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Ben Tennyson doesn’t like being held.
It wasn’t always like this, of course. Ben Tennyson had actually been a very affectionate child growing up, hugs and shoulder pats and hair ruffles always being a common occurrence in his daily endeavors.
But then the Omnitrix happened.
The Omnitrix, and the fighting, and the aliens, and the fighting and pain and getting slammed and punched and kicked and getting tied up and held down and threatened, over and over and over again, to be amputated at best and killed at worse, and-
Well.
Let’s just say that he doesn’t like being held too tightly anymore. Or needles. Or any kind of knockout gas. Or small, dark spaces. And god forbid someone actually tries to restrain him by placing hands on either sides of his head.
Most of the time, he’s fine. He can manage. He takes a deep breath, then another, and he gets through it with a show of bravado and some sarcastic remarks and then when it’s all over he lets the bubbling panic finally rise up. Adrenaline is a gift in times of trouble, and Ben never realized how much he loved it until he learned how easy it made to keep in control and with a clear head in times of crisis.
Heroes, after all, don’t freak out. Heroes save the day. Heroes stop the bad guy. Heroes save the innocents and have no concern for what it takes.
Heroes don’t cry. They don’t shake. They don’t press a hand against their mouth and tell themselves to breathe, breathe, breathe , even if it feels like there isn’t any air in the entire universe left to do so.
Heroes don’t call their cousin- used to be grandpa, but grandpa’s gone now- in the middle of the night and listen as she croons over the phone, little nothings as they breathe a little too fast and a little too loud until the imagined restraints fade from their bodies and the shadows slither back into their hidey holes, gone from the world until the next major event, until the next attack.
Heroes don’t do that.
(Ben Tennyson does.)
Max Tennyson figures it out first. Shows up at his grandson’s school and waits to pick him up, but no one climbs onto the rustbucket and shouts a greeting. No one hijacks the TV or plops down in the seat besides him, eyes bright and smile wide.
There’s no phone call with last minute excuses, no friends half stopping to tell him that Ben will be a couple minutes late. There’s no nothing.
And Max Tennyson may be old and wrinkly, but he’s also a Plumber, and he’s learned to trust his gut.
And his gut is telling him something is wrong.
So Grandpa Max goes inside the school and he rummages around the classrooms and hallways until he finds Ben.
In the janitor closet.
With the doors locked.
And the lights off.
A little bit of fiddling and the door opens, and Max Tennyson finds his grandson curled up in the corner, green eyes unusually bright with a wet sheen, forearm covering his mouth and pressed hard against his knees, fingers curling too tight into the fabric of his jeans.
“Ben?’
Ben looks up, and his eyes look haunted, and Max thinks back to those half forgotten classes about the psychological effects of fighting aliens and catastrophes and death and the hours upon hours of training he had had to deal with it all, and he wonders when it had slipped his mind, the fact that both Gwen and Ben never received any of it.
The fact that both his grandchildren are simply that, children, and that he put them in harm’s way.
A part of him still tells him of the necessity of it all. The fact that, really, there wasn’t any other choice, but the larger part is yelling at him now, looking into those too big, too green, too scared eyes and wondering how he managed to fail so much and not even realize it.
“G-Grandpa Max?”
He nods, holds out a hand, nice and slow and easy- No aggressive movements, not too fast, not too direct, don't frighten him, should have paid more attention in class while he had the chance - and tries to smile, wondering what he’s done to deserve the complete trust that still lingers in Ben’s eyes, even now, even after he’s done so many wrong things and told so many lies, kept so many secrets that the boy in front of him knows hundreds and yet has only scratched the surface of it all.
“Yeah, Ben. C’mon, let’s get you home.”
Ben stands, and he has a hand on a wall even as his legs waver, and Max watches his grandson’s fist clench tight before the boy stands straight- too straight- and walks out on still shaking legs.
“You alright, kiddo?”
The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks about .
Ben stills, freezes just for a moment, and his hand comes to clench tight on his left wrist, holding onto a phantom watch that is no longer there- they got it off, it’s tucked away in some box in some old drawer, Ben should be safe, why is he never safe- and his breath eases out like air from a balloon before he nods just a bit jerkily and continues forward again, flashing a smile at his grandfather as he passes.
