Jonathan eyed his wife, Clark was a strong young boy, he never got sick. Jonathan assumed that had to do with how they found Clark. He was super strong and super fast, and health just seemed to come with it. He didn't bruise as easily as most children his age, he rarely got injured. Martha placed a hand against Clark's forehead.

"You feel a little warm, what hurts?" she asked. He placed his hand on his stomach. She sighed and pulled him close.

"Jonathan, got get a cool wash cloth," Jonathan nodded and headed into the master bathroom.

"When did you start feeling like this honey?" she asked quietly.

"In class during our spelling test; I felt icky yesterday too, but it went away, today it didn't go away," he whispered. She sighed, pulling him into her arms she held him close and kissed his forehead.

"Here Martha," Jonathan handed her a wash cloth, "I'm going to check on Kara," Martha nodded as she moved Clark to lie down in the bed.

"Tell me what the hurt is like?" she asked, he curled up against her chest and stomach and looked at her.

"Burning, it burns mama," he whimpered. She touched the side of his face.

"Shh, you're all right honey, just try and relax. Mommy will take care of you," Jonathan reentered the room and shrugged.

"Kara's fast asleep," he climbed into the bed and slowly began to rub his son's back.

"Why don't I sing a little for you buddy," suggested Jonathan. Clark didn't reply, but he situated himself so he was directly between his mommy and daddy.

Martha smiled as Jonathan's sweet country voice lulled their lovable son fast to sleep. His eyes closes, she sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Jonathan ran a hand through the boy's hair and smiled at her.

Clark woke with his dad early the next morning, he said he felt better, but Martha decided to keep him home from school just in case. Kara was off to school without her big brother. Martha spent most of the day playing with Clark and doing house hold chores.

"Mom, are you sick?" Clark asked as he sat at the kitchen table eating a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup.

"No honey, why do you ask?"

"Because you're in the bathroom most mornings, I'm worried mom," he whispered. She smiled and sat down beside him, taking his hand her grin widened

"I told you I would always be here when you came home, it's true. I'm fine, there's nothing wrong with me."

"Promise?"

"I promise, now finish up your lunch and go help dad outside, I think you're feeling better," Clark smiled and nodded. He finished up and headed outside, where he found his father on the roof of the barn working on a hole. The storm had raged the night before, and by three both Kent children were fast asleep in their parent's room.

Jonathan had told Clark earlier this morning that if he was interested he was welcome to help Jonathan on the hole that had been put in the barn by a falling branch.

"Hey son," called Jonathan from his perch.

"Hi dad, mom said I should come help you," stated Clark.

"Well, not much to do up here I'm afraid, I'm almost done, sorry kiddo," stated Jonathan.

"Can I help with something up there?" Jonathan sighed and looked at the boy, there wasn't any harm he didn't see. Clark had been on the roof once before, and he had done fine, he had been eight at the time. No reason why he couldn't handle it this time.

"I guess, the ladder's on the other side of the barn, be careful okay," stated Jonathan. He knew Martha would kill him if she found out Clark was up there, but she didn't have to know.

Moments later Clark was standing at his side, looking through the hole his dad was trying to patch.

"Dad, are you guys mad at me?" Clark inquired. Jonathan looked up at him and smiled.

"No, should we be?"

"Because of school I mean?"

"Nope, it's in the past buddy, what happened, happened. It's over, end of story. Could you hand me the hammer," Clark saw the tool box a couple feet away. Nodding he headed over towards it.

He wasn't sure whether it was his over confidence, or just his lack of grace, he would never know. Because one minute he was standing near the tool box, which was close to the edge, and the next minute he got a good shot of the ground several...several hundred feet below him. Suddenly he felt himself losing his balance. Teetering on the edge of the roof. He turned slowly, hoping to fall to his knees; no such luck, his feet went flying out from under him, and he was soon sliding relentlessly further toward the edge of the roof.

He was suddenly aware of a scream, vaguely realizing it was his own, he heard his dad cry his name. Time contracted and slowed, each second sharper than the last. He felt like he was falling forever. His foot suddenly touched something and the slide stopped. He didn't dare move, he couldn't move, even if he had wanted to. He was terrified, horrified, hanging onto the side of the roof desperately, eyes pinched tight so he couldn't see the image of the ground far below him.