Another roll of thunder entered Pete's ears down in the living room of the Kent house as he sat down in the cushioned rocking chair next to the brown leather couch in front of him, his arms to his chest and his feet on the leg stand to the seat while he rocked himself back and forth out of tedium. Quietness echoed the area while he did, which was half of the reason he was so bored. Bored and worried.
Still on the divan of course was a slumbering Clark, who had his hand resting on his stomach that was covered with a quilt, and his pale face shinning with a thin layer of sweat. And while Pete looked at this, he could not help but think about how sick his friend was, and how ailing he was, how he was dying as every moment went by. He sighed every time he thought that same deliberation too, because he knew that if the boy did die he would be feeling even more remorseful than he was now for the reason that he didn't do anything to help him stay alive. No one was doing anything to help him stay alive, or even get better. It was what made him angry with not only his friend's parents, but also himself.
Suddenly being snapped out of his thoughts when the entrance to the house slammed open, making a loud noise that caused him to throw his head over to where the door was, Pete could see Jonathan come running into the living room abruptly. With his hand covering his mouth and loud coughs escaping his chest, the man pulled his shirt that was covering his chin and nose back down to his neck and leaned against the wooden post closest to him. While he did, Pete simply turned back over to the sofa after a few seconds went by when he saw this, and once the gags died down, he spoke up desolately.
"Reeks, doesn't it?" He asked with a loud exhale. Looking over at him, Jonathan nodded his head while blinking back the tears that formed in his eyes from the near choking and gulped saliva down his throat as he walked over to where the dark skinned teen was.
"It's not the most pleasant smell in there." Jonathan didn't intend to mumble those words, however, they came out slurred together, and he could see by the way Pete looked he didn't understand what he said, more less listened to it, making it clear that he was sucked into his own world. It wasn't unusual or discourteous that he was though. Lately, even he had been spacing out, thinking about things he shouldn't be reflecting on and just wondering small thoughts that he should be putting aside for another time. It was uncontrollable with what was going on.
Licking his dry lips, Jonathan tilted his head to the side whilst he examined the boy sitting in the chair, trying to read his thoughts by gazing at his expression nevertheless having no luck. This caused him to walk more to the sofa, for once overlooking his sleeping son on it, and grabbed the hard wooden chair that was to the right of him and sit down in it after he moved it closer to the boy. All the same, no movement came out of him when he did, and putting his hand on his shoulder reassuringly didn't change that either.
"Pete?" Jonathan's voice got the teen to look over at him, and rubbing his shoulder, he leaned his head to the side once again. "Are you okay?" The father asked with concern, and looking straight into Pete's eyes as he did the same, he soon heard him sigh loudly while letting his arms drop from his chest and a shrug fall upon him.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Pete told him, and knowing he was not convincing at all when he said this, he rubbed his tired face as through the corner of his eye he saw the older Kent nod his head and lean back into the chair he sat in.
"Really? Because you look like...you did something you regret…and now you feel guilty for it." Putting on a sympathetic smile when Pete looked back over at him, Jonathan could see immediately a sarcastic grin fall on his lips himself as he moved his hand forward to him.
"Wow, you know, you have that same look." Pete cynically said as he sat back in the rocking chair ashamed instantly that he had replied that to the man. Not only was it disrespectful, but he should be at least a little glad that him and his best friend had made up, even if he was resentful that unlike the father, he was stalling on even speaking to his dying comrade. And knowing this, the farmer rubbed his shoulder some more.
"Pete, we're worried about you. Are you sure you're okay?" Jonathan inquired for a second time as he looked at the boy's face even if he didn't look back at him. He hesitated on answering that question, and the moment he did at least a minute had gone by.
"I sure am better then getting shot and having surgery done on me by my father." Once again being bitter with his words, Pete put his arms back to his chest, which caused Jonathan to drop his hand from his shoulder and sigh sadly at what he had just heard.
"What's happening to Clark is really tearing you apart, isn't it?" Knowing that in his mind he rhetorically asked that, Jonathan watched Pete snap his head over to him, and he could sense the anger in his body as he rejoined back furiously.
"Mr. Kent, why aren't we doing anything? He's dying and here we are not doing a single thing-he's going to die because we aren't taking action, and you know it." Pete gulped loudly when with those words said, silence echoed the room as he saw Jonathan stare absently and bend over so he could put his head in his hands and rub between his eyes stressfully. He knew the teen was right. He knew it all too well, and that was what caused him to reply with what he had been saying since the moment his son was shot and put him where he was now.