But Max is not stupid- he’s not a lead Plumber for nothing, after all- and his eyes trail down to grandson’s arms, and he watches as the boy’s hands shake with fine tremors that don’t seem to want to go away.
Later, in the old Rustbucket, Ben mutters something about some older kids deciding it would be fun to lug him off and throw him into the closet and lock the doors behind them, about how he couldn’t get out and how they wouldn’t let him go, and both Ben and Max pretend not to notice how the boy’s voice is shaking.
Later, it’s two in the morning and Max’s phone begins blaring.
He answers by the second ring, and is greeted by Ben Tennyson’s- because of course it’s Ben, of course it is, Max is far too used to the sound of his grandson’s quiet panicky breathing, and he knows- too fast breaths, too loud and too quiet all at once, and Max can picture Ben sitting by the old kitchen phone in his too large pajamas, looking far too small and frail.
(Max did this. Max did this to him. He failed this boy. It’s his fault.)
Ben doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to.
Max closes his eyes and rests his head back onto his pillow, thinks back to those classes from so long ago, the ones he should have paid more attention to, and tries to make himself sound soothing even as the guilt eats him up inside.
“Breathe, Ben. You’re safe. Nobody’s after you this time, bud, you can get away whenever you want.”
Max Tennyson lies awake, listening to the sounds of Ben Tennyson’s breathing long after it slows and evens out into slumber, and promises he won’t fail this boy. Not again. Never again.
(But Max has never been very good at keeping his promises, no matter how hard he tries.)
Unsurprisingly, it is Gwen Tennyson who figures it out next. She has, after all, been there since the beginning.
They’re in a store, and it’s actually- for once- entirely an accident that something gets destroyed.
Ben trips, and his hand flails out and grabs a shelf, and the shelf collapses and cans of chicken noodle soup go rolling everywhere.
Like any good cousin would do, she laughs. And points. And teases her kid cousin for tripping over his own two feet in the first place.
Their relationship has gotten better over the years, but that doesn’t mean she wants to completely let Ben get away with everything. Someone has to keep the boy’s ego in check, after all.
So she laughs and nudges his shoulder and watches as he begins to dive after flying cans and pick them up again, laughing a little himself and opening his mouth to send an insult back.
Except suddenly there’s a security guard- and Gwen didn’t even know that normal people could even get that big- and he’s got a grip on Ben’s arm, and the laughter has sputtered out in her cousin’s eyes as if it hadn’t ever been there at all.
“What do you think you’re doing, bub?”
Ben smiles, but Gwen sees how shaky it is at the corners, how the boy is trying to half tug his arm away.
“Yeah… um, sorry about that. I tripped? And I sort of grabbed the shelf to keep me from landing on my face, but it broke, so… yeah. But I’ll help clean it up, though, just let go of my arm for a seco-”
But the guard was shaking his head, and moving the other direction- away from Gwen- and the chicken noodle soup was getting kicked everywhere all over again, and Ben’s smile was fading, his arm jerking again in the guy’s grip and his other hand jerking upwards reflexively, an aftereffect of two years spent doing the exact same motion every time trouble showed up.
Except Ben doesn’t have the Omnitrix, and he’s getting pulled away.
Gwen scowls.
Not on her watch.
In the end, it’s rather easy to get the man to let go. Gwen is smart and she knows how to rant, and when she starts rambling onwards- fast and angry and loud until people start crowd at the end of the asiles, curious- about child protection and unaccompanied minors and lawsuits, the guard lets go pretty fast, turning and walking away and mentioning that he would deal with everything later, trying to get out of view of the prying eyes staring accusingly at him.
Ben, for his part, stands there, still, one hand clamped on his bicep where the guard had had a firm grip and his mouth in a thin line, eyes determinedly fixed on the ground and the heaving of his shoulders in clear view.
Gwen creeps closer and places a tentative hand on his shoulder and Ben- flinches, looks up too fast and takes a step back.
