Notes:
The summer vacation had never happen in this universe. Therefore, Ben 10 does not belong to me.
I. Visit.
It was well past midnight when Grandpa Max appeared on their doorstep. Ben didn't know what was more unusual; Grandpa showing up unannounced, or the fact that he had a strange little girl standing beside him.
She looks like a stray cat, was his first thought when his eyes landed on her. Her figure was frail, lost beneath tattered clothes, and her skin bore zigzagged burn snaked across her arm. A charm necklace hung awkwardly around her neck, resting against her chest like a misplaced artifact. Her fiery hair was unevenly short and looked as if it had been hacked off with a knife. She could be pretty or could be ugly; it was hard to tell beneath the layer of dirt, and she didn't look up—she didn't look at anyone at all.
Everything about her was terrible, the kind of terrible that seemed ripped straight from the pages of a movie script. That's why it shocked Ben when he learned she was his cousin.
They all stood frozen, staring at the unexpected pair, until his mom's instincts overtook her surprise. She hurried to the injured girl, shepherding her to the bathroom to clean up.
"I'm sorry for showing up like this," Grandpa Max broke the silence, even his voice sounded different than usual.
"... my God, Max, don't tell me that girl is..." Dad's voice quivered in disbelief, his face pale as he tried to process it all. "Oh my God, Frank and Natalie..."
"I was too late," Grandpa admitted, looking so much older with his shoulders slumped, defeated. "It was horrible. Everything was destroyed—their work, their home, them…" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I'd lost them all, but somehow, she survived. She was hidden under her parents' covers, barely."
"Is she going to stay with us?" Ben asked hesitantly.
"It's only temporary," Grandpa assured him, "Just until I find a place and—"
"Nonsense, Max," his mom interjected fiercely, reappearing with the girl now wrapped in a white towel. She held the child tightly against her. "She will stay with us."
Ben had never met his cousin before; their families weren't particularly close.
He knew his dad had an older brother who worked for the government, involved in some enigmatic activities. Ben also knew his uncle and aunt had a daughter—the same age as him and sharing the same birthday—because every year, they would send a card filled with glitter. His mom would send one just as cheesy in return. That was the extent of their relationship, as far as Ben was concerned. Dad had once explained that their relatives were always busy, frequently relocating due to the government's disapproval of outside connections. That's why they couldn't meet.
Whatever, he thought. To him, they were just faces in photographs, nothing more than a thought in the back of his mind.
But the girl standing before him now was nothing like the polished, seemingly flawless cousin depicted in those framed photographs his mom hung around their home. In the pictures, she always wore a subtle smile, dressed like a doll, and appeared almost too perfect. Ben had imagined her as a know-it-all, the type who'd smugly correct people with facts nobody asked for. He'd disliked her before ever meeting her.
Yet now, as he stood face-to-face with her, Ben realized he didn't know her at all. She might as well have been a stranger to him. The thought hurt, and he couldn't explained why.
His parents took her to the hospital, and when she returned the next day, all her visible injuries had healed. Even the jagged burn was gone—which Ben found weird, but he expected nothing less. Now clean and dressed in a simple white shirt, he could see a faint resemblance to the girl in the photos, but her eyes remained hollow, betraying that she was nothing more than an empty shell. His mom had trimmed her hair so it looked more even, the fiery strands now framing her slender neck.
"Do you like it?" Mom tried to muster a smile, holding up a small mirror for her. But her voice wavered, her eyes still red from crying.
The girl didn't respond; she merely stared at the mirror with a blank expression.
Days passed, and the silence weighed heavily in the air. Ben often found himself stealing glances at her. She spent most of her time sitting quietly by the window, staring out as if searching for something far beyond their home. He tried talking to her, getting her to say something—anything.
She looked at him with empty eyes and said nothing at all.
On the fifth day of the girl's stay with his family, Grandpa Max returned to attend his late son and daughter-in-law's funerals, which were scheduled to occur the next couple day.
Grandpa seemed mad, Ben could tell, even though the man tried to mask it with a warm smile as he ruffled his grandson's hair. "How is she? Have you two been getting along?" he asked in a voice that was overly gentle.
Ben had no answers to either question, so he quietly shook his head.
Grandpa nodded sadly. "She needs time. I know you two haven't had a chance to meet before, and it must be a rough start under these... circumstances. But I trust you'll take care of her, Ben." He offered a small smile, reaching into his bag and pulling out a battered notebook that looked as though it had been half-burned. "Give this to your cousin for me, and I trust you won't peek into other people's diaries," he added with a chuckle, giving Ben's hair another ruffle before disappearing into his dad's office.
