Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ben had enough of the night. The argument in the car was still rattling in his head when Gwen pulled up in front of his apartment building. Kevin’s knuckles tapped impatiently against the steering wheel, Gwen’s voice still sharp with the echo of their last mission.

The Plumbers Council had been merciless, and for once Ben didn’t even fight back. A city block wrecked, property damage spiraling, an “unsatisfactory outcome.” Their words hit harder than the battle itself.

“Get some sleep.” Gwen said finally, the edge in her tone softening just enough to sound like genuine concern.

Ben gave her a tired half smile and opened the door. “Yeah. Night.”

Kevin only grunted, eyes already forward. The car peeled away as soon as Ben’s feet hit the pavement.

He lingered on the sidewalk, staring up at the rows of windows. His chest still burned from running, from fighting, from failing. He rubbed at the back of his neck and muttered under his breath “Sleep. Right.”

Inside, his apartment felt too quiet, too still. The fridge hummed. The clock ticked. His body ached for food, but the thought of sitting through the news, through endless replays of his mistakes made his stomach turn. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and let himself collapse face first onto the bed.

The sheets smelled of detergent, grounding him for a moment. He didn’t bother kicking off his shoes. His arm flung over his eyes, blocking the thin slice of moonlight cutting through the blinds.

He told himself he was just resting his eyes. Just for a minute.

But exhaustion had sharper claws than that. Within seconds, it pulled him under.

And when he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t his ceiling waiting above.

The sky was wrong.

Orange bled into black, a sky torn like shattered glass, veins of static crackling through the atmosphere. Buildings twisted in grotesque spirals, walls caving inward as if some invisible hand was wringing the city dry. Smoke rolled in heavy waves, thick enough to choke, threaded with sparks that raised the hair on his arms.

Ben froze. His body snapped into alertness, instincts screaming. This wasn’t a normal dream. His pulse hammered against his ribs as he glanced down at his wrist.

The Omnitrix sat there, silent.

No green glow pulsing. Just dead weight, cold against his skin.

His throat tightened. That had never happened before. Not in reality, not even in nightmares. “What the hell…” His voice cracked, swallowed instantly by the air.

He turned in a slow circle, searching for any sign of an enemy, for some hint that this was just another alien trick, an illusion. But the city stretched on endlessly, broken and burning, and he was completely alone.

At least, that’s what he thought, until movement caught the corner of his eye.

Ben’s breath hitched. There was someone out there, past the curls of smoke. A figure. Small, hunched on the ground.

Caution warred with instinct. His muscles coiled, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, sneakers crunching against shattered pavement. The air thickened as he neared, a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Then he saw it.

A boy, not much older than him, maybe his age, sprawled on the ground. His body convulsed, hands clutching at his head. And above him, something impossible loomed.

Ben’s lungs burned by the time he reached him. The smoke clawed at his throat, the air thick and seemed alive, waiting. He skidded to a stop, sneakers scraping against fractured stone because for an instant, his brain refused to process what he saw.

The thing loomed above the boy like a nightmare given shape.

It wasn’t flesh, not exactly. Its form was a skeleton of shadow, edges frayed and dripping like tar, its limbs stretching too long, bending at angles that hurt to look at. A faceless head turned toward him, and yet Ben felt it staring, hollow sockets fixed with an intelligence colder than ice. The air around it bent wrong, heat bleeding into frost, gravity tilting sideways as if the world itself hated its presence.

Every instinct screamed don’t move. His body froze, breath locking tight in his chest. The Omnitrix still dead on his wrist, no glow, no hum, just silence.

The boy on the ground spasmed, choking on breaths, metal tearing from his arms before vanishing again. His eyes rolled back, caught in a battle Ben couldn’t see.

The shadow bent lower. One hand; claw, wing, limb, he couldn’t tell dipped toward the boy’s chest. The air rippled with the sound of tearing fabric, but nothing touched. It wasn’t ripping the body. It was trying to rip him.

