Summary: The aftermath of your heat brings about a new dynamic in your pack.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 8,382 words
Warnings: NSFW, smut, 18+, p in v sex, handjobs, heat cycles, mating cycles, heat sex, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, injuries, blood, slight medical stuff, slight angst, emotions, language
A/N: Yeah, prepare yourselves for this one
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There’s a distinct metallic tang in the air as he’s pulled from the light sleep he’d drifted off into. Exhaustion is pulling at the recesses of his brain, trying to drag him back into the sweet arms of sleep, yet something is keeping him frozen there in the place between rest and wakefulness.
He knows that smell.
His brain feels foggy as he forces his eyes open. He feels almost drunk, his vision blurry, movements slow and brain fighting through the fog to awareness. He shifts his body, but something keeps him from moving too far.
Right. His knot. He’s still stuck inside you.
One arm is tucked under your neck, cradling your head against his bicep. He raises the other, rubbing his face. Clarity begins to return, but he can feel the haze lingering like fog on the horizon. Soon his knot will deflate and his rut will sweep in and take over again and he’ll lose all awareness.
How many days has it been? How much time has passed? How much time is left? He’s desperate to know, but there’s no telling. He gave his phone to Johnny, and you don’t have one. His mouth feels dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He leans over, shifting your body as he reaches for the bottle on the nightstand.
The metallic scent gets stronger as his nose presses against the pillow and he pauses there, hand extended.
He knows that smell.
His eyes flutter open, his body pushing itself up before he can stop it. His arm jerks from beneath you, elbow pressing into the mattress to hold himself up as he stares down in horror.
Blood.
There’s blood staining the white pillowcase.
Fear and panic bubble up inside of him as he stares at the red stains on the fabric. His hand is shaking as it slides around the side of your neck, fingers pressing below your jaw. Your pulse flutters against his fingers, slow and even. Your chest is rising and falling with your breath. You’re fast asleep, not even responding to his sudden movement. Sweat is beading his brow as he shifts his hips, tugging at the knot. You let out a whine, pushing your body back to try and follow him.
He keeps his fingers there, pushed up against your pulse. He waits for it to fade, waits for it to stop, but it keeps pumping steadily against his fingers. Your body is still hot pressed up against him, feverish and coated with sweat, not cold like your corpse would be.
It’s not that bad, he tries to reason with himself. It’s really not that much blood. Not in comparison to what he was expecting. You’re still alive, still breathing. You don’t even seem to have noticed.
He doesn’t want to stare at it anymore. He doesn’t want to see it.
He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pinned close to his chest as he rolls, taking you with him as he faces away from the blood stain. He takes a deep breath, staring at the blood stuck to your skin. It’s dried, an old wound. His stomach twists as he stares at the source, the violent indents torn into your shoulder where his teeth had made their mark.
He doesn’t remember doing it. He’s not sure when he did it. A while ago, he thinks, judging by the lack of fresh blood.
Just how long has it been?
He reaches for the bottle on the nightstand, half drunk and warm but he doesn’t care as he chugs it. He should rouse you, get you to eat and drink something, but he can’t bring himself to pull you out of your slumber yet. You need it. It must be getting close to the end. You’re less responsive, less energetic. You’re burning out. He can tell just by looking at you.
His cock hurts where it sits knotted inside of you. He knows that pain will fade shortly, when his knot finally deflates and another blast of your sickeningly sweet scent floods his brain. You’ll whine and keen, grinding down on him desperately. He’ll lose himself in that scent and fuck you again, ignoring the aches in his body as he gives you exactly what you need. Anything to get you to the end of this hard road where eventually the scent will fade and the neediness will die off and it’ll be back to normal life, like it never happened.
Jesus, how does Price do this?
There’s a release of pressure as his knot starts to deflate, his cock finally going soft inside of you. You let out a quiet whine as he shakes your shoulder, wanting to get some liquid into you before things ramp back up.
“C’mon.” He grunts, easing you onto your back. His cock slips out of your pussy, your body shuddering at the loss.
Hazy eyes stare up at him as he eases you up with his arm. Blood has dried across your chest, streaked by beads of sweat. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you drink, dribbles pouring down either side of your mouth but neither of you care. Just more fluids added to the already damp bed.
A bath is going to be a good idea, he thinks.
He tosses the empty bottle onto the floor and it clacks against another with a hollow sound. He shifts over you, pressing your body into the mattress as your scent starts to sweeten. Your hips lift, pushing against his as he settles his weight over you for a moment. He can feel the hot puffs of your breath against his scraggly face. A week without shaving and he’s already getting scruffy. Your poor thighs must be raw by this point.
A quiet buzzing begins in the back of his head as he breathes you in, pressing his forehead against yours. He lays there for a moment, his cock twitching where it’s trapped against your hip. You’re slick again, legs bending upwards to push against his thigh.
“Easy, girl.” He grunts, wincing as his cock gets caught between his hip bone and yours. “I’ve got ya.”
You’re slick and ready for him as he guides his half hard cock back into you. You let out a sigh of relief, arms lifting to wrap around him. You pull him down with surprising strength. He’s let you lead more times than he should admit, letting you take charge and take what you need from him. You’re fully prepared to do that again, prepared to get what you want whether he participates or not.
He won’t be that cruel. Not this late in the game.
He slowly starts rocking his hips, his cock stiffening inside of your warm, fluttering walls. Slick dribbles out around his cock, sliding down your ass and onto the perpetually wet sheets. The texture might have once driven him insane, but now he doesn’t care. He has bigger things to worry about right now, as his hips begin to move, rocking slowly back and forth as you cling to him.
“I think it’s over.” Johnny says, standing in the doorway.
The harsh scent of sweat, sex, and pheromones is wafting out the door behind him. He’s left it open, standing in the maw of darkness on the other side.
“How’s her temperature?” Dr. Keller asks.
“She’s cold.” Johnny says.
Dr. Keller shares a look with Kyle, both of them rising. “Help him while I get the bath going.” She says, heading for the downstairs bathroom.
Kyle slips into the room, turning on the light. Simon’s got his arms around you so tight he can see the muscles bulging. For a terrifying moment he’s worried he might have suffocated you, but he can see the twitch of your eyelids against the bright light. You let out a quiet whine, Simon shifting behind you.
He approaches the bed slowly, blinking through the haze of humid air and scents in the room. His hand touches your leg, feeling the cool skin beneath his hand. They’d let you sit longer than he might have had you been with Price, unsure whether it was the end or not. It’s been eight days since your symptoms started. They had thought it was the end a couple times, but Johnny came back out declaring a fever still, and shortly after it had started again.
Dr. Keller had assured them time and time again a week was only an average estimate. Some heats lasted longer, some shorter. It depended on a lot of things.
Kyle had just been busy eyeing the dwindling supplies while the hours continued to pass.
They babysat in shifts, taking turns sleeping every few hours. Kyle hadn’t been able to rest much, even though now he had the chance to. His brain was still on high alert, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. He’s exhausted and he didn’t even participate this time.
His hand trails up the cool skin of your thigh, gently parting them to check. No knot, but Simon is still half inside of you. He lowers your thigh gently before taking another step, his hand touching Simon’s arm gently.
“Simon, mate, come on. It’s over.”
Simon lets out a grunt, squeezing his arms around you until you let out a quiet squeak before he loosens them.
“Let’s get you in a bath. You’ll feel better.”
Simon mumbles sleepily, but lets Kyle slowly ease him away from you. Johnny takes his other side as they get the alpha on his feet.
“I got ‘im.” Johnny grunts, taking Simon’s weight as he leads the half out of it alpha out of the room and across to the bathroom.
Kyle focuses his attention on you. You’ve started shivering from the loss of Simon’s warmth, your body curling up in on itself. “I know.” Kyle says quietly. “We’ll get you in that bath shortly.”
He drapes a clean blanket over you, wanting to keep you warm while he waits for Simon to get settled. He brushes damp strands of hair from your face. It’s come almost completely out of the braid, and he can imagine Simon sinking his fingers into the soft strands, pinning you down onto the mattress. He’d worried for a while that Simon might not have that instinct to make sure you could breathe, that he wouldn’t know to check to make sure he wasn’t suffocating you.
“He’s settled!” Johnny calls from the living room and Kyle slips his arms under you.
You let out a whine of protest at the sudden movement as Kyle lifts you into his arms. He shushes you gently, letting the blanket drop to the floor before carrying you over to the bathroom. It’s steamy in the small space, Johnny hovering in the doorway as Kyle gently eases you into the water with Simon. It rises precariously high, but he tries not to think about that as he lets you drop back against Simon’s chest.
“You sit in here with them, I’ll change the sheets and get the bed ready.” Kyle says to Johnny before leaving the warm bathroom.