"Pete, we're doing the best we can, you just have to understand that." Jonathan tried to tell him this, but Pete snapped back again.
"Right, sitting around waiting for twelve o'clock to come is doing the best we can." Pete angrily murmured as he sat back in the rocking chair and shrugged almost carelessly.
"Mr. Kent, have you even looked at what time it is?" Pete asked him with a doubt that he had, and when he saw him look up at him and then over at the grandfather clock that was behind him and in the corner of the room, he rolled his eyes. The father however felt his shoulders drop and a pit of sadness fall in his stomach when he saw what the clock had to say.
"Oh boy." Jonathan mumbled as he looked away from the chronometer and closed his eyes miserably. The time was ten thirty in the morning, making it less then three hours until afternoon hit. The afternoon he and his wife promised that if Clark didn't get better, they would think of a new plan together, and gravely.
Unexpectedly hearing a new voice in the room enter his ears, he looked behind him and watched a red haired woman come walking in. "He's right Jonathan." Sauntering out of the kitchen, Martha ambled over to where the two boys were and stood right behind her husband as she put her own arms to her chest covered with a green sweater and sniffed back her tears.
"We need to do something." Her words got Jonathan to snap his head behind him and throw his hands up in the air wretchedly.
"I don't know what to do though Martha!" Jonathan exclaimed, as right away he knew his voice was way too loud, and this caused him to turn back over to the couch in worry that he had woken his son up. Luckily, only a few moans came out of Clark's mouth and he rolled his head over to the left side of the pillow behind his skull, showing that he was still deep in slumber. Sighing when he watched this, the father put his head in his hands again and shrugged forlornly.
"It's obvious he's not going to heal by himself, and waiting is just making things get worse. Martha, what else can we do besides that?" Jonathan asked with sadness. His wife not giving in like he was on the other hand, and she took a seat down on the armrest on the sofa by her sleeping son and put her hands on her thighs so she could lean forward to the farmer.
"Something-anything! My baby is dying Jonathan; we have to do some-" Cutting her off by once again turning his head over to her, Jonathan shook his head in disagreement to what she was saying.
"Martha, he was shot and…cut open, and he hasn't healed one bit. That's the only thing that can make him better right now, and it's clear he's not going to be able to do that with how sick he has gotten." Jonathan informed her, making sure his voice wasn't loud yet stern while he choked out most of those words with misery since it was almost peculiar saying them. His son was sick, even dying. He never thought in his whole life he would be saying those words, more less seeing them come true in real life.
Looking over at Jonathan, Pete suddenly spoke up with worry. "What if he does heal and he's still sick Mr. Kent? Like…what if he doesn't get better at all?" Biting on his lower lip and gulping loudly, Pete winced as he saw Jonathan freeze at what he had said before letting out an exhale of apprehension.
"I didn't think of that." Jonathan nearly whispered as he dropped his head to look at the ground and groan loudly. Through all the time he had to think about what was going on and what was going to happen, never had it came across the father's mind that once the boy healed, he could still be unwell. He was mostly worried about him not even healing, and before that, not waking up from unconsciousness. Now, there was panic that when his wounds did alleviate he was still going to be sick, because that made perfect sense, which meant it could happen very easily.
"This thing has become a pure hell." Pete mumbled to himself. And as he put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, a position that almost everyone was doing when they sat in the rocking chair, he could hear someone speak up through the stillness that had entered.
"Do you think Kryptonite is still in him Jonathan? Maybe….maybe that's why he's so sick." Martha took a long shot with that sentence as she thought about if there was still some of her son's deadly weakness in him, on the other hand, that thought being interrupted when Jonathan shook his head.
"No, the only Kryptonite that got in his body was from the bullet, and…that's in a lead box right now." Closing his eyes to hold back his tears, the man tried to keep himself composed by not thinking about the bullet he had to take out of Clark, and by that, he kept himself talking.
"The only thing I can think of is." Jonathan trailed off into silence instead of finishing what he had to say, which caused the red-haired woman on the sofa armrest to tilt her head to side in wonder to what he was thinking.
"What Jonathan?" Martha asked almost in anger since it was evident that he was keeping something from her, and seeing this, Pete looked over at the father but kept his jaw in his palms.