Something broke loose in Ben. He lunged forward before he could think. “HEY!”

His voice cracked.

The creature snapped upright. That faceless head swiveled toward him, all angles, all wrong. For one impossible heartbeat it listened. And then, with a shriek like metal grinding bone, it dissolved into nothing; smoke sucked backward into the fractured sky.

Gone.

Ben’s chest heaved, his skin damp with cold sweat. He forced himself forward, dropping to his knees beside the boy.

Up close, it was worse. His whole body shook, shudders rattling through every bone, sweat soaking his shirt. The boy gasped like someone drowning without water, clutching at the ground, fingernails breaking against stone.

“Hey- easy.” Ben said, forcing steadiness into his voice, though fear clawed beneath his ribs. He pressed a hand to the boy’s shoulder, grounding him. “You’re okay. Do you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

The trembling slowed. Not much, but enough.

Ben leaned closer, his voice low, a lifeline in the chaos. “You’re not alone. Whatever that was, it doesn’t get to take you. Not while I’m here.”

The shadow screamed again, furious and sharp, but then pulled back, peeling from the boy’s skin like smoke losing its grip.

The boy’s eyes flickered open, brown and wild, locking on Ben. Just for a second. Enough to leave Ben’s stomach twisting. Enough to make it feel like this moment wasn’t random, wasn’t chance.

A plea. A trust that shouldn’t have been there.

And then the world fractured. The nightmare cracked apart, dragging him backward, the boy’s image blurring into smoke.

Ben held tighter, desperate, but his fingers closed on nothing.

The last thing left was the reflection of his own green eyes in that desperate stare before everything snapped shut.

•••

Ben jolted awake, his body thrashing against the sheets. His lungs dragged in air too fast, too sharp, as if he had been drowning. Sweat soaked his back, his forehead, his palms. The Omnitrix glowed green on his wrist again, alive.

He shoved a trembling hand through his hair, sitting upright, chest rising and falling unevenly. His room was painfully ordinary. The hum of the fridge. The tick of the clock.

But his pulse refused to slow.

“Okay.” he whispered hoarsely, pressing both hands to his face. “What the hell was that?”

The image burned in his mind no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut. That boy; struggling beneath the shadow, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing left.

Ben lay back, but there was no rest in him now. The ceiling above felt more foreign than the nightmare.

He knew one thing with bone-deep certainty.

He wasn’t going to forget that face.

Sleep was impossible after that.
Ben lay sprawled on damp sheets, the clock’s red digits burning into his eyes: 4:24 AM. Too early to get up. Too late to go back. His chest still rose in uneven waves, and every time he shut his eyes the world broke open again; the smoke, the screaming sky, the boy convulsing beneath that shadow.

He pressed the heel of his hand against the Omnitrix. It pulsed steady now, cool, alive, like it hadn’t betrayed him at all. But he remembered the weight of it in the dream, dead and cold, and his stomach twisted.

“Get it together.” he muttered, dragging himself upright. He stumbled into the bathroom, flicked the light. His reflection stared back; pale, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes bloodshot.

Not fear. Not exactly. More like something had been carved into him, a scar beneath the skin that no one else could see.

He splashed water over his face until his cheeks stung. The memory didn’t wash away. Those eyes; dark, wild, desperate latched onto him even now. Like he mattered. Like he’d been the difference between life and oblivion.

He gripped the counter, breathing through his teeth. “Who the hell are you?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

By the time morning came, he’d already given up on sleep. He went through motions; cereal, news, shower.. like a ghost inside his own body. Gwen’s texts piled up on his phone. He ignored them. He couldn’t shake it. Every flicker of shadow in the corner of his vision made his heart jolt.

And when his thoughts weren’t spiraling around the nightmare, they were circling back to that boy. The way he looked at him. The way Ben felt, as if they’d known each other already.