The sheets.
He tries not to think about it as he grabs a bin bag from the kitchen. The sheets were new, bought specifically for this in case they needed to be thrown out after. He’s glad they got a new set as he stares down at the damp white fabric. He tries not to look too hard, tries not to stare at the stain up near the pillows. He’s glad they got more of those too.
He swallows the lump in his throat as he strips the fitted sheet, stuffing it in the bag immediately with the plastic protector. He doesn’t bother removing the pillow case, instead shoving the entire pillow in the bag before pulling the drawstring closed. The sooner he can get it out of sight, the sooner he can forget about it.
He makes the bed with clean sheets, putting the comforter back on in preparation to keep you warm. He adds new pillows and a few of your stuffed animals for comfort, arranging them in a way he thinks you might be satisfied with.
Maybe it will drive you to finally nest.
Johnny sits on the closed toilet lid, staring at the water just kissing the lip of the tub. Simon’s knees are bent, forced up by the small size of the tub. He doesn’t offer any complaint, doesn’t offer much at all except the quiet rumbling in his chest. His nose is buried in your hair, his breathing slow and even as he sits there in the warm water.
Despite the steam in the air, you’re shivering.
He swears he can almost hear your teeth chattering as you sit there in the nearly too warm water. It’s normal, Kyle had told him. Just your body responding to the sudden change in temperature.
He tries not to stare too long, especially at your shoulder. There’s still blood streaked on your skin. He should grab a rag and wash it off, but he’s scared to ruin the quiet moment between you and Simon.
It’s the quietest the house has been in eight days.
“Simon?” Johnny whispers, shifting in his seat.
The alpha grunts, cracking his eyes open.
“Ye want a drink or somethin’?” Johnny is starting to feel a bit restless. “Or a rag tae wash yerself with?”
Simon grunts again, finally lifting his face from the top of your head. “Rag would be nice.” He mumbles.
Johnny nods, quickly searching through the cupboards before finding a stack of wash cloths. He grabs two just in case, passing one to Simon. He watches his alpha dip it into the water, getting it wet before he starts to run it over your skin. You’re still shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
He traces the path of Simon’s hand as it gently smooths over your skin in an attempt to clean some of the grime off. You’ll need a proper bath once you’ve settled, a process that will take a couple days at least. He remembers crawling into your nest with you after your last heat with Price, holding you while you slept. He’d needed rest himself after keeping Simon pacified for a week. He remembers the ache in his body after that and can only imagine how Simon is feeling right now.
Johnny nearly jumps out of his skin as you let out a yelp, water splashing over the edge of the tub as your body jolts. Simon’s hand is on your shoulder, holding the rag against the raw skin. He imagines you might have jumped right out of the tub had it not been for Simon’s arm around you. He’s whispering quietly to you as your lip begins to tremble, a quiet sob leaving your lips. It tugs at Johnny’s heart as he watches you, big, fat tears starting to leak out from beneath your lashes.
Kyle had warned him about that too.
Simon takes the other rag from him, wiping your face and hair before maneuvering you so he can wipe himself down quickly. Johnny sticks his fingers into the water, feeling the temperature.
“Gettin’ cold.” He murmurs, debating pulling the plug and refilling it.
“Everything okay?” Kyle appears in the doorway, likely having heard your yelp.
“Wiped down the wound.” Johnny says, glancing up at his fellow beta. “Water’s gettin’ cold.”
“Then we should get them back in bed. It’s ready for them.” Kyle says, grabbing one of the towels from the counter. “Get Simon up and I’ll help dry him off.”
Johnny pulls the plug in the tub before slipping his arms under Simon’s as the alpha struggles to get his feet under him. Your body slumps forward and he’s glad Kyle is there as he quickly shifts to keep you upright in the water. The tears are still sliding down your cheeks, quiet sniffling sobs wracking your body almost as badly as the shivers.
Kyle helps Simon dry before leading him from the room, taking him back to yours. Johnny eases you up out of the tub, quickly wrapping a towel around you to keep you from the cold.
“Easy, kitten.” He shushes you at your whine in protest as he quickly dries you off before lifting you out of the tub.
He heads back across the living room to your room, the overhead light still on. He can’t imagine what it’s like for an alpha doing this alone. How many omegas don’t get the treatment they deserve because of their alpha being alone? How many don’t get it because of their alpha?
He tries not to think too hard about it.
Simon is resting against the headboard when he enters the room, legs spread and ready for you to be deposited back into his arms. He’s still naked, something Johnny is proud of. How far Simon has come in just a couple of weeks. From barely showing any skin, much less his face, to walking around naked. Not that Simon really seems to care much right now. He can only imagine how much pain Simon must be in and just how exhausted he has to be. He looks ready to sleep for the rest of the night.
Johnny eases you onto the bed, setting you between his legs. He pulls the towel from around you, Kyle there ready to tuck the covers up over you as soon as he gets the damp fabric away. Your face is still wet with tears as Kyle steps away, Simon’s arms wrapping around you again. You relax limply against the alpha, pain and exhaustion wearing on you as well.
“It’s hard to watch.” He says, his heartstrings tugging as he stares at the two of you.
“It’s just a natural response.” Kyle says, reaching up to wipe a tear sliding down your cheek. “They’re both tired and being dragged through the sudden change in chemicals in their brains.”
“Knock, knock.” Christine says, leaning into the doorway. “Got them settled?”
“Yeah.” Kyle says, adding another blanket to the pile on top of you to try and regulate your temperature again.
She stands there for a few moments, waiting as Simon turns to glance at her. She doesn’t move, waiting for a reaction from him before taking a step into the room.
She approaches the bed slowly, Simon watching her cautiously but he offers no protest to her getting closer. Johnny can only imagine what’s going on in his head right now. “I just want to check a couple of things.” She says, setting the first aid kit down on the end of the bed.
Simon’s eyes are still on her as she takes a couple steps closer, moving slowly.
“Hi, honey.” She says softly, addressing you as she pulls out the thermometer. “Just want to take your temperature, make sure everything is back to normal.” She presses the thermometer against your forehead. It beeps a few seconds later, Simon’s arms tightening around you for a moment before they relax. “Normal. That’s good.” She says, setting the thermometer down before sliding the first aid kit closer. “I need to look at your shoulder.”
Neither of you move as she stands there for a moment, testing the waters before lifting her hand towards you. Simon doesn’t move, his eyes focused on her hand as it touches you, gently easing your head to the side and the covers down lower.
“You did take a chunk out.” She says, brushing your hair to the side to look at the wound. “I need to clean it.”
She pulls away from you to open the first aid kit, grabbing the antiseptic and some gauze. She pours some of it on the fabric before turning to you again.
Things happen fast, but to Johnny they seem to take a lifetime. Dr. Keller presses the gauze against your shoulder and you let out a yelp similar to the one you let out in the bath. Your body jerks, trying to move away but you’re too stuck under the blankets to move much. Johnny instinctively shifts forward, Kyle moving too before either of them realize it, converging on the bed.
Simon lets out a growl, baring his teeth as his hand darts out faster than they can see to grip Dr. Keller’s wrist so tight Johnny can see his knuckles go white. She holds out her other hand, staying the two betas as she keeps her gaze locked on Simon’s.
“I’m not trying to hurt her.” She says softly, holding eye contact with the protective alpha. “I have to get this wound clean, otherwise it’s going to get infected.”
There’s a tense moment of silence in the room, none of them even breathing as they wait. Simon could easily break Dr. Keller’s wrist. He’s strong enough, in a good enough position to do it. The doctor is fearless as she stares at him, facing him head on in a way that almost reminds Johnny of you. He and Kyle are frozen, halfway to the bed to intervene if they have to.
The tension eases as Simon slowly releases Christine’s wrist. His arm tucks itself back around you, holding you tightly against him, the growl rumbling in his chest quieting. Slowly Dr. Keller moves again, pressing the gauze against your shoulder. Simon holds you still as she cleans the wound, all of them trying to ignore your whines and whimpers of pain.
Dr. Keller dresses the wound before grabbing the first aid kit. “Get some rest.” She says. “You need it.”
Johnny and Kyle pass one last look at the pair in the bed before following her from the room. Kyle turns off the lights, leaving the door ajar just in case.
“That was fucking close.” Johnny lets out a deep breath.
“Territorial alphas aren’t new to me.” Dr. Keller says with a shrug. “He’s just doing what his instincts are telling him and protecting his omega. He’s still sensitive to them and will be for a while.” She lets out a huffing laugh. “I’m surprised he let me close at all.”
“John didn’t react that way.” Kyle says.
“Simon’s never been through a heat before. This is entirely new territory for him. His alpha isn’t sure how to respond right now, especially to someone outside the pack.” Dr. Keller explains.
