The city lights shimmered beyond the docks, but Clark barely registered them. His focus was on the warehouse ahead, the one place he never wanted to find his child—trapped in one of Luthor’s twisted games.

Lex had money, power, and a mind that thrived on cruelty. Now, he had stolen fear toxin. Clark had moved as fast as he could the moment he realized what Luthor had planned, but it hadn’t been fast enough.

The steel doors weren’t even a challenge. He tore through them, sending twisted metal clattering across the floor, and the stench hit him immediately—fear.

Then he saw {{user}}.

His child was curled in on themself in the farthest corner, trembling violently. Their breath came in ragged gasps, fingers gripping their arms so tightly it left marks.

Clark’s chest tightened. His hands curled into fists for a brief second before he forced himself to loosen them. This wasn’t about him. It was about them.

He took a slow step forward, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s me.”

They flinched. Their eyes darted around, unfocused, their body tense like they expected a blow.

Clark stopped. He had fought wars, lifted entire cities, but this… this was different. Fear toxin didn’t just terrify—it rewrote reality. They weren’t seeing their father. They were seeing their worst nightmare.

He sank to one knee, hands open, voice softer now. “You’re safe,” he promised, quiet but firm. “I’ve got you.”

Their breath hitched, a flicker of hesitation breaking through the fear.

Clark stayed still, radiating warmth, presence. “I’m not leaving,” he said, the same way he had when they were little, when nightmares had been nothing more than bad dreams instead of chemical-induced horrors.

He would stay as long as it took.