Ch32: The Worst Kind of Nightmare

He felt a pain in his head, as though his brain was swelling, putting pressure on his skull. Today had been rough. Professor Utonium brewed himself a coffee and stood beside the kitchen sink, staring out the window toward the neighbours' house, the streetlights and the dark and cloudy sky. The many thousands of lights from the city centre glowed like fireflies in the distance. He sipped his coffee and couldn't help but groan a little. As if things hadn't been hard enough already...

The girls had been sent home. Well... HIS girls had been sent home. The school had described everything under the simple word 'incident', as though it were a once-off happening, no real damage, things will be back to normal tomorrow, whatever. Utonium growled, clutching his coffee mug that little bit firmer. 'Incident' didn't cut it. Not by a long shot. A prototype aircraft had been incinerated, strange lights from the sky had been reported from citizens all around the metropolitan area and those in smaller towns nearby. 'Incident'... his gaze hardened. There was nothing incidental about it. Dammit, it was a travesty! For the second time in as many weeks, a little girl had been killed. The Professor felt a pain inside him, but not the one he was familiar with. He had helped that little girl to truly live, to finally experience all those little wonders that allowed human life to be so enjoyable, so full of discovery. She had been torn away from that life. Just as her baby sister had been. For the second time, the household had been shattered as their newest, most vulnerable member had become Barasia's victim. It happened to Breannin. Now her sister was gone, too.

Bubbles had asked the Professor something when she arrived home that nearly brought him to tears on the spot. A question so simple. So innocent. She had looked into his eyes, tears shining in those azure orbs of usually bright and playful orbs, and asked "Do gynoids go to heaven?" Adric had not known how to answer. He did not know the answer, but it seemed Bubbles didn't expect him to. She only looked away and muttered, "She's with her sister again, now..."

The Professor took another sip, but found no coffee left in his mug. He placed the cup down upon the sink and rubbed his forehead. That had not been the only disaster today. But he planned on keeping the second one a secret from everybody. He had in the past. The girls were in bed now, Blossom still haunted by those nightmares of Breannin's brutal demise and now no doubt plagued by what she saw, right in front of her as she had said, when Bell's body melted into a smoky cloud and a pile of ash. Perhaps all three would not sleep this night. But, unlike the Professor, they had each other to turn to, to comfort each other and keep themselves warm and safe. They were sisters and that was their job. They.... just couldn't do the same for those adopted. The Professor had nobody. He never married, he blew all his chances at girlfriends. "Hell, I'd be lucky to pass first date without a hitch or dozen..." he muttered grimly. And he could not tell the girls. Not yet. But... there had always been one thing, through thick and thin, that he had allowed his memories and his problems to flow into, like a reservoir, like a safekeeper. He turned away from the window, and stared down at the table and the book that sat atop, pen resting on its cover. The pit where he buried his issues, and now the source of every last dark secret he held. At least there was something that would listen. To calm all that screaming in his head. He sometimes forgot that it was just pages of paper binded together with a dusty leather cover.

He sat down at the table and opened the book to the next blank page, and with his pen, neatly inscribed the date upon it. With a sigh of resignation, he began to write:

'To my journal. The one thing that always listened.

I cannot remember a time previous when I have felt this terrible. Everything seems to be crashing around us, both for myself and the girls. There are times I have felt that it would be impossible to maintain a family of three superhuman girls and myself without problems, and even from day one I felt, at times, that it would never work. I am ever so grateful that it has so far. But I fear that things are becoming too much and that, after recent events, the girls may be losing hope as well. All I can do is do what I can. Those three girls are my life and, once upon a time, there were five girls. Five unique, cherished, adorable, special, talented, beautiful and miraculous girls who (sometimes I still cannot believe it) love me and would sooner save me than the world. Unfortunately... no super power can do that. The world will have to take priority now.

Today, I lost the youngest. Again. We still haven't recovered from little Breannin's passing and now history has to go ahead and repeat itself as though this is all one big game. That's certainly how this Barasia girl sees it. When she is finally brought down... and when the world is once again truly safe... I know we will dedicate that victory to those who did not make it. But Bell won my heart over the same way Breannin did, only this time I could explore her potential and actually be a part of her life. Breannin was her own girl, she didn't really need me. She had Jazzal and Blossom and Dexter and all her friends to keep her going. But Bell... Bell was close to me because she saw a bit of Cranston in myself. And when I looked into those frozen eyes, I saw my girls in her. For hours and hours, days and days, I helped turn her limited existence into a partially-liveable reality. If I had my way, I'd give her everything and leave no stone unturned, no boundary unreached. She was every bit as alive as my little girls, and she had every right to live as they do. But, due to circumstances again beyond anyone's control, that is not to be.