“Yer hardly an outsider now.” Johnny says.
“Honorary, perhaps, but in the literal sense I’m an outsider.” She says. “We’ll have to be careful for a while around him. No doubt he’s going through it just as much as she is.”
“Thank ye,” Johnny says, grateful for the doctor over the last week. She’s been keeping them sane. “For everythin’. Fer caring.”
“Of course.” Christine smiles softly at him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”
“Johnny.”
The beta turns his head, squinting slightly at Simon in the dim light of the room. He’d left the overhead light off to avoid waking either of you. It’s cloudy out and the curtains are drawn, leaving nothing but dim, grey light to see by.
“Hey.” He grins down at Simon, the alpha blinking up at him blearily. “Welcome back.”
Simon grunts, adjusting his body where he lays on his side. You’re bundled against his chest, quiet snores breaking the quiet in the room.
“Can I get ye anythin’?” He asks, stepping closer to the bed. He’d been replacing the bottle of water with a cold one.
“A pint and a cigarette.” Simon grumbles.
Johnny grins. “I can get ye a beer out of the fridge, but you’ll have tae wait on the smoke.”
Simon grumbles something as he presses his cheek against the top of your head. He unburies his hand from the blankets, reaching out for Johnny. It’s warm as Johnny takes it, letting his fingers brush Simon’s rough palm.
“You’re a good lad, Johnny.” Simon says softly, squeezing the beta’s hand. “Wouldn’t have made it far without ya.”
“You’re a good alpha.” Johnny says, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Simon hums, stilling as you shift against him. He tugs gently on Johnny’s hand, trying to pull him onto the bed.
“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” Johnny says, kicking off his slippers before lifting the sheets.
It’s warm under the blankets and for a moment Johnny wishes he would have ditched the sweatpants too. He saddles up close behind you, feeling the warmth of your body radiating against his chest. You’re still naked, and so is Simon as he brushes his hand against Simon’s hip.
“Pretty boy.” Simon hums, wrapping his arm around Johnny and pulling him closer. “Such a good beta f’me and my girl.”
Johnny’s brain starts to buzz happily at his alpha’s praise, his beta nearly preening inside his head. He did a good job, he took good care of his alpha and his omega. You’re both alive and well and breathing.
You let out a quiet hum as Johnny presses up against your back, sandwiching you between him and Simon. It feels right, having you there between them. Things have shifted now that Simon has claimed you as well. He wonders if Kyle felt this way after John claimed you. There’s a deeper intensity to your bond, or perhaps that was because of your heat. He was given the opportunity to assist during such a vulnerable, intimate time and bear witness to something so beautiful and primal.
Perhaps it’s both.
“You’re thinking too much.” Simon grumbles, running a hand over Johnny’s head before it wraps around you both, pulling you both impossibly close.
Johnny snuggles down into the blankets, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment.
You’re sweating.
It’s hot where you are, trapped between two bodies under a mountain of blankets. For a moment you thought you were having an unusual moment of clarity during your heat, but you remember that’s over. It’s been over for almost a day. It’s dark in the room, only the warm glow of the nightlight keeping the darkness at bay.
You push back against the body behind you but it’s solid, draped in place against your back. You need to get out, free yourself from the suffocating heat.
You manage to get yourself seated upright between Simon and Johnny, shoving the blankets down towards the end of the bed.
“What’re ye doing?” Johnny mumbles sleepily.
“’S too hot.” You murmur, wincing as you shift. There’s a steady ache between your thighs and you feel raw and sore.
“Go back to sleep.” Simon grunts, grabbing the blankets before pulling them up again, rolling so his back is to you.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead, grimacing at the grimy feel of your skin.
“Ye doin’ okay?” Johnny asks, pushing himself up to sit.
“Will you help me shower?” You ask quietly, trying not to disturb Simon again. You doubt he’d be so nice a second time. He has to be as tired as you are, but you’re too aware of how gross you feel to think about going back to sleep yet.
“’Course, kitten.” He says, sliding off the bed to stand. He’s in sweatpants, and you don’t know how he isn’t dying of heatstroke. “C’mere.” he holds his arms out and you shuffle over, hiding the pain from the jolting movements.
He slips his arms under you before lifting you easily, carrying you to the en-suite.
He sits you down on the toilet seat as he starts the shower. Your body aches, deep in your muscles and joints. You probably should bathe so you can sit, but the idea of pressure anywhere near the place between your thighs has you wincing at the thought.
Johnny holds his hand under the stream until he’s satisfied with the temperature, turning back to you. You stare up at him, his hair starting to get shaggy again. His mohawk has gotten longer, the hair starting to droop and stick to his forehead.
“Will you help me?” You ask, blinking up at him.
He blinks back before a grin forms on his face. “Sure thing, kitten.”
He seems all to eager to drop his sweatpants and strip off his shirt, revealing soft muscle underneath. He’s lost some of the definition. They all have after being away from the harsh requirements of the military for months now. You wonder how long it will take to get it back, how hard they’ll have to work to get themselves back into the state they were when you met them for the first time. Hardened soldiers dedicated to the machine that is the military.
You know they’re never going to give it up. You’ve surrendered to that fact.
Johnny helps you to your feet, letting you move slowly on shaky legs towards the shower. You definitely should have gone for a bath but you’re determined as you step under the warm spray.
It’s like heaven, gliding over your skin, relaxing tense muscles. Johnny closes the door as he steps in next to you, his hands sliding to your hips to help hold you up as you bask in the water flowing over you. You stand there for a few moments, already feeling better just having water washing away the grime of a week being covered repeatedly in body fluids.
It’s gross, when you think about it. You try not to think too much.
Johnny’s hands leave your hips as he grabs your soap, squirting some onto his hand before starting to lather it over your skin. You lean back against him, letting him wash you. His hands rub over your stomach and up under your breasts. They’re sore, your nipples raw. Whether that’s from friction or Simon you’re unsure. Maybe both.
Johnny is gentle as he washes you, gentler than you might have been doing it yourself, but you’re touched nonetheless. He peppers soft kisses against your shoulders and the top of your head as he works shampoo through your hair. You hum quietly as he massages your scalp, even that sore after Simon’s rough handling.
He took good care of you, though. You can hardly complain about a few aches and pains.
A lot of aches and pains.
You press back against Johnny, feeling something poking you in the ass and you roll your eyes. “Can’t help it, can you?” You ask.
“Yer so fuckin’ beautiful.” Johnny murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. “Ye have no idea what it was like seein’ ye like that.”
Cock drunk and completely ignorant of the world? “I can only imagine.” You say. “Did you…”
“No.” He says, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Didnae have time, worryin’ about ye. ‘Bout killed me.”
You smirk. “I bet.”
While the idea of sticking anything inside of your body is less than pleasant, you know you can at least do something for him. He deserves it after taking such good care of you and Simon, after all.
You turn in his arms, sliding your hand down your stomach. He stares down at you as you wrap your hand around his cock, squeezing gently. He’s hard and almost throbbing in your hand. You can only imagine the torture he had to endure, listening to you and Simon fuck for a week straight. You’re surprised he didn’t join.
You stare up into his eyes as you begin to move your hand, stroking his cock. His eyes are so blue, almost hypnotic as you find yourself getting lost in his gaze. You wrap an arm around his waist, leaning against him to hold yourself up as you jerk him off, twisting your hand across the sensitive length. His arm wraps around your back, his hand coming to rest on your hip. He squeezes gently and you ignore the ache from his fingers pressing into the sore skin. No doubt you have bruises there from Simon’s hands.
Johnny moans quietly, his face pressing into your hair as you continue to stroke his cock. His chest is heaving with his breath, his other hand rising to rest against the shower wall. His muscles flex and relax, his entire body trembling. You can only imagine how sensitive he is after a week of having to listen to you fuck his alpha.
“You gonna cum?” You ask, staring up at him as you quicken your pace, squeezing your hand gently around him. “You gonna cum for me?”
He lets out almost a whine as his hips buck into your hand. “Fuck, yes!” He moans, his cock twitching in your hand.
You drag your thumb across his tip, teasing the rim of his cock before you start stroking his length again, moving your hand as fast as you can. He presses his face into the top of your head, his body shuddering as he spurts his cum all over your hand. You continue to stroke him, working him through his orgasm.
“Fucking christ.” He breathes, wrapping both of his arms around you. You’re grateful for it as your legs ache from standing for so long. “So fucking good to me.” He kisses the top of your head. “We don’t deserve you, ye know that?”
You pull back to stare up at him, the water starting to go cold. There’s such love and conviction in his gaze it almost knocks the breath from your lungs. You think over his words, the admission coming out of seemingly nowhere, brought on in a moment of passion.
