Omni-Blood (SI Ben 10 x Invincible)

[Arsenal597]

There comes a time in every being's life where they must stare down their own mortality. For the Galvan known as Azmuth, that time had been circling him like a carrion bird for years.

Ever since he began forging the Omnitrix — a device that could let anyone walk in the skin of another species — the universe had never stopped hunting him. Some came for knowledge. Others for power. All of them wanted a piece of what he'd built.

He'd known from the start what it could become in the wrong hands: a weapon capable of turning entire star systems to ash. But Azmuth had dreamed of something better — a bridge, not a blade. Dreams like his rarely survived contact with empires.

A faint tremor shuddered through the lab. Warning lights flickered against the smooth metal walls. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

So, this is it.

He wouldn't live to see the fruits of his labor… but he'd make damn sure the Viltrumites never got their hands on it either.

His fingers moved quickly across the console, finishing the arrangements to launch the Omnitrix off-world. His defenses wouldn't hold forever. Depending on how many the General had sent, he had a few precious minutes—an hour at most. Time was a luxury he no longer owned.

Azmuth straightened on the platform, claws tapping against the smooth surface as lines of alien script scrolled down the holographic screen before him. The Omnitrix's containment pod was suspended in the center of the room, encased in layers of energy fields and adaptive shielding he'd designed himself — and even as he looked at it, he knew it wasn't enough for what was coming.

"They found me faster than expected," he murmured, more to the machines than himself.

Above the main console, a constellation of sensor data expanded like a spiderweb. Point after point blinked red. The defense grid was failing in neat, brutal intervals as though someone was peeling away the planet's skin. It was one of the few things Azmuth found admirable about them. They were efficient and merciless.

Azmuth's claws moved with deliberate precision, entering command after command. Lines of code locked into place. Energy conduits flared to life, running down the walls in molten gold veins. The pod's propulsion array thrummed, impatient, like a heartbeat against the silence.

He'd accepted death long ago. It was a logical inevitability, not a tragedy. What mattered was what came after. What would outlive him.

And the Omnitrix had to outlive him.

A sharp, wailing alarm tore through the lab, rising in pitch as the security feeds began collapsing one by one. He didn't need to see the footage. He could picture it clearly. Viltrumites cutting through armored lines like tissue. It was almost poetic, in its brutality.

He approached the pod, placing a small hand against the outer casing. For a moment, his eyes softened.

"You were supposed to be more than this," he said quietly. "More than a war prize."

He keyed in the final launch coordinates, bypassing the last of the fail-safes. The pod's guidance system flickered alive — a lone light cutting through a room that suddenly felt very small.

Another tremor rolled through the lab, strong enough to knock a panel loose from the ceiling. Sparks rained down, the ventilation hissing like a dying animal.

"Not yet," Azmuth whispered, raising a claw to stabilize the energy shields around the pod.

He didn't look at the doors. They wouldn't come through them. Viltrumites didn't use doors. The next sound wasn't a tremor, but a crack — sharp, clean, and devastating, like the sky itself had snapped in half.

The roof caved in a heartbeat later. A storm of steel, glass, and fractured alloy exploded downward, scattering across the lab floor like a shower of knives. The force nearly threw him from the platform, but Azmuth braced himself, digging his claws into the metal as he looked up.

There, hovering in the open wound of the roof, framed by the burning sky, was him.

Conquest.

Even after all these years, the sight of a Viltrumite could still make the stars feel smaller. Muscles coiled like forged cable beneath a skin that didn't seem to notice the atmospheric burn. His cape, dark and tattered at the edges, moved ominously through the windless sky.

Azmuth had heard stories about Conquest, the empire's favorite butcher. He'd never imagined he'd be important enough to warrant his presence.

A slow, bitter smile crept across his face.

"So the General sent you," he said dryly, his voice flat as a blade. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

Conquest said nothing. His eyes burned the way dying suns do, with a cold, predatory brightness. He hovered there, hands loose at his side, as though the world below him was an inconvenience. Blood still stained the knuckles of one hand. Someone else had already learned what disobeying the Viltrum empire brought.

Azmuth felt no fear, though. Only a cold, sharpened clarity.

"Would you enjoy it if I were to beg for my life?" Azmuth asked, his hand never leaving the console. One last press, and the lab's lights shifted from gold to white. The launch system rumbled beneath the floor. "You'll find yourself sorely disappointed."

"Where is it, worm? Tell me, and I shall make your end quick." Conquest smiled, his crooked teeth glistening with saliva. "They wished to bring you in alive, but… I can always make an exception."

The pod began to rise on its cradle.

"Whatever happens next," Azmuth said quietly, almost to himself, "you will not have it."

Conquest tilted his head, a slight, cruel thing, like a wolf entertaining the sound of a trapped animal.

The alarms howled louder now, overlapping. Every system left in the lab was collapsing under the weight of incoming assault. Energy shields buckled like stretched glass. A gust of hot air swept through the gash in the ceiling, carrying the distant screams of defense drones being torn apart.

Azmuth's gaze didn't waver. His people would rebuild. They always did. But there would be no Omnitrix in Viltrumite hands. Not in this lifetime. Not in any.

The pod shuddered as it locked into its launch sequence. Conquest's eyes flicked to it — the first sign of movement since he'd arrived.

"The rest of your planet knows when to surrender. When to give up." Conquest sighed. "I've heard stories about you, Azmuth. You've been called one of the greatest minds in the entire universe. Yet, I find you to be incredibly foolish to resist the Empire."

"Perhaps I am. It does not matter." Azmuth smirked. The floor beneath the pod split apart with a mechanical roar, revealing the dark launch chamber below. Energy spiraled down the shaft in a radiant column, aligning perfectly with the stars above. "Your precious empire brutalizes all who dare cross their path. That in itself is foolish, but I wager it's a lost cause trying to get that through your primitive skull."

"Hmmph," Conquest chuckled, at last descending slowly into the lab. "Understand, this is your only chance. To refuse is to prolong your suffering. I am offering you a quick death."

"I understand. But as I said…" Azmuth tapped the final command. "You will not have the Omnitrix."

The pod launched, tearing through the night sky like a comet set free, leaving a streak of white-blue light in its wake. Conquest's eyes narrowed.

"How disappointing."

Then Conquest descended.

Azmuth stood his ground, hands folding behind his back as Conquest fell upon him like a shadow. Death no longer frightened him. Only failure ever had.

But he would not go down without a fight.

---

Hey guys, this is the other story I've been working on in the background recently. With me being off work for the next month, this has presented me with the opportunity to write a lot more. With this story in particular, it is a SI story, but there will be plenty of the other characters thrown in there. Let me know what you all think, and I'll catch you in the next chapter.

Reviews are highly appreciated. They let me know what you think and help motivate me to keep writing.

Also, if you'd like to support my writing, I do have a Patreon where depending on the tier you can get up to 5 chapters early. If the story gets popular enough I may try to get some artwork commissioned as I like having visuals.

Want to join my discord server where you can talk about the story? Link will be below!
discord.gg/dQkeJPkxdD

https://www.patreon.com/c/Arsenal597

 

[Kamen K]

Interested watch

 

[Arsenal597]

Interested watch

Click to shrink...

I will try to get another chapter up within a week.

 

[Lillie Jones]

Watching

 

[TheoBelmond]

Why does the MC need to be in Ben's body? It seems redundant.

 

[CronaAlbarn]

Why does the MC need to be in Ben's body? It seems redundant.

Click to shrink...

To sleep with gwen why else?

 

[Zetakille]

Well then....the protag is gonna be operating on a timeline of inevitability. If he can unlock the right forms, and get Master Control working, he could potentially take down one of the lower-tier Viltrumites solo. If he can acquire a Viltrumite sample, then he absolutely could throw hands with Nolan and have an impact, but would lose due to inexperience. If he can unlock a Celestialsapien or Chronosapien, then he's unbeatable.

Although....if he got a DNA sample from a Dornian like Battle Beast, would the Omnitrix form be as powerful as Battle Beast?

 

[Corvustheo]

Yes love a Ben 10 Si in invincible story.

Why does the MC need to be in Ben's body? It seems redundant.

Click to shrink...

OCs with the Omnitrix are redundant, boring and feel forced into the story.

 

[Arsenal597]

Why does the MC need to be in Ben's body? It seems redundant.

Click to shrink...

I mean, you could argue it's redundant to be put into any MC, but I get where you're coming from with Ben. The Omnitrix does give him a crazy power boost and a versatility that's definitely considered overpowered and unfair to a painful degree. But I'm going to be focusing more on the story side of things with Ben being the conduit from which it's told. While yes, there is going to be the Ben 10 and Invincible storylines that unfold... I want to explore how this universe would be when you have both worlds co-existing at once.

 

[Arsenal597]

Yes love a Ben 10 Si in invincible story.

OCs with the Omnitrix are redundant, boring and feel forced into the story.

Click to shrink...

I can definitely agree with that, given the circumstances.

 

[Arsenal597]

Well then....the protag is gonna be operating on a timeline of inevitability. If he can unlock the right forms, and get Master Control working, he could potentially take down one of the lower-tier Viltrumites solo. If he can acquire a Viltrumite sample, then he absolutely could throw hands with Nolan and have an impact, but would lose due to inexperience. If he can unlock a Celestialsapien or Chronosapien, then he's unbeatable.

Although....if he got a DNA sample from a Dornian like Battle Beast, would the Omnitrix form be as powerful as Battle Beast?

Click to shrink...

It is definitely a matter of inevitability with this story. A matter of fighting to get to the level he needs to be, while adding in the extra worldbuilding that will be needed as well. As for the Battle-Beast thing... experience would play a key factor in that. So, in my opinion it's more of a yes and no situation.

 

[Arsenal597]

Interesting hope this will not develop into just a smut story like the others also find it hard to think that Azmuth will remain dead either he comes as an Ai or an alternate self of him from another universe or timeline

Click to shrink...

One thing you'll learn with me is that smut is like the last thing I will consider for my writing. There may or may not be certain dialogue lines, or comments. But I will rarely, if ever include something along the lines of smut.

As for Azmuth, you're a smart one. Thanks for reading.

 

[TheoBelmond]

I mean, you could argue it's redundant to be put into any MC, but I get where you're coming from with Ben. The Omnitrix does give him a crazy power boost and a versatility that's definitely considered overpowered and unfair to a painful degree. But I'm going to be focusing more on the story side of things with Ben being the conduit from which it's told. While yes, there is going to be the Ben 10 and Invincible storylines that unfold... I want to explore how this universe would be when you have both worlds co-existing at once.

Click to shrink...

I think I expressed myself poorly.

What I meant is that, since it's the Invincible universe mixed with Ben 10, it doesn't make sense for the protagonist to possess Ben's body. He could be another cousin with his own story. Or he could just be Ben himself, instead of an original character possessing Ben's body.

