Clark Kent is enjoying a peaceful sleep and has a dream. However, the dream turns dark and sinister.
The Terror In Slumber
Chapter 1: Stolen Moments
Clark basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming lilacs. He sat across from Bruce at a quaint bistro table, a contented smile gracing his lips. They were enjoying a rare moment of peace, a stolen lunch amidst their hectic schedules.
"This is nice," Clark said, taking a sip of his iced tea. "Just you and me."
Bruce nodded, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Indeed. It's good to have a break from saving the world."
Clark chuckled. "Speak for yourself. I'm pretty sure you were chasing down criminals just last night."
"A minor disturbance," Bruce dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Nothing that I couldn't handle."
They shared a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and the delicious food. Clark felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of belonging and contentment he rarely experienced outside of Bruce's presence.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. The warm sunlight turned cold and harsh, the cheerful bistro replaced by a sterile, white room. The delicious smells of lunch vanished, replaced by the antiseptic tang of a hospital.
Clark's eyes flew open, a gasp tearing from his lungs. The cold, unyielding metal beneath him sent a jolt of fear through him, a stark contrast to the phantom warmth of the bistro chair. He tried to sit up, his muscles protesting, his superhuman strength replaced by a disconcerting weakness. Panic clawed at his throat. "Where... how...?" he rasped, his voice raspy, his brow furrowed in confusion. He tugged at the leather restraints biting into his wrists, his panic escalating. "Let me go!" he roared, his voice echoing in the sterile, white room.
The only response was the steady beep of a heart monitor, the rhythmic whoosh of a ventilator, and the drip, drip, drip of an IV line snaking into his left arm. He tried to focus, to remember what had happened, but his mind was a jumble of fragmented images - the warm sunlight of the bistro, the taste of sweet tea, Bruce's concerned face, the sudden shift to this cold, sterile prison.
Then he saw it. His white T-shirt pulled up, the waistband of his light blue sleep pants rolled down and there between the fabric of his clothes; a circular sensor rested on his swollen abdomen, a thin wire leading to a monitor that displayed a pulsating image. It was a sonogram. And the flickering image on the screen was a baby.
Was that his baby?
The impossible sight sent a wave of nausea through him. He, Clark Kent, was pregnant? The reality of it, the undeniable evidence on the screen, hit him with the force of a physical blow. A tiny life, his child, growing inside him.
"But... how?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. He looked down at his abdomen, he could feel it, the faint flutter of life within him, the sensation of ripples, of movement under his skin.
Chapter 2: Nightmare in Green
In the quiet of his bedroom, a sleeping form wearing a white T-shirt and light blue sleep pants lay peaceful and content on a plush mattress. This was Clark Kent. He was enjoying the lingering remnants of a pleasant dream. But as the nightmare seeped into his subconscious, a low groan rumbled in his chest.
The baby on the screen jerked erratically, its movements weak and distressed. A primal fear, fierce and protective, surged through him. He had to help his child, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped, his powers neutralized, his strength replaced by an unfamiliar vulnerability.
He instinctively clutched at his arm, his fingers scratched at his skin as if trying to dislodge a non-existent IV. His breathing grew shallow and rapid, his heart rate quickening in response to the rising fear in his dream.
Suddenly, the air crackled with energy, and a jagged shard of Kryptonite materialized above him, its malevolent green light bathing the room in an eerie glow. He recognized the distinct hum of Lex Luthor's technology, the subtle shift in the air pressure that always accompanied his arrival.
The sleeping Clark tossed and turned, his right hand instinctively reaching out to protectively rest on his stomach. He could feel the phantom weight of the sensor, the strange, alien pull of something growing inside him. It felt so real, yet there was not any outward sign of him being pregnant. The image of the tiny life form, struggling on the screen, filled him with a primal fear he'd never known. A whimper escaped his lips, and he curled into a fetal position, a protective gesture from the sensation of the nightmare.
"Such vulnerability, Kal-El," Lex's voice cut through the silence, laced with cold amusement. "To think, the mighty Superman, brought low by the most primal of instincts."
Lex emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of detached curiosity. He circled the table, his eyes studying Clark with a predatory gleam. "A fascinating paradox, isn't it? Your strength, your power, turned against you by the very essence of life."
The Kryptonite above him began its descent, but instead of stopping, it swung back and forth like a malevolent pendulum, its jagged edges grazing his skin with each pass. A searing pain ripped through him, each cut a violation, a threat to the life burgeoning within him. Blood welled up, staining the clean, white fabric of his T-shirt crimson.
"No!" he gasped, his voice raw with agony and fear. "Not my baby!"
The sleeping Clark thrashed violently, his cries echoing through the quiet house. "Bruce!" he yelled, his voice filled with terror and pain. "Bruce, help me!"
Lex leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. "Such resilience," he murmured, his voice a sibilant whisper. "Even in this weakened state, you fight. But it's futile, Kal-El. You cannot escape your fate." He reached out a hand, his fingers inches from Clark's exposed, bleeding stomach, eager to explore the mystery within.