“It’s true.” Johnny says, turning off the water, his arm still wrapped around you. “Ye deserve better than us.”
“Where is this coming from?” You ask as he helps you out of the shower, drying you off gently with a towel. Your legs are starting to shake from exhaustion and you’re ready to crawl back into bed with Simon.
“Just been thinkin’ about it recently.” He says, wrapping the towel around you. “What with John runnin’ off and thinkin’ about what’s gonnae happen next.”
You swallow nervously as he carries you back to the bed. “What do you think is going to happen next?” You say as he runs the towel over your hair to try and squeeze as much water out as possible.
He’s silent for a few moments, the nerves continuing to twist in your stomach. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been thinking about it as well. The eight days of your heat was a relief from having to worry about anything other than getting fucked and bred.
“I don’t know.” He answers after a moment, fiddling with the towel in his hands.
His answer doesn’t offer you any comfort.
Simon has a dark look on his face as you hold his gaze in the mirror.
“It’s gonna be a nasty scar.” He grumbles, his eyes dropping to your shoulder. The wound has started to scab over, some bits of it already turning white and scarring. It’s rough and ragged compared to the clean, even bite on the other side. It’s a perfect mirror of your two alphas, you think. Simon rough and ragged around the edges while John is firm and steady.
“I don’t know, I kind of like it.” You say, running your fingers over the sore skin before rubbing more Vaseline over it to keep it moist. “It’s your mark.” He winces, turning away from the mirror. “You’re regretting it.” You say, turning around to watch him as he leaves the bathroom.
“No, it’s just...it was a stir of the moment move.” He says, dropping himself to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Would have liked to discuss it more before doin’ it.”
“Well I don’t regret it.” You say, approaching him. “I like that you did it. I like the idea of being claimed by you.”
He snorts, focused on the floor instead of you. It’s strange, seeing him become so vulnerable in front of you. There was a time he would have never let you so close, and now he’s sitting in front of you without a mask, both literally and metaphorically.
You wrap your fingers around his wrists, lifting his hands to your face as you come to stand between his knees. “You shouldn’t regret it.” You say softly, his dark eyes finally turning up to your face. “I would have asked you to do it eventually. You just saved me from having to broach an awkward conversation.”
“It wouldn’t have been awkward.” He mumbles.
“It so would have been.” You grin. “You would have made it weird.”
“Little shit.” He breathes, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close.
You hold his left hand in the air, trailing your fingers over his tattoos. You pause when you spot something that you’ve never seen before. You sit yourself down on his knee, studying the new mark. “Simon...what is this?” You ask, trailing your fingers around the oval shaped tattoo. “Is it...a bite mark?”
“Yours.” He says simply, shrugging when you turn to look at him.
“When did I bite you?” You ask.
“Right before I scruffed you.” He explains. “Sunk your teeth right in. I’ve got tattoos for the others, thought it was a perfect addition.”
“You tattooed my bite mark on your skin?” You blink, turning your gaze back to the tattoo. “Out of all the things you could have tattooed, you chose my bite mark?”
“It’s a reminder that I’m not as destructive as I like to think.” He says. “That maybe I can do some good for my pack.”
You blink back tears as you stare up into those chocolate brown eyes. “That’s so sweet.”
“It’s also a reminder of just how feisty you are, you little shit.” He says, squeezing his arms tight around you and flopping back on the bed.
You giggle as you’re pulled with him, winding up laying on his chest. You smile as you stare down at him, trailing your fingers over his handsome face. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to properly thank you for what you did.”
“You lived. That’s thanks enough.” He says, brushing his fingers over your face.
You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Someone’s feeling sappy this morning.”
He rolls his eyes, flipping you over so he’s hovering over you. “Someone else is feeling annoying today.”
“I only do it cause I love you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He smirks. “You love me?”
“Course I do.” You say, pulling him down for another kiss.
“Good.” He murmurs against your lips before pulling away, pushing himself up to stand.
He stares down at you as you lay there, running your tongue across your lips to savor every last bit of his taste on your skin.
“Bloody fucking hell.” He groans, adjusting his pants.
You smirk, pushing yourself up to sit, staring at the bulge starting to form at the front of his jeans. You flick your gaze up to his eyes, staring at him from under your lashes. You’re still nowhere near ready for a good fuck after your heat, still sore and bruised. You doubt he’d be ready either. He has to be sore too after popping a knot constantly over the course of eight days.
Yet you can feel the bulge of his hardening cock as you push yourself up to stand, your chest pressed against his. You stand there for a long moment, staring up at him before a small smirk forms on your face. “It’s time for breakfast.”
You slip past him, heading for the door.
“You little shit.”
Five days have passed since your heat when you hear the crunching of gravel under tires outside. You glance up from your book, Simon looking up from his. Your omega shifts in the back of your mind, responding to his alpha as he’s suddenly on high alert. He marks his place in the book, your eyes following him as he pushes himself up to stand, moving towards the small window facing the front of the cottage.
You watch nervously as he glances out the window, his shoulders tense, body on high alert. Kyle has risen from his seat at the table, picking up on the alpha’s sudden shift in mood. Both of you watch him, his scent intensifying for a moment before his shoulders drop, his body relaxing.
He moves to the door, you and Kyle sharing a look as he pulls it open. “You could have told us you were coming.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
You’re on your feet at the sound of the voice, moving around the back of the couch. You pause there, waiting with bated breath as the figure appears in the doorway, patting Simon’s arm.
“It’s good to see you again.”
“Been a couple weeks.” Simon says.
“Only a couple.” John says as he steps past Simon into the house.
Tears gather in your eyes as you stare at him, his gaze immediately landing on you. Both of you just stand there, John waiting for you to move while you decide what you want to do. Part of you wants to walk up and smack him, berate him for leaving you like that. Another part of you wants to stomp away angrily and lock yourself in your room to punish him.
You take a few steps forward, approaching your alpha slowly. He doesn’t move, standing still as you come right up to him. His gaze holds yours as you stand there for a moment before throwing your arms around him. He grunts slightly as you collide with him, squeezing your arms around him as tightly as you can. His arms wrap around you, holding you just as tightly against him.
“I missed you.” You whisper, a few stray tears leaking out of your eyes.
“I know.” He says quietly, pressing his nose into the top of your head. “I missed you too.”
His scent washes over you, the fresh scent of petrichor, the deep earthy forest. Your omega purrs happily, the sound rumbling through your chest as you hold him close. He doesn’t let you go either, keeping his arms around you tight. He breathes in your scent, his warm breath fanning over the top of your head. You don’t care that you’re still a bit sore and bruised, you don’t care that you want to scream at him and tell him off for leaving you for so long. You don’t care about much except for the fact he’s here. He’s back.
You never want him to leave again.
Slowly you unravel yourself from him, his hands rising to cup your face. His thumbs are rough as they wipe away your tears, cupping your face gently. You sniffle as you stare up into his blue eyes, a small smile forming on your lips. He’s back. He’s here with you again. The relief flushes out the anger. You’ll get mad at him later. Right now you just want to bury yourself in him and never let go.
He smiles down at you, running a hand over your hair. “Did they take good care of you?” He asks.
You nod. “Really good care.”
His eyes flutter to your shoulder, and suddenly a new set of nerves has started twisting in your stomach. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that Simon marked you. What is he going to think? Will he get territorial? Will he be upset? Will he blame you for letting it happen? What if he kicks Simon out of the pack for claiming his omega as well?
His fingers brush over the quickly healing wound, only a few scabs still lingering from where Simon’s teeth dug in deep. “I see Simon took good care of you too.”
You swallow nervously, nodding. “He did.”
John stares down at the mark for a tense moment before a smile forms on his face. “Good.”
A bit of tension leaves your shoulders at his seeming relief that you were well taken care of. He doesn’t seem angry or upset or even disappointed that Simon marked you as well.
He steps back away from you and you feel a body appear behind you. You turn your head, staring up at Kyle but his eyes are on John. You step out from between them, watching them carefully. Kyle must share some of the same feelings as you. Relief, anger, disappointment. For a moment you think he might be the one to tell John off, throw a punch, but instead his hands cup John’s face and he leans forward to kiss him.
You watch with wide eyes as Kyle kisses John, dragging his body as close as he can. He’s had to miss John as much as you have, if not more. You regret not spending more time with him, discussing your missing alpha, taking comfort in each other. Then again, it’s been a long couple of weeks.
Kyle pulls away from John, still holding his face in his hands. “Don’t ever do that again.”
John smiles softly at his beta. “I don’t plan on it.”
They both turn to look at you, John holding an arm out to you. You step forward into their embrace, both of them wrapping their arms around you, pulling you in close. You breathe in the mixed scents, a tension you didn’t know you were carrying starting to relax in the back of your mind. Your omega purrs happily, the sound rumbling through your chest as well.