Ben had no idea why it mattered so much. But it did.

•••

Rex woke with a scream stuck in his throat.

His body shot upright, heart pounding, sweat plastering his shirt to his back. The world around him blurred, his breath clawing in bursts.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d made it out. The shadows clung too thick, the echoes of that thing still buzzing in his ears. He pressed his palms hard against his temples, rocking forward until the edges of his room sharpened.

White walls. Providence. His room.

He swallowed and forced himself to breathe, in and out, until his lungs remembered the rhythm. His body still trembled. His skin still burned with cold.

The dream again. The same nightmare that had stalked him for months, maybe longer, always the same place, the same broken city, the same monster feeding on him. He’d wake drenched in sweat, shaking so hard he thought his bones would rattle out of place.

But last night had been different.

He dragged his knees up and buried his face in his arms. His pulse refused to settle.

Because this time, he hadn’t been alone.

Through the haze, through the fear, there had been a figure. Someone who didn’t belong. A boy. Not an enemy. Not another shadow.

A boy with green eyes that cut through the smoke like a lifeline.

Rex clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He’d seen every corner of that nightmare, but never him. Not until now.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image came back clearer: the boy rushing toward him, shouting something Rex couldn’t quite hear, his face set with raw determination. A stranger. And yet, when their eyes locked, just for a second, Rex swore something shifted.

That look. He couldn’t shake it.

For the first time, he’d felt… saved.

He let out a shaky laugh, scrubbing at his face. “Yeah, right..” he whispered to himself. “Saved by some dream guy. Real solid, Rex.”

Still, the weight lingered. Heavy. He’d had this nightmare a hundred times, but never like this. Never with someone else in it.

When he stumbled into the mess hall later, Noah was already waiting, shoveling eggs into his mouth like usual. “Dude, you look wrecked.” Noah said around a mouthful.

Rex forced a smirk. “Good morning to you, too.”

“You been pulling at the same nightmares again?”

Rex shrugged, reaching for coffee. “yeah.”

Noah squinted at him, like he could see the lie. But he didn’t press. Nobody did. They all noticed he was different today; the hollow under his eyes, the way his hands shook when he thought nobody was watching.

But nobody asked why.

And Rex couldn’t tell them. Because how could he explain it? That he couldn’t stop thinking about a stranger who didn’t exist. A boy who shouldn’t have been there.

A boy with green eyes he couldn’t forget.

Chapter Text

The afternoon had no right to feel this bright. Sunlight pooled across Ben’s desk, catching on unopened textbooks, old mission reports, and the half-finished cereal he hadn’t touched. His eyes burned from staying awake all night, his body weighted down by exhaustion, but he kept moving anyway. Shower, clothes, jacket tossed on without much thought. If he stopped, even for a second, the memory of the nightmare would crawl back in; the boy, the shadow, those eyes.

He jammed his sneakers on, muttering under his breath, “Just a normal day. Totally normal.”

He can feel the Omnitrix on his wrist, steady and alive. It should have reassured him. Instead, it only reminded him of the dream where it had been silent, cold. He flexed his hand like he could shake the feeling out.

By the time he stepped outside, the air had shifted into early autumn chill. He tugged his hoodie tighter around his shoulders and forced his pace into something casual. Gwen had invited everyone over, “movie, pizza, normal human interaction, remember that?” and he hadn’t had the energy to say no.

Her house was a beacon of normalcy, something he desperately needed but didn’t quite trust.

•••

Kevin’s car was already parked out front, angled like it had survived a demolition derby and barely made it there in one piece. Julie’s scooter leaned neatly on the curb beside it, looking absurdly polite in comparison.

Ben adjusted his hoodie and knocked once before letting himself in.

Chaos greeted him.

“NO! Absolutely not!” Gwen’s voice echoed from the kitchen, sharp but laced with that tone she used when she was only half serious.