She swallows, tries to smile. She’s older now, more mature. She's the big cousin, and she’s supposed to look after him.
“You okay?”
He blinks, nods, and just like that- as if by remote control- he’s smiling again, laughing and telling some corny joke as he quickly stacks the cans next to the shelves as people begin wondering off.
But Gwen is watching him, and his hands, they shake.
She thinks back to all those times where Ben’s gotten kidnapped- which is…. a lot, to say the least- the way he always seemed to get too bright, the way he would dance out of the way of hugs and claim them to mushy for his tastes. The way he would sometimes start chatting with her hours after Grandpa Max had told them to go to sleep.
She thinks of the weapons, the blasters and swords and knives. She thinks of the tables- big, ugly tables with her kid cousin trapped and spread wide like a fly- and the chains and the threats they’ve heard over the years, and suddenly she wonders why she never really thought about it before.
Gwen’s read books on Psychology. She knows what this is. It’s just taken her some time to identify it.
But she doesn’t say anything, keeps her mouth shut and races after Ben as he starts to head out of the store, and then- gently, no need to spook him, she’s mature now, mature- she places an arm around his shoulder and grins, glancing down at him. She can feel him tensing beneath her, the way every muscle tightens, but then he looks up and smiles, relaxing, and gently shoves her away, teasing and laughing, and she grins back and pretends that the world is okay and everything is fine, even if it’s not.
And later, Ben puts the Omnitrix back on, and she stares at it in hatred- only for a moment though, just one moment - and wishes that her cousin had never found it. Because now Ben isn’t a fan of being held, not anymore, and the reason for it lies in that stupid watch.
That stupid watch that saved the world, that makes Ben feel safe even as it puts him in danger.
But she says nothing, nothing until late one night Ben calls her, and his voice is shaky and a little too high to be normal, breathing coming too fast and jokes falling a little flat, and she remembers the conversations at three AM in the old Rustbucket and this time she gets them for what they are.
She hums, says quietly, “ Ben, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
And Ben laughs, except it sounds a bit like crying, and he’s murmuring about how sorry he is, about how he usually calls Grandpa Max, but that Grandpa Max is gone and he doesn’t know what to do-
“It’s fine.”
It’s not- her kid cousin being too terrified to be alone in the dark in his own room will never be okay- but she doesn’t say that. Just hums again, quietly, and says, “It’s fine, Ben,” and prays that it will be so soon.
Kevin tries to pin Ben one day while they are wrestling.
It actually starts off pretty fun. It’s been forever since he’s done this kind of thing, real, light hearted wrestling where there are no stakes and no bruises, just rolling around the floor and yelling and shouting comebacks and joking insults at each other as they scramble around and Gwen rolls her eyes at them.
And then suddenly it’s not so okay.
Kevin gets Ben pinned underneath him, hands trapped on either side, and he’s crowing his victory even as Ben’s laughter is sort of dying out and his grin is falling flat.
Kevin figures it is because of a bruised pride.
(It’s not because of a bruised pride.)
Ben squirms a bit, tugging lightly at his wrists.
“Alright, alright: I surrender. You can get off me now, fatty…”
Kevin raises an eyebrow.
“What did you just call me?”
Ben smirks, but there’s something in his eyes that Kevin can’t quite decipher, and the smaller boy begins tugging at his wrists a little harder.
“Fatty. You weight, like, a million pounds.”
“For someone who’s my prisoner, you’re very snarky.”
And now Ben is frowning, and Gwen is starting to pay attention, and something is off, Kevin can feel it, but social interaction has never been his strong suit and he’s misread situations before and-
“Kev, seriously, get off.”
“It’s just some rough housing, Tennyson, no need to freak out about it-”
“Kevin.”
And now Gwen’s getting involved, and her If you hurt Ben, I hurt you voice was on full force. Kevin looks up, eyes furrowed, and his mouth is opening to ask What is going on? Except Ben’s tensing beneath him, and there’s the sound of the Omnitrix being activated, and a flash of green light, and suddenly Kevin is slamming against the wall on the opposite side of the room and Rath is growling at him, eyes fierce and narrowed and angry.