Simon stares up at your ceiling, tracing the lines of the shadows cast by your nightlight. He can’t sleep, his mind reeling. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous at John’s return. A lot happened while he was gone, and he hadn’t even considered what John’s reaction would be when he discovered the mark on your other shoulder. Anger, disappointment? He expected the worst, but he hadn’t expected such an...almost relieved reaction.
The door handle turns, Simon’s body tensing. He’s alert, staring at the void of darkness opening up as the door pushes open. You shift against his chest, sensing the change in him even in your sleep. He holds his breath, listening, waiting for any indication of who is creeping in, in the middle of the night.
The tension eases, oxygen filling his lungs as John appears in the doorway, slipping in before closing it again.
“Thought you’d be asleep.” He rumbles quietly.
“Can’t.” Simon whispers.
John hums, moving over to the side of the bed. He reaches over, running a hand over your hair. “It’ll never cease to amaze me how easily omegas sleep.”
“Pretty sure she’d sleep through a bomb if she were tired enough.” Simon says.
John chuckles quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
Simon nods, his thumb brushing your arm. “You asked me to.”
“But you still did it.” John says, staring at his fellow alpha with a pointed look. “You could have said no.”
Simon shrugs. “Figured it was time.” He leans his chin on top of your head. “After all we’ve been through.”
John hums again, trailing his fingers across your back. “Didn’t expect you to claim her too.”
“Didn’t plan on that.” He says honestly. “Was a heat of the moment thing.”
“I’m not mad.” John says. “I’m glad you did it. That was always the plan. If something would have happened to me…”
“But it didn’t.” Simon interrupts him.
“And it won’t.” John says, toeing off his shoes before shifting on the bed to lay behind you.
“He’s really gone?” Simon asks after a moment of silence.
“You saw the pictures.” John says. “It’s what he deserved.”
Simon hums quietly, shifting onto his side. You stir against his chest before settling again, a quiet snore leaving your lips. “Where do we go from here?”
“That’s a worry for tomorrow.” John says. “It’s too late for those kinds of thoughts.” He reaches over, running his fingers across Simon’s cheek. “Get some rest.”
“Easier said than done.” Simon says, fighting a yawn.
John smiles softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Simon’s eyes flutter closed, his grip around you starting to relax as the comforting energy of his fellow alpha eases away the thoughts in his head until only silence remains.
You’re sitting on the couch again when the sound of gravel crunching under tires reaches your ears again. You look up from your book, sharing a look with Johnny whose gaze has been drawn up from his sketch pad. He’s not expecting this either, apparently. He’s immediately on edge, his body tensing as he sits up straighter, dropping the sketch pad on the coffee table.
Both of you turn to look at John as he comes down the stairs, looking far too relaxed for the situation. Someone unknown has arrived to place that’s supposed to be secure. Shepherd is dead, you know that. You trust John’s word, but there was still the threat of those with orders lingering in the shadows, those who the news hasn’t reached yet.
“They’re early.” John says, moving towards you. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.”
You stare at his hand as he holds it out to you. You hate surprises. He knows that, yet he continues to spring them on you. You hesitate but take his hand, letting him pull you up off the couch and to the door. He opens it, letting in a blast of cold air. You’re not dressed to be outside.
You step out onto the porch, staring at the car that’s pulled up. The doors open and you recognize Kate getting out of the driver’s side. It’s an unexpected sight. You haven’t seen her since you killed Phil.
The passenger side door opens and your gaze is drawn there. Another woman climbs out of the car, the back door opening and a man steps out. You stare at them for a moment, your breath leaving your lungs as the woman turns around. You almost don’t recognize her. It’s been a few years, far too many years.
Tears blur your vision, morphing her into nothing but a blurry figure but you know. Deep down you know.
“Mom?”
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Wait tell me about sugar and spitting and cables and stuff???
There's nothing I'd rather do😁
This is a bigger post so check for the stuff under the cut
Enjoy this set of gifs (originally taken from the post linked)
Don't know what exactly was going on, especially in Vessel's mind (do we ever though) but the level of unhinged is unmatched and i love it (also would like to know what old iv and iii thought about this🤣)
Sugar was the original instance of band members being chairs. Lots of performances of Sugar in 2022 included Vessel ending up on iii to the point where you might ask 'Do you want to get a room?'
There is a new blog that plans to build an archive exclusievely for unmasked Sleep Token, seemingly focused on past projects.
There is no content on it as of yet but they have put their initial introduction post under the main tags.
I know i usually do not comment or report on things like this but, if there is one thing i do not like, is open public discussion of unmasked Sleep Token. I don't care what people do in private chats and messages, it is private after all, but i do not like it when it's put onto public spaces.
As of now, it is only speculation, but if they keep up that type of tagging, unmasked pictures and information might appear under the main tags. Which is tragic. Tumblr was one of the last places, where you could avoid this fairly easily.
If you wish to avoid, block: @/thesleeparchive
We have people already that actually respectfully share old stuff without compromising the anonymity of the collective, as it should be. We do not need a public collection, going directly against the wishes of the guys, who privated or deleted pretty much all their social media presence for the sake of being left in peace.
Publicly posting their faces, names and past projects, directly connecting them to Sleep Token is not the respectful approach as some might think it is.
Ghost, calling Y/N: Hey, sweetheart
Y/N: Jail or hospital?
Soap: How could you make such accusations when we are merely trying to greet the love of our life?!
Y/N: Jail or hospital?
Ghost: Do you really have such little faith in us?
Y/N: Jail. Or. Hospital
Soap: ...jail. AND WE LOVE YOU!
Y/N: *hangs up*
Content: mentions of previous injury and reference to past torture.
You stare at your hand in a complex mix of awe and trepidation. Or, well. Not your hand exactly. You’re gawking at the thing in your hand. It’s much bigger than you expected, and heavier.
“Why is it so warm?” you mumble, thumb caressing a hard ridge.
“Because it was in my pants, bienchen.”
You flick a nervous glance at Krueger’s amused expression and shift, a fine tremble in your fingers. You didn’t think it would make you this nervous.
“It’s… not going to go off is it?” you ask, wrapping and rewrapping your fingers to get a feel.
“Only if you keep playing with it like that,” he chuckles.
You jolt, nearly drop it altogether, but he barks a laugh and catches your hand between both of his. Your eyes dart down again, enraptured by the roughness of his palms, how much bigger they are around yours. Stronger, more confident.
“I kid! It’s not loaded. See?”
He guides your wrist to the side, gentle but firm, and pushes a smooth button at the bottom of the trigger guard. He catches the magazine as it ejects, showing you an empty clip.
“And then, just to be sure…” He pushes the magazine back in with a movie-perfect click, then braces your hand while he pulls the slide back. “Nothing in the chamber.”
He releases it, letting it spring back into place.
“Even if it was,” he taps the side of the gun again, showing you a little switch, “it is not live. The safety is on - and it stays on unless you intend to shoot. Understand?”
Assured of everyone’s safety, fascination crowds out the trepidation as you hum an affirmative.
“Red means you’re dead, right?” you muse.
He chuckles. “You watch too much fake crime, but yes.”
“I saw it in a YouTube video,” you explain, “when I was first doing research. They never talk about how heavy these are.”
“It is why getting hit in the head with them hurts,” he explains.
“Pistol-whipped,” you supply turning the handgun this way and that.
You note how the lights catch it, how the grip feels against your naive skin. The scent too - you realize you’ve smelled it all over your neighbors’ house, all over your neighbors. Gunpowder.
You kick your feet in the open air, let your heels tap against the cabinets beneath you. Shithead is standing on the counter next to you, just at Krueger’s elbow, head cocked curiously to observe.
“Why does it say HK?” You ask. “Your initials are SK.”
He laughs again, but you recognize this as his more genuine (you dare say even charmed) chuckle.
“It is the brand, Heckler and Koch.”
You make a noise of understanding, flipping it around the other way to inspect it from the other side.
“There’s no safety on this side?”
“It’s right-handed.”
“There are guns for different hands?”
Krueger settles in closer, his hip pressed against your knee.
“Nikto has a left-handed one. We will have him bring it for dinner, hm?”
You nod. Tentatively press the button to eject the magazine again. You turn it this way and that, then try to put it back - with no success.
“More force, little one. Mean it.”
You bop the heel of your hand against the bottom and get that satisfying movie noise.
“Can you shoot it one-handed?”
“I can. You might have some trouble. Four pounds of pressure to pull the trigger.”
You perk up, make grabby hands for your notebook, abandoned on the other side of the counter when Krueger offered to let you hold his gun. Eyebrow cocked, he brings it to you, gently nudging Shithead’s paw away when she bats at the ribbon bookmark.