Kevin’s voice boomed right back: “I’m telling you, if you stack the slices vertically, you can fit way more in the oven at once.”

“That’s not how food works, idiot!” Gwen shot back.

Ben stepped inside just in time to see Kevin balancing a ridiculous tower of frozen pizza slices on a baking tray while Gwen tried to wrestle it out of his hands. Julie sat cross-legged on the counter, laughing so hard she nearly dropped the cola bottle she was opening.

“Uh…” Ben said, shutting the door behind him. “Are we… already under attack, or is this just how dinner’s going?”

Julie grinned. “Depends. Do you consider Kevin’s cooking a public safety hazard?”

“WHAT?“ Kevin barked, still holding his absurd tower of pizza like a prize. “Innovation looks weird until it works.”

Gwen yanked the tray out of his grip and slammed it on the counter. “You’re not turning my oven into a pizza mess.”

Ben couldn’t help it, he laughed. The sound came easier than he expected, shaking loose some of the heaviness in his chest. For a moment, standing in Gwen’s kitchen, it almost felt like the nightmare hadn’t followed him here.

Half an hour later, the living room was its own kind of battlefield. Pizza plates littered the coffee table, more then five glass lined up on the ground, and Kevin was already yelling at the TV.

“That was not pass interference!” he shouted, waving half a slice of pizza like a flag.

“It was literally the definition of pass interference!” Gwen argued, clutching a pillow like she might throw it at him.

Julie only laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions with an amused shake of her head. “Remind me why we agreed to football night instead of a movie?”

“Because you guys have no taste.” Kevin muttered, shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth.

Ben sat slouched on the opposite couch, a plate balanced on his knees. He picked at the crust absent-mindedly, his eyes flicking toward the screen but not really seeing it. Every few minutes, his thoughts drifted; smoke, shadow, that boy’s wild gaze. He’d blink and catch himself staring through the screen instead of at it.

“Earth to Ben?” Julie’s voice pulled him back. She was leaning forward, brows raised. “You okay? You’ve been zoning out for like… half the game.”

Kevin snorted. “Maybe he’s just embarrassed his team’s losing.”

“I don’t even have a team.” Ben said, forcing a crooked smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Gwen’s eyes lingered on him longer than the others. She didn’t press, but she noticed.

The night unraveled in bursts of laughter, bickering, and the kind of comfort that came from too many shared missions and not enough normal evenings. They argued about their last mission. Kevin accidentally spilled cola on the carpet and swore up and down it was Ben’s fault. During a break, Julie sings along; loudly and terribly to the ad’s jingle. Gwen presses a hand to her forehead. “Please stop. My brain hurts.” Julie only gets louder.

Ben even smiled through most of it. But the edges of the dream pressed in, unshakable. Every time Kevin shouted, it echoed wrong in his ears, like that shadow’s scream. Every time Julie laughed, it flickered into static for a split second, like the broken sky.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes when no one was watching. Just one night. Just survive one night of normal.

By the time the last pizza plate was empty and the game had ended, Kevin was half asleep in an armchair and Julie was scrolling through her phone with the blank stare of someone on autopilot. Gwen stretched, standing to gather the trash.

“Don’t even think about it.” she warned when Kevin made a token protest about helping. “You’ll just make more of a mess.”

Ben leaned back, the couch cushions swallowing him whole. His body had been running on fumes all day, and the exhaustion finally crashed over him like a wave. His eyes drooped despite himself, the flicker of lamplight melting into shadow.

He told himself he’d just close his eyes for a second. Just rest, not sleep. But the moment the room went dark, the nightmare was waiting.

When Ben’s eyes opened again, it wasn’t Gwen’s living room. Not the warm lamplight or the low drone of the TV. The world had twisted into something horrible, scarred.

Wind howled across a city broken at its bones. Towers jutted, glass spilling down their sides in endless shatters. The sky was a mess of orange and black again, lightning splitting it in crooked veins. Smoke coiled in endless loops, thick and choking.

