Safe

He was grasping at straws, drawing the shortest one as usual. It was stupid and reckless and something Superman would have never done – and maybe that's why he did it. To break free from the vicious cycle that was his life. He'd never be as great as him, he was just a measly clone. A mess of anger created as a weapon and intended for destruction. For killing. And now he was the one being killed.

Killed by himself.

Artemis was right; irony was a bitch.

Superboy couldn't throw that from his mind as he kept trying to break free of the restraints dragging him down, down, down. Deeper into the ocean. So deep, the light was quickly fading, an inky blackness taking its place. Even the dull glow of the kryptonite-laced cement weight was rapidly being eaten away at. And in turn, so was his strength. The ache in his bones from the kyrptonite was slowly being numbed by the frigid water, his energy being drained at a less than rapid pace. Blotches of pure black swam in his vision field and he was terrified – not that he'd ever admit it. He was running out of time and quickly.

His mind was sluggish and heavy and it hurt to think. He pushed the fog away as best he could, calling out with his mind, praying that M'gann could hear him. But no one answered back. So this was it. What a fitting end for a broken creature, he thought bitterly.

With one last look towards the fading surface light, he called out a soft goodbye to whoever was listening in on his thoughts – if anyone was. Finally, he imagined pale green eyes, dark skin, and light hair, full lips smiling softly at him, understanding him, and a voice like silk – deep and strong – calling to him. The muscled and tattooed arms embraced him and he felt safe. One last illusion to satisfy his dying body and mind.

He smiled peacefully. Then he inhaled.

– – – – –

He laid under a burnt orange sky, birds flying over head while clouds rolled on lazily. The sound of waves lapping at shore grew steadily louder and he could feel the sand beneath him. He almost closed his eyes again, but then there was a tightness in his chest. It burned. Burned like kryptonite. He wanted to scream, but his mouth wouldn't work. His body wouldn't work. Panic spread through his veins like icy fire until he felt as if he was laying in the Arctic.

And then there was that voice.

"Connor," It called like a warm breeze. It was deep and silky.

"Connor..." It was laced with panic?

"Connor!" It was...

– – – – –

The watery bile rushed up quickly, making his lungs and throat burn even after he had spat it out. Connor lay back on the sand, exhausted and cold. His baby blue eyes swiveled around, resting on pale green.

"Kaldur," the clone said, voice scratchy and rubbing his throat raw. The Atlantean shook his head softly. Don't speak. He heard soft sobs somewhere – M'gann probably. Kaldur pushed a few strands of hair from Connor's face, his smile soft. Understanding. Superboy sighed.

"Rest." The voice wrapped around him like silk and for once, he listened. His eyes closed softly, feeling a hand on his own.

Connor felt safe as he slipped into oblivion, laying underneath the burnt orange sky, pale green eyes watching over him.