There’s already a bullet list of facts and statistics listed out from his initial explanation. You scribble out the new additions with one hand, balancing the notebook on your thigh with Krueger’s help.
“Do you guys ever decorate your guns?” you wonder.
He clicks his tongue. “Konig does. Like a schoolboy.”
“With what?”
At some point, he gently takes the gun from your cramping grip, tucking it back into his waistband while you continue scrawling details. He doesn’t move away. If anything, you’re vaguely aware that he’s leaning closer, inspecting your messy handwritig. His voice goes lower and quieter the closer he gets to your ear, a pleasant rumble that you try (and mostly fail) to ignore.
“What does it feel like to shoot it?” you ask finally.
“Like shooting a gun.”
“That’s not helpful.”
In the corner of your eye, he shrugs.
“Well… well could you take me to try it?”
He grunts. You can’t discern an answer from that, so you tilt your face towards his. He’s somehow even closer than you expect. Eyes you now realize are gunmetal gray smoldering as they trail down to your mouth, a sweet slow burn.
“You want to learn to shoot?” he asks, slower and rougher than you think the question warrants.
“I just want to know what it’s like,” you mumble, cheeks warm.
“No.” He twists until he’s facing you, crowding you. Not between your knees, but hipbone pressing against one. He taps your chin with an index finger, expression simmering with something that makes your heart stumble. “You learn proper. You do not try. It is not for fun. It is a tool for killing.”
“Oh.” You feel stupid and childish. Tears of embarrassment prick at the corners of your eyes. “Sorry.”
He huffs quietly, the line of his brow softening. He curls his finger along your jaw, unexpectedly comforting. “Do not be sorry. Learn. We want to teach you.”
“We?” you breathe, momentarily distracted.
“Konig has been whining about teaching you for weeks and Nikto thinks you need protection.”
You stutter for a second, caught up in the warmth of his gaze, and the revelation that they talk about you when you’re not around, and that those discussions include teaching you to shoot guns. And that they want you to be safe, they want you protected.
It’s all enough to make a poor romance author swoon.
“Well?” he prompts, arching one of those sharp brows again.
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay?” He teases.
You blink. “Please.”
He grunts, pinches your cheek gently. “Anything for our sweet little bee.”
You roll your eyes to hide the steam that must be coming off your face by now. You’re so flustered you’re damn near sweating and there’s not a thing you can do about it. Not when the cause is still looming over you, one big hand planted tantalizingly close to your thigh.
“Now then.” He reaches over and past your head, and you’re overwhelmed by the metal-gunpowder-cologne scent of him. “We start on dinner, yes?”
It’s Konig’s turn to help with lunch. Well, technically he’s helping with a part of dinner - kneading dough for the homemade bread rolls to accompany some nice steaks - but you digress. Konig’s in your kitchen, all six-foot-something of him, sleeves scrunched up and gloves gone, big hands in a bowl of dough and making you think sinful thoughts at noon on a Wednesday.
“What about that one?”
“KA-BAR knife. I was protecting my neck.”
You take another slow sip of punch, eyes perusing the uneven tan lines and spackling of scars that decorate his skin.
“And that one?”
He twists his wrist to glance at the outside of his arm, half hidden by flour.
“Bomb shrapnel.”
He says it so casually. Like he scraped his knee roughhousing or something.
“You got blown up?”
“Nein, or I would not be here for you to interrogate.”
He shoots you a sideways grin, assurance that he’s just poking fun and not actually annoyed. You didn’t think otherwise, but it’s sweet that he wants you to know.
You huff. “Yeah, I’m sure this torture.”
He hums, eyes on his work so he thankfully doesn’t see how the sound makes your eyes flutter. Christ, you must be ovulating or something because you should not be this affected by that rich, warm voice echoing in that thick chest.
“I would know,” he agrees.
Wait, what. “You would?”
He clicks his tongue as his sleeve slips down his arm, threatening to get in the dough. You automatically reach to fix it, rolling up the fabric so that it won’t come down again.
“Danke,” he says, “Will you do the other?”
You round to his other side, get distracted by the tiniest sliver of… ink?!
“You have a tattoo?!”
He glances down, as if he could have forgotten it’s there.
“Oh. Yes. Krueger’s idea.”
You coo in delight, tugging gently at the fabric hiding it. You’ve seen Krueger’s tattoos of course - flaunting them about shirtless and sweaty as he does. (Not that you’re complaining either.)
“Can I see?”
“I don’t think the sleeve goes up that far,” he replies, pausing to let you try.
It doesn’t. You’re teased by dark lines, the bottom of what might be… feathers? You’re terribly curious, but you can see Konig’s face steadily flushing darker the longer and harder you look.
“What is it?” you inquire finally, not quite to the point of demanding he take his shirt off. (Even if you want to.)
“You will have to wait and see,” he replies, turning back to the bread.
You frown. “Wait for what?”
He winks at you (despite the bright pink at the tips of his ears) and it shouldn’t be so endearing but it is, so you spin on your heel and busy yourself with the last of the lunch items.
You don’t stop thinking about it, though.
“How many do you have?” you ask as you pour him a lager.
He slides you a half-amused, half-exasperated (yet still so fond) glance. “Three.”
“Where?”
“You will see.”
“Well, that’s ominous!”
“Mm. Watch your head, Biene.”
You poke your head around his elbow as he’s cutting chicken.
“Did they hurt?”
He shrugs those big shoulders. “Some. I have had worse.”
You hop up to sit on the counter, waiting for things to finish cooking.
“Do you plan to get more?”
His lips twitch with amusement. “Maybe.”
“Where?”
He steps closer, giving you a put upon sigh. Even sitting up here, he’s just a little taller than you, head tilted indulgently at your antics. You stomach flips and lands low in your abdomen. (It reminds you too much of Krueger teaching you about guns.)
You make your expression as guileless as possible until he breaks on a chuckle.
“I see where the bubchen gets it from.”
You glance at Little Guy, who is indeed giving Konig a similar expression in the hopes of getting scooped up. (Nevermind that he’s been threading between Konig’s legs since he came through the door, and was making “biscuits” on the counter in solidarity while you were asking about scars.)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.
He clicks his tongue. “Krueger has them too, you know. Why do you not ask him?”
You scrunch your nose. “Maybe I will.”
He narrows his eyes in amusement, opens his mouth - just as Krueger and Nikto enter. With you distracted, Konig scoops up Guy and escapes.
“Sebastian, how many tattoos do you have?”
“Many.”
“Will you get more?”
“Eventually. Why? Do you wish to give me one?”
You blink, dangerously intrigued by the idea. “What?! No!”
He grins wickedly as Konig shakes his head. “I could get your name right over my heart, hm?”
“Absolutely not!”
But he does tug the short sleeve of his shirt up so that you can inspect the crossed daggers on his tricep.
“What’s the 2-8 for?”
“My unit when I first joined the KSK. This was my first tattoo.”
You trace a finger over the simple outline, noting how the ink looks slightly faded, almost bluish now. You thumb the 8, mostly just enjoying the excuse to touch.
You turn to Nikto, currently trying to hold Shithead at bay without disrupting Rasputin’s perch on his shoulder. “What about you?”
“I did.”
You frown, about to ask but think better of it as you remember the glimpse of his face he entrusted to you. Right. You can put two and two together, no need to ask and possibly bring up painful memories.
“Why this sudden interest, bienchen?” Krueger asks.
“I noticed one of Konig’s but he’s being mean about it.”
Krueger glances over your shoulder (presumably at Konig) then barks a laugh.
“Ah, you see the truth of him now. He is a sadistic bastard. Not nearly as sweet as old Sebastian here, hm?”
You drop your hand from his arm. “Nikto is my favorite.”
Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 6,069 words
Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language
A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.
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They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs.
They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside.
Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs.
All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders.
You’re crying.
It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears.
He can’t.
He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain?
Not all of it would have been unavoidable.
You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation.
Shepherd fucked him over too in the end.
Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future.
It’s going to take a lot of work.
“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them.
“About four minutes.” Simon answers.
“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her.
“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.”
Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well.
You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting.
Pain and bliss.
That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.
It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job.
His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you.
You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in.
He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.
Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet.
There’s no freedom.
All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word.
The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.
“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.”
Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door.
“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm.
“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.”
“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.
“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.”
Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen.
“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.
“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.
Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed.
“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks.
“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says.
“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.”
Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.”
“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon.
Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.”
“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry.
“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.”
Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack.
It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have.
Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was.
He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time.
They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here.
They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days.
Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him.
Little shit.
His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you.
He’s not your alpha.
He almost wishes he was.
He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you.
“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter.
Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.
“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup.
“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her.
“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”
“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea.