Suddenly, a figure materialized beside the table, his form emerging from the shadows like a vengeful spirit. It was Bruce, his sleeves rolled up on his blue button-down shirt, black pants clinging to his powerful legs. His face was a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with an icy fire.
"Get away from him!" Bruce roared, launching himself at Lex.
Lex, startled, stumbled back, barely managing to avoid Bruce's onslaught. "Wayne?" he sputtered, his voice laced with disbelief. "You've come to rescue your precious alien!?"
"I won't say it again!" Bruce snarled, his voice dripping with venom. He struck, his fist connecting with Lex's jaw in a satisfying crunch.
The Kryptonite continued its relentless swing, each pass leaving another burning gash across Clark's abdomen. He could feel his life draining away, his strength fading with every drop of blood that spilled onto the table and his T-shirt.
Bruce, while fending off Lex's furious counterattack, cast a worried glance at the Kryptonite. He knew he couldn't move Clark; the slightest jostle could cause further damage, perhaps even fatal. He had to stop the pendulum.
Suddenly, he remembered the batarang he had tucked into his back pocket. Where it came from in this dreamscape, he didn't know, but he reacted instinctively. With a quick movement, he retrieved the batarang and hurled it at the Kryptonite.
The batarang struck the shard with a resounding clang, disrupting its swing.
The Kryptonite, dislodged from its makeshift pendulum, clattered to the floor sliding across, still radiating its malevolent green light but no longer an immediate threat.
Lex, distracted by the sudden commotion, faltered in his attack. Bruce seized the opportunity, delivering a powerful blow that sent Lex crashing into a wall.
"Stay down, Luthor," Bruce growled, his voice dangerously low. He turned his attention back to Clark, his expression softening as he saw the pain etched on his face.
"Hold on, Clark," he grunted, his voice strained with effort as he moved towards the restraints. With swift, practiced movements, he unbuckled the straps, freeing Clark's hands. He pulled Clark into his arms, cradling him protectively against his chest.
"Clark, wake up," he urged, his voice filled with a desperate plea. "Wake up, please!."
Chapter 3: Waking to Reality
Clark's eyes snapped open. He gasped for air, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the window. He was safe, in his own bed, but the echoes of the nightmare clung to him like a shroud.
He scrambled out of bed, his legs shaky, and stumbled towards the bathroom. He flicked on the light, his eyes drawn to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, pale and shaken, his eyes wide with fear.
He lifted his shirt, his gaze frantically searching his abdomen for any sign of the wounds, any mark that would prove the nightmare was real. But there was nothing. His skin was smooth and unmarked.
He let out a shaky breath, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch his reflection. "Just a dream," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just a dream..."
He turned to go back to bed, and that's when he saw him. Bruce was standing in the middle of the room, his face etched with worry, his eyes filled with concern.
"Clark," Bruce said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "Are you alright? I heard you crying out." He pulled Clark into an embrace, then motioned towards the bed.
Clark sat down heavily, his gaze meeting Bruce's worried eyes. "It was... it was a nightmare," he stammered, his voice still trembling with the remnants of fear.
"Take your time…. tell me about it." Bruce said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of Clark's hand.
Clark took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He recounted the chilling details of the dream, the cold metal table, the Kryptonite, the distressed baby on the monitor, Lex Luthor's chilling words, and Bruce's heroic arrival. As he spoke, the fear and anxiety returned, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Bruce," he gasped, burying his face in Bruce's shoulder, "It felt so real. I was trapped, and Lex... he was going to..."
Bruce held him close, his voice a low rumble against Clark's ear. "Shhh, I've got you. You're safe here with me. Lex can't hurt you."
As Clark clung to Bruce, the lingering fear began to subside, replaced by a deep sense of unease. He focused on Bruce's heartbeat, strong and steady against his ear. Then he heard it - a faint, fluttery rhythm, a third heartbeat, interwoven with theirs.
He pulled back, his eyes wide with a dawning realization. He placed his hand on his stomach, outwardly unchanged. The nightmare wasn't just a dream.
He was pregnant.
"Oh no," Clark paused, his lips trembling. "Bruce….I can hear..."
Bruce's eyes widened, his brow furrowing in concern. "Clark, what is it? What are you hearing?"
"It's real, I'm pregnant," Clark choked out, his arms going around his midsection. Tears welled up in his eyes, a mixture of fear and wonder. The nightmare had been a premonition, a chilling glimpse into a possible future. He was carrying a child, their child, and the thought of anything happening to it filled him with terror.
Bruce's expression softened, his concern melting into a gentle tenderness. He carefully cupped Clark's face in his hands, meeting his gaze, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears. "Clark," he said softly, his voice filled with love and protectiveness, "I'm here with you. We'll protect our child."
He took Clark's hand into his, giving it a firm squeeze. "Nothing and no one is going to hurt you or our baby," he vowed, his voice firm and resolute.
Clark nodded, drawing strength from Bruce's unwavering support. He was still scared, but he wasn't alone. He had Bruce, and together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead. The nightmare might have been a warning, but it was also a reminder of the precious life growing inside him, a life he was determined to protect. And now, with Bruce by his side, he knew they could do anything.
THE END