Ben 10 Porn Story: Only a Mother Could Love – Chapter 1

I finally got around to writing this. Sorry it took so long, but my computer had problems, and I was trying to come up with ways to fix gaping plot holes this thing is going to pull out of the Null Void. I think I’m almost there with that. ;D I apologize for the quality, but this was the only way I could get where I wanted. The rest will be better, I promise.

DISCLAIMER: I only own Nicky. No one else. Even Dr. Phil. Surprising, isn’t it?

Green light… Steam…

Smell of smoke…

Running, running, running…

Heat… So much heat… Can’t go on, burning up…

I willed one eye to open, and the dim light washed away my nightmare. Anyone else would have woken in a cold sweat, hyperventilating and wide awake, but since that was about the three hundredth and forty-fifth time I had that freaking dream, I was unphased. But still awake.

I crawled out of bed, groping in the dark for my clock. I found it, finally remembered to turn on the lights, and read it. 5:56. Not long until my alarm would go off. I shrugged. For minutes would be plenty of time.

I pulled out my dream journal. (It sounds a lot nerdier than it actually is, trust me.) Sure, it was just a glorified school planner, but whatever. I opened to the current week and, in the first line for Thursday, wrote Heat, which is my name for that specific dream. I looked at the count for Monday, I realize how off I was in my earlier complaint.

“Okay, maybe this is the three hundredth and seventy-third time…” I muttered, scribbling that down. “And did I get any new details? No! This is totally getting out of hand…”

I know what you’re thinking: how the heck can you have the same dream 373 times? Well, I have three things to tell you:

1) I’ve probably had it more than that- I started recording when I was eight, so I only have seven years of dreams here.

2) Another one of my dreams, called Methane, I’ve gone through over 450 times.

3) As for the actual question, I have absolutely no clue. I just know that whatever is causing it, it’s getting worse.

I used to have these dreams twice, maybe three times a week. But for the past month, starting the day that those monsters attacked the school and almost killed Gwen, I’ve gotten one a day or more. I’ve been looking for a cure online, but so far I’m unsuccessful. (Probably because I’m scared to interact with people I don’t know online, so I can’t ask directly. I’m such a wimp.)
Just as I finished scribbling everything down, my alarm started blaring. I yawned and faked some other tired noises, just to trick my mom into thinking I sleep like a normal person, and all the while trying to decide whether to get dressed or not. I decided not to, and headed downstairs.

—

“Gwen, that’s awesome.”

“I know,” she replied. “Just two days and I’ll be walking like everyone else.”

“Although, I am going to miss leaving class early…” I added.

“Whatever, two extra minutes per class aren’t going to kill us,” she said. “Especially with finals coming up- I don’t think they would let me out then anyway, crutches or not.”

I chuckled, swapping her math notebooks for her English one. Everyone was in an awesome mood- it was late June, school would be out in less than two weeks, and everything had pretty much returned to normal. It would be perfect if it wasn’t for finals, which were coming up in a few days. Gwen and I felt pretty good about them, which was odd, but whatever.

“Want to come over tonight?” I asked. “We could quiz each other.”

“Sure,” she agreed, “when?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be home all night.” We walked (or in her case, crutched) into English and sat down. We were nearly late, and the teacher started talking almost as soon as we entered the room. That was it for planning.

—

“Why did King Phillip the second of Spain send the French Armada to England?”

I guessed. “Because he wanted their money?”

“No. He was tired of Elizabeth being better than him and her pirates stealing all of his gold from the New World, and wanted England for himself,” Gwen explained.

“So I was right!” I shouted.

“Not really…”

“Whatever.” I flopped down on the bed. “I’m officially brain-dead. Can we take a break?”

“Yes,” she agreed immediately, tossing her book behind her back. “Besides, I have to leave soon.”

“Aw, why?” I wined. “Can’t you have a sleepover or something?”

“I’ll go ask my mom about it,” she said, picking herself up and grabbing the phone. She went into the hallway to talk, because she’s cool like that, and was back in less than a minute.

“I can stay,” she declared, sitting beside me once more. “But I’m pooped. Can fun wait until morning? I just want to sleep.”
“Agreed.” And we commenced setting up a mattress on the floor for Gwen to sleep on. It was done in a matter of minutes, then we fell sound asleep even faster.