The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.”
“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”
“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”
“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”
“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”
Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside.
It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there.
She’s not the only one that does it.
The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try.
“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
You don’t even turn to look at her.
“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag.
There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there.
You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer.
Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you?
Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would.
You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality.
If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever.
Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on.
When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you.
Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question.
Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair.
You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders.
Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long.
The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it.
He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can.
He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention.
Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail.
“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.”
You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position.
They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen.
John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.
“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon.
Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much.
You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon.
Fuck.
You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.
You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you.
Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime.
“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table.
None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly.
The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going.
His alpha is screaming.
Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away.
It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you.
“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.”
She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room.
All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed.
“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate.
Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table.
He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad.
He just didn't think they were this bad.
You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie.
His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away.
You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away.
You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea.
He wants to take you.
He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it.
John would have his hide if he left with you like that.
Simon would eat him alive.
He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close.
Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half.
It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get.
He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral.
Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long.
He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise.
He just wants to hear you speak again.
He needs to hear you speak again.
He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were.
Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet.
He might as well be sitting alone.
It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence.
Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down.
John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things.
You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward.
Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen.
Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again.
He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment.
What a good alpha Simon is.
What a failure of an alpha John is.
Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures.
Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence.
It is a scream.
It’s your scream.
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Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 12,582 words
Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content.
A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.
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“Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.”
You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free.
“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip.
Running. A gunshot. Pain.
“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you.
“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened.
Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend.
“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?”
You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said.
He was far too much like your father.
Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting.
He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it.
What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t.
“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand.
“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil.
“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.”
Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on.
“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.”
He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind.
Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient.
You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it.
You’re going to vomit all over him.
It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.
That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted.
His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.”
His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into.
“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back.
“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.”
You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...
“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.”
You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason.
It was always about control.
That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them.
You’re nothing more than leverage.
Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency.
Something did happen.
Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless?
You’ll be punished for something you can’t control.
Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.”
They’re safe.
It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.
“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle.
They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make.
“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.”
Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.”
“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you.
“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.”
“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer.
“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.”
John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going.
“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.”
John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?”
“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.”
John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-”
“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.”
The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?”
“They took your omega.”
His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.”
“They took your omega.” Kate says again.
He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts.
They had been right though.
Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end.
“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it.
“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.”
John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...
He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.”
“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger.
“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you.
“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully.
You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet.
“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?”
You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward.
“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.”
The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily.
“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.”
The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him.
“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.
Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets.
A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.”
“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?”
“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”
“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says.
“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.”
John lets out a long breath. It’s a hard decision to make. Go after Shepherd and cut the head off the snake, or go after you and let the person orchestrating all of this escape. Graves won’t stop, even if they do manage to take out Shepherd. He has his orders, and he will follow them, with or without Shepherd pulling the strings.
There might be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too.
No matter what, you won’t be safe. If they go after you, Shepherd escapes and if they try to hunt him down later, he’ll use you again, or worse. They don’t have to kill Shepherd, though. They have proof he’s a traitor. He can be brought to justice if he’s caught. Death is too gentle of a punishment for what he’s done. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.
They have to make sacrifices for the good of the world.
“We’re going after Shepherd.” He says, taking a deep breath. “None of us will be safe if we don’t.”
“That’s dangerous, John.” Kate says. “We don’t know how far Shepherd or Graves will take this. You know how Graves is. He may not be able to be stopped, even if Shepherd tells him to.”
He takes a second to breathe. His pack is silent, all three of them staring at him, waiting for him to make this decision. He is pack alpha, he is their Captain. They do what he tells them to do, follow his orders no matter what. Kate is right, this is a risk, but sacrifices have to be made. Hands have to be dirtied to keep the world clean.
He just hopes you’ll forgive him.
“We’re going after Shepherd.” John says definitely.
“This is a bad idea, John.” Kate warns him.
“It’s the only option we have. They’re trying to draw us away. It’s a risk we have to take.” He can see the apprehension on his packmate’s faces. They’re all feeling it, the drive to go after their omega, but deep down he is right. They’ll never be safe until Shepherd is taken care of. Going after Graves only removes one small piece of the puzzle. The job always comes first.
“Get us locations, places he might try to dig in and hide.” He says, heading towards the cockpit. “We’ll find this arsehole and kill him ourselves.
***
Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s a mistake. She knows it is. The guilt is eating her alive. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring.
There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed.
This was his way of stopping it.
That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs.
They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it.
John is making a mistake. Graves won’t stop so long as Shepherd knows they’re coming after him. The last thing she wants is for you to get hurt because of their decisions, their mistakes. Shepherd won’t order Graves to kill you. That’s too much of a risk. It would give the 141 nothing to lose, and that would put them at their most dangerous.
Will Graves listen to that order?
She can send out a team to get eyes on Graves, find his position at least. That way, if things do take a turn, she’ll at least have a direction to point them in.
They were all too trusting and ignorant. You’re innocent in all of this.
It’s her fault.
They’re going to need help.
Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening?
She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch.
She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now.
The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels.
“Laswell.”
“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great.
“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says.
“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore, and when you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders.
Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Don’t miss the flight.”
Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going.
She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her.
Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her puse. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call.
“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says.
“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face.
“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says.
“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.”
She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too?
“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no
**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**
Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage.
He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s.
Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you, if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty.
It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price.
He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.”
You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?
Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears.
“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face.
You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney.
Traitorous bastard.
They all are.
“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb.
The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood.
“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you.
“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg.
He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face.
“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate.
He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil.
Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now.
You didn’t even know it was possible to do that.
“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.”
Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face.
Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time.
It’s not hard to find him.
“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly.
She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does.
“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true.
“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says.
She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.”
“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.”
“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand.
“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah.
“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him.
“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV.
Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are.
Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety.
Things might have been worse if she had stayed.
“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.”
“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.”
“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...”
“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.”
“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud.
“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...”
“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.”
**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**
It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin.
“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.”
His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death.
He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again.
Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore.
“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding.
That would almost be a relief.
He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body.
Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack?
Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you?
Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you.
You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-”
“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand.
He counts down on his fingers before pressing record.
“Seems you boys still can’t follow orders. Your omega sure wishes you would.” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “Don’t you, darlin’. Tell them. Tell them how much you wish they’d follow orders.”
You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first.
They really have given up on you.
Are they even watching?
“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy.
“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.”
You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”
You let out a scream.
It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance.
You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony.
“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair.
Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends.
It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger.
“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence.
“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.”
Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen.
John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.”
“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.”
“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.”
“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.”
“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says.
“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.”
“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls.
“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.”
They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue.
4th of July, they assume.
“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.”
Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.”
The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard.
“This is revenge then.” Johnny says.
“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”
“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.”
“A way to control us.” Kyle says.
Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.”
“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says.
“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.”
She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.”
She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight.
“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.”
She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.
“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate.
“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.”
“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.”
“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.”
“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening?
“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.”
“I’m sure it was.” John says.
They all know it wasn’t.
“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says.
“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.”
They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility.
They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it.
“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence.
“We can’t let Shepherd get away.” John says.
“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.
“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds.
“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.”
“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.”
“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate.
She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.”
“Texas.” Alex says.
“He took her home.” Christine says.
“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says.
“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?”
Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.”
“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.”
John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike.
He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.”
“Short reunion this time.”
“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex.
“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.”
The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.”
She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.”
Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.”
She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.”
“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...”
She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.”
“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.”
“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away.
She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today.
She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this.
**Content Warning: Blood, vomiting, 'mega forces herself into a panic attack**
Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat.
The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping.
Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time.
You may never be able to eat them again.
“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.”
Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger?
Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising.
You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile.
Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.”
He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.
He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this.
Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd?
A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips.
You just want to go home.
You just want to be free.
You can be.
Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care.
If nothing else, the pain will be over.
I’m sorry.
You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother?
You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place.
You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard.
They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it.
The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind.
You’re safe now. She whispers.
There’s no going back.
You’re going to get out.
Even if you have to do it yourself.
The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next.
You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation.
Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break.
“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.”
“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.”
“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.”
**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**
He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget.
So why are his hands shaking?
This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage.
It’s rescuing you.
He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it. He knows why Price made the decision he did, he understands the logic behind it.
He hated it, though.
How far would Graves have taken it if they had chosen to go after you first. Would things have gotten this bad? Or would he still have hurt you, tortured you just out of sheer anger for what happened between the two of you? He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price.
How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved?
Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.
It’s not a bad idea.
He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly.
He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless.
At least they have the element of surprise on their hands.
“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.”
“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him.
“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door.
It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire.
None.
Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them.
They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none.
“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him.
“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise.
“Well, we’ll find out.”
It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them?
Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you.
More red herrings.
