Chapter 1: The Third Test
The faucet dripped.Plink. Plink. Plink. A relentless metronome against the oppressive silence of the cramped bathroom. Ben Tennyson gripped the chipped porcelain sink edge, knuckles bone-white. The cool surface offered no comfort. He stared into the smudged mirror, not recognizing the pale, strained face staring back. Deep shadows bruised the skin under his green eyes. Eyes that used to spark with cocky defiance, now dulled with exhaustion and something else. Something terrifyingly new.
His stomach roiled. Not hunger. Worse. A persistent, low-grade churn that had become his constant companion these last few weeks. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his abdomen, willing the nausea down. It didn’t work. It never did lately.
The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of dim hallway light. Gwen slipped inside, shutting it quickly. The air thickened instantly – a mix of Gwen’s faint, clean scent of ozone and magic, clashing with the stale odor of old soap and mildew. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her sharp blue eyes held a weight Ben couldn’t ignore.
She didn’t say anything. Just held out her hand. Lying across her palm lay a small, plastic stick.
Ben’s gaze snapped to it. He didn’t need to see the display window. He’d seen the first two. The identical, impossible symbols burned into his retinas. He swallowed, throat sandpaper dry. The air felt thick enough to choke on. "Third time's the charm, huh?" His voice rasped, lacking its usual bravado.
Gwen’s fingers curled gently around the test. "Ben," she said softly. Just his name. It held everything: concern, disbelief, a dawning acceptance. She lifted her hand again, holding the test up squarely in his line of sight under the flickering overhead bulb. The single word glared back, undeniable in the sickly yellow light: PREGNANT.
Ben flinched like he’d been slapped. He tore his eyes away, staring back at his reflection. The hero who punched out Vilgax, the kid who saved worlds. Now undone by a plastic stick bought at a discount pharmacy. A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "Alien DNA," he muttered, dragging a trembling hand through his messy brown hair. "Gotta be. Wildmutt’s heat cycle? Rath’s… whatever Rath does? Stinkfly’s weird egg-laying thing? Hell, maybe Big Chill’s cryo-stasis messed something up permanently." He traced a finger over the faint, slightly raised circular mark on his wrist. The ghost of the Omnitrix. Barely visible unless you knew where to look, a pale scar tissue. It pulsed now, a faint, warm thrum beneath his skin that seemed to sync with the frantic beat of his own heart. An echo. A reminder of the power that had saved him countless times, and now… this.
"You’ve been feeling it," Gwen said, her voice low but insistent. She leaned against the door, blocking his escape route. Not that he had the energy to run. "The nausea. The exhaustion hitting you like a truck by lunchtime. The sudden aversion to Mr. Smoothy’s Ultra Chug Challenge Special? Ben, you haven’t touched alien meat in months." She paused, studying him. "You knew. Deep down."
He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out her face, the test, his own terrified reflection. "Knowing it in my gut and seeing that…" He gestured vaguely towards her hand. "It’s different." The churn in his stomach intensified. He bent slightly, pressing his forehead against the cool mirror, the condensation from his breath fogging the glass. He felt fragile. Breakable. Utterly unprepared. Nineteen. Nineteen years old and carrying…
"You have to tell him, Ben."
Her words sliced through the fog in his brain. Sharp. Unavoidable. He jerked upright, whirling to face her. Panic flared, hot and raw. "No!" The word came out too loud in the small space. He winced, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. "Gwen, come on. You know Kevin. His temper? His whole… Kevin-ness? What if he freaks? What if he…" Ben trailed off, unable to voice the deepest fear: What if he walks away? What if he hates me? What if he thinks I’m some kind of freak?
"Ben," Gwen stepped closer, her voice softening with empathy but losing none of its firmness. She placed the pregnancy test deliberately on the edge of the sink, beside his clenched fist. "He deserves to know. It’s not just you anymore. And…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "He loves you. Idiotically. Blindly. Even when you both drive each other nuts."
Ben snorted weakly. "'Loves me'? Gwen, last week he threatened to turn my favorite jacket into scrap metal because I borrowed his wrench and forgot to put it back. That’s Kevin’s version of love." He ran a hand over his face, the weariness settling deep into his bones. "This? This is nuclear. This is… permanent."
"He’s the father, Ben." Gwen’s gaze locked onto his, unwavering. "Whether he throws a wrench or not, he has a right to know he’s going to be a dad."
The word hung in the humid air. Dad. Applied to Kevin Levin. Chaos incarnate. Metal-morphing hothead. Ben pictured Kevin’s usual reactions to surprises: explosive anger, followed by grudging acceptance, usually after something got smashed. But this wasn't a dented car or a broken video game. This was a baby. Their baby. Conceived somehow, impossibly, amidst the alien energies and transformations and sheer dumb luck of their lives.