And Ben was high, so high his stomach dropped the second he realized it. He stood on the fractured ledge of a skyscraper’s top floor, concrete crumbling under his sneakers, the abyss yawning below.

His breath caught. He staggered back instinctively, arms flaring for balance. The wind roared louder, threatening to pitch him forward.

Then he saw him. A few meters ahead, near the building’s edge, a boy crouched low, dark hair plastered to his sweat-soaked face. His body shook violently, nanites sparking in flashes across his arms but refusing to take any shape. The effort twisted his features in frustration, in desperation.

And just beyond him, dangling from the very edge of the skyscraper, was a child.

Not older then seven. Tiny hands clinging to broken rebar, legs kicking against empty air. His face was pale with terror, his cries barely audible over the shriek of the wind.

Ben’s lungs locked. The boy in front; the one fighting the nanites leaned forward, arm outstretched. His fingers shook, desperate to catch the child’s wrist. But the nanites fizzled, sputtering into nothing. Every attempt failed, leaving him only human, only vulnerable.

“No, PLEASE NO” Rex rasped, voice breaking. “Hold on! I’ve got you- just hold on!”

Ben froze where he stood. His muscles screamed to move, to rush forward, but the weight of the dream pressed down, paralyzing him. His wrist felt heavy. The Omnitrix was there, but dead again, its familiar feeling gone. Nothing but cold metal against his skin.

And worse? he wasn’t alone.

From above, perched on a spire of broken steel, the shadow loomed. The same faceless, wrong-limbed monstrosity he had seen before. Its body stretched in silhouettes, tar dripping from the edges, hollow sockets burning with awareness. It wasn’t attacking this time. It only watched.

But not the child.

Not the city.

It watched the boy.

The one clawing at the edge, failing with every desperate attempt to save the child.

Ben’s throat closed. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe. That stare, that unnatural gravity, it wasn’t just watching. It was waiting.

The boy screamed again, slamming his palm against the ground in helpless fury as the nanites dissolved. The child’s fingers slipped, just slightly, scraping bloody lines against the rebar.

Ben staggered forward one step. His voice caught in his throat.

Say something. Move. Do anything.

But his legs felt bolted to the ground, fear nailing him in place.

The shadow tilted its faceless head toward him, as though mocking his hesitation.

The child’s cry split the air.

And when Ben looked them again, his hand slipped.

For one terrible heartbeat, his small fingers clawed at nothing. His body lurched, teetered, then fell.

The scream ripped through the world.

“NO!” the boy at the edge roared. His voice cracked, raw with grief and rage. He lunged forward, both hands reaching, but the child was already gone, swallowed by the abyss below.

Ben’s paralysis shattered. The sound of the boy’s voice; the raw devastation in it broke something in him. His legs moved before he could catch up, sneakers slamming against fractured concrete as he sprinted forward.

“Wait-”

The boy whipped around at the sound, wild eyes locking onto him for the first time. Brown, wide, disbelieving. His chest heaved with sobs he refused to let break.

Ben dropped to his knees beside him, breath ragged. His hands hovered, unsure whether to grab his shoulders or anchor him to the ground. The grief radiating off him was so sharp it felt like knives in Ben’s own chest.

“You- you again-” the boy choked out, voice shredded. “You saw him- you saw- I couldn’t- I-”

“Hey- hey, look at me.” Ben said quickly, his own voice trembling but firm. He forced his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, grounding him. His skin was clammy with cold sweat. “Listen to me. This- this isn’t real. He isn't real. ”

The boy’s chest stuttered with another heavy breath. His gaze flinched toward the abyss, then back to Ben. “It was real. He was right there- he-”

Ben tightened his grip, desperation bleeding into his tone. “No! I know it feels real, but it’s not. It’s a nightmare. Do you hear me? Just a nightmare.”