And then Rath’s paw is slamming against the Omnitrix and it’s just Ben again, turning away and walking out of the room before Kevin can get a word in edgewise.
He looks up, and Gwen is frowning down at him. Instinctively, his lips turn to a sneer even as he tries to figure out what he’s done wrong.
“What’s his problem?”
Gwen slides down the wall to sit next to him, neat and poised and clipped off at the edges. Kevin has often admired her strength and composure, but it’s only really at times like these where he wonders at what cost.
“We’ve been doing this for a while Kevin. And the Omnitrix… it is the most powerful weapon in the universe. You’re not the only one who has ever gone after it…”
Kevin, again, is frowning. He does that a lot around the Tennysons, because they are confusing, but, then again, he also smiles a lot more than he used to, too.
“What does that have to do with anything!?”
And Gwen looks at him, and sometimes Kevin looks at her and all he can see is that girl in her bright blue cat shirt, young and innocent and far too aware of the world all at once.
“Well, in order to get the Omnitrix off, you have to keep Ben still somehow, don’t you?”
And then she’s gone and Kevin is alone, mind wandering and thinking back, to villains and bad guys and to those times where Ben suddenly flinches or Gwen’s eyes darken, and he knows his past was bad, but he’s beginning to wonder if he’s not the only one in their little group who has experiences they would rather forget.
Kevin doesn’t say anything else- there’s no one to say it to- but he thinks.
That’s another thing about the Tennysons. They make you think.
And later, much later, there’s yet another explosion in a long line of explosions that makes up their daily lives, and Ben- curse that self sacrificing hero complex- somehow manages to make sure that everyone gets out of the building before the watch deactivates and he’s transforming back into his usual shape, unconscious and a bit battle weary…
And, of course, in the middle of a burning building that’s toppling down.
And Gwen is evacuating civilians and Kevin runs back into the flames- because he cares, he cares, even if he won’t admit it- and drags the kid out- and geez, Ben is light, Ben is tiny, it would be funny if it wasn’t so concerning and increasingly disturbing, worrisome mental images into his mind about how a kid like Ben shouldn't be out here- and sets him up behind some abandoned rubble, trying to get him to wake up.
He slaps the kid’s cheek, once, twice.
“C’mon, Tennyson, wake up…”
Green eyes flickers open, and Kevin would cheer if not for the possible alien hostiles still hanging about. Instead he leans forward and lifts a hand, about to help sit Ben up, except Ben-
Flinches. Hard.
Kevin blinks, and the kid blinks back, and only now he’s realizing that the younger boy’s pupils are blown wide and there’s blood matting the side of his head.
Kevin swallows, and slowly backs up, his mind flashing backwards to thoughts of unwanted experiences and the strange look in Ben’s eyes when Kevin had him pinned down, and he’s maybe sort of realizing that that look was fear.
That there’s fear in the kid’s eyes right now, too.
He clears his throat, awkwardly, and there’s someone- Something?- screaming in the background and smoke is everywhere and it’s blazing hot, but Ben is shivering, still staring, hands shaking.
What was that, the things one should do to a possibly concussed person? Gwen had told him, but he can’t remember. Something about… going slow? And not getting frustrated? And not moving the person?
The person can be more prone to emotional outbreaks. Disoriented. Less control. Memory loss. Something like that.
“...Uh…. Tennyson? Ben? You know who I am? I’m Kevin. A- friend. Yeah. That.”
Ben blinks up at him again, hand wondering up to press against the bloody gash in his head, but Kevin pushes it back down.
“K-Kevin?
Kevin grins. Success! At least the kid knows who he is.
“Yeah. That’s me. And you’re Ben. And we’re perfectly safe, so don’t worry.”
Something explodes in the background, and he winces and tries for a smile that he’s pretty sure is coming out more as a grimace.
Ben stares some more, and Kevin shifts uncomfortably.
“I- Wha’s goin’ on?”
There’s an alien screech and flash of pink, and Kevin wants to run to Gwen but he’s pretty sure she would be pissed at him if he left Ben alone, so he stays, and shifts, and tries for another smile.
“Nothing. Just a little clean up. You just need to stay still and were going to wait for Gwen.”
