gave him and angry glare, which immediately shot his spine up and made him put his hands up in the air in defense.

"I'll just grab a bowl of cereal, okay Mrs. Kent? You're way too tired to cook anyway." He reminded her, and giving in with a loud exhale, she nodded her head wearily and grabbed a bowl on the drain board that was next to the sink and handed it over to him all while she leaned against the cabinet next to him. He was right too; she was way too tired to cook- to do anything at the moment. She hadn't slept in the past thirty hours.

Licking her dry lips and nearly slumping down the wood behind her, she closed her eyes and let her shoulders drop when suddenly; the sound of someone else walking into the room entered her ears and caused her to look over at the entrance to the area to see her husband swinging on his brown coat tiredly.

"Where are you going?" Martha asked this almost a little too demandingly, but after what happened the last time her husband had left the house without telling them, she was not taking any chances with him leaving again. Looking over at her, Jonathan sighed.

"The cows need a quick feeding; the rain probably washed out what….Clark gave them Friday." Choking out his son's name in that kind of sentence, Jonathan buttoned up his coat as Martha nodded her head after swallowing saliva down her dry throat while watching the man walk away from them. As he opened the door leading outside and left the house, she put her arms to her chest and turned over to the dark colored teen in the room, who was over pouring himself a bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink and tilted her head to the side with a weary smile when she saw his miserable expression.

"Are you sure you're okay sweetie?" Martha knew she was bugging him beyond annoyance when she questioned him for a second time in the past five minutes, but she knew something was bothering him-literally, and the fact that he wouldn't talk about it made her worry about him. Finishing pouring the food out of the carton box, he turned around over to her and walked over to the fridge with a deep exhale and a tired smile on his face.

"You'd make a great psychiatrist Mrs. Kent." Pete sarcastically said with a tiny chuckle falling out of his lips, and while he swung the door to the fridge open and grabbed the jug of milk that was on a shelf, he could hear footsteps come closer to him while he kept his locked on the things in front of him. Soon however the woman in the room rubbed his back reassuringly even as he poured the milk in the bowl that had cereal in it with a drop of his shoulders.

"If you haven't noticed, what's going on right now really isn't something someone as young as you can handle Pete. I'm just worried about you, so is Jonathan." Martha informed him, and stopping when he heard this, the teen pushed the milk bottle aside with a loud sigh and lowered his head to the ground. She was right, he shouldn't even be helping the two adults at the moment, he should be at home pretending everything was okay and nothing had happened, like his friend wasn't hurt and he wasn't on his deathbed that very moment. He knew he was taking her words the wrong way too, but he couldn't help it, he knew she was right.

"Yeah…half of this isn't the whole gruesomeness though." When Pete told the mother this, he only saw sadness in her eyes, which immediately got him to pick up the bowl and grab a spoon that was nearby to walk over to the kitchen table across from them both. He wasn't going to stand around to see the sorrow and anguish he could simply see by talking to his friend, and the moment he thought this, he nearly laughed aloud when that very subject was brought up by Martha walking over to him sadly.

"Honey, you and Clark will work things out eventually." She tried to tell him this, but he rolled his eyes and stuck the sliver spoon in his mouth to then nod his head and look over at her once again being sarcastic with anger in his voice.

"Yeah, once he's dead. What are we going to do Mrs. Kent? It's going to be twelve in four hours; it's obvious that he's not going to heal." Pete was able to gulp back the lump in his throat when he swallowed the Coca-Coca puffs that he had stuck in his mouth, and while he did, Martha nodded her head with a sigh at these words, knowing they were all too true while she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down next to the boy.

"I know Pete…I know. Right now all we can do is…wait though." Martha wretchedly enlightened Pete as when she saw the look on his face she felt like a thousand bricks had just fallen on her. She truly hated telling the teen bad news, especially when it was about his best friend's life being at stake. It was so heartrending she had to look down at the table for a second and take control of her tears while as she did that, he rolled his eyes and took another bite of the cereal.

"Joy, more waiting. You know-" Suddenly being interrupted by the sound of a door being thrown open, both Pete and Martha snapped their heads over to the living room where they saw Jonathan come jogging back in. Darting her eyebrows down confused after looking over at the clock on the wall, which told her only four minutes had passed since the man left the house when he did too, the mother looked at her husband bewilderedly.

