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Ben snaps to attention at the sound of the Mission Alarm.
His plans for today did not involve dealing with another crisis. Could this place not handle itself and leave him be? Apparently not. Still, he stalks over to the main room to be given a report and halts upon a group of strangers. There’s some guy in a cowboy hat, another strapped with knives, a third man that’s unnaturally large, a woman arguing with Reginald over where they were—insisting on some Umbrella Academy and getting corrected—standing beside a shorter woman who seemed stricken upon Ben’s approach, and some random disheveled kid. How did they even manage to get past security?
“Dad,” calls Ben. “Who are these assholes?”
It gets the collective attention of the strangers, and the stares they send his way set his nerves on edge. It’s almost more unsettling than the way they go “Ben?” in near unison. He is not about to let his unease show, though. His siblings have gathered now, and Marcus steps up front. Ben quashes the annoyance at Number One because the strangers aren’t looking at Marcus, they’re all still looking at him.
Ben is about to demand answers when he gets grabbed. It’s embarrassing. One moment, the kid is standing across the room, looking dazed, and the next—what the hell?—the kid’s got his hands on him, digging his fingers into Ben’s sides with a feral desperation. Before Ben can shake the little psycho off, the world blurs, and everything around him warps. His vision spins—blue, blue, blue—and he is no longer in the Academy. He’s laying flat on dingy floors staring up at fluorescent lights.
Is he at Griddy’s?
“Ben,” says the kid, and slumps on top of him.
He shoves the kid off him, and the kid rolls onto the floor.
“What the hell?” Ben says to no one in particular.
He sits up and uses a tentacle to prod at the kid’s form. There’s a soft groan, but Ben thinks he’s down for the count. He’s got powers, which is interesting to say the least, considering Ben was pretty sure that Reginald Hargreeves had collected all the superpowered miracle babies that he could buy. But, then again, this kid was much younger, so maybe there’s a new generation born to powers that Reginald never got his hands on.
That…might be a problem.
It doesn’t seem like the kid is much of a threat, though. He’s bruised, that’s obvious enough, and while Ben doesn’t see any obvious cuts, there’s traces of blood on the uniform he’s wearing. Fuck, the kid is wearing a school uniform.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” says Ben, but the child does not reply.
Ben has just let the Eldritch retract the tentacle when the kid is on him again, scrambling towards him and gripping onto his jacket like a lifeline. His fingers are digging in, knuckles white, and Ben freezes at the sound of a stifled sob. Oh, god. He is not mentally prepared to deal with whatever this is today.
“I missed you.”
Ben freezes. What?
“I…what?” Ben says, voice low with disbelief. He glances around the empty, run-down cafe as if someone might appear and explain this whole mess to him, but no such luck. It's just him, the flickering lights above, and a very weird kid clinging to him like a lost puppy.
“I could never find your body…” the kid mumbles, his voice all shaky and slurred, like he’s halfway between dreaming and awake.
Well, that’s not ominous at all. Ben stares down at the kid, completely out of his depth. He wants to say something, anything, but how does one even respond to something like that? “I’m…not dead? So, congrats on that, I guess?”
The kid’s head lolls against Ben’s chest, his forehead creasing in pain. “I looked everywhere,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know you died before…before…when I had to bury…” and the kid tightens his grip, like Ben might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
Ben rolls his eyes skyward, gritting his teeth. Of course, out of everyone in the house, he’s the one that gets grabbed by the concussed, delusional, teleporting child who apparently has issues with missing people.
Ben sighs, exasperated.
Great. Fantastic.
He did not want to be spending his day trapped in a crappy donut shop with a kid who thinks he’s dead. Not to mention the shit he’ll have to take once he gets back to the Academy for being in this situation in the first place.
Still, he tries to rein in his temper.
Ben knows he’s not the most patient person on the best of days, but he’s not heartless enough to kick a kid that looks this pathetic, so he notably does not shove the boy off him. “Kid, seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but whatever it is, I’m not your guy, okay? So stop grabbing at me.”
“Should’ve come earlier…to save…”
Every word the kid says makes less sense. Frustration is building in his chest. This is why he left the PR work to Sloane. He’s much more comfortable socializing when people are several drinks in and in good spirits, not when they’re spewing half-coherent nonsense about the dead. But then, looking at the kid’s scrunched-up face, Ben reluctantly adjusts his position, settling the kid a little more comfortably against him.
Not that I signed up to be anyone’s emotional support, Ben thinks irritably.
Peace doesn’t last long, because the kid is lifting his head in a shaky, disoriented motion, and there is something not quite right about the look in his eyes. He’s looking at Ben, then he says, “You’re not Ben. You’re not—” he cuts off, gaze darting around the empty store with a wild kind of energy. “Where’s my family? Where are they?”
Ben frowns. “You were the one who dragged—” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because suddenly, the kid starts thrashing, his small body twisting in a sudden, violent movement. Ben reacts instinctively, trying to get a grip on him, to hold him still, but it’s like trying to grab onto a fish, far too slippery. He’s stronger than he looks. “Hey! Calm down—what the hell—stop moving!”
But the kid doesn’t.
He just keeps muttering, almost delirious. He’s staring past Ben now, wild and frantic, eyes darting around the room like he’s seeing something Ben can’t, as though he’s searching for something—or someone—that isn’t there.
This is getting out of hand.
Ben wraps the kid tight with a few tentacles, arms pinned to his sides, even as he tries to squirm his way out. There’s some kind of blue light flashing by his arms, but it seems benign this time. Ben hopes that’s true. He doesn’t want to deal with more bullshit.
“The hell is wrong with you now?”
“Where’s my family?” the kid gasps again, voice cracking like he’s on the verge of breaking apart entirely. He thrashes harder, letting out a choked, terrified noise that’s making Ben feel uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable enough to let the kid go, though. “I—I can’t—I know you’re not actually here—can you—”
“Your family is fine!” Ben snaps. He’s not sure if that’s true. Probably not, given that they were intruders. Ben is sure the Sparrows have not left them in a fine state. He’s not going to say that aloud. “They’re all fine!”
“Safe?” asks the kid, as his movement starts to slow.
“Yeah, yeah. Safe.” Finally, finally, the tension drains from the kid’s expression, until he goes limp where Ben is still restraining him. Thank fuck it’s over. Except—“What am I supposed to do with you now?”