It doesn't make sense for the protagonist to have to possess Ben's body.

It's like those stories where the MC receives an incredibly powerful ability, but the author decides to add a system on top of it anyway.

 

[Corvustheo]

I think I expressed myself poorly.

What I meant is that, since it's the Invincible universe mixed with Ben 10, it doesn't make sense for the protagonist to possess Ben's body. He could be another cousin with his own story. Or he could just be Ben himself, instead of an original character possessing Ben's body.

It doesn't make sense for the protagonist to have to possess Ben's body.

It's like those stories where the MC receives an incredibly powerful ability, but the author decides to add a system on top of it anyway.

Click to shrink...

Albedo would be the one of the few option to explore a SI (that hasn't been done much) being placed into the omniverse or a different variant Ben or his future son or Gwen brother Ken that only appeared once in AF. There's already stories with Original Ben crossover with Invincible on fanfiction.net.

 

[Arsenal597]

I think I expressed myself poorly.

What I meant is that, since it's the Invincible universe mixed with Ben 10, it doesn't make sense for the protagonist to possess Ben's body. He could be another cousin with his own story. Or he could just be Ben himself, instead of an original character possessing Ben's body.

It doesn't make sense for the protagonist to have to possess Ben's body.

It's like those stories where the MC receives an incredibly powerful ability, but the author decides to add a system on top of it anyway.

Click to shrink...

Okay, that's fair. There is certainly a lot of room for storytelling. For me, though in this instance I felt more drawn to the Ben SI route than anyone else. Idk, it's just the way my brain worked this story out I suppose.

 

[Arsenal597]

Albedo would be the one of the few option to explore a SI (that hasn't been done much) being placed into the omniverse or a different variant Ben or his future son or Gwen brother Ken that only appeared once in AF. There's already stories with Original Ben crossover with Invincible on fanfiction.net.

Click to shrink...

Personally those crossovers on ff were not something I enjoyed tbh. But yeah, Albedo would be a good choice for an SI story.

 

[Lillie Jones]

Dang it, That's one way to become Ben Tennyson SI especially waking up after going sleep with no ROB introduction , which whatever happened to OG Ben Tennyson falling out thst window in Grandpa Max RV. This was a way rush job then like a literally a drop in SI in the fused Ben 10/ Invincible verse and whatever is added in this particular universe.
At least Ben Tennyson got the Omnitrix and that DNA coupling for Omnitrix user hurts like bitch for new the hero .
Let's hope he doesn't explain how he body jacked Ben Tennyson with no choice in the matter from Grandpa Max and Gwen Tennyson after the accident any excuse except that one.
Continue on
Cheers!

 

[Arsenal597]

AN: Before the chapter starts and anyone asks in the reviews/comments... this is a rewrite of chapter 1, yes. The original angle of the story being intended for an SI no longer sits well with me. After heavy deliberation, I've ultimately decided to make this a true Ben 10 x Invincible fic, which I admit I should have done from the first place. I had approximately seven chapters total written in advance for the SI angle, but the reason I had not posted any more was due to this gut feeling that something was off with it. I apologize for the wait, and I definitely apologize for having to rewrite this. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

---

Elsewhere…

---

Ben Tennyson slid across the street on his side, gravel tearing at his jacket as he skidded to a stop against the wreckage of a delivery truck that no longer resembled anything meant to be driven. The impact rattled his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath and tasted iron.

The sound that came out of him wasn't quite a scream, not quite a groan—just a sharp, animal exhale dragged loose by pain and surprise, the kind your body makes before your brain has time to catch up.

Blood smeared his lip when he wiped at it with the back of his head. More of it was soaking through his shirt now, the dark red spreading across his abdomen where something — metal, debris, he wasn't even sure at this point — had caught him hard a moment ago. The pain was there, burning and hissing at him, but he didn't think much of it.

Pain was background noise, a radio left on in another room. It existed, but it wasn't the loudest thing anymore.

He couldn't focus on the pain while the city around him was coming apart. For a second, he stayed there, staring up at a sky choked with smoke and ash. What had once been downtown was now a graveyard of concrete and twisted steel.

Dust drifted down in slow sheets, coating everything in a dull gray film, turning the afternoon light sickly and dim, like the world had been left out too long.

A skyscraper down the block leaned at an unnatural angle, its lower floors chewed open like a bite had been taken out of it. Fires burned in pockets along the street, fed by ruptured lines and shattered storefronts. Sirens screamed somewhere in the distance, half-drowned out by the deeper, heavier sound of something massive moving through concrete like it was wet sand.

The ground shuddered beneath him in irregular pulses, not quite rhythmic, more like the city was flinching every time whatever-it-was took another step.

The robot—because of course it was a robot—loomed at the center of it all.

Ben let out a short, humorless breath at that. Monsters were bad enough. Monsters made of steel and circuitry felt personal, like someone had decided flesh and bone weren't fragile enough.

It was bigger than anything Ben had ever imagined up close. Not just tall, but wide, its torso bristling with weapons, limbs grinding and hissing as it advanced. Each step it took sent tremors through the street, cracks spider-webbing out beneath its weight. Red lights pulsed along its frame in uneven rhythms, like a heart struggling to keep pace.

Up close, it wasn't sleek or elegant. It was ugly in a functional way, all hard angles and exposed joints, built less to inspire awe than to endure it. Whatever intelligence lived behind those glowing sensors didn't need to be fast. It only needed to keep coming.

Ben pushed himself upright, boots slipping for a second on loose gravel before he found his balance. His jacket hung in tatters, one sleeve nearly torn off, fabric fluttering uselessly in the hot, smoky air. He took one breath. Then another.

Each inhale scraped his lungs raw, tasting like ash and burning plastic. Each exhale trembled, threatening to turn into something that sounded a lot like fear if he let it.

Somewhere nearby, civilians were running—shadows darting between doorways, people dragging each other to cover while the Guardians bought them time.

A woman stumbled past him clutching a crying child, eyes wild and unfocused. An older man lay on the curb, unmoving, dust already settling into the lines of his face like he'd been part of the street all along.

A blur of green light streaked past him, solidifying just long enough for Green Ghost to phase a family through a collapsing wall before vanishing again. War Woman brought her mace down on the robot's leg with a roar, the impact ringing like a cathedral bell. The blow should have crippled it. Instead, the machine staggered and retaliated, backhanding her through the side of a bus and sending it cartwheeling down the street. Darkwing vaulted from a rooftop, disappearing in a cloud of smoke as laser fire carved through the space he'd just occupied.

The fight wasn't clean. It wasn't heroic in the way highlight reels made it look. It was desperate, loud, and messy—every victory paid for with blood or bent steel.

Ben broke into a run.

The decision came before the thought, before reason had a chance to get its hands around his shoulders and shake him.

His side screamed in protest, but he ignored it, boots pounding against broken asphalt as he sprinted straight toward the chaos. He felt small for exactly half a second—fifteen years of instinct telling him he shouldn't be here, that this was too big, too dangerous, too much.

That half-second stretched, then snapped, drowned out by something louder and older than fear: the need to move, to act, to not be another shadow fleeing into an alley.

Then a shadow passed over him.

Wind tore past his face as something red and white and impossibly fast cut through the smoke overhead.

The air itself seemed to recoil, pressure snapping like a whip as the blur split the haze apart.

Ben looked up just in time to see the cape.

It cut a clean, unmistakable line through the ash-filled sky, a slash of color where everything else had gone gray.

Omni-Man descended like a missile, smashing into the robot's upper chassis with enough force to stagger it back a step. The impact boomed through the street, a concussive wave that rattled windows for blocks. Omni-Man pulled back, hovering effortlessly as debris rained down around him, completely unfazed.

Metal screamed. Concrete burst. For a moment, the noise swallowed everything else—then settled, leaving Omni-Man suspended in the wreckage like the eye of a storm.

Ben grinned despite himself.

The expression felt almost foreign on his face, stretched wide and reckless.

Of course he's here.

Omni-Man turned midair, eyes locking onto Ben as if he'd known exactly where he was the whole time. Smoke curled around him, cape snapping in the wind, uniform scuffed but intact. He didn't look worried. He never did.

If anything, he looked calm—comfortably so—as if the chaos below was an inconvenience, not a threat.

"Need a lift?" Omni-Man called, holding a hand out.

The words carried easily through the noise, casual and unstrained, like he was offering a ride home instead of an escape from a war zone.

Ben didn't hesitate. He jumped, fingers closing around Omni-Man's forearm as strong hands hauled him up without effort. The ground dropped away beneath them in an instant, the ruined street shrinking as they shot skyward.

The sensation hit him all at once—weightlessness, speed, the sudden, dizzying realization that gravity had lost its claim on him entirely.

The city unfolded below them—damage controlled where it could be, chaos contained where it couldn't. The Guardians moved like a machine, each of them where they needed to be. Red Rush blurred between evacuation points. Immortal hammered away at the robot's upper plating, drawing its attention.

Ben's heart hammered in his chest—not with fear, but with something brighter. Purpose. Belonging.

They flew straight into the fight.

Omni-Man released him at the edge of the battlefield, and Ben hit the side of a shattered building hard enough to crack concrete, rolling through the impact and coming up on one knee. He barely registered the pain as he launched himself forward again, ducking under a sweeping mechanical arm that tore through the air where his head had just been.

The robot turned, sensors locking onto him.

Good, Ben thought. Look at me.

A blast of energy screamed past his shoulder, close enough that the heat singed his hair. He dove, rolled, came up behind a chunk of fallen debris as the street behind him exploded into shrapnel. His ears rang. His vision blurred for a split second.

He wiped blood from his mouth again and laughed, breathless.

Omni-Man slammed into the robot from the opposite side, fists moving too fast to track, each blow denting armor that had shrugged off everything else. The machine reeled, systems overloading, warning lights flashing erratically now.

"Together," Omni-Man said, already angling back.

Ben nodded, muscles burning as he pushed off the ground and launched himself forward. Side by side, they charged—one human, one godlike—closing the distance in a heartbeat.

Ben drew his arm back, putting everything he had into the swing. Omni-Man did the same, cape flaring behind him like a banner as they lined up their strike on the robot's exposed core.

This was it. This was the moment.

The impact was—

Boom.

A sharp, sudden crack echoed through the world as something slammed down hard in front of Ben, the entire scene freezing, shattering like glass around him.

"Earth to Ben!"

The world snapped back into place with a jolt sharp enough to make him flinch. The roar of battle collapsed into the flat hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Smoke and fire evaporated, replaced by beige walls, a whiteboard stained with the blood of long forgotten markers, and the faint smell of industrial cleaner that Bellwood High used religiously.