The muffled sounds of the two men arguing weren't something Ben wanted to hear at the moment, even with the Tennyson blood. He wandered outside and found her sitting beneath the thick trunk of an apple tree. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a soft glow on her hair and the sketch she was currently drawing.
Ben cleared his throat softly, trying not to startle her. She didn't look up, but her hand paused mid-sketch. It was the only acknowledgment he got.
He sat down beside her, feeling the cool, freshly cut grass beneath his palms. For a long while, he said nothing, afraid that speaking might upset her. She continued to draw, allowing him to watch as her hands moved across the page, shading the lines of the apple tree she was sitting under.
"Hey," he said softly, breaking the silence. "Grandpa wanted me to give you this." He held out the notebook, watching as her fingers brushed against the charred cover. The edges of it were singed, and the cover bore deep scratches, but it was otherwise intact. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She took it with a hesitant pause, glancing up at him.
"Uh, I think it's a journal or something. Grandpa said I wasn't allowed to peek," Ben added quickly, scratching the back of his head. "N-not that I wanted to or anything."
But she wasn't listening. Her focus was entirely on the notebooks as she carefully opened it, revealing pages filled with what appeared to be a woman's handwriting, intricate sketches, and a few old photographs. As she flipped through the pages, a small, unexpected laugh escaped her lips—a sound so soft that Ben almost thought he'd imagined it.
She's beautiful this way, he decided, with her hair falling around her face, green eyes gleaming brightly.
Ben didn't know how it started, but lately, he found himself wanting something more—something he thought he'd never miss.
Her voice.
He wanted to know what it sounded like. Was it soft? Sharp? Did it hold the same fire as her hair or the same fragility as the way she avoided his gaze?
But he knew she couldn't speak. The words she wanted to say were locked away, hidden somewhere even she couldn't reach.
Ben fiddled with his pen as he sat across from her at the dining table, supposedly doing his summer homework. Instead, he found himself observing her. It was almost hypnotic, the way her hand moved effortlessly over the page. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm.
"Hey," he said, the word feeling small and insufficient. She paused, glancing at him for a brief second before returning to her work.
He grabbed a sheet of paper and scrawled a quick note on it:
What's your name?
Sliding the paper across the table, he waited, his heart inexplicably pounding in his chest. It was a stupid question, he knew. They were supposed to be family, at least that's what the adults always said. Yet to Ben, she was just the strangest (loneliest) girl he'd met only a week ago. He wanted to know her name properly through a conversation, with her—not through the hushed chatting of adults or glitter cards.
She stared at his note for a moment, her expression unreadable, before taking her pencil and scribbling a response beneath his question.
Gwendolyn, she wrote in neat, deliberate letters.
He blinked at the name, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Gwendolyn, huh?" he said aloud, letting the name roll off his tongue. "Pretty name."
She hesitated, then flipped the paper over to write something else. When she turned it back to him, it read:
You can call me Gwen.
"Gwen," he repeated softly, his smile widening. "Nice to officially meet you, Gwen."
She didn't smile, but he swore there was a hint of warmth in her gaze before she returned to her sketch.
II. Feast
The day of the funeral arrived with a heavy overcast of gray clouds, seeming to reflect the somber mood of everyone in attendance. The small church was silent except for the hushed murmurs of mourners and the occasional creak of wooden pews as people shifted uncomfortably.
Ben stood by Gwen's side, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets to keep them from moving. She was dressed in a black dress that hung heavily on her small frame, her fiery hair pulled back into a neat braid that only made her pale complexion more striking. She clutched the charred notebook tightly to her chest like a lifeline, her knuckles white against the worn cover.
Ben finally understood why Grandpa had seemed furious that day. Two scientists, devoted their lives to serving the government, yet theirs death had been brushed off without so much as a public announcement—not even a small mention in the newspaper. It appeared some force behind the scenes had decided to conceal the incident completely. They were allowed to mourn in silence, with only a limited number of guests permitted to pay their respects. All Ben could think about was how lonely Gwen must feel, knowing that her parents' lives had been so underappreciated—suddenly gone, without the proper honor and remembrance they deserved.
The service felt endless. Ben wasn't sure if he was supposed to cry or stay stoic. He stole glances at Gwen, who stared ahead at the two caskets draped in white lilies. Her face was blank, her green eyes dried with unshed tears that she refused to let fall.
When it was time to speak, Grandpa Max approached the podium, his usual strength faltering as he gripped the edges of the lectern for support. He began to talk about Frank and Natalie—two names that held little significance to Ben but represented the entire world to Gwen.
"They were heroes in every sense of the word," Grandpa said, his voice thick with emotion. "They gave their lives to protect others. Their contributions and sacrifices may remain untold, but their legacy lives on in all of us—and in Gwen. They loved her more than anything. And I know they would want her to remember that love, always."