The younger boy frowns, nods, and then frowns again, hand reaching up once more to touch his bloodied head.
Kevin takes his wrist and pushes it back down, pretending that he doesn’t notice how Ben flinches in response yet again.
“Gw-Gwen?”
“Yeah, your cousin, remember?”
Ben licks his lips and does something with his head that could pass as a nod, and Kevin shifts on the balls of his feet, feeling awkward and off balanced by the situation in ways where he can’t just hit the thing bothering him, which is his usual coping mechanism.
What the kid in front of him needs is Gwen. Gwen, who is caring and kind and can deal with things with small smiles and quiet touches, who could reach out and touch Ben without the kid flinching like someone’s about to attack him.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Gwen arrives. Her shirt has small tears and splotches of blood and dirt all over it, but she smiles gently and reaches out to Ben.
Ben flinches and then relaxes, taking her hand and allowing her to help him stand, and Kevin feels secretly glad that it wasn’t only him.
Plumbers are beginning to file in, but they ignore them, their small trio shambling slowly to Kevin’s car, which was miraculously undamaged during the fight.
He’s supporting Ben, arm wrapped under the younger’s shoulders, and he’s honestly waiting eagerly for the moment he can pass him on to Gwen and get into the driver’s seat, because the shorter boy keeps flinching and tensing awkwardly, pausing and stumbling and looking around with dazed eyes before landing his gaze on Kevin and flinching all over again.
But then Gwen is taking the keys from his pocket and jingling them cheekily, sliding behind the wheel and telling him that he’s in the back with Ben, and his well-made plans fall apart.
So he’s in the back with Ben, and he’s trying, valiantly, to avoid touching the kid- because he doesn’t want to upset him, doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to disappoint Gwen and see her too old, too tired eyes looking with quiet frustration- and make him uncomfortable and flinchy again, but he’s also failing, miserably, in doing just that.
Ben is fading in and out of consciousness, relaxing and leaning onto Kevin only to freak out and back away once again, confusedly asking about where he is and what’s going on every time, and then relaxing once more at the sound of Gwen’s voice.
And then the older Tennyson glances back through the rearview mirror, eyes concerned and tracking Ben’s movements as he passes through his freak out cycle, and says the exact opposite of what Kevin is expecting her to say.
“You need to hold him.”
Kevin blinks, blinks again, and then shakes his head. Ben is slumping onto his shoulders, quietly murmuring something about how they should get chili fries.
“What? I thought that we wanted to not hold Ben, because of the whole Omnitrix thing and people tying him down and stuff-”
Gwen is making a turn, so she doesn’t look back, but something is telling Kevin that she’s pursing her lips.
“You can hold him, just… not too close. Do it so he can get out easy if he wants.”
Kevin snorts.
“That makes perfect sense.”
Gwen glances back at him through the mirror, rolls her eyes.
“Just do it, Kevin.”
So he does.
He shifts slightly, leaning back against a window and carefully placing an arm around Ben’s skinny shoulders.
The younger boy tenses immediately, green eyes flashing wide and latching on to Kevin’s.
Kevin freezes, but Ben’s already relaxing again, eyes closing and face smoothing out from the small pained crinkles that previously plagued it.
“He’s falling asleep… That’s bad, right?”
Gwen shakes her head, eyes on the road.
“No, I… think it should be fine. The concussion isn’t that bad and Ben heals fast, anyways. We’ll wake him in an hour and check up on him. He should be fine.”
The lights of the highway speed past, and Kevin watches them. He wonders what a younger version of himself would think of him now, holding his once enemy as he sleeps away a concussion and trusting the once enemy’s family to get him home.
He wonders what a younger version of himself would think of him now, having a home and having these strange friends who make him laugh and smile and think and feel valuable and powerful beyond simply the limits of being able to win a fight.
Ben mumbles something about slushie burgers and Gwen catches his eye and smiles, bright and beautiful, and she laughs.
He shifts his hold on Ben- who doesn’t like to be held much anymore, but trusts him to do so anyways- and he laughs with her.
Somehow, he thinks, things will turn out just fine.