"Mr. Tennyson," the teacher said, his voice tight and clipped. "Would you care to join the rest of us?"

Ben blinked, still adjusting to the shift back to reality. His heart was still going a mile a minute, adrenaline sloshing around his chest like it had nowhere to go. For half a second, he could have sworn his knuckles hurt as though he'd punched something way above his weight class. Then the ache faded, leaving nothing behind but the uncomfortable awareness that he was slouched in his chair, mouth slightly open, staring at absolutely nothing.

The class was staring at him now. Twenty-seven pairs of eyes, varying from bored, amused, to openly judgmental. Gwen's gaze flicked toward him from two rows over, eyebrow raised in that way that said again? without needing the words. JT and Crash were slumped in the back corner, grinning like they were watching a movie.

Ben straightened, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry. Uh, zoned out."

A few snickers rippled through the room. The teacher didn't laugh.

"I understand that this is the last day of school," he said, tapping his marker against the desk. "As tempting as it might be to mentally clock out for the summer, we're still here. Which means I expect participation."

Ben nodded, the motion automatic.

"Yes, sir."

He studied him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he didn't buy it, then turned back to the board.

"As I was saying. Final announcements."

Just like that, the moment passed. The battlefield was gone. The god in the cape, the purpose, the feeling of being part of something—all of it reduced to the faint echo of a dream you forgot the second you woke up.

Ben leaned back in his chair, staring at the clock above the door. The second hand crawled forward with all the urgency of a dying snail. Bellwood High didn't just move slowly—it insisted on it. Like time itself had decided there was no rush, because nothing important was ever going to happen here anyway.

The classroom felt smaller now. The hum of the lights dug into his skull, replacing the thunder of collapsing concrete with a noise so dull it almost hurt more. His notebook lay open on his desk, margins filled with half-doodles and abandoned thoughts. In one corner, he'd drawn a crude figure in a cape punching something vaguely robot-shaped. He stared at it, then closed the notebook like it had embarrassed him.

This was his life. Rows of desks. Bells telling him when to move, when to sit, when to think. Teachers who talked at him instead of to him. Days stacked on top of each other so evenly they blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last.

In his head, he'd just charged into a war zone. Here, the biggest danger was falling asleep and getting called on.

The teacher droned on about summer assignments—optional reading lists that weren't optional if they wanted a recommendation later, reminders about turning in textbooks, warnings about lockers needing to be cleared out. Ben listened with half an ear, the words sliding off him. Every sentence felt small. Shrunk. Like someone had taken the volume knob on his life and twisted it all the way down.

He glanced out the window. The sky over Bellwood was clear, painfully normal. No smoke. No sirens. No shadows passing overhead. Just a couple of clouds drifting by, lazy and unconcerned, like they had nowhere better to be.

Gwen nudged his desk with her foot. He looked over. She mouthed, What were you dreaming about?

Ben hesitated, then shrugged. Nothing, he mouthed back.

She didn't believe him. She never did. Gwen always looked at him like she was waiting for him to either surprise her or disappoint her, and some days he wasn't sure which scared him more.

But how was he supposed to tell her that he was daydreaming about fighting alongside the Guardians? She didn't like superheroes to even be mentioned in the same hemisphere as her, so why would he dare bring it up in front of her?

The bell rang a few minutes later, sharp and grating. Chairs scraped back, causing the room to explode into noise as everyone remembered how to be human again. Ben gathered his things slowly, stuffing papers into his bag without really looking at them. Around them, people were laughing, talking about summer plans, and complained about the finals that they'd already survived.

"Tennyson, you were out cold!" called one of his classmates, Randy. "Looked like you were seeing God or something."

Ben snorted.

"More like getting punched by one."

Randy laughed and kept moving, already distracted by something else. It was alright, though. Ben hardly spoke with Randy, so this was a rather deep conversation between the two all things considered.

Gwen fell into step beside Ben as they filed out into the hallway, which was somehow even louder than the classroom.

"You okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she adjusted an earbud. "Haven't seen you space out like that in a while."

"Yeah," he nodded. It came out far too easily for his liking. "Just tired, that's all."

She searched his face like she wanted to argue, then sighed.

"You always say that."

"I don't know what you want me to say. Everything's just boring right now."

"Life might not be as exciting as your games or comics, but there's gotta be a point where you separate the two."

They stopped at his locker. Ben spun the dial, the metal clanking open with a hollow sound. Inside was a mess of crumpled papers, an old hoodie, and a textbook he'd forgotten existed. He stared at it, thinking about how, in his head, he'd just stood shoulder to shoulder with a god and tried to save a city.

Here, he couldn't even keep his locker organized.

The thought should've been funny. Instead, it left a tight, restless feeling in his chest. Like he was stuck in the wrong place, at the wrong time, waiting for something that refused to show up.

"It's not like—" Ben wasn't sure how to put it to words. "You know how I am, Gwen. You know what I want."

"I do… and I stand by the sentiment you're an idiot."

Gwen headed off to meet her friends. Ben shut his locker and stood there for a second longer than necessary, listening to the noise of the hallway wash over him. It all felt distant, like he was slightly out of sync with the rest of the world.

He could still see it if he tried. The smoke. The fire. Omni-Man's hand reaching down, offering him a way up. In the dream, everything made sense. There was danger, sure—but there was also clarity. A reason to run forward instead of standing still.

Bellwood High didn't offer that, though. It just felt like a never-ending loop.

Once he had his locker cleared out, Ben adjusted his backpack and headed for the exit, already thinking about the bus ride home.

---

Ben made it outside just as the afternoon heat settled in. The doors shut behind him with a hollow thud and Bellwood High immediately lost interest in his existence. He crossed the front walk, past clusters of kids already peeling away into summer, and stopped near the bus pickup area where the pavement gave way to a strip of grass and a scrawny tree that looked like it had been planted out of obligation.

He dropped his backpack at its base and slid down until his shoulders hit the trunk. The bark pressed uncomfortably through his shirt but he didn't move. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky.

The wait itself, as much as it was lackluster, wasn't that bad. There weren't enough vehicles and drivers allocated to get everyone home right away, so there were two bus routes per driver. Ben was lucky enough to be a part of the second route.

Clouds drifted overhead in slow, shapeless clumps. Ben tracked one with his eyes, watching it stretch and thin until it barely resembled anything at all. He tried to imagine it as something else—a ship, a figure, a cape cutting through the air—but it didn't hold. The image fell apart the moment he blinked.

He exhaled and let his head thump lightly against the tree.

He knew why he daydreamed. He always had.

It wasn't because real life was awful. Not really. Bellwood wasn't some nightmare town. School was fine. His grades were… passable. He had friends, sort of. He had a home. Two parents who cared enough to worry and argue and remind him to do his homework.

Parents who worked for the GDA.

That part never stopped buzzing in the back of his head.

The Global Defense Agency wasn't exactly something they advertised on family Christmas cards, but Ben had grown up around it in pieces and fragments. Late-night phone calls. Sudden trips that couldn't be explained. Conversations that stopped the second he entered a room. He didn't know details—he wasn't stupid enough to ask—but he knew what it meant.

The world was dangerous. People got hurt. Sometimes very badly. And sometimes, someone had to step in.

That idea had lodged itself in his brain early and never let go.

Ben didn't daydream because he wanted to be famous. Or powerful. Or feared. He daydreamed because in his head, when something went wrong, he could do something about it. He could run toward the noise instead of pretending not to hear it. He could matter in a way that felt immediate and real.

Omni-Man just happened to be the clearest version of that.

The guy showed up, things stopped being hopeless. Buildings still fell. People still screamed. But there was always that moment—cape in the sky, shadow cutting across the ground—where you knew someone had it handled. Someone strong enough to take the hit so everyone else didn't have to.

Ben swallowed.

It wasn't about wanting to be a god. It was about wanting to be useful.

A laugh broke through his thoughts—sharp, ugly, too loud to be friendly.

Ben's eyes slid sideways.

A few yards down the sidewalk, JT and Crash were doing what they always did when there wasn't an adult around to notice. JT leaned in close to some kid Ben didn't recognize, crowding him, blocking his path, while Crash circled behind like he was worried the guy might slip away if he blinked. The kid had his backpack clutched tight against his chest, shoulders drawn in, eyes darting around as if he were searching for an exit that didn't exist.

Something in Ben's chest tightened. He'd hated this for as long as he could remember.

It wasn't always him on the receiving end—though it had been, once or twice, back when he was smaller and hadn't learned how to talk fast enough to wriggle out of trouble. But even when it wasn't personal, it made his skin crawl. The way they laughed. The way they treated other people like props in a joke only they were in on.

JT said something Ben couldn't hear. Crash snorted. The kid shook his head, mumbling a reply that only seemed to make things worse.

Ben closed his eyes for half a second.

Don't.

It's not your problem.

Just wait for the bus.

The sensible part of his brain lined those thoughts up neatly and presented them like a very reasonable argument. He could already picture how this went if he got involved—JT puffing himself up, Crash stepping in close. None of it ended well for him. It never did.

Ben opened his eyes again.

The kid flinched as JT reached out and flicked the strap of his backpack, hard enough to make it snap back against his chest.

That did it.

Ben pushed himself up from the tree, regretting it almost immediately as his feet hit the ground. His stomach twisted, nerves buzzing loud enough to drown out common sense. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and started toward them, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"Hey."

JT and Crash both turned. JT's grin widened the second he saw who it was.

"Well, if it isn't Tennyson," JT said. "What, you here to watch too?"

Ben stopped a few feet away, planting himself between them and the kid as best he could without actually touching anyone. Up close, the other kid looked even smaller. They really did know how to pick the easiest prey. That much was obvious.

"Leave him alone," Ben said. His voice didn't crack, which felt like a minor miracle. "Seriously. It's the last day. Don't you have something better to do?"

Crash laughed—low, rough, and mean.

"What's it to you?"

Ben shrugged, forcing a casualness he didn't feel. His pulse hammered against his ribs.

"Nothing. Just figured I'd save you the trouble of getting yelled at later."

JT stepped closer. Ben held his ground, even though every instinct he had was screaming at him to take a step back. JT smelled like sweat and cheap cologne. He leaned in, eyes narrowing, voice dropping.

"You think you're some kind of hero now?"

"No," Ben said. "I just think you're being jerks."

Crash scoffed.

"Real brave, man. Here I thought maybe you missed the wedgies from seventh grade."

Ben's heart was lodged somewhere in his throat now, but he did his best to ignore it. He glanced past them, catching the other kid's eye.

"Go," Ben said, not looking back. "Just go."

The kid hesitated for a heartbeat, then bolted the second JT's attention flickered. He darted down the sidewalk and vanished into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

JT swore and rounded on Ben, irritation flashing hot and bright.