Ben felt his throat tighten as he glanced at Gwen. She didn't move, didn't react, but her grip on the charred notebook tightened. If Ben saw a flicker of glowing light coming from the charm necklace, he said nothing.
After the service, the mourners made their way to the gravesite. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh flowers. People lined up to place roses on the caskets, murmuring prayers and farewells as they passed.
When it was Gwen's turn, she hesitated. Ben watched as she knelt between the two graves, the notebook still clutched to her chest. She didn't place a rose; instead, she opened the notebook and carefully tore out a page. It was one of the sketches she'd been working on—a drawing of her family. In the picture, she was nestled between her parents in a tight embrace, her smile bright and full of life. Ben wondered if the world would ever get the chance to see that smile again.
She placed the drawing gently on her mother's casket, her hand lingering on the surface as though she wished to say something. But no words came; the silence enveloped her like a heavy blanket.
Funerals, Ben thought, were a very strange affair. Everyone acted sad and happy at the same time, with an extra coating of guilt whenever they flip-flopped between the states.
A middle-aged woman flitted around, her paper fan fluttering in her fingers as she surveyed the room. "It's almost disgusting, gorging ourselves while that heartbroken girl hides alone."
"It's a clever tactic. Distract the guets with dinner while taking a moment for yourself." Another man replied, folding his arms across his chest. "Poor girl, though. She hasn't muttered a word or shed a single tear. It must be tough, have to say goodbye to your parents so soon."
"Do you think it's possible to be mute after trauma? I always thought it was something one was born with."
"What a question, should I look it up for you?" the man replied, his tone tinged with sarcasm.
"I'm not having you do anything, I simply feel…"
The buzz of conversation began to fill the air, spreading from guest to guest as the crowd broke into smaller clusters, drifting toward the food and drink laid out before them. Ben turned his attention away. He couldn't bear to look at the tantalizing dishes that beckon to him so evilly.
"Ben," someone called from behind. He looked up to see his dad, the warm glow of the overhead lights amplifying the weariness etched into his face. Despite this, the man managed a smile. "Go ahead. You're supposed to eat something," his dad assured him.
Ben glanced past his dad's lower half and spotted his mom sitting at a corner table, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of her." his dad continued, "She remembered you didn't have breakfast this morning, so she asked me to check on you. She just… needs sometime right now."
"I understand, Dad," Ben replied.
"Right, now go eat, but remember to mind your manners." His dad said, managing to offer one last smile before returning to the seat next to mom. They comforted each other in silence.
Ben didn't really feel hungry, but his empty stomach grumbled in response to the tantalizing aroma of the feast surrounding him. His thoughts drifted back to Gwen; he hadn't seen her touch anything since that morning either.
She couldn't possibly eat her emotions away to survive, he thought. So, with determination, Ben joined the line for food. A few adults paused their conversations to stare down at the small boy piling his plate by the steaming ladle, sudden smiles stealing over their faces before they remembered to resume a somber demeanor.
Ben took two of everything and somehow managed to fit them all onto one towering tray. As he navigated through the bustling church hall, he glanced around in an attempt to find the little redhead. After the farewell at the gravesite, Gwen hadn't shown up for the gathering. When he'd checked her seat earlier, it had been empty. At first, he assumed she was out for a walk, a way to clear her mind. But hours had passed, and she still hadn't returned.
Worry gnawed at him as he searched the church again. Even in a crowd this large, he could never miss her. The plate in his hands felt heavier with every step, the abundance of food now seeming almost ridiculous. He slipped out of the room, the muffled hum of conversation fading as he stepped into the dim hallway.
The night was eerily quiet—the kind of stillness the smallest sound could shatter. Ben had always liked the peace of night, but at that moment, it felt suffocating. Something was wrong; he could feel it.
"Gwen, if you don't show up, I'll call Grandpa," he called out, his voice echoing into the dim hall.
Then, through a nearby window, a faint glow caught his eye. It flickered at the edge of the forest bordering the churchyard, an ethereal light that didn't belong. The same light he saw when she was—
Without a second thought, he bolted.
The forgotten tray crashed onto the hallway floor as Ben raced for the door. The cool night air stung his skin, but his focus was solely on finding Gwen. As he crossed the threshold and entered the woods, he called her name, the sound echoing through the trees.
No, no, no, oh no—
The closer he got, the brighter the glow became, flickering like firelight in the darkness. And then he saw her. Gwen stood alone at the edge of the woods, her face pale in the moonlight. In one hand, she clutched the charred notebook she carried everywhere, and in the other—the charm necklace. Its sharp edge caught the faint light, gleaming ominously.