Ben looked down at his stomach. Still flat. For now. But the pulsing warmth beneath the Omnitrix scar felt stronger. A counterpoint to the sickening churn. Life. Alien, confusing, terrifying life, growing inside him. He’d faced down planet-eating monsters, but the sheer vulnerability of this, the complete lack of control, was paralyzing.
He lifted his eyes back to the mirror. Saw the pale face, the haunted eyes, the faint scar pulsing softly on his wrist. The reflection of the hero stared back, but it felt like a costume he couldn't take off. A costume that didn't fit this new, terrifying reality.
Gwen watched him, silent now. Her presence was a steady anchor, but it couldn't dispel the icy dread pooling in Ben’s chest. Telling Kevin wasn't just facing his temper. It was facing the future. Facing the terrifying truth that the kid who ran headfirst into danger was now responsible for creating life. That the wielder of the Omnitrix was carrying a child whose very existence defied every law he knew.
He opened his mouth. Tried to form the words Gwen needed to hear. Okay. I’ll tell him. But they wouldn't come. All that emerged was a shaky breath that fogged the glass again. His reflection blurred. The only thing clear was the stark, pulsing echo beneath his skin and the three impossible words screaming louder than any Null Void siren in his mind: Kevin is the father.
The pulsing under Ben’s skin seemed to quicken, syncing with the frantic hammering of his heart against his ribs. He braced his hands on the sink again, knuckles white, staring at nothing. The word ‘PREGNANT’ glowed beside his trembling fingers like an accusation.
"Okay," he rasped, the single syllable scraping his throat raw. "Okay, just... not yet. Give me a day. Maybe two." He couldn't look at Gwen. Couldn't see the understanding he knew would be there. It felt like pity.
"A day?" Gwen's voice was calm, but the edge was back. She plucked the test off the sink, tucking it into her pocket like contraband. "Ben, this isn't a Plumber briefing you can postpone. You’re already what, seven, eight weeks? The clock is ticking. Literally." She gestured vaguely at his abdomen. "What’s the plan? Hide under baggy hoodies until graduation? Hope Kevin doesn’t notice when you start glowing with weird alien baby energy?"
"Don't say that!" Ben hissed, whirling on her. A wave of dizziness hit him hard. He swayed, grabbing the towel rack for support. The cheap metal groaned under his grip. "It's not... it's not energy." He pressed his free hand flat against his stomach. The low thrum beneath the Omnitrix scar felt deeper now, a persistent warmth radiating outwards. Alien. Undeniably alien. "It's just... complicated. And Kevin? He’ll flip. You know he will. Full-on 'Kevin Mode.' Might actually vibrate through the floor."
"He might," Gwen conceded, leaning back against the door. "But he might not. You don’t get to decide for him, Ben. Or for... the baby." She said the word carefully, testing it in the humid air. "Besides, you look like warmed-up death. You think he hasn’t noticed you avoiding him? Dodging patrols? Turning green every time someone mentions chili fries?"
"He thinks I’m sulking about the wrench thing!" Ben protested weakly, the memory flaring. Kevin’s roar, the wrench denting the garage wall inches from Ben’s head. ‘Next time it’s the jacket, Tennyson! Swear to god!’ "He hasn’t connected the dots."
Gwen snorted. "He will. He’s chaotic, not stupid. The constant puking might be a clue."
As if summoned, a fresh, acidic wave surged up Ben’s throat. He barely had time to lunge for the toilet before he was retching violently. Nothing much came up – mostly bile and the ghost of the crackers he’d managed at lunch – but the spasms wracked his frame, leaving him trembling and clammy, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain rim. Gwen was instantly beside him, a grounding hand on his back, her other hand pulling his sweaty hair away from his face.
"See?" she murmured, all traces of exasperation gone, replaced by pure, pragmatic worry. "This isn't sustainable. You need real medical care. Alien-hybrid-teen-pregnancy kinda care. Which requires telling the guy who's currently yelling at Rook about parking tickets outside." She paused, listening. The faint, familiar rumble of Kevin's annoyed voice did indeed drift through the thin bathroom door.
Ben groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The metallic tang of bile mixed with the damp, moldy smell of the bathroom floor. Shame burned hot under his skin, hotter than the Omnitrix pulse. Hero of Earth. Savior of the Universe. Huddled over a toilet, knocked sideways by something microscopic. "Just... gimme tonight. To figure out how to tell him. Please, Gwen." He looked up at her, his green eyes wide, stripped of the usual cocky veneer, showing only raw, vulnerable fear. "I need a script. Or a tranquilizer dart."
Before Gwen could answer, the bathroom door handle rattled violently. "Yo! Anyone dying in there?" Kevin's voice boomed, muffled but unmistakable. "Rook says the Tank’s got a 'non-regulation proximity to the hydrant' again. He’s writing it up. Seriously. I’m gonna weld his badge to his forehead." A heavy kick thudded against the door. "Ben? Gwen? Open up, it smells like despair and cheap air freshener out here."