"You—"

The distant rumble of an approaching bus cut him off.

Crash glanced toward the sound, then back at Ben. Something shifted in his expression, quick and calculating. After a moment, he snorted.

"Not worth it," he muttered.

JT stared at Ben for another long second, jaw tight, then scoffed and stepped back.

"Whatever. Get your kicks where you can."

They peeled off, laughter already returning like nothing had happened—like the last thirty seconds hadn't mattered at all.

Ben stood there for a moment longer than necessary, adrenaline crashing through him with nowhere to go. His hands were shaking—not badly, not enough for anyone else to notice—but he noticed. He shoved them into his pockets and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his chest finally loosening as the tension bled out of him.

The bus pulled up with a hiss of compressed air and a screech of brakes that cut through the noise of the sidewalk. Ben climbed aboard and took a seat, considering himself lucky that he hadn't been hit for stepping in. The thought of going home with another black eye—of having to explain that to his parents—was not how he wanted to start his summer vacation.

As he settled into the seat and the bus lurched back into motion, that sense of emptiness returned, quietly replacing the nerves. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind the familiar hollow ache that always seemed to follow moments like this. While the school year was over, Ben knew better than to think that meant anything was finished. JT and Crash were patient when it came to getting their payback. It didn't matter if they had to wait a day or two months. They always found a way to get what they wanted in the end.

For now, Ben tried to focus on the fact that the school year was finally over. On the road trip he was supposed to take with his grandfather, of being away from Bellwood for a while, and most importantly, a break from the mundane routines. He hoped Gwen was still going, even though they hadn't been all that close lately. In fact, today might have been the most they'd spoken in months—a realization that hurt more than he wanted to admit, settling heavy in his chest as the bus carried him home.

---

The house was quiet when he entered through the front door. It wasn't unusual for his parents to be gone when he got off of school most days.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound carrying farther than it should have, bouncing down the hallway and into rooms that didn't answer back. Ben stood there for a second longer than necessary, backpack still slung over one shoulder, listening to the quiet settle again. The air inside the house felt different from outside—cooler, still, like it had been holding its breath all afternoon.

He dropped his bag onto the couch. It landed with a soft thud and slid sideways, half hanging off the cushion the way it always did. Ben didn't fix it. He never did.

"I'm home," he called out, raising his voice just enough to be heard if someone was there, even though he already knew the odds.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No muffled reply from down the hall. Not even the sound of the TV left on in the background. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock above the doorway, counting out seconds that didn't feel like they were in any hurry to pass.

Ben snorted quietly and shook his head, toeing off his sneakers and nudging them against the wall. Old habit. Even when he was pretty sure no one was around, he still announced himself. It felt wrong not to, like skipping a step in a routine that kept things in place.

He headed into the kitchen, the floor cool under his socks. Sunlight slanted in through the window over the sink, catching dust in the air and turning it into something almost pretty. The counter was clear except for a folded envelope near the fruit bowl. Ben glanced at it, half-expecting his name to be written across the front, but it was blank. Probably something work-related. Everything always was.

He opened the fridge and stared inside without really seeing it. Leftovers in mismatched containers. Milk that might still be good. A bottle of orange juice with maybe one glass left if you were being optimistic. He closed the door again and leaned back against it, letting the chill seep through his shirt.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. For half a second, his chest jumped.

He pulled it out.

Nothing new. Just a notification from earlier he hadn't bothered opening yet. No message from Mom or Dad explaining where they were, how late they'd be, whether he should fend for himself or not. Sometimes they remembered. Sometimes they didn't. It wasn't personal. He knew that. Still didn't stop the quiet from feeling heavier when it happened.

The GDA didn't run on schedules the way normal jobs did. Emergencies didn't care about dinner plans or end-of-school-year days. Ben had learned that early, learned to nod when plans changed, learned to shrug when his parents left halfway through a conversation because a call came in. He'd grown up around half-finished sentences and rushed goodbyes.

Most days, he handled it fine. Today… today was louder inside his head than he liked.

He pushed off the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink. His reflection stared back at him from the microwave door—fifteen, a little too skinny, hair still messed up from the bus ride home. There was a faint bruise blooming along his forearm where he'd clipped the edge of a desk earlier, purple just starting to show. He rotated his arm, inspecting it, then let it drop.

At least tomorrow was different.

Max was picking him up in the morning. Early. Road trip early. The kind of early that meant grabbing food on the way out and not coming back until the sun was doing something completely different. An entire summer without walking into a quiet house, without wondering if the lights would be on or if he'd be eating alone again. An entire summer of bad diner food, long drives, and his grandfather talking like the world was still full of secrets worth chasing.

The thought loosened something in his chest.

He headed down the hallway, peeking into rooms as he passed. His parents' door was closed, the way it usually was when they were gone. He didn't open it. He never did. His own room waited at the end, familiar and cluttered and his. Posters slightly crooked on the walls. A desk covered in notebooks and half-finished projects. He dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

The quiet followed him in.

Ben laced his fingers together over his stomach, eyes tracing a small crack in the plaster above him. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to come home to noise instead. To have someone ask how his day went and actually wait for the answer. To not feel that little twist of worry every time he unlocked the door, wondering if today was another one of those days.

He understood why his parents did what they did. He really did. The GDA wasn't just some job—it mattered. It kept people safe. It kept things from going wrong in ways most people never even knew were possible. He'd grown up hearing stories he wasn't supposed to repeat, watching his parents come home exhausted and proud and carrying the weight of things they couldn't talk about.

That didn't make the empty house easier to sit with.

Sometimes, when the quiet pressed in too hard, his mind wandered. Not on purpose. It just… went there. He imagined what it would be like to be the one who showed up when things went wrong. To be the reason people didn't have to worry. To be strong enough that no one could push him around, or anyone else for that matter.

It was that thought that brought him back to thinking about Omni-Man. Ben could admit that he was rather obsessed with the superhero, but he was the first person that made Ben feel like he was meant for more. He still remembered the footage of Omni-Man catching a train that derailed, saving the passengers with a smile on his face. It reminded him of an anime, but the name escaped him.

He tried to tone down the day-dreaming, but it always crept in when he wasn't expecting it. He rolled onto his side and reached for his phone again, scrolling through old messages until he found one from his mom earlier that week. Just a reminder about the trip. Be good for Max. Don't forget sunscreen. Love you.

Ben smiled, small and tired, and set the phone down on the nightstand.

"Tomorrow," he muttered to the empty room.

 

[Carnub]

yo really cool start man! You're really good at painting the scene in my mind, hoping to see more of this

 

[Arsenal597]

yo really cool start man! You're really good at painting the scene in my mind, hoping to see more of this

Click to shrink...

chapter 2 will be posted here in a few minutes!

 

[Arsenal597]

Ben spent the evening mostly playing the latest Sumo Slammers and scrolling through social media. His parents still hadn't reached out to him, so he figured they were on a mission somewhere they couldn't talk.

Ben looked over at the baseball bat he kept in the corner of the room. It was a gift from his grandpa Max for his seventh birthday. It was at the height of Ben's baseball obsession which never culminated in anything worthwhile, beyond some hefty tickets to the World Series a couple years ago. Max and him would go a few rounds in the backyard in the summers, especially on nights where he was missing his parents. It was one of Ben's fondest memories, if he were to be honest.

The bat leaned where it always had, wedged neatly between his dresser and the wall, its wooden surface worn smooth in places where hands had gripped it too tightly over the years. The tape around the handle had started to peel, curling at the edges, but Ben had never bothered to replace it. In a way, it felt like replacing the tape would remove the memories attached to it.

Max had insisted it wasn't about the game. That had been obvious even when Ben was seven and still thought batting averages were a personality trait. They'd spend more time talking than actually hitting anything. Max pitching slow, exaggerated throws that were impossible to miss. Ben swinging like each hit might be the one that finally made him good at it. On the nights his parents were gone, the backyard lights would stay on longer than usual, bugs swarming around the bulbs, the air thick with summer heat and the smell of cut grass.

Those nights felt full in a way the house never did when he was alone.

Ben leaned back against his bedframe and let his eyes drift around the room. It looked the same as it always had, though he'd grown into it more than he realized. The Seance Dog poster across from his bed was peeling slightly at the corners, the tape giving up after years of humidity and half-hearted fixes. He'd gotten it right after the show aired, back when everyone at school thought it was weird that he liked something animated that wasn't trying to be funny every five seconds. The glowing eyes of the ghostly dog stared back at him now, frozen mid-howl, dramatic and serious and a little ridiculous.

Below it, lined up on the shelf, were a handful of Omni-Man things he'd accumulated over the years—an old action figure missing a hand, a folded T-shirt he'd outgrown but refused to throw away, a cracked mug he never used because he didn't want to risk breaking it for real. None of it was worth much, but that wasn't the point. It was so much more than monetary value.

The controller rested heavy in his hands as the game idled on the screen, some looping menu music filling the room. He thumbed the joystick absentmindedly, eyes still on the bat, then on the poster, then back to the blank space between them. His thoughts drifted, as they always did, back to Max.

Max never made Ben feel like he had to be anything other than what he was at that exact moment. He didn't talk down to him. Didn't brush off his questions. When Ben got frustrated—at baseball, at school, at things he couldn't put words to—Max listened like the answer mattered, even if all Ben managed was a shrug.

Tomorrow, he'd be in the RV with him again. Hours on the road, bad snacks, and Max's old stories that Ben had heard a dozen times but still listened to anyway. The thought settled in his chest, steadying something that had been buzzing all evening.

His gaze shifted to the other side of the room, where a small stack of books sat untouched on his desk. Gwen's influence, if he were being honest. She'd always been like that—nose buried in something thick and complicated, worlds away from whatever Ben was doing. When they were younger, she'd still sit beside him while he played, legs tucked under her, pretending she wasn't paying attention while absolutely paying attention. She'd ask questions about the characters, complain about the controls, and roll her eyes when he lost.

She never saw the appeal of Sumo Slammers. She always said it was too loud, or too repetitive. Not enough strategy for her own liking. But she'd still watch, still comment, still stick around just to be there.

Somewhere along the way, that changed.

Now, when they were in the same room, she was more likely to be reading, or tapping away on her tablet, half-engaged in a conversation that never quite lined up. Ben didn't know when exactly that shift happened. It felt gradual and sudden all at once, like realizing a door had closed without making a sound.

He tightened his grip on the controller and brought his attention back to the screen, the bright colors and exaggerated impacts pulling him in. The game booted up fully, characters snapping into place, familiar and uncomplicated.

As the level dragged on, Ben's attention drifted in and out of the screen. His thumbs moved on instinct more than intention, muscle memory carrying him through combos he'd performed a hundred times before. The room was lit mostly by the TV now, the rest of the house sunk into its usual evening quiet.