"Gwen!" Ben's voice cracked as he stumbled into the clearing. She flinched, but didn't look at him. Her hands trembled as she raised the charm, her body stiff as though locked in battle with herself.
"No," Ben breathed, rushing toward her, his heart pounding in his ears. Was she going go—
She shook her head, both hands rising to the night sky as the charm necklace floated in the air before her. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming words she could not speak.
"Don't do this!" Whatever it is, he pleaded, grabbing her arm before she could do anything. "You don't have to do this, Gwen! Talk to me—tell me what's wrong!"
Gwen struggled against his grip, her movements frantic. She tried to pull away, but Ben refused to let go. In her desperation, she shoved him, and the sharp edge of the charm sliced across his wrist.
Ben gasped as searing pain shot through his arm. He stumbled back, clutching his wrist as blood began to seep through his shirt. Gwen froze, her eyes widening in horror. The necklace fell from her trembling hands as she sank to her knees.Tears fell freely now, her entire body shaking as she reached for him.
"Gwen, it's okay," Ben said weakly, though his voice was strained with pain. "It's just a scratch—don't worry about me. Are you... are you okay?"
But Gwen wasn't listening. Her hands hovered over his wound, fingers glowing with an otherworldly light. Ben froze, his breath hitching as he watched the glow grow brighter, warmth radiating from her palms.
"What… what are you doing?" he whispered, awe mingling with shock as he stared at the light.
Gwen didn't respond. Her focus remained on his wrist as her hands moved with a deliberate rhythm, as though casting a spell. The light pulsed, and the pain began to fade, replaced by an odd tingling sensation. Ben glanced down to see the wound knitting itself back together before his eyes, the blood vanishing as though it had never been there.
As the glow gradually faded, Gwen slumped back, all the strength she had mustered vanishing at once. Her hands trembled as she held onto the charm necklace, gripping it tightly against her chest. Her face had turned ghostly pale, green eyes widened with fear and guilt. She avoided meeting his gaze.
"You… you can do magic?" Ben stared at her, amazed and stunned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her hands moved shakily as she wrote in the notebook. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know.
"Why not? Gwen, this… this is incredible! You saved me!"
I hurt you, she wrote, her fingers clumsy and slow as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, smearing the words she was trying to convey.I didn't mean to, Ben. I'm so sorry.
"You didn't mean to," he said firmly, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. "And this is nothing compared to what you were about to do—Please, don't ever do that again."
Her lip quivered, and she lowered her gaze. I can't keep it anymore. It's too much.
"Then let it out," Ben urged, his grip on her hands steady and warm. "Let me help you. Let Grandpa and Mom and Dad help you. You don't have to do this alone, Gwen."
For a long moment, she didn't respond. Then, slowly, she nodded, her body trembling as she leaned into him. Ben wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest.
Grandpa was the first to find them in the forest. The usually composed man appeared more panicked than Ben had ever seen, his hand gripping a laser pistol—which under different circumstances, Ben would have geeked out about it. But he didn't care about the weapon, the magic, or the secrets—not right now. All that mattered was that Gwen was still here and alive.
When they returned to the church, hand in hand, neither spoke as the adults rushed to embrace them. The parents had panicked upon noticing their children's disappearance and had been searching everywhere. His mom hugged them tightly, her tears soaking their clothes, while his dad's relief was evident, washing across his face like a wave. Grandpa, though equally relieved, kept his eyes locked on the charm necklace that rested on Gwen's chest.
Throughout the incident, Ben held Gwen's hand firmly without letting go. While she stared quietly at the faint scar on his left wrist.
They continued holding hands as they fell asleep together that night. Because Ben refused to leave her alone, and Gwen remaining by his side without objected.
Notes:
HUH? WHO'S CUTTING THE ONIONS IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN ...It's me, Luvnalu, again.
I was just chilling during my early spring break with my trusty 3DS when a vision suddenly struck me. So I decided to roll with it and pump out this fic whenever I had the chance.
I.Phew, this opening turned out to be far heavier than I had originally planned. Lighthearted and fluffy moments will be plenty in the future, pinky promise! (Then back to dark and dramatic as we get to the later memories--)
II. I was hesitating about whether to keep the original setting or change Bwen's first encounter (since I'd have to rebuild the relationship from scratch). But, hey, I'm up for the challenge!
III. The original title for this story was actually "May You Never Forget Me." It was inspired by a song I listened to while writing, which perfectly captured the story's theme. Even though I changed the title at the last minute before publication, I still recommend listening to that song while reading!
I hope you enjoy the rest of this story. Thanks for reading ( ω )ノﾞ