The boy shook his head violently. His hands clawed at the ground like he could dig for the child, like he could undo it if he just moved fast enough. “You don’t get it. I- this I can’t- I can’t help him-”

His words broke into a sob he smothered with his fist. His body shook harder, nanites sparking and dying uselessly along his arms.

Ben leaned closer, lowering his voice, though it shook as much as the boy’s body. “I don’t know what this place is. I don’t even know how I got here. But i'm here with you, okay? You don’t have to fight it alone.”

Rex’s eyes shot to his again. Wild. Unmoored. But there, flickering beneath the storm of panic, was the same raw plea Ben had seen before, the same look from yesterday.

A silent question: Why are you here? Why are you helping me?

Ben swallowed, fighting the lump in his throat. He didn’t have an answer. He barely believed his own words. Every inch of this nightmare pressed against him with suffocating weight. The shadow above them hissed softly, its form rippling like smoke in water. Watching.

But he couldn’t let the boy drown in this. Not alone.

“You’re not broken.” Ben said fiercely, almost surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. “Whatever that thing is, whatever it wants- it doesn’t get to take you. Not while I’m here.”

The boy’s breath hitched. His fists loosened slightly against the cracked concrete.

For a moment, they knelt there on the shattered rooftop, the city crumbling around them, the shadow pressing closer like a stormcloud. Ben didn't have the courage to look again. The boy’s shoulders shook with silent grief, Ben’s hand steady against him, anchoring him against the abyss.

Then the world jolted. Ice cold.

The sky fractured again, lightning splitting into white cracks. The skyscraper groaned beneath them, the concrete splintering underfoot.

The shadow screamed. A sound like metal tearing, like bone grinding. Its faceless head swiveled between them, focus sharp.

Ben’s chest clenched. His pulse roared in his ears. He opened his mouth; ready to say something, anything, maybe even ask the boy’s name but the world snapped apart.

Like glass shattering. Like ice breaking underfoot.

The rooftop, the shadow, the boy; all ripped away, leaving only darkness swallowing him whole.

Ben’s eyes flew open with a strangled gasp, his chest heaving like he’d been dragged from drowning. Heat clung to him; sheets damp, shirt plastered to his back, sweat dripping into his eyes. His throat burned raw from shouting, though he couldn’t remember the words.

And hovering above him weren’t shadows.

They were his friends.

“Finally!” Kevin barked, shaking his sore hand like he’d just punched a wall. “You nearly bit my head off-”

“Kevin, you hit him!” Gwen’s voice cracked with outrage, but it was frayed at the edges, fear bleeding through.

“He wasn’t waking up!” Kevin shot back. “You didn’t hear him, Gwen. He was- he was screaming.”

Julie crouched by the couch, empty glass dripping a small puddle onto the rug. She looked guilty and relieved all at once. “Sorry about the water. You weren’t… responding.”

Ben sat up fast, head spinning. His hair clung wet against his forehead, not just from the sweat but the ice cold shock that still crawled down his skin. His hands shook when he dragged them over his face.

Three sets of eyes stayed locked on him, wide and unsettled.

Gwen was the first to break the silence. “Ben, what happened?” Her voice was gentler now, urgent but careful, as if she was trying not to spook him further. “You were thrashing, screaming. I’ve never-”

Ben swallowed hard, staring at the floor. The images still clawed at the back of his mind; the child’s fall, Rex’s desperate eyes, the shadow screaming above them. His stomach turned over.

“Nothing.” he rasped, though his voice betrayed the lie. “It was just a dream.”

Julie frowned. “That didn’t sound like ‘just a dream.’”

Kevin folded his arms, but his scowl was thin, brittle. “You sounded like you were fighting for your life. Sweating buckets. I had to-”

“You didn’t have to hit him.” Gwen snapped, her eyes flashing.

Kevin shrugged roughly, looking away. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Ben exhaled through his nose, fighting the tremor in his chest. Their voices pressed against his skull, questions and worry tightening the walls around him. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t explain the weight of that place, or the way it followed him into waking life. He barely understood it himself.