Ben froze, eyes locking with Gwen’s in pure panic. He scrambled to his feet, flushing the toilet. His reflection in the mirror was ghastly – pale, sweating, eyes wild. He splashed water on his face, but it just made him look like a drowned, terrified rat.
"Just a sec, Kevin!" Gwen called, her voice impressively steady. She grabbed Ben’s arm, pulling him away from the sink. "Deep breaths. Normal faces."
"Easy for you to say," Ben hissed, trying to smooth his hair, his hands shaking. "You’re not hosting an intergalactic parasite!"
The door burst open before Gwen could reply. Kevin Levin filled the doorway, radiating restless energy. His dark eyes scanned the cramped space, instantly narrowing as he took in Ben’s damp, pale face, Gwen’s protective stance, the general atmosphere of stress thick enough to choke on. His usual smirk faded.
"Whoa. Tennyson. You look like something Four Arms stepped in." Kevin stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him, making the space feel impossibly smaller. He sniffed the air, nose wrinkling. "And smells like it too. What gives? Bad chili dog?"
Ben opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His throat had seized. He saw Gwen give him an infinitesimal nod, her expression screaming Now. Just say it.
Kevin’s gaze darted between them, suspicion hardening his features. He crossed his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking. "Seriously. What’s going on? You two look like you just saw Vilgax doing ballet." His eyes lingered on Ben’s deathly pallor, then dropped, instinctively, to Ben’s stomach where his hand instinctively still rested. "You sick or something?"
Ben met Kevin's confused, slightly impatient gaze. The words lodged in his throat – Kevin is the father – a silent scream echoing the pulse beneath his skin. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the sudden, oppressive silence broken only by the relentless plink... plink... plink of the faucet. Gwen held her breath. Kevin waited, a storm cloud gathering in his dark eyes. Ben’s lips parted. The moment stretched, thin and brittle.
The moment stretched, thin and brittle. Ben’s lips moved soundlessly. The words – Kevin is the father – were a physical lump in his throat, sharp and jagged. He felt Gwen’s hand tighten on his arm, a silent, urgent pressure. Kevin’s dark eyes narrowed further, flicking from Ben’s pale, sweating face to Gwen’s tense expression and back again. Suspicion hardened into something sharper. Concern? Annoyance? Ben couldn’t tell.
"Spit it out, Tennyson," Kevin demanded, his voice losing its usual lazy drawl. He uncrossed his arms, taking a half-step further into the cramped space. The scent of engine grease and ozone clung to him, sharp against the stale bathroom air. "You look like you’re gonna hurl again. What’s eating you? Did Vilgax send a nastygram? Plumbers hassling you? Did you finally break something expensive I have to fix?"
Ben flinched. The mention of hurling sent another acidic wave churning in his gut. He swallowed convulsively, pressing his hand harder against his abdomen. The warmth beneath the Omnitrix scar pulsed insistently, a counterpoint to the nausea. Alien, he thought wildly. What if it’s… wrong? What if it’s got claws? Or tentacles? What if Kevin thinks it’s a monster?
"He’s not sick," Gwen said, her voice cutting through Ben’s spiraling panic. Calm. Too calm. Like she was defusing a bomb wired to Kevin’s temper. "Not exactly."
Kevin’s gaze snapped to her. "Not exactly? What the hell does that mean?" He looked back at Ben, his brow furrowed. "You got some weird alien flu? Picked up space cooties from that Fungoid thing last month?" He leaned in slightly, peering at Ben’s pallor. "Seriously, man. You’re green. And not in the cool Heatblast way."
Ben squeezed his eyes shut. Just say it. Rip the band-aid off. He took a shuddering breath. Opened his eyes. Met Kevin’s confused, impatient stare. "Kevin…" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "It’s… complicated."
Kevin threw his hands up. "Everything’s complicated with you! Just tell me! Did you wreck the Tank? Max find your stash of contraband Null Void jellybeans? What?"
"It’s not…" Ben stammered. He felt Gwen’s fingers dig into his arm again. A silent command: Now. He blurted it out, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "I’m pregnant."
Silence.
Thick, suffocating silence. The only sounds were the relentless plink… plink… plink of the faucet and Ben’s own ragged breathing. Kevin blinked. Once. Twice. His expression didn’t change. It was like the words hadn’t registered. They’d bounced right off his skull.
Ben watched, heart hammering against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack. The pulsing under his skin felt like a drumbeat now, loud and undeniable. He thinks I’m joking. He thinks it’s impossible. He’s gonna laugh.