"What is it Mr. Kent?" He questioned himself. Jonathan kept himself quiet though, speculating on if he should tell the two what he was thinking or if he shouldn't. He knew that the name he was going to soon speak didn't bring anyone in high hopes, which was half of the reason he was doubting on telling them, however, did ultimately despite his mind telling him other wise.
"I think Jor-El is doing this to him." Jonathan looked up at his wife to see her expression completely confused, and she stumbled to find the right words when she tried to answer back to him.
"What? H-how Jonathan, why?" Martha wanted to say more than that, but that being the only thing she could find to say, she looked at him in total bewilderment. He was the one that wanted to see Jor-El; he thought he would help them, so why would he be doing this to their son in the first place?
Shaking his head, the man shrugged at her question. "I don't know. I just think that if he wanted him to come home from Metropolis so badly that he wouldn't be allowing things to get this bad-he would've healed Clark by now." Jonathan informed them, which didn't get to Martha at all yet Pete nodded his head in understanding. It was not to what he assumed when he spoke up though.
"That's why you want to go see him." The teen said, and sat back in the rocking chair after he did once he saw Martha stand up from the couch since it was clear there was going to be another conflict between them.
"You're not seeing him Jonathan." Martha harshly told him instead of yelling, not wanting to wake up the boy sleeping on the couch. That was ruined when Jonathan shoot up from his chair and yelled back nonetheless.
"He's our only hope Martha!" Jonathan shouted, overlooking that he didn't see if Clark had waken up as his wife shook her head and took a step forward to him.
"No, he is not, that man will only make things worse! You know what happened the last time you saw him Jonathan; I don't want my husband getting hurt. It's bad enough my son is." Martha felt water well up in her eyes and her arms started to shake in tears as she brought them up to her chest and watched Jonathan simply stare at her for a few minutes. During that time, pure quietness flew their ears.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jonathan finally spoke up. He didn't get a reply when he did too. He got more silence, and looking at Martha, he shook his head while sitting back down in the hard wooden chair next to the sofa.
"My point." Leaning back in the seat, he continued to shake his head in anger that the woman wouldn't let him do the only thing that he knew would save their son from death's wrench. He locked his eyes on the resting boy as he thought this, ignoring everyone around him just to calm himself down, and in time, the almost for once peaceful tranquility again left with a voice heard.
"What ever happened to helping Clark get better Mrs. and Mr. Kent? That plan could still work." Pete implied while exchanging glances to both parents, who one sat in thought and the other shook his head at what he had heard in hopelessness.
"I doubt it Pete." Jonathan muttered, which got Martha to tilt her head to the side for second time with infuriation to the man.
"Jonathan, do you have anything else in mind to save Clark? I think Pete's right, that could still work." She alleged with a tone in her voice that gave out insinuation to her husband, who ignored it and looked over at her crossly.
"Well, how long are we going to end up doing that until we figure out that he's not getting any better Martha?" Jonathan asked, inside his mouth chewing on her tongue as he regretted when all they did was sit around and wait for the boy to wake up now a day ago, when they could've done something. Because so, he knew that the plan she had just brought up was going to be the same way. They'd rather sit around and do nothing than that. The dark colored boy in the room thought otherwise though when he looked over at the mother and shrugged a little.
"How 'bout we set another time limit Mrs. Kent? So if he isn't a little better by that time we think of something else to do?" Pete brought to mind with an uplifting feeling that he had finally given an idea to help his sick friend, and even if they said no to it, he felt a little better that he had done something. Even if it was a small something, it was something, and Martha soon nodded her head to the idea.
"If he's not better by three o'clock, we'll start taking matters into our own hands." Saying this to Jonathan, looking at him as she did too, Martha waited for him to reply, and while she did, Pete answered with his thoughts.
"Sounds good to me." Pete also looked over at the father once he said that, and as they both waited for him to talk; Jonathan sat in thought. His conscious was screaming at him to hold on tight with his plan, and he knew that he should have said no, because when he ran his hands down his face and threw his hands up in the air, he regretted his cave.
"Fine, Martha." Jonathan angrily snapped back, getting up from his chair when he did and walking away from the two to go into the kitchen and merely stand there after letting out a deep sigh, because he couldn't believe he had agreed to something he knew would fail. He didn't believe that plan would work. He knew that there was something else keeping his son so ill, something else making him prevent himself from healing and getting better. He just didn't know what it was. And honestly, he didn't know if he ever wouldbefore it became too late anyway.
To be Continued...