“I’m fine.” he said finally, forcing his tone steady. “Really. I just… need air.”

Gwen frowned, stepping closer. “Ben-”

He managed a faint smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Thanks. For, uh… not letting me drown in your couch or whatever.” He rose to his feet, movements unsteady. His hoodie clung damp against his back as he grabbed it from the armrest. “But I should get home. I’ll be fine.”

Julie bit her lip like she wanted to protest. Kevin stayed silent, jaw tight. Gwen’s expression lingered with doubt, but she didn’t push.

So Ben slipped out into the night.

The cool air hit him hard, but it didn’t clear his head. His sneakers scuffed along the sidewalk, each step heavier than the last. The world outside felt both too quiet and too loud, shadows stretching unnaturally under the streetlamps, every rustle of wind turning sharp against his nerves.

By the time he reached his apartment, his heart was still racing. He shoved the door open and flicked the lights on immediately, flooding the room with harsh yellow. The hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock; normal sounds, should have grounded him. Instead, they only made the silence in between feel wider.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed but didn’t lie down. He couldn’t. His damp clothes stuck to his skin, but the thought of peeling them off, of closing his eyes, of risking the nightmare again.. his stomach twisted at the idea.

The memory replayed no matter where he looked.

The child slipping.

The boy’s scream.

Those eyes meeting his, full of grief that cut to the bone.

Ben dragged both hands through his hair, pressing them to the back of his neck until his skin stung. “It wasn’t real.” he muttered. “Just a dream. Just a dream.”

But the words rang hollow.

Every corner of the apartment felt too dark, every shadow too deep. He flicked on the kitchen light, then the bathroom, then even the lamp by the couch. The glow carved the shadows into smaller shapes, but didn’t erase them.

His body jolted at the smallest sound. A pipe groaned in the wall and he nearly flinched. His neighbor’s door slammed down the hall and his pulse spiked.

Then it came again.

A scrape. Soft. Right by the window.

Ben froze. His lungs locked, chest clamped by sudden fear. Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head toward the sound.

The blinds shifted. A shadow flickered past the glass.

His muscles coiled, ready to spring. The Omnitrix hummed faintly on his wrist, as if reacting to the tension radiating off him.

He yanked the blinds aside-

A cat.

Black as tar, its fur seemed to swallow the light. One ear hung shredded, but it was the eyes; unnatural green, luminous, too bright for the night that rooted him in place. They didn’t reflect the streetlamp. They generated their own glow.

The animal didn’t flinch. Didn’t twitch. Didn’t even breathe in the way normal creatures did. It simply sat on the railing, tail coiled tight, watching him with a stillness that screamed of intent.

Ben’s throat went dry. He forced out a laugh, thin and cracking. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The cat blinked once. Slow. Too slow. Like it wasn’t a reflex but a choice.

And then it leaned forward, pressing one paw to the glass. The scrape came again, softer now, vibrating through the pane under his palm.

Ben stumbled back, heart jackhammering. But the cat’s gaze followed, pinning him, as though it could see through him. As though it recognized something he hadn’t admitted to himself.

The lights in the room flickered.

When he looked back, the window was empty.

But the sound of claws against metal echoed long after the cat was gone, burrowing under his skin.

Ben slammed the blinds shut and staggered away from the window. His hands shook so violently he pressed them to his knees to keep them still. The silence that settled over the room wasn’t comforting, it felt constructed, like something waiting for him to make the next move.

Those eyes. That slow blink. That paw against the glass.

It hadn’t been a stray.

It had been a message.

Ben pressed his palm hard against his forehead, sweat dripping cold despite the heat in his veins and sat there in the glow of too many lights, knowing sleep wouldn’t come.

And even if it did, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

Cause sleep wasn’t just impossible now. Sleep felt dangerous.