Then a sound came from downstairs.

It wasn't loud. That was the problem.

Ben's fingers froze mid-input. The character on-screen took a hit and staggered in place, the game still running for half a second before Ben snapped out of it and paused. The music cut off abruptly, leaving the room too quiet all at once.

He listened.

At first, there was nothing. Just the hum of the house settling. Pipes ticking. The faint buzz of electricity in the walls. He told himself it was probably that—something ordinary, something boring. The kind of noise houses made when no one was paying attention.

But then it came again. Subtle. A shift. Something out of place.

Ben frowned, heart picking up speed in a way he didn't like. Nobody was supposed to be home. His parents always sent a message when they were on their way back, even if it was late, even if it was brief. A single sentence was enough. He hadn't gotten anything. His phone sat face-down on the bed beside him, silent.

This was why he hated nights like this.

He hated the space the house seemed to grow into when he was the only one in it. Every sound felt louder, every shadow a little too patient. It wasn't that he thought something bad was going to happen—it was worse than that. It was the waiting. The not knowing.

Max couldn't be here every day. Ben knew that. Max had his own life, his own responsibilities, even if he made time for Ben whenever he could.

Ken couldn't stop often, either. He was barely at his own home as it was, working long hours and crashing hard when he finally got a break. Gwen… Gwen might as well have been on another planet lately. He was lucky to hear from her at all, and when he did, it felt brief and distant, like she was already halfway somewhere else.

Normally, if anyone showed up unexpectedly, it was Mr. Giffords from down the street. He had a spare key for emergencies, and even then, he always called first. Ben appreciated that more than he ever said out loud. The courtesy of not startling a kid alone in a quiet house went a long way.

This didn't feel like that.

Ben swung his legs off the bed and stood, the floor cool beneath his feet. He hesitated, then crossed the room and reached for the baseball bat in the corner.

He stepped into the hallway, leaving his room behind. The doorframe creaked softly as he passed through it, the sound making him wince despite himself. The hall light was off, the space ahead lit only by the faint glow spilling from his bedroom. Shadows stretched long across the floor, pooling at the edges where the light didn't quite reach.

Another sound came from downstairs, clearer this time…

Movement.

Ben swallowed and started toward the stairs, each step measured, careful. The house seemed to hold its breath with him. He kept the bat angled low but ready, knuckles tight around the grip.

Halfway down, he paused.

The sound came again—something from the kitchen. A shift of weight. A soft clatter, like something being set down where it didn't belong.

His heart hammered harder now, loud enough that he wondered if it could be heard. He told himself not to be stupid. Told himself it was probably nothing.

Still, he kept going.

The stairs ended, and the kitchen came into view. The light was on.

That alone was enough to send a jolt through him.

He stepped off the last stair and turned the corner, eyes adjusting just in time to register a figure near the counter.

And then everything happened at once.

Ben jerked back instinctively, bat lifting without thought, breath catching sharp in his chest. At the exact same moment, the figure spun around.

Gwen screamed.

The sound ripped through the kitchen, sharp and high, bouncing off the cabinets and tile like it had nowhere to go. Ben's grip tightened before his brain caught up, muscles locked in that split second where instinct ran ahead of reason. Then her face registered—wide-eyed, pale, familiar in a way that hit him all at once—and everything crashed back into place.

"GWEN?!" Ben blurted after a beat, the word coming out louder than he meant it to. He lowered the bat immediately, setting it down against the counter with a clatter that felt embarrassingly loud in the aftermath. His heart was still slamming against his ribs like it hadn't gotten the memo that the danger was gone. "What are you doing?!"

"ME?!" Gwen shot back, voice still pitched high, eyes locked on the bat like it might come back to life. She gestured at it sharply, fingers shaking just a little. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING SWINGING THAT THING AROUND?"

Ben dragged a hand through his hair, breath uneven as he tried to slow it down. The kitchen felt too bright now, too exposed, every normal detail suddenly obvious—the magnet-covered fridge, the faint smell of something reheated earlier, the way the overhead light hummed when you paid attention to it.

"You didn't call," he said, defensive and tired all at once. "How was I supposed to know you were here?"

"I don't know, maybe check your phone, dweeb." Gwen huffed out a breath, planting her hands on the counter like she needed something solid to hold onto. "I did text you." She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, shoulders rising and falling as she forced herself to breathe slower. "Nearly scared me to death."

Ben glanced toward the hallway, then back at her, the leftover tension buzzing under his skin with nowhere to go. The bat leaned uselessly where he'd set it down, suddenly looking like the dumbest possible thing to have grabbed.

"What are you even doing here?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Gwen rolled her eyes hard enough that it almost felt rehearsed.

"What?"

He shrugged, a half-movement that didn't do much to hide the knot sitting in his chest.

"What? It's my house, I get to ask that."

She stared at him for a second longer than necessary, then sighed.

"Heard you were going to be alone tonight," she said, tone flattening out as she recovered. "I figured it'd be easier for Grandpa to pick both of us up in the morning."

The words landed heavier than they should have. Ben blinked, then felt his mouth curve before he could stop it.

"So, you are going?" he asked, a grin breaking through despite everything.

"Duh." Gwen nodded once, some of the edge easing out of her posture. "You think I'm going to let you hog Grandpa for the entire summer?"

Ben let out a short laugh, relief threading through it whether he wanted it to or not.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you were going to come."

She frowned slightly.

"Why wouldn't I?"

He hesitated, the grin fading as quickly as it had shown up. The kitchen felt smaller again, like the walls were listening. He shifted his weight, gaze flicking down to the floor before coming back to her. "I don't know," he said, shrugging again. "You're not exactly close with anyone anymore."

Gwen stiffened.

Ben kept going anyway, the words already out and refusing to stop now that they'd started. "You keep flaking out on stuff, so I thought maybe you'd do the same thing."

"Flake? Me?" Gwen scoffed, incredulous, but there was something tight under it. "What are you talking about?"

Ben exhaled slowly, frustration bubbling up from somewhere he hadn't realized was that close to the surface.

"How many times has Mom and Dad offered to have you guys over for dinner, and you're the only one who doesn't show up?" he asked. "Movie nights you're never around. Even the family get-togethers—you're always in a corner, hiding by yourself."

The words hung there between them, heavier than he'd meant them to be. Gwen's mouth opened like she was about to fire back immediately, then closed again. Her jaw tightened.

"Ben—" She thinned her lips, eyes flicking away for half a second before coming back to him. "It's not like I'm trying to be distant."

"Really?" he asked, quieter now, the edge still there but dulled by something else. "Because that's what it seems like to me."

The silence stretched. The hum of the refrigerator filled the gap, obnoxiously loud in the absence of anything else. Gwen's shoulders sagged just a fraction, the fight draining out of her posture as quickly as it had flared.

"You know how hard it's been," she said, her voice softer now, stripped of the bite. "Don't act like that." She met his eyes again, steady this time. "I'm here now, aren't I? Can't you just be happy about that and not make a big deal over it?"

"Fine, fine…" Ben nodded, lifting his hands in surrender even if the knot in his chest hadn't fully loosened yet. He bent down, picked the bat up, and slid it back into its familiar spot by the counter, where it immediately went back to being just a bat instead of a last line of defense. "What about Ken? I didn't think he'd be okay with you staying out all night?"

Gwen shrugged, already drifting toward the fridge like she belonged there, which, annoyingly, she always had.

"He knows it was to come here. Besides, he's too tired to really notice much of anything at the moment." She paused, eyes flicking over him in a slow, obvious sweep. Her mouth twisted. "Now, can I just ask… what are you wearing?"

Ben followed her gaze down at himself, suddenly hyper-aware of his outfit. The Seance Dog slippers were still on his feet, the ghostly faces worn smooth from too many nights pacing his room. His sweats were Immortal-themed, faded just enough that the logo cracked when he moved. The War Woman t-shirt hung loose, soft from years of washes, the graphic slightly off-center now. He looked back up at her, unimpressed.

"What's wrong with this? It's comfy."

"It makes you look like more of a dork than you normally do," Gwen said without missing a beat, "and that's saying a lot."

Ben snorted.

"Coming from Ms. Bookworm, that's rich."

"One of us has to have a brain," she shot back, punctuating the statement by lightly punching his shoulder. It didn't hurt, but it landed with enough familiarity that it chipped away at the last of the tension still clinging to him. She stepped back, already pulling her phone out. "Want me to order some food? We should probably enjoy it, given we're going to be with Grandpa all summer."

"Sure," Ben said, turning toward the living room, already picturing the couch. "But why does it matter if we're with Grandpa? He's always been fine with us ordering out before when we stayed at his place."

Gwen laughed under her breath, following him partway. "You've clearly never been camping with him. Grandpa likes to live off the land."

Ben stopped short.

"Oh no," he said flatly, dread creeping in.

"Bug delicacies," Gwen added, grinning.

"I thought Mom was joking about that…" Ben shook his head.

Both of them shivered at the exact same time, the shared reaction automatic enough that Ben couldn't help but laugh despite himself.

He headed into the living room while Gwen stayed behind, fingers already flying across her screen. The space looked the same as it always did—couch sagging slightly in the middle, throw blanket bunched up like it had given up trying to be neat, the coffee table cluttered with old mail and things that didn't quite belong anywhere else. Ben dropped onto the couch and grabbed the remote, flicking the TV on more for the noise than anything else.

From the kitchen, he could hear Gwen moving around, the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing, the tap of her phone screen as she scrolled through options. It felt strange, in a good way, having someone else in the house again.

"Where did you get the money from?" Ben called out, half-watching the screen as some late-night commercial droned on.

"Been tutoring the neighbor's kid," Gwen replied easily. That made him glance toward the hallway, eyebrows lifting. Of course she had.

He leaned back, stretching his legs out, the Seance Dog slippers bumping against the edge of the coffee table. The TV droned on, background filler, while his thoughts drifted. Tomorrow loomed large in his mind—not in a bad way, just big.

He could already imagine Grandpa Max behind the wheel, telling stories like they were brand new even when Ben could recite the punchlines by heart. Gwen in the passenger seat, pretending not to listen before inevitably correcting some minor detail.

From the kitchen, Gwen called out something about toppings. Ben answered without thinking, defaulting to the same choices they'd always argued about. Some things didn't change, no matter how much time passed.

He glanced down at his clothes again, at the collection of heroes stitched and printed across him. They'd always been there, in one form or another. Quiet witnesses to the way his brain worked, the way his thoughts gravitated toward people who showed up when things went wrong. People who didn't hesitate.

The TV flickered as he changed the channel, settling on something louder, brighter. The living room filled with noise, with life. Behind him, Gwen's footsteps approached, phone still in hand, expression relaxed now, the earlier tension completely gone like it had never existed.