"That was quick." Martha's words got a derisive smirk out of Pete, who shoved a few more mouthfuls of food in his mouth, obviously hungrier then he thought he was while the dirty-blonde haired farmer nodded his head almost indistinctively as he entered the room. He leaned against the wooden post to the kitchen entrance next to him when his wife said that as he closed his eyes and tiredly put two fingers to his forehead in distress

"I just remembered something." He spoke this with a heavy sigh, and licking his lips, Jonathan walked over to the table where he opened his sight to see Pete eating breakfast cereal, and ignoring that, he stared directly at the mother with graveness while he put his hands down on the table.

"Martha, we have a dead body in our barn." Jonathan whispered as he could feel himself getting nauseas just saying those words. They had a dead body in their barn, at their house, by their residence. It was almost inhuman to say something like that, and covering her mouth with both of her hands and then running them up her face, Martha groaned loudly and put her elbows on the table while Pete on the other hand felt his eyes go wide and he immediately pushed back the bowl in front of him.

"And to think I was actually going to finish that." The teenager said sarcastically, but his remark was unheard when the woman sitting next to him spoke up after bringing her head up and looking at her husband with an exhale herself.

"What are we going to do Jonathan?" Martha asked with a crackling voice of this time not tears, but fear. And she could not help but glance over at Pete when she inquired this to her husband when she realized that this was something else that was going to be dumped on top of them, and him. She couldn't take in the time to think about the depressed teen for long however when a voice was heard and caused her to turn her head back over in front of her.

"I don't know…-but we can't just leave it there. Who knows who's going to come by and see it." Jonathan told her while the sound of a chair squealing across the wooden floor was heard, and standing up from his seat, Pete walked over to the sink behind him with the bowl of cereal he was eating before in his hands and the second he was there, dumped it down the basin with a sad sigh.

"Good bye breakfast, I knew you well." Letting the dish fall in the sink, he turned around to lean against the cabinets, place his arms to his chest, and watch Martha stand up from her chair herself so now, no one in the room was sitting, and everyone was full of worry and fear.

"Jonathan, don't worry, you can't automatically be accused for murder." Martha felt like she was reassuring herself this when she informed him that, but shaking his head, the man threw his hands up in the air at her words.

"Do you not remember the last time I was Martha?" Jonathan reminded her, honestly not wanting to have to say that since his trailed his mind into many memories that lead him into a desolation of sadness, and luckily, the darker colored boy over by the sink spoke up before he could this time, which made him happier then ever.

"Yeah, Mrs. Kent, there's many ways he can be accused for killing this guy. I mean, for one, his finger prints are all over Edge's body from the fight." Pete indicated as he sucked in his lips. When he did, both parents snapped their heads over to him and darted their eyebrows down in confusion to how he even knew this information, and when they did, he shifted uncomfortably and shrugged before walking over to the table again.

"What? I watch CSI." In the past two days, Pete couldn't help but feel like his mother was right-he did watch too much TV. Sitting down in the chair he was in before, he leaned back in it and listened to Martha sigh however, ignoring his thoughts with what was going on and paying attention to what she had to say next, which happened after she tugged somewhat at her hair in stress.

"We can't worry about this right now Jonathan. We need to concentrate on getting Clark better." She told him, which he nodded his head to right away as he stuffed his hands in his blue jean pockets and heaved his shoulders up and down while listening to his wife speak not a few seconds after she said that.

"Just…cover the body up for now or something." Martha kept it at that, knowing that if she said anything else she'd feel like she was about to throw up at the thought of having a dead man in their own barn. Looking up at her, he froze for a second until nodding his head once again, knowing he could force himself to do that if he tried.

"Okay…okay, I'll go do that." Jonathan turned around and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the house again and walking out into the murky and rainy exterior while Martha stood motionless and she bowed her head to the ground for a second before she heard someone walking up to her, and she looked up to see Pete half smiling.

"Thanks for the breakfast." Passing her by after thanking her for her good attempts to try to feed him, he also left the kitchen, and when he did, Martha was able to pat him on the back gently before he left the room to walk into the living room and sit down in the rocking chair next to his slumbering friend. Martha stood still though, wondering, panicking, and worrying, all about so many things now she didn't even know what they all were.

-

The sun made it's way through the murky and hazy clouds in the sky as outside of the yellow farm house and jogging down the field of his ranch was Jonathan, his feet splattering in the mud piles that were on the dirt ground while his mind was kept focused on one thing. Running in the barn and doing what he had to do. It was clear this was the last thing he wanted to carry out, and even if staying inside and watching his son die was pretty much the same case, he simply wanted to get the dead body of the man he had killed covered up and hidden. Because the father knew, being in that barn was going to be more difficult then ever. It was going to bring back so many recollections of what had happened that morning before, which without a doubt was not what he wanted.