Green light… Steam…

Smell of smoke…

Running, running, running…

Heat… So much heat… Can’t go on, burning up…

I would wake up. That’s how it worked.

But apparently not this time.

Everything snapped into sudden clarity- the smooth metal walls of the hallway, the flashing red alarms, the billowing towers of smoke around me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It always stopped there. Something had gone horribly wrong. And for the first time in years, I felt truly afraid of my nightmare.

I flew through the hallway, coughing like mad but never lessening my pace. Pure muscle memory guided me. Soon I came to a complete halt in front of a thick, round door. I pounded on it, pouring my blood, sweat and tears into the effort. I cried out words I didn’t understand. Finally, when I was near my breaking point, the doors slid open.

Behind it stood two hulking figures, obscured by the odd lighting. They must have been three times my size at least, with muscular arms, threatening claws, and a giant mass of something hanging from their face. But I wasn’t scared; quite the contrary, I was relieved.

I ran too them, squeezing the left one’s leg, sobbing into their skin. I looked up at the one on the left, and saw it’s lips part. Then it said-

“Nicky? Nicky, wake up!”

My eyes shot open. I was shaking all over, breathing shallowly, images from the dream flashing before my eyes. But between the flashes, I could see Gwen, her face warped with genuine worry.

“Nicky, are you okay?” she whispered, putting her hand on my forehead. I couldnt speak. I still felt the smoke stinging my skin, but not the feeling of comfort from the figure. It was too much. I had never handled stress well, but this was a whole new level. Then I realized that I was silently crying.

Her maternal instincts kicked in at the site of my tears. She sat beside me and gently wiped the tears off my cheek. I squirmed; I couldnt decide if the touch was soothing or foreign. Dont worry, youre fine. It was just a dream- I think. Was it a dream?

Somehow I managed a nod. My breathing was becoming more even.

Like I said, you have nothing to worry about, she replied. Can you tell me what it was about?

Yes, I choked out, my voice worse than I thought it would be. I told her everything: the smoke, the confusion, even the strange figures and what I felt when I saw them. She would totally think I was crazy after this.

Ive been having these dreams for as long as I can remember, I admitted. But they never go on that long. They always stop at the same point. Until now

She stopped me. Ive got it. She must have seen my eyes getting watery again. This might be serious. Have you told your parents yet?

No.

A doctor?

Nope.

Anyone?

Just you.

She was quiet for a moment, either thinking or holding back. How about we wait until morning. Want to go back to sleep?

No! I shouted, before I could control my volume. I shut my trap, listened for footsteps, and then lowered my voice. I dont want to risk that again.

Alright, maybe we should deal with this now. Could you turn on your computer?

I stumbled out of bed and booted it up like she asked. Getting that old dinosaur to work took my mind off the situation for a second. But only that long. I gave up my seat to her, and she started googling. I sat on the bed, waiting.

I found Dr. Phils site, she reported almost immediately. Ah, the wonders of the internet. Listen to this; Nightmares occur way into the REM cycle and dont involve moving, whereas night terrors occur during the first two hours of sleep and involve moving around.

I looked at the clock- 3:38. We went to sleep around 9:00. Great, I had it way after I fell asleep and I moved around a ton. My dreams defy logic- that makes me feel so much better.

It also says that nightmares are the bodys way of telling you something.

You mean my bodys been trying to give me the same message every other night since I was born? Not likely.

She turned away from me and suppressed a yawn. She looked way to tired to take any of my sass. I sighed apologetically.

Gwen, go to bed and get some sleep, I ordered as gently as I could, but I still managed to sound like a mom. Ill keep searching.

She didnt protest. Soon she was back in bed, and I was typing and clicking to the rhythm of her breath, the only other sound in the room. I worked valiantly for hours on end, becoming more intrigued and more worried as time passed. By the time Gwen began to stir around 7:00, I had narrowed it down to two options.

Option #1 was that I had some sort of rare mental illness that I wasnt able to pinpoint.

Option #2 Well, Ill get to that later.

Ugh… that chapter was… Ew. Whatever. Hoped you enjoyed it anyway. :DD Tune in next time to find out what her other option is!