Kevin didn’t laugh. His face remained utterly blank for another agonizing second. Then, slowly, like tectonic plates shifting, confusion deepened into utter disbelief. His jaw tightened. A muscle flickered in his cheek. His dark eyes, usually sharp with restless energy, went flat. Empty. Dangerous.
"Pregnant," Kevin repeated. The word hung in the humid air, devoid of inflection. A statement. An accusation. He didn’t look at Gwen. His gaze was locked solely on Ben, pinning him against the chipped porcelain sink. "You. Ben Tennyson. Hero of Earth. Pain in my ass." He paused. The silence stretched tighter. "Pregnant."
Ben nodded mutely. He couldn’t speak. His throat had closed up again.
Kevin took a single step closer. The small bathroom felt impossibly smaller. Ben could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tang of metal that always clung to him. Kevin’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble, barely audible over the dripping faucet. "How?"
Ben flinched. "I… I don’t know! Okay? It just… happened! After… after that fight with Psyphon last month? When I shifted through like, six aliens in thirty seconds? Something… glitched? Or fused? Or…" He trailed off helplessly, gesturing wildly at his stomach. "Omnitrix residue! Alien biology! Pick your poison! It’s… it’s in me!"
Kevin’s eyes flickered down to Ben’s abdomen, then back up to his face. The disbelief hadn’t faded. It had solidified into something colder. Harder. "And you’re telling me this… now?" His voice was still low, but the edge was sharper. "After weeks of you dodging me, looking like death warmed over, puking your guts out? You wait until I corner you in the bathroom?"
"I was scared!" Ben burst out, the fear finally overriding the paralysis. "Scared you’d freak! Scared you’d…" He couldn’t finish. Scared you’d leave.
Kevin’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened further. A storm brewed behind his eyes. "Scared?" he echoed, the word dripping with disbelief. "You face down Dagon without breaking a sweat, but this scares you? Keeping this… this secret?" He took another step, crowding Ben against the sink. Ben could feel the heat radiating off him, a different kind of warmth than the pulsing beneath his own skin. "Who else knows?" Kevin demanded, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl.
"Just Gwen!" Ben said quickly, glancing at his cousin. Gwen met Kevin’s gaze steadily, her chin lifted slightly. "She figured it out! She made me take the tests!"
Kevin’s gaze snapped to Gwen. A flicker of something unreadable – betrayal? anger? – crossed his face before his mask slammed back down. He looked back at Ben. "Tests?" The word was clipped.
Gwen reached into her pocket and pulled out the plastic stick. She held it up silently. The single, stark word ‘PREGNANT’ glowed accusingly in the flickering light.
Kevin stared at it. His face remained impassive, but Ben saw the minute tightening around his eyes. The slight flare of his nostrils. He looked from the test to Ben’s stomach, then back to Ben’s terrified face. The silence stretched again, thick with unspoken questions and simmering anger. The pulsing under Ben’s skin felt frantic now, syncing with the frantic thud of his pulse in his ears. He felt exposed. Raw. Like Kevin was seeing him for the first time, stripped bare of every heroic facade.
Kevin finally spoke, his voice devoid of any warmth, any trace of the familiar, chaotic affection. It was flat. Cold. "Mine?"
Ben froze. The question hit him like a physical blow. It was logical. Brutally logical. But hearing it voiced, with that icy detachment, shattered something inside him. Tears pricked hotly at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them back furiously. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Kevin looking at him like that.
He managed a jerky nod. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice thick. "Yours."
Kevin didn’t react immediately. He just stared. The flatness in his eyes deepened. Ben saw calculations happening behind them. Possibilities. Consequences. None of them looked good. The storm brewing earlier seemed to crystallize into pure, focused intensity. Ben braced himself. For yelling. For cursing. For Kevin’s fist slamming into the wall beside his head.
Instead, Kevin took a slow, deliberate step back. The sudden space felt colder than his proximity. He looked Ben up and down once more, his gaze lingering on Ben’s hand still pressed protectively against his stomach. Then, without another word, without looking at Gwen, Kevin turned on his heel. He yanked the bathroom door open with enough force to make it shudder against the wall. He didn’t slam it. He just walked out, leaving it gaping open behind him.
The sounds of the house rushed in – Rook’s muffled voice still discussing parking violations, the distant hum of the refrigerator. Normal sounds. Sounds that felt utterly alien now. Ben stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway, the cold draft from the hall chilling the sweat on his skin. The pulsing under his wrist felt like a dying star collapsing in on itself. Gwen moved towards him, her hand outstretched.
"Ben…" she started, her voice thick with sympathy.
But Ben didn’t hear her. He was listening to the fading, heavy footsteps retreating down the hall. Fast. Purposeful. Heading towards the garage. Towards the Tank. Away. The silence Kevin left behind wasn't empty. It was filled with the deafening echo of a single, unspoken word hanging in the damp, soap-scented air: Run.