As a loud sigh escaped his lips, Jonathan found himself soon face-to-face with the entrance of the one place he did not want to be, and coming to a stop from the quick jog, he panted somewhat out of breathe with a gulp of hesitation, however, knowing he needed, and wanted, to get this over with. Still, his legs didn't move. Jonathan stood motionless staring in front of him, listening to the sound of farm animals make loud noises and the light but always cold wind blow in his ears. He blinked, but didn't move. He breathed, but didn't move. He did everything but move until time passed, and he forced himself to sigh and bow his head to the ground.

Taking a few steps into the barn, he looked around sadly, having to close his eyes for a few seconds when, just like he thought would happen, memories of just two days ago came rushing into his head and caused him to be dismayed. When he took a loud inhale though, those thoughts left him, because he coughed brutally while bending over and nearly falling to his knees at the reek that he now realized was in the place.

"Oh my god." He choked out, slapping his hands over his mouth before bringing his head up and glancing around the area to see what the smell was. He soon knew without having to look that the stench was blood nevertheless-dried, rotten blood along with a decomposing body that he came to hide.

Pulling his shirt over up to his nose, Jonathan stood up straight and continued to cover his mouth when he let out another gag while his eyes started to water. He couldn't seem to concentrate on finding the corpse with the retching smell around him. He had to though, and he forced himself too as he licked his dry lips behind his shirt and walked more into the barn, taking glances to the left and to the right trying to remember where the carcass laid. It was when he suddenly tripped on something hard that rested on the ground that made him nearly fall to his face, curse aloud, and stop searching.

"Damn it!" Jonathan twisted around after he stumbled forwards to see what had made him slip, and his face softened up when he did see what it was. Lying down in a parched sea of crimson liquid was a pair of black pliers, opened up half of the way while the sliver top was now dark red.

He froze the moment he saw this, his limps feeling numb and like they were about to fall off as he remembered how much pain he afflicted on his son just with that utensil. He remembered grabbing it from the toolbox, and he remembered digging it in the boy's chest, shuddering as he felt it hit his very ribs. He remembered taking out the bullet that he was shot with, and sitting still staring at it in pure, utter shock. He remember too much, and this made him to gulp loudly and shake his head to turn away from the sight only to look ahead and see more of what he didn't want to see.

Ahead of him was half of the floor covered in dried blood, and lying in the middle of that were disgusting dishcloths that use to be clean white, but looking at them you wouldn't believe. And with that was a knife, a large, staining with blood, knife. A Tuscan knife passed down to Jonathan from his father, and in a sick twisted way, passed down to his own son.

Jonathan couldn't stand this anymore. In his own barn, he was being overwhelmed with reminiscences of a dawn that he would never forget and didn't want to think of. With a loud gulp, he closed his eyes and turned away from the appalling sight to walk frontward, not noticing he was stumbling until he this time almost tripped over his own feet, which caused him to grab the wooden post next to him and lean against it both tiredly and desolately. Trying to take control of his emotions, he took a few deep breathes and swallowed back the lump in his throat with some struggle as he slowly felt himself opening his eyes in knowing that too much time was going by he was doing nothing.

The moment he did open his eyes, his shoulders dropped and he looked up at the ceiling above him a little taken aback at the unexpected view he saw. He finally found the dead Morgan Edge, slumped against the wall with his hand to his heart and his eyes opened widely yet, he was unmistakably lifeless. A line of blood fell down from his chest, and with the mumble of just more grisliness to see, Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair and walked towards the body.

Looking around when he did, he spotted a large coverlet that they used for their truck during bad weather, and snatching it from its place, he wrinkled his nose up and looked away as he threw it onto the body. He didn't know if it was wrong he didn't feel guilty that the man was dead, but he did know he was angry at whom he had killed. More angry then he would ever be guilty. And making sure nothing was showing so the corpse was hidden, he immediately spun around and began to jog back out of the barn with relief he had gotten that over with.

His legs slowly stopped trotting though, and he came to a halt not even a few feet away from the body with a sudden rage of anger in his body. It caused him to turn around and once again gulp back the tears in his throat as gradually turned around and stared at the covered up carcass. He felt himself shake his head with fury as he did too.

"I hope you're rotting in hell for what you've done to my son." Jonathan furiously muttered to him, and with that said, he didn't waste another second in the place. He spun around and started to walk out, knowing that, that barn was going to be the one place in his whole home that he wasn't going to be able to go in again and not be faced with memories of what had happened to a single boy. What he had done to his son. What was causing the fight between him and fate that very moment. And Jonathan jogged out of the barn without another thought.

To be Continued…