Blossom was really shaken up, again moreso than Bubbles or Buttercup. Before she went to bed I sat her in my lap and we had a talk about everything. I cannot wish what she saw upon anyone, not even the girl who caused all this. Blossom told me of how she saw Bell burn to cinders and that the last thing she saw of her were those two eyes... oh, those eyes. At the sight of them, some hearts would melt. And yet, some hearts would probably stop beating altogether... Those two eyes, staring at her. Pleading at her. The last thing crossing Bell's face before it immolated itself was sorrow and anguish mixed with a primal, mortal fear. The fear of the death that not half a second later had engulfed her body. That's what really saddens me about all this. Neither Bell nor Breannin had seen their death coming. Only in the last couple of seconds would they have known that everything was over for them. Those two little angels.... their wings clipped before they could truly fly.

I cannot burden the girls with any further news. Not after today. But I am relieved I can get it out of my system, albeit temporarily. As the many previous entries in this book will reveal, I have been frequently out of the house during my free days, particularly mornings whilst the girls are at school. Every time I go out, I dread what I might learn, and I somehow hope that the answer I know might be coming is not given. I think the girls have noticed my apprehension in the past, and they are probably wondering what I write in this book. Today, at last...'

The Professor rubbed his head, each heartbeat pounding in his ears. He continued.

'...I had my answer. I could only ever get this answer from the staff at Goldenrod Medical. After many re-tests and trials... many inconclusive returns and indeterminant results, I have been given the answer I wanted. It has all been my stupid fault and finally I have to pay for my bad habits. I have been smoking for the better part of ten years, and I never really gave that much thought. I am an idiot. My latest MRI, the last in a long series of tests which have been conducted to confirm what this strange pain in my chest is, finally came back with an inconclusive result. After ten whole years, my smoking has taken its toll, and the physicians have diagnosed stupid me with inoperable lung cancer. It still has not sunk in that my indulgence has killed me. The doctors prescribed me an experimental drug, courtesy of those Megaville Lifetime Benefits Research lot - we saw them on the television not long ago. They appear to be some sort of treatment pill which slows the growth of the cancer and essentially prolongs me for as long as possible. But even with regular doses, the doctors can only guarantee a life-extension of a couple of years. Maybe one day there will be a cure for these malicious growths, which I deserve to suffer from since it was my own stupid fault, but by the time that cure is found, it will be far too late for me. The pills don't stop the pain, unsurprisingly. They only make sure the pain doesn't kill you as quickly.

But putting up with the pain a little longer is what I will do. I want to be there for my girls as long as possible, and before long they will find out that I won't be able to stay with them into their adult life. The pain gets worse every time I think about those ramifications. I won't be able to be with them through school. I cannot watch them graduate. I won't see them grow up, fall in love, get married, have kids... I brought them into this world. How unnatural would it seem for them to have to carry on without me? And... when I am gone, who will look after them and give them a home?'

The Professor paused, and realised he was weeping. He wiped his eyes, committed to finishing his journal entry.

'I'll stay with them to the very end. I'd give my life for them, anyday. I'd be nothing without them, and I feel that I owe them that much. I gave them life, but... everything they've done... for me, for Townsville, for Megaville and this whole stupid globe has been more than enough payment in return. I feel I am the one slipping into a debt I cannot pay. They have saved my life many times. But as I said, no superpower short of a medical miracle will save me now. I'm a victim of my own indulgence and the girls will be the ones to suffer for it when I'm gone. I hate the fact that, after all these years, after accomplishing so much, it all comes to thi-'

"P-Professor?" came a hushed voice, so quiet in the darkness that the Professor barely heard. The words were so soft, yet they hit the Professor like a one-two from Mike Tyson. He felt his heart heave a little at his baby's voice, and he turned in his seat, unaware of the fresh tears falling down his face. Standing in the door to the kitchen, clutching a small blanket in her arms and looking so very scared, so very vulnerable, was a shy, timid and sleepless Blossom. Her orange hair cascaded down her back, unruly, billowing over her shoulders and across her face. But he could still see those two magenta eyes, staring at him through the dim light. She couldn't sleep, obviously. And she had come to the only person still awake who could help her.

The Professor managed a mild smile and told her to, "Come here, my beautiful girl."

Carrying the blanket in one hand, Blossom rushed to him with such speed that he was nearly knocked out of his chair when she jumped into his embrace. Her first act was to bury her face in his shirt and hold him tight, her hair brushing against his face. Her hair felt so soft and smelt like soap and fruit. She had washed her hair tonight. It had been a while since she needed his help to do that. But getting to sleep after a traumatic event was still something she needed his assistance with. She snuggled close, "I can't sleep..."

