Title: To Hold Back The Tears

Author: Elizbeth Goode

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Smallville, etc. I make no
money from writing fanfiction. In fact, I think I might be making negative
money writing fanfiction. In short, Elizabeth Goode has no money, don't
sue her.


Part V

Clark insisted that he was up to returning to school the next day. It didn't seem nearly as difficult as it had the week before to dodge his friends. Pete was strangely distant, and Chloe's interest in Clark and his secrets had at least temporarily been replaced by trying to dig for the root of Pete's odd behavior. Lana was preoccupied with her quest to study in Paris. At lunch time, Clark managed to slip away to the Torch office to catch up on some of his missed schoolwork. When Chloe came back before he
had finished, she barely noticed that he was there at all. If he had felt like himself, he might have been offended. As it was, he was grateful that she wasn't probing him for information.

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly, and by the time school was out for the day, Clark had managed to complete most of his missed assignments during his study hall and between classes. The familiar routine of school was somewhat reassuring, despite the double homework load.

After school, Clark helped his father with the farm chores, had dinner with his parents, and settled on the living room couch to do his homework for the evening. He had been taking a study break out in the barn when the Professor had shown up to warn him that a Kowatche graduate student had seized control of an artifact, something called the Star Blade. Having learned his lesson many times over about leaving his parents out of the
loop, he went straight to them to ask their advice.

To his surprise, his father did not forbid him to involve himself.
Instead, Jonathan Kent had been adamant that Clark was the only one who could stop Jeremiah from causing considerable harm with the Star Blade. With his parents' blessing, Clark set out to stop Jeremiah.


He had known that he was in trouble when the Kryptonite failed to affect the young Kowatche man. He was fighting someone as strong as he was, with all of his abilities. It actually hurt when Jeremiah punched him. When Jeremiah buried the blade in his abdomen, searing agony raced through Clark's veins like fire. He felt his legs give out beneath him and fell to the ground. Then, he was alone, blood welling from the wound and pooling on the ground beside him.

Slowly, he managed to haul his pain-weakened body into the house. He called out to his parents for help, but no one was home. The blackness that had been lurking in the back of his mind trying to take over since the blade had been yanked from his body finally asserted itself. Clark fell to the floor unconscious and lay unmoving in the hallway.


When the Kents returned home from town, Martha called out to Clark, but it seemed that their son was not at home. That was before lights were turned on. Before they were treated to the sight of their only child unconscious and bleeding on the floor.

Kneeling beside Clark, Jonathan felt for a pulse and found it to be
present but faint.

For the Jonathan and Martha Kent, it was their worst nightmare come true. Opening Clark's shirt, Jonathan found his son's chest covered in blood, which welled fresh from a deep, jagged wound. Fear clutched at his heart as he turned to shout to Martha to get something to stop the bleeding.

Martha heard her husband's shout, but was momentarily paralyzed in horror. When she regained her wits enough to tear her eyes away from her wounded son, she slipped, crying out when she realized that she had slipped on Clark's blood.

Leaning over Clark's nearly lifeless body, Jonathan remembered the conversation two nights ago - what could be done if Clark was badly hurt? He had extracted the green rocks from his son before, but there was no evidence this time of Kryptonite. Clark wasn't shivering or moaning the way he usually did if the meteor rocks were involved. Somehow, this was worse. At least with Kryptonite, he knew that if it was removed from the vicinity, Clark would recover quickly. Now, he lay still and pale. He looked dead. His son looked dead ... No! Clark could not die. He could not
let his son die. With renewed determination, he placed his hands over the unresponsive chest, hoping that CPR might help Clark start to breathe again.

Suddenly, the room began to glow with a strange, golden light. I seemed to be emanating from Jonathan. He and Martha watched in shock as the ragged wound closed, the bleeding stopped. Clark did not awaken, but they could see his chest moving. At least he was breathing.


The time that lapsed between the miraculous healing and the moment when Clark actually awakened was excrutiating for the desperately worried parents. Even worse was when Clark left to stop Jeremiah only moments after regaining consciousness. Waiting for him to wake had been nerve-wracking. Waiting for him to return home after the confrontation, hoping that he would be able to return at all, was agonizing.

They barely spoke, mechanically performing the tasks of cleaning up the blood that stained the floor. It seemed to them that Clark was gone for hours, but the clock revealed that it had not yet been one. Jonathan glanced at his wife and noticed that she was still shaking.

"Martha? Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "I slipped on my son's blood in my own home - no, I don't think I'm all right."

Jonathan drew her close, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking straight, not after seeing him like that."

"I didn't mean to snap. I just -"

"I know."

There was a long pause, and then Martha asked hesitantly, "Do you think we should ... look for him? If - if Jeremiah hurt him again ..."

"We don't know where he is. It's only been an hour. We should give him more time."

"But what if he can't come home? What if he can't walk? What if he's lying in a field somewhere or out in the woods alone? Maybe you could heal him again."

Their brief conversation was halted when they heard Clark call out, "Mom? Dad?"

The Kents raced outside to meet their son, hoping against hope that he had not been wounded further. Clark stood between the barn and the house, and he looked rough. His left shirtsleeve was ripped almost entirely off, his hair was full of dirt and leaves, and when he took a step forward, he staggered slightly but did not fall.

Martha reached him first. "Clark, baby, are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No. Just a little - winded. That's not - usual, huh?" The faintest of smiles touched the corners of his mouth.

The ripped sleeve was worrying her, and she reached up to push the fabric aside, just to reassure herself that there was not another knife wound there. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw un-marred flesh, then threw her arms around her son, holding him tightly.

"Oh, Clark. We were so worried about you."

Jonathan joined his wife in hugging their son, ruffling the dark hair affectionately. "Winded? You?"

The tiny smile widened, but only a little bit. "I guess that's what happens if I fight with someone who has the same abilities as me." He winced slightly, holding his arm across his abdomen. Jonathan immediately pulled the shirt up to see if the wound had worsened after the initial healing. It had not, but neither had it improved. The scar was still red and looked as though it might be tender.

"Does it still hurt, son?"

He shook his head. "Not really. It just kind of twinges a little every now and then. I hope I don't get stabbed with Kryptonian metal again any time soon."

Martha half-sobbed, half-laughed, "Oh, God. Me too, baby. Me too."


While Clark took a shower and changed into clean clothing, Martha and Jonathan prepared a quick meal of chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese for their son. The relief the parents felt was so intense that it made them feel slightly giddy. Their son had been terriby hurt, but had been miraculously healed. Their son had fought a dangerous battle and was still alive and well. They knew that Clark would feel badly about Jeremiah, even though it was not in any way his fault, but they also knew that they would be there for him. No matter what life threw at Clark Kent, his parents would do their best to provide guidance, love, and support.

As Clark descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen, the smell of food made his stomach rumble. He saw his parents sitting at the table waiting for him, and felt some of the weight of his worries and fears lift from his shoulders. He had nearly died. Twice, he had nearly died. Once, in the lab at Summerholt and once from the wound from the Star Blade. It felt strange to him that so much could happen in such a short time, and also that so much could happen that his friends didn't know about. Two near-death experiences since the last time he had been able to hang out with his friends. He hoped that after all he had been through, he would be able to get past it enough to be a good friend. The last thing Pete, Chloe, and Lana needed was more drama from him.

The End