He didn't say it out loud, but the feeling lingered as he sank deeper into the couch—the quiet, almost fragile relief of not being alone in the house. Gwen's presence filled the gaps in a way the TV never could. The clink of her phone against the counter, the way she moved like she already knew where everything was, even the way she argued about pizza toppings like it mattered. It all tugged at something warm and old in his chest. Back when Gwen hadn't started pulling away, back when being together was just the default, not something he had to plan around or feel weird about wanting.

Ben stared at the glow of the TV, barely registering what was on-screen, his mind drifting backward without his permission…

---

One Year Ago

---

"Ben?" a voice called from the living room as fourteen-year-old Ben sat watching footage of Omni-Man taking on a dragon in Brazil.

The screen was chaos—scales, wings, fire. The dragon tore through a half-collapsed skyline like something ripped straight out of a blockbuster, each beat of its wings sending debris cascading into the streets below. Omni-Man slammed into it from above in a white blur, the impact spiderwebbing concrete three stories down. The news anchor struggled to keep his composure, words like unprecedented and ongoing situation tumbling over one another between distant explosions.

"Ben!" the voice called again, sharper this time.

Ben barely tore his eyes from the TV.

"Yeah?" he shouted back. "What's up?"

No answer.

He frowned and muted the television. Omni-Man froze mid-punch, the dragon's jaws stretched wide, flame caught in place like a breath held too long. Ben pushed himself to his feet, stretching as he went, joints popping while he stepped over a messy sprawl of magazines and headed toward the stairs.

On the way down, things registered out of order. Shoes by the front door that didn't belong there. The empty coat rack where his parents' jackets usually hung. The living room lights flipped on despite the afternoon sun still pouring through the windows. Gwen's backpack lay tipped on its side near the couch, a notebook half-spilled out as if it had been dropped without a second thought.

He slowed at the bottom step.

Max stood near the front door, shoulders squared like he was bracing himself against something invisible. His face looked drained, the color leached from it entirely.

Gwen was on the couch.

For a split second, Ben thought she was sick. Her face was red and blotchy, eyes swollen and glassy, tears tracking down her cheeks unchecked. She wasn't making any sound. Just breathing—shallow, uneven pulls, like she'd already cried herself hollow and her body hadn't realized it yet.

Ken, her brother, stood beside her, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the other hand clenched into a fist at his side. He was older—college-aged, broad-shouldered, usually loud in a way that filled up space without trying. Right now, he looked smaller somehow. Folded inward. His jaw was locked tight, lips pressed thin, like if he opened his mouth even a little, something irreversible might spill out.

And then Ben noticed the man by the door.

Cecil Stedman didn't look like he did on TV. There were no sharp soundbites, no clipped authority. He stood just inside the doorway with his hands folded in front of him, expression solemn in a way Ben had never seen on anyone who worked for the government. His tie was loosened. His posture careful, restrained—like he was stepping through a minefield one wrong word away from disaster.

Ben's heart skipped.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice coming out lighter than it should've. "Did something happen?"

No one answered right away.

Max turned slowly, like the motion itself took effort. When his eyes landed on Ben, something flickered there—relief, maybe. Or guilt. Possibly both.

"Ben," Max said, and his voice cracked around the name. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Come here, kid."

That was when the denial hit. Fast. Firm. Like a wall snapping into place.

This wasn't for him. Whatever this was, it was adult stuff. Grown-up stuff. He'd come down at the wrong moment, that was all. Maybe Gwen had a terrible day. Maybe Max and Ken were arguing about something serious. Maybe Cecil was here for some classified government thing his parents weren't allowed to talk about.

Ben took another step forward anyway.

"What are you saying, Cecil?" Max asked, his voice thin now, strained like it was being pulled through wire.

Cecil drew in a slow breath.
"There was an incident on the west coast this morning. A kaiju-class event."

Ben's thoughts snagged on the word. Kaiju. Like old movies. Like the monster marathons Ken used to put on when he was bored and feeling nostalgic.

"The creature destroyed twelve city blocks before anyone arrived on scene to stop it," Cecil continued, tone measured and deliberate. "Emergency response was overwhelmed in the first minutes. Frank and Natalie were assisting with civilian evacuations during the chaos."

Ben felt oddly removed from it all, like he was listening to a story about someone else's family. Someone else's life.

Max stepped forward. Then another step. His hands were trembling at his sides.

"Cecil," he said, and there was no mistaking the plea now. "Where's my son and daughter-in-law?"

Cecil hesitated.

Just a fraction of a second—but Ben saw it. That pause. That tiny fracture in the rhythm.

"Max," Cecil said quietly, "they didn't make it."

The words landed wrong. They didn't hit with force or sound or weight. They just… sat there, misplaced, unfinished.

Ben waited for someone to correct him.

For Max to laugh it off and say it was a mistake. For Gwen to sit up and accuse Cecil of lying. For Ken to swear and demand proof. For anything—anything—to snap the moment back to the way it was supposed to be.

Nothing did.

Max's knees gave out.

He didn't hit the floor—Ken was there instantly, catching him under the arms—but the sound Max made then, low and fractured and not quite human, cut through the room like glass.

"No," Max said, shaking his head over and over. "No, no, that's not—Natalie would've—Frank would've called. He always calls."

Cecil didn't interrupt. He just stood there and let it unfold.

Gwen finally made a sound. A sob tore out of her chest like it had been trapped there, waiting for permission. She folded forward, clutching at the fabric of her hoodie, shoulders shaking hard enough it looked like it hurt.

Ben felt numb.

Gwen's parents weren't supposed to die. They were the ones who left on long missions and came back with stories they couldn't share. They were the ones who promised they'd be home by the end of the summer. The ones who waved from the car and said, Be good for Grandpa.

This didn't fit.

He looked at Max. At Gwen. At Ken. At Cecil. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"They were heroes," Cecil said softly. "They saved lives."

Ben shook his head.
"No," he said, finally managing to find his voice. "No, you're wrong."

No one argued with him.

That hurt more than anything else.

The room felt too small. Too quiet. Somewhere upstairs, the paused image of Omni-Man still loomed on the TV, frozen in the middle of a fight Ben suddenly didn't care about at all.

Gwen looked up at him then, eyes red and wet and hollow all at once.
"They're gone, Ben," she whispered.

Something inside him broke.

Not loudly. Not all at once. Just a slow, spreading crack that started in his chest and seeped into everything else.

He slid down where he stood, back hitting the wall, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His hands curled into fists he didn't remember making, and his vision blurred as the weight of it finally came crashing down.

---

The memorial was held four days later, beneath a gray sky that couldn't seem to decide whether it wanted to rain or simply hang there and watch.

Ben stood with his hands folded in front of him, fingers worrying the edge of his jacket sleeve until the fabric was warm and frayed beneath his touch. His eyes weren't on the podium or the small cluster of microphones set up at the front. They kept drifting back to Gwen.

She stood a few feet ahead of him, positioned between Max and Ken.

She hadn't cried since the first night.

That scared him more than anything else.

Frank and Natalie Tennyson's names were etched into a simple black stone at the front of the space, the lettering sharp and final. White flowers flanked it on either side, too clean, too deliberate, like they were trying to impose order on something that had blown past it days ago and left wreckage in its wake. A few GDA agents stood off to one side in dark suits, faces neutral and carefully composed—the kind of people who knew how to compartmentalize grief because if they didn't, it would hollow them out. A handful of heroes were there too. Some Ben recognized instantly from the news. Others he didn't. No capes. No bravado. Just subdued postures and lowered gazes.

They all felt… distant.

Like background noise.

Ben couldn't stop watching Gwen.

She stood straight, shoulders stiff beneath her black coat, hands clasped loosely in front of her like she'd rehearsed where they were supposed to go. Her red hair was pulled back, neat and careful, the way it always was when she wanted control over something—anything. Her eyes were open, fixed somewhere just past the stone, unfocused. Not empty. Just… far away, like she was looking through the moment instead of at it.

Ken hadn't let go of her hand since they arrived.

He stood close, taller than her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders as if loosening his grip even a little might let her drift out of reach. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes red-rimmed but sharp. It was anger threaded through grief, the kind that needed somewhere to go and didn't yet know where to put itself.

Max stood on Gwen's other side, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. He looked older than Ben remembered. Not weaker—just worn around the edges, like something heavy had settled into his bones and decided it wasn't leaving anytime soon. When people approached him, he spoke steadily. Calmly.

Too calmly.

Ben recognized that trick.

Someone began speaking at the podium—one of Frank's colleagues, Ben thought—but the words blurred together. Phrases floated past without sticking. Bravery. Sacrifice. Duty. Helping people until the very end.

Ben swallowed.

They weren't wrong. Frank and Natalie had always been like that. The kind of people who ran toward the noise instead of away from it. The kind who raised Gwen to believe that doing the right thing mattered, even when it hurt, even when it cost something.

And now they were gone.

The loss hit Ben hard, sharp and real—but it wasn't his world that had collapsed.

He still had his parents. He could still go home to them. Sit at the same table. Hear their voices in the next room.

Gwen couldn't.

That thought settled heavy in his chest, guilt mixing with grief in a way he didn't know how to untangle.

When the speeches ended, people approached in small groups. Quiet condolences. Soft voices that never quite rose above the hush of the gathering. Careful hands placed briefly on shoulders before retreating again. Gwen nodded when spoken to. Said thank you when expected. Her voice stayed even and flat, practiced, like she'd memorized the responses phonetically without attaching any real meaning to them.

Ben watched her do it again and again.

It felt like watching someone pretend to be themselves.

A GDA agent knelt briefly in front of Gwen and said something Ben couldn't hear. Gwen nodded. Ken thanked him. Max shook the man's hand.

Ben didn't move.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Something that might crack the surface and let something out—anger, tears, noise, proof that this was real.

But Gwen didn't look like she was holding it all in.

She looked like it had already left her.

When the crowd began to thin, Ben finally stepped closer. He stood just behind her, close enough to feel the tension rolling off her like static.

"Gwen," he said quietly.

She didn't turn right away. Then, slowly, she looked at him.

Her eyes were dry.

"Hey," she said. The word sounded normal.

That made it worse.

Ben opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"I—I'm really sorry."

She nodded once.
"I know."

That was it.

No tremor in her voice. No visible reaction. Just acknowledgment, neat and contained.

Ken's grip on her tightened, almost imperceptibly.

Max cleared his throat, staring straight ahead at the stone.
"We'll get through this," he said, not looking at anyone in particular. "One day at a time."

Ben believed him.

For Max.

For himself.

For Gwen… he wasn't so sure.

As they began to leave, Ben glanced back one last time at the marker bearing Frank and Natalie Tennyson's names.