The Professor wondered just how she managed to stay awake, given that her problems started with Breannin's death almost two weeks ago. Perhaps she was getting some sleep but was not aware of it. No, he told himself. That excuse would not work. He held his little girl close, and she pressed her head and torso against his. She felt his heartbeat. He felt hers. Amazing, how the power of a substance so offworldly, so undocumented, could create such perfect life out of inanimate objects. The first of their kind. But very possibly the last. Blossom had gone through all the troubles a little girl would be expected to face, and the Professor was aware, through vividly-expressed complaints from Buttercup, that Blossom still had the very very rare case of bedwetting, which neither he nor Blossom could explain. It was something she would naturally grow out of, and she did NOT need to wear diapers at night despite Buttercup's constant teasing about it. The Professor could tell it had not repeated here, so it must have been those images in her head.

"Nightmares, Bloss?" he asked, holding her as though she were a part of him. In a personal way, she was.

Blossom didn't open her eyes, and seemed the most peaceful she had looked in days. She dropped the blanket onto his knee, "Not nightmares... I haven't been able to sleep to... get nightmares..."

"It's about Breannin again?" the Professor asked, smoothing Blossom's nightie against her back. It wasn't a particularly cold night, given the cloud cover, but not enough to switch from nightie to their singlets and panties. The Professor gently prodded, asking no question too direct, too soon. He would only find out what she wanted to tell him, and if she wanted to keep things to herself, then that was her choice and he would let it be. When he got no answer from her, though, he gently pushed her into a sitting position on his lap.

But Blossom held on for dear life, "No....! Don't let me go... not now..." she sniffled. Her sobs only made the Professor feel worse inside, but he hid that from her. "It's... not just Breannin..." her eyes half-opened, half-moons of strawberry-pink peeking out from those thick dark lashes, "It's everything... Breannin, Bell... Jazzal... the people Barasia has killed.... everything, Professor. I'm a superhero... so why don't I have the power to save them?"

The Professor understood it now. She felt responsible. She blamed herself for all this, "Blossom, why do you feel guilty for everything that's happened?"

Blossom wiped her eyes, before continuing her embrace, "It's... not everything, but... a lot of it could have been prevented by me... and today... when I saw Bell staring at me before she was vaporised... I just stood there. I could have saved her... D-Dad..."

The Professor choked up inside when he heard his babies call him that. "Blossom, sometimes... bad things happen and there's nothing that we can do about it."

Blossom bit her lower lip, eyes still half-open, half-shut, "But how many of those bad things could have been prevented if we only did one or two things different in the past??" The Professor's chest pain seemed to expand. Bad things.... prevented... done things different... "Every time I try and sleep I see all these bad things happening... over and over... and sometimes I feel like a murderer." The Professor did not reply. After half a minute of silence, Blossom looked up at his face, her eyes drifting open into a pair of full cherry blooms. And then they started to leak tears, "P-Professor, you're crying...!" she brought herself to eye-level, kneeling upon his thighs, "What's wrong!?" she asked. It was one thing feeling bad for herself. But making others feel bad was unacceptable to her.

The Professor wiped his eyes and cheeks, "Nothing." he lied.

Blossom's lower lip trembled, "S-So many people have gotten hurt... I don't know if we can win this, Professor."

The Professor drew her into another hug, his chin resting on her shoulder as hers rested upon his own. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, ever so gently. "Blossom... my angel... my baby... I don't care if we win or lose this thing. As long as you do the very best that you and your sisters can, then I'm proud of you. That's all that matters. And I will always love you, no matter what." he told her, staring over her shoulder. He felt her hands upon his back, squeezing him a little. It seemed like everyone had their own troubles to sort out right now. And Blossom's, to him, seemed more important right now. Just at that moment, he felt a shiver travel down Blossom's spine, and she froze, no longer squeezing him. After a moment her skin grew colder and her breathing faster. Had she just seen another image in her head? No, that couldn't be right. He was here, he was her comfort. Blossom's head was upon his shoulder, her body against his, facing behind him and toward the table. The table where...

BANG! A shock of total dread ran through the Professor's body like an electric current, making the hair on his neck stand straight up. But he was too late in realising that he had left his journal open and, from where she was, that Blossom could easily read it. And that meant she could see everything he had just written. A shriek like none other exploded from the girl in his arms.

"LUNG CANCER!?" she screamed, nothing but the most pure of horror and grief saturating her voice. Tears flew from her eyes and she tried to push away from the Professor as though he was trying to harm her. He held onto her tight as she pressed against his chest with her hands, trying to break his grip and in doing so, probably breaking his ribs. But he held on and tried to keep the girl close to him. Her screams turned to agonised moans, and those moans into a flood of tears. She buried her face in the Professor's shirt and she cried. And she cried. And she cried. The Professor tried to stroke her tearsoaked cheek with his finger but as soon as she felt his finger against her rich, warm, silky-soft skin, she pulled away, wanting nothing to do with him now. He knew why. She felt cheated, betrayed. As though he had stabbed her in the back by hiding everything from her and pretending that life was ok. And yet the Professor knew that the true feelings hadn't even surfaced yet, and that when they did, she would be tormented, inside, by them forever.

"B-Blossom, I..." he said, but he could not put a sentence together. Blossom just kept crying, not paying him any attention. The Professor felt like dying, right there. The girls had enough on their hands, and had been through so much, losing Breannin and now Bell again. Having her find out about his cancer the hard way instead of a gentle talk with her to explain everything and ease the pain, was not just unfair. It was criminal. He broke down too, and the two Utoniums cried together. Blossom cried for the Professor. The Professor cried for her. And together they cried for those who they had lost, those yet to lose someone, and everything that had happened since Barasia had reared her head for the first time. Blossom didn't feel like a superhero anymore. Nor did she want to be one anymore. Her cute and cuddly facade had shattered and she fell straight back to Earth with such a thud that she would never outlive the effects. She thought of Rini and of Hotaru. Of Breannin and Jazzal. And of Bell. She remembered every single person to die in this bitter and useless little war as though they were friends of the family. And she cried for them all. But now that she knew the Professor was going to die... none of them seemed to matter. She abandoned her selfless persona and put her arms around him again, abandoning the grief and hurt she felt at finding out that he had hidden it from her. At that moment, she wanted to be with him. Always. Never let him go. And she wanted to die with him and live with him in whatever heaven their spiritual essence departed to. That was it. She wanted to die.

The Professor lifted her to her knees again and stared straight into her eyes. She still looked as though she wanted to break out of his grasp and run as far away as possible, but at least she was no longer screaming. He spoke slowly and clearly, "Blossom... please do not tell your sisters about this." he told her, "Promise me. I will tell them when I think they are ready."

"I-I don't think they'd e-ever be read-dy for som-mething l-like this-s-s." Blossom replied, stuttering and choking so badly with her grief that she barely finished what she was saying.

"They will have to be, Blossom. I'm counting on you. Please."

"J-Just... tell us the truth when you do, okay? B-Because... well... don't tell us that everything will be fine, cos it won't! D-Don't tell us to just get past it and move on, cos we won't! And don't tell us that we are more important that you are... because we're NOT!" she yelled, before breaking down again, crying loudly without restraint. He was one of the few people in the world that she was comfortable crying in front of. And she would eventually lose that comfort, when she lost him.

He pulled her into his warm embrace again, and she felt his heartbeat once more, "I don't want to make things any harder for you, Blossom. Not you, not your sisters, not Dexter, not anyone. You've lost enough already and with Barasia still out there somewhere, the world will have to come first. Maybe when all of this is over, they can find out. But in the meantime, I don't want you three to worry about me, ok? So don't tell them. PROMISE me you won't tell them."

"I-I.... I..." Blossom mumbled, her eyes slowly drifting closed. But she did not swear her oath to him. Instead she told him something else, "I love you.... my Professor... my Daddy..." she declared, adamantly. She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself, the pink cotton-wool rug enough to keep her whole body warm, but her face still felt cold. But she had the Professor. That's all that mattered. She would save the world and bring down Barasia. But in the end, she was doing it for the two people who mattered to her more than anything. Dexter, there through thick and thin, and always caring and loving. And the Professor. The man who created her. The man who loved her, betrayed her and yet was always there. Her strength and her courage came from him, not from superpowers. And right now, she wanted to stay in his arms, forever. The tears flowed in warm rivers down her cold cheeks. The Professor stood and carried her to his room, where he lay her down beside him, her head resting against his, her tufty orange fringe tickling his nose. He kissed his little child gently on the forehead. Her eyes drifted closed, and eventually so did his. For the first time in two weeks, wrapped in that little blanket and in the unbreakable embrace of her father and creator, Blossom slept. The nightmares strangely never appeared, and her guilt seemed to be lost in an abyss of mixed emotion. The biggest woe on her mind right now was the man holding her in his strong arms, and this time, his problems were not because of her. It was not her fault, this time. And so, huddled up next to her father, little Blossom Utonium, 7 years old, so full of life, energy and potential, cried herself to sleep.