Gwen's parents. Heroes, according to the speeches. Victims, according to the reports.

Family, according to the hollow space they'd left behind.

Gwen didn't look back.

She walked forward instead, supported by Max on one side and Ken on the other, silent as the sky finally gave in and the rain began to fall.

Ben followed, wishing—desperately—that he knew how to help her carry something that was never meant to be his to bear.

---

A few weeks later, Ben stood on the cracked sidewalk outside Gwen's house and felt like he was trespassing.

The place looked smaller than he remembered. Not physically—nothing had changed there—but like something essential had been stripped out and taken with it. The curtains were gone from the front windows. The porch light was off even though the afternoon was already starting to dim. The front door stood open, and the sound of cardboard scraping against wood drifted out into the street.

A U-Haul idled at the curb.

Ben stopped short.

Ken was coming down the front steps with a box tucked under one arm, his free hand steadying the weight against his hip. He looked tired in a way that sleep didn't fix—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like gravity had doubled since the funeral. He paused when he noticed Ben, then nodded once in acknowledgment before continuing toward the truck.

Gwen followed a moment later.

She carried a smaller box. Lighter. Manageable. Her movements were careful, economical, like she'd rehearsed them. She didn't look up. Didn't hesitate. She walked past Ben like he wasn't there.

Something hollow opened in his chest.

"You guys are moving?" Ben asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Ken set his box down at the back of the truck and leaned against the bumper for a second, rubbing his face with one hand. He let out a breath that sounded halfway to a laugh and not even close to it at the same time.

"I can't pay the bills," he said with a shrug. Not defensive. Not bitter. Just… factual. "Mortgage, utilities, everything else. It adds up fast when there's only one income, and even that's generous these days."

Ben nodded dumbly. His eyes drifted back to the house. Gwen had already gone inside again.

"Didn't Mr. Stedman say they'd help?" Ben asked. "I mean—he said—"

He trailed off, glancing toward the doorway.

Ken followed his gaze.

"I declined the offer," Ken said. He straightened, rolling his shoulders like he was bracing for impact. "Between you and me, Ben… I need to get Gwen away from here. It's too much for her."

Ben swallowed.

"Where are you going?"

"My flat," Ken replied. "It's not big, but it's close to work. I'm turning my office into a room for Gwen until I can figure out a better living arrangement."

Ben nodded again.

He didn't trust his voice anymore.

Gwen came back out with another box. This one was heavier. Ken stepped forward immediately, taking it from her without a word. Their hands brushed. Gwen didn't react.

She stood there for a second, empty-handed, staring at the truck like she was mentally cataloging how much of her life could fit inside it.

Ben took a step closer.

"Gwen," he said softly.

She didn't look at him.

She didn't say anything at all.

The silence between them felt deliberate. Not awkward. Chosen. Like a door she'd locked from the inside.

Ben stood there, useless, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, feeling like he was watching someone board a train he wasn't allowed on. He searched her face for something—anger, sadness, recognition—but found only that same distant calm she'd worn since the memorial. The kind that didn't break, didn't bend, didn't give you anything to grab onto.

Ken cleared his throat.

"We should get the rest of the boxes," he said gently, like he was afraid even sound might shatter her.

Gwen nodded once.

She turned and went back inside.

Ben stayed where he was.

He helped when Ken asked—lifting boxes, holding the ramp steady, passing things along—but it felt like going through motions in a dream. Every time Gwen walked past him, the space where words should have been widened. She never met his eyes. Never slowed. Never acknowledged him.

He couldn't tell if that hurt more than yelling would've.

At one point, he caught sight of her bedroom through the open door. Bare walls. Empty shelves. A faint outline where posters used to be. It looked like a room someone had already moved out of emotionally weeks ago.

"This isn't your fault," Ben blurted suddenly, the thought clawing its way out before he could talk himself out of it.

Ken paused, one foot on the truck's ramp. He looked back at Ben, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion.

"I know," he said. "But knowing doesn't make it easier."

Ben nodded.

Of course it didn't.

When the truck was finally packed, Ken shut the back door with a heavy clang that echoed down the street. He took a moment there, hand still resting against the metal, head bowed.

Gwen stood by the passenger door.

She didn't look back at the house.

Ben stood on the sidewalk, watching them prepare to leave, the weight of everything he couldn't do pressing down on him. He wanted to promise things—call anytime, come visit, it'll get better—but every version of those words felt thin and dishonest in his mouth.

Gwen climbed into the truck without a glance in his direction.

Ken hesitated, then turned to Ben.

"Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ben said.

The engine rumbled to life. The truck pulled away from the curb slowly, like it was giving the street one last chance to stop it.

Ben stood there long after it disappeared from view.

The house was quiet again. Empty. Just another shell with memories baked into the walls.

He realized then that whatever had broken in Gwen hadn't happened all at once. It hadn't been the attack. Or the funeral. Or the move.

It was the slow accumulation of all of it—and the worst part was knowing that no matter how badly he wanted to help, there was a hole inside her that he couldn't reach.

And trying only seemed to make the distance clearer.

Ben turned and walked home alone…

---

Present Day

---

That was how it had been since then. It was a struggle to get to hear from Gwen on a daily basis, and when she was around he tried desperately to get everything back to normal — or at least as close as he could. Ben had accepted that things weren't going to snap back into place.

He'd tried. God, he'd tried. At first it was small stuff—bringing up things they used to argue about just to hear her voice again, tossing out half-baked jokes, leaning into the kind of enthusiasm that used to get her rolling her eyes and snapping back at him. He talked too much about heroes. About Omni-Man. About the Guardians. About the way fights played out on the news like highlight reels if you squinted hard enough.

Gwen didn't yell at him for it anymore.

She just left the room.

Or slipped her headphones on with a quiet, deliberate finality that said she wasn't interested in pretending anymore. It took Ben longer than he liked to admit to notice the pattern. At first, he thought she was just tired. Then annoyed. Then maybe embarrassed by him. It wasn't until Max sat him down one afternoon—no anger, no lecture, just the weight of honesty—that it finally clicked.

Gwen blamed them.

Not loudly. Not consciously, maybe. But enough that hearing their names felt like reopening a wound that hadn't been allowed to close. Heroes arrived after the damage was done. After the screams. After the smoke. After Frank and Natalie never came home. And whether Gwen meant to or not, that resentment had lodged itself deep, quiet, and sharp.

Ben tried to stop bringing them up after that.

It didn't fix things. But it stopped making them worse.

School didn't help. They attended the same building, walked the same halls, shared the same schedule rhythm—but Gwen had become difficult to find, like she'd learned the blind spots of the day and lived in them. The library became her refuge. Corners, back tables, places where she could pull her hood up and disappear between shelves of books no one else touched. Ben would catch glimpses of her sometimes, tucked away with something open in front of her, posture folded inward like she was trying to take up less space in the world.

She had never done that before.

That realization hurt more than he expected.

Still, there were moments—small, fragile ones—that kept him going. He noticed her at his soccer games, sitting a few rows up, always near the aisle. She never cheered. Never waved. But she stayed until the end, rain or shine, and that mattered more than he could put into words. His parents missed most of those games, pulled away on GDA business that never seemed to end, and Ben tried not to dwell on how easily that absence could turn permanent.

He hated himself for thinking about it.

Max filled the gaps when he could. Pickups. Dinners. Long evenings where the TV murmured in the background and the world felt, briefly, normal again. Ben leaned on that stability more than he realized, especially as summer crept closer and the days grew heavier with anticipation and unease.

But today was the first time in a long time that he felt like everything was starting to feel normal again. He hoped this road trip would help find a semblance of that old life again, or at the very least, make it where they weren't as distant anymore.

For tonight, though? He'd happily accept watching some crappy horror movie and eating a couple of pizzas with her. As he fell asleep, he had a smile on his face and a sense of contentment that hadn't been there in months.

---

AN: Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter. I debated on whether to include Gwen's backstory here that set her apart from the normal canon storyline, but ultimately decided this was better. I don't like tiptoeing around a subject, and there's really no point in doing so. As mentioned in the last chapter, I am rewriting the story to be a true Ben 10 x Invincible fic, and for those who read the early access chapters I had for the OG version will know, a good chunk of this was actually from the flashbacks I had a part of it.

I'm glad to see most of the comments have agreed with me that this was the right path to go down. I still love my SI fics, but Omni-Blood wasn't meant for that route, I'm afraid. With Gwen, I wanted to do something a little different. I know many might not agree with killing her parents off, but this felt like a good way to make this story my own. I'm trying to stay true to the characters while giving it a twist of my own to give it a good flavor.

I know you all are hoping to see more Omni-Blood soon, and that is my plan. I usually try to have about 5 to 10 chapters written in advance, in case something goes off the rails. If you are interested in seeing more as they're developed before public release, I do have a Patreon that you can go to (same username, Arsenal597) where you can get early access to chapters, commissioned artwork, personal updates from me, and extra side content that you might not see otherwise. Link will be below if you're interested.

Regardless of that, though... if you'd like to join my discord and talk about the story, link will be below as well!

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think (reviews do motivate me to keep writing), and I'll catch you all later.

---

THIS STORY IS CROSS POSTED ON AO3, FF, AND QQ.

---

COUNCIL MEMBERS:

Benediktus

---

discord.gg/dQkeJPkxdD

https://www.patreon.com/c/Arsenal597

 

[Lillie Jones]

So he's SI Ben Tennyson right Arsenal ,despite the rewrite chapters.?
Gwen Tennyson is going to different route than Ben Tennyson SI fated hero route in the Invincible/ Ben 10 universe, which she has a lot of baggage to get through as Ben Tennyson goes head first into heroics but he has to mind the collateral damage people caught up in midst of superhero battles.
Power plexus Scott tragic story is an important harsh lesson to learning about wether or not the hero caused more damage than any villain can.
Continue on
Cheers!

 

[Arsenal597]

So he's SI Ben Tennyson right Arsenal ,despite the rewrite chapters.?
Gwen Tennyson is going to different route than Ben Tennyson SI fated hero route in the Invincible/ Ben 10 universe, which she has a lot of baggage to get through as Ben Tennyson goes head first into heroics but he has to mind the collateral damage people caught up in midst of superhero battles.
Power plexus Scott tragic story is an important harsh lesson to learning about wether or not the hero caused more damage than any villain can.
Continue on
Cheers!

Click to shrink...

No, it's not an SI anymore. The SI angle wasn't working. So this is truly Ben Tennyson.

 

[zack1224]

Thanks for the chapters

 

[Arsenal597]

Thanks for the chapters

Click to shrink...

no problem. I don't plan on taking as long to update in the future, so it shouldn't be too long until the next chapter comes out.

 

[Arsenal597]

The morning came like a fog. Ben opened his eyes to the soft glow of the television screen, colors drifting lazily across the walls as Netflix cycled through its screensaver advertisements. The sound was muted, some ambient swell meant to be soothing, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another room entirely. For a moment, he wasn't sure how long he'd been awake or if he'd slept at all. His body felt heavy, limbs slow to respond, like the night had sunk its weight into his bones and refused to let go.

He turned his head slightly and noticed Gwen curled up in the corner of the couch, knees drawn tight to her chest, her blanket twisted around her like a shield. A deep frown creased her brow, sharp and unguarded, and a soft whimper slipped from her lips before she could stop it. It barely made a sound, but it was enough. Ben watched her chest rise and fall unevenly, breath hitching like she was running from something she couldn't see.

She had to be having a nightmare.

One of the few times Ben had managed to speak with Ken after their parents' deaths, Ken had mentioned it almost offhandedly, like he didn't want to give the words more power than they already had. Gwen had nightmares. Recurring ones. Dreams where the kaiju attack played out again and again with brutal clarity, every detail burned in, vivid enough that she woke up shaking. Ken had gotten her a therapist after that. Said it helped, at least a little.

Ben didn't know what this one was about. From where he stood, it didn't look the same. It felt… different. Quieter, somehow. That didn't make it better.

He shifted carefully, mindful of the floorboards, and climbed to his feet. His joints protested as he stood, stiff from sleeping in a chair that had never been meant for it. He rubbed at his eyes and padded toward the bathroom, leaving Gwen where she was. Part of him wanted to wake her. Another part knew better.

The cold water from the faucet bit into his skin as he splashed it over his face, sharp enough to cut through the haze. He braced himself against the sink, staring at his reflection while the droplets clung to his lashes. He looked as tired as he felt. Sleeping on the couch wasn't a comfortable affair, and it usually left him feeling drained for the rest of the day. But then again, he always had trouble waking up early so that might have also played a factor in the matter.

When he returned to his room to get dressed, the world outside his window was already stirring. Morning light crept along the pavement, pale and uncertain, and as he pulled the curtain back just a little, he saw it.

The Rust Bucket came into view around the corner, slow and unmistakable.

Ben couldn't help the smile that tugged at his mouth.

The thing looked exactly the same as it always had—rust blooming along the sides, paint dulled by years of sun and neglect, the engine sounding like it was held together by stubbornness and habit. Ben couldn't even remember how long Max had owned it. It felt like it had always been there, lurking at the edge of every important memory. Family trips. Summer mornings. Long roads and longer conversations. It was honestly a miracle the thing was still drivable.

Then again, Max had a habit of keeping things alive long past the point anyone else would've given up on them.

Ben dressed quickly, pulling on a black T-shirt, brown cargo pants, and his dark green hoodie. He shoved his feet into his shoes and took one last glance out the window as the Rust Bucket rattled into place.

Max was early, per usual.

Ben headed downstairs just as Gwen began to stir. She shifted beneath the blanket, brow knitting tighter before slowly smoothing out. Her breathing evened, though her hands stayed clenched for a second longer than necessary. When her eyes finally opened, they were unfocused at first, still half caught somewhere else.

"Morning," he waved softly towards her. She didn't say anything for a moment as she pushed the blanket off to the side and stretched.

"Morning. What time is it?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Six-thirty," Ben said, glancing toward the clock on the microwave as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Might want to get moving. Grandpa's already outside."

Gwen squinted at him like she didn't quite believe that was a real sentence.

"Already?" she muttered, pushing herself upright. "Doesn't he ever sleep in?"

"Apparently not. He's probably as excited about this trip as we are." Ben shrugged, heading for the front door.

Gwen swung her legs off the couch and stood, stretching until her back popped quietly. She grabbed her bag from where it leaned against the chair, slinging it over one shoulder.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, already heading for the hall. "Bathroom."

Ben nodded, even though she wasn't looking. He watched her disappear around the corner, then turned toward the front door.

The air outside was cooler than he expected, the early morning clinging to the neighborhood before the sun could really get to work. He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him, the hinges creaking softly. The Rust Bucket sat at the curb, engine idling with that familiar uneven rumble, exhaust puffing in tired little clouds. Max was halfway out of the driver's seat, one hand braced on the door as he straightened up.

He was wearing one of his loud Hawaiian shirts, full of bright reds and greens, palm trees and flowers clashing happily against one another. It looked wildly out of place against the quiet street and the pale morning, but that was Max's style.

"I wasn't sure you'd be up yet," Max said, spotting him. His voice carried easily, warm and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.

"Haven't been up for long," Ben said, leaning against the porch railing. He glanced back at the door. "Gwen's inside, getting ready."

Max paused, one foot still on the pavement.

"She's here?"

"Yeah. She came over last night." Ben shrugged. "Figured it'd be easier to pick both of us up at the same time, I guess."

Max smiled at that, slow and genuine.

"That saves me the trouble of having to wake Ken up," he said, closing the door with a soft thud. He looked Ben over then, not obvious about it, but thorough all the same. "You okay, Ben? You look exhausted."

Ben huffed out a breath, eyes drifting down to the porch boards. He hadn't realized it showed that much.

"Didn't sleep well last night."

"You've been saying that a lot lately," Max noted, not accusing, just observant.

Ben rolled one shoulder.

"Just restless."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't really know how to, even if he wanted to. Some nights his brain just wouldn't shut up, thoughts looping and colliding until sleep felt like something happening to someone else. Other nights, he slept fine and still woke up feeling like he'd missed something important. It was easier to call it restlessness and move on.

Max didn't push. He never did. He just nodded once, like he'd filed the answer away for later, and leaned back against the Rust Bucket. Behind them, the front door opened again. Ben heard Gwen's footsteps before he saw her, lighter now, more awake. Whatever had followed her through the night seemed to have loosened its grip, at least for the moment.

Max straightened, his smile widening as she came into view.

"Morning, Grandpa." Gwen gave a half-wave, with what Ben could only scarcely refer to as a smile. It was so miniscule, so subtle, that Ben wasn't even sure if it was there.

She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the locks falling comfortably into the hood of her turquoise hoodie. Her eyes lacked the drowsiness Ben's had, but she was more of a morning person than he was. Or maybe she used makeup to hide it. Which raised the internal question of whether Gwen wore makeup, but he wasn't going to press on that because he felt the potential argument that would arise from it. The last thing he wanted was to start today off with an argument.

"Morning, kiddo. You ready to get this show on the road?"

"Yeah," Gwen said, nodding once. "I'm ready."

Max clapped his hands together softly, like that settled everything.

"Then let's not waste daylight."

Ben stepped back inside to grab his things while Gwen headed toward the Rust Bucket, already trading a few quiet words with Max that Ben didn't catch. It felt strange to be walking through the house this early on a non-school day. He usually would sleep in until about eight, maybe nine o'clock if his parents weren't there to wake him up. So, being up this early and not having his parents shuffling around felt uncomfortable to put it simply.

Ben grabbed his duffel from where he'd left it by the couch, slung it over his shoulder, then doubled back for his game console, unplugging it from the TV and tucking it carefully under his arm. He hesitated for a second, scanning the living room out of habit. Couch cushions slightly askew. The blanket Gwen had slept under folded loosely at one end. Everything in its place, more or less.

He shut the door behind him and locked it, the click loud in the quiet. It struck him, briefly, how long it would be before he unlocked it again.

By the time he reached the curb, Gwen was already climbing into the passenger seat. She slid in easily, familiar with the motion, and Max waited until her door was shut before moving around to the driver's side. Ben paused for half a second, disappointment flickering before he could stop it. Shotgun. Of course. He told himself it didn't matter. It never really did.

He went around to the side door instead and climbed in, setting his bag down near the table and easing onto the bench seat. The interior of the Rust Bucket smelled like old upholstery, sun-warmed metal, and something vaguely mechanical that Ben had never been able to identify. It was the same smell it had always had. Comforting in a strange, specific way.

Max started the engine, and the Rust Bucket lurched into motion with a familiar groan, like it was complaining but willing to cooperate. Houses slid past the windows as they pulled away from the curb, Bellwood waking up in pieces around them. Lawns half-watered. A jogger moving at an ambitious pace. A few cars were already on the road, headlights still on out of habit.

Ben leaned his head against the cool glass and watched it all blur together. He rested his arm against the window, fingers drifting unconsciously to his right wrist. He rubbed at it absently, thumb tracing small circles over skin that looked no different than it ever had. He didn't know why he did it. He just found himself doing it sometimes, especially when he wasn't thinking about anything in particular.

Or when he was thinking about too much.

The road stretched out ahead of them, Bellwood slowly giving way to longer streets and fewer turns. Max hummed along with the radio, some old station playing music Ben didn't recognize but didn't mind. Gwen stared out her window, chin propped against her hand.

Ultimately, Ben found himself smiling as he settled into the seat further. The thought of being with Gwen and Max was a comforting one, and he swore to himself that this trip was what all three of them needed.

---

Hey guys, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I do apologize for the wait between chapters. As I mentioned in my recent chapter of Absolute Spider-Man, I unfortunately was sick for a bit there and developed writer's block. I am trying to get back into the swing of things with writing. For those who follow my early chapters on the P, I plan on getting more built up in the coming days as I get back into this.

This chapter was shorter than I anticipated, but it was mostly meant to be a stepping-stone between story beats. The next chapter will be roughly around the same length, but afterwards the lengths will improve!

But I do have a question: What aliens would you like to see for Ben's first 10? As much as I'd like to follow the OG 10, I think having a blend of different aliens might be the way to go here.

As always, if you want to join the discord server I have and talk about the story... link will be below.

Interested in seeing chapters early? I have a Patreon where you can get up to 10 chapters early access. (Disclaimer: At this moment on 3/17/2026 there is not ten chapters built up. This is being worked on!)

Let me know what you thought of the chapter, and I will see you all very soon!

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Council Members:

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Benediktus

Seren

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discord.gg/dQkeJPkxdD

https://www.patreon.com/c/Arsenal597

 

[Jason Wu]

Thanks for the chapter
Glad to see this back

 

[Haydos]

I haven't watched ben 10 for years, but I've recently watched Invincible. Looks good. Lowkey makes me want to re-watch the classic ben 10 show

 

[zack1224]

thanks for the chapter

 

[Lillie Jones]

Big Chill, Four Arms, ghost freak.,Swampvire,Alien X ,Chroma Stone, Humgosaur,Sneak on ,Blitzer wolfer Franken strike ,Eye guy wild mutt
Way big ,Rath Brain Storm, Jury Rigg, Upgrade, Heat blast ,Echo echo, Jet Ray
He's still not SI right Arsenal but getting thrown into the hero business when Omnitrix throw his life even more sideways than before.
Continue on
Cheers!