He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway.
One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different.
“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon.
There’s blood everywhere.
It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick.
He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you.
There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood.
“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face.
“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.”
Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head.
“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.”
“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’.
“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.”
“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.”
Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees.
“I’ve got a trail.” He says.
“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.”
He does.
He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up.
He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you.
He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to.
The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...
“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.”
“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something.
They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path.
He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close.
It’s you, no doubt.
Price had been right.
He has no choice.
He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them.
“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.”
He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.
“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.”
You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state.
He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough.
He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. He lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late.
He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next.
He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you.
He put you through that. He made you face that down despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center.
And now he has to do it again.
He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves.
You never really betrayed them in the first place, though.
You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid.
He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been.
Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself.
His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive.
“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.”
Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care.
“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.”
You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead.
“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.”
“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.”
You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now.
A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts.
He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders.
The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep.
How he’s failed you. How they all failed you.
He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through.
They’ve got you back. You’re safe.
It’s over.
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Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets
A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.
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Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened.
Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness.
Ketamine...maybe fentanyl.
She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something.
A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her.
Her phone is gone.
Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again.
The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright.
There’s no help from the others.
She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space.
Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking.
Her phone is sitting on the desk.
She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity.
The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail.
She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this.
She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you.
“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.”
“Was anyone following her?” She asks.
He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.”
She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders.
She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you.
Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now.
“Laswell.”
“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence.
“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused.
She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.”
Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files.
Now this.
“Kate?”
She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”
“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.”
“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.”
“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence.
“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands.
“I hope you’re right.”
Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart.
She should call them, make them aware.
She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files.
She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.
Sometimes the greater good has to come first.
Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find.
Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened.
Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long?
She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you.
No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it.
She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you.
You know it’s not her behind it.
She tells herself that to make herself feel better.
Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack.
She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her.
That trust will be broken now.
She left you alone, and now you’re gone.
Or dead.
There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them.
She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks.
She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure.
She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure.
She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true.
You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up.
Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you.
What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone.
She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it?
Whoever did this planned this out perfectly.
It’s all premeditated. All of it.
What if you’re out there distressing?
She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do.
For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem.
She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment.
Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long.
None of it is a coincidence.
Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?
Or is Kate in on this too?
She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this.
Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events.
Unless it goes even deeper than that.
“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name.
“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.
“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand.
She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care.
“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.”
She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”
“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels.
If you’re still on base. The words make her want to vomit.
“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.”
“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.”
“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.”
The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright.
Don’t let them find a body.
She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch.
They’ll never trust her again.
Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering.
“Kate?” Her voice shakes.
“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself.
“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.”
Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.”
Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better.
“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues.
“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel.
“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you.
“At ease.” Woods says.
“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.”
“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says.
“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says.
“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says.
“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.
“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says.
“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says.
“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her.
“Do they know?” She asks.
“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.”
“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says.
“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.”
And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone.
It’s not fair.
Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment.
Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding?
She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing.
“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.”
“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight.
“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.”
Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe.
Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body.
The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin.
***
Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack.
Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position.
She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety.
Especially if what she uncovered is true.
She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures.
The last few hours have hardly felt real.
“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her.
She still has a job to do.
“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat.
“Kate, there’s nothing here.”
Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard.
“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says.
What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her.
They’re all pawns.
There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.
Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable.
It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan.
“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.”
“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times.
“I don’t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles.
“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says.
“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.”
“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead.
Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours.
Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head.
Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.
“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.”
The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface.
There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm.
You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once.
The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room.
Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn.
Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate.
Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there.
“Good girl.”
You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar.
The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it.
You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough.
It’s not your alpha.
The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other.
Except the one in front of you.
Cedar. Dark Chocolate.
Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.
Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body.
Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable.
White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor.
Your pack.
Where is your pack? Where is your alpha?
Where are you?
Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you.
Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.
Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.
It’s not right.
Nothing is right.
You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you.
You know that face.
“There she is.”
You know that voice.
It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be.
Family. Texas. Alphas.
Cedar and chocolate.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together.
You know him.
It’s been years but you’ll never forget.
The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin.
Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief.
“Phil?”
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Reader walking in while Gaz is rubbing his balls on the ex's belongings. Gaz standing there, shorts around his ankles muttering under his breath when reader comes in. They stutter step, he looks up "it's not what it looks like..." Reader just blinks. Gaz: "ok, it's exactly what it looks like" Reader just smiles "Carry on then" Turns on their heels and walks away.
Lmaooo! I was thinking more along the lines of 'Gaz would take the secret of what he did to the grave', but the mental image of the reader walking in on him angrily muttering to himself while he's doing the defiling™ has me dying 🤣🤣🤣
Summary: Don't trust anyone. That's the advice you were left with. How much should you follow that advice? How much will you have to follow it?
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader
Word Count: 8,058 words
Warnings: ANGST, heavy emotional turmoil, very detailed descriptions of depression, ANGST, panic attacks, lots of thoughts of death and crisis, distrust, anxiety, ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, ANGST, betrayal, weapons, guns, blood (barely), brief violence at the end, drugging (more sedation than anything), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, incorrect medical stuff again, oh and ANGST
A/N: Sorry
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
The world is painted in grey as you stare at the wall. Your eyes trace over the pencil lines on the paper as if it might bring you some sort of comfort, as if it might bring them back to you.
Johnny put the drawings up after your heat, ones he'd done while watching over you as you slept the days away. Strawberries, rolling hills, you asleep in a field of flowers. Visages of the outside world, a place that seems almost foreign to you.
Despite their absence you're still a prisoner, still locked in your tower. Dr. Keller is your guard now, dutifully watching over you as she had promised Simon and Johnny she would. She’s done it successfully before, or at least she was as successful as you allowed her to be, as you had kept her in the dark just as much as your pack. Obviously they trusted that she hadn’t known, otherwise they wouldn’t have left you here with her.
It’s not like they had much of a choice.
She's moved into the spare room temporarily so you're not alone. Your pack's barracks are far more spacious than her own room in the barracks with the rest of the medical staff. You almost wish you'd gone to stay with her. Anything would be better than your grey prison.
You get to leave now, only long enough to walk to the mess and back, and occasionally to the med center. You don’t get to eat in the mess, staying just long enough to grab food before you’re ushered back to your grey prison. You've gone to Dr. Keller's office twice, but even then it had been a short stop so she could grab some paperwork before you returned to the barracks.
The grey and white of your home has never affected you in such a way before. You've been able to look past the sterile halls and prison grey walls of the rooms until now, until you’ve become a bit stir-crazy. You’re afraid you might actually go crazy, driven to insanity in your isolation.
There's been no word on when your pack might return. There's been no word at all from them.
For all you know, they’re dead.
You've gone numb to that thought, the tears not even stinging at your eyes at the idea. You're empty, the only thing you're capable of feeling is the steady churning of your stomach. It's been two months since you revealed the cameras and you're still sick, still in pain.
What if they don't come back because they hate you? What if they've abandoned you here?
You're not sure you could even react to that if it does happen. You can’t even react to the thought of it happening. There’s no drive to, no instinct to be upset by the idea of being abandoned. For all you know it’s already happened.
You turn over onto your other side, facing the room. It’s Johnny’s room you’re in, the most welcome place in the barracks. It’s the place you spent the most time before they left, isolated just to Johnny’s arms by Simon’s anger at your betrayal. He’d only cared for you out of necessity, the progress you made with him all wiped out because of your own stupidity.
Those thoughts don’t even bring a tear to your eye anymore. He never wanted you, he wouldn’t have chosen you.
So why did it hurt so much?
Dr. Keller is worried, but it's her job to be worried. You've shut down, shut out everything. You're not capable of much more than laying around numb and depressed. The scents are fading, quickly disappearing and being replaced by the bitter scent of your depression.
Depression. That's what Dr. Keller said. Not surprising given the circumstances. You're not surprised either. Then again, you can't feel much of anything anymore. There’s no hope left, the memories of them fading as fast as their scents. They’ve moved on, or they’ve died. Regardless, they’re not coming back.
You’re alone again, abandoned by those you loved, those supposed to take care of you.
You can only count leaves on the plant hanging from the ceiling of Dr. Keller’s office so many times. You’ve given up sitting, instead curled up in a ball as you stare at the plant, counting leaves up and down the vines. Dr. Keller is at her desk, writing and shuffling papers, doing what she normally does during the day. Doing what she had last time you had been left alone.
She had the idea that leaving the barracks might be good for you. A change of scenery, a more comfortable and warm setting, might help your depression. Escaping the oppressive grey walls of your prison for some fresh air might aid in her efforts to help you wallow less in your misery. Being free of the suffocating walls of the barracks might help free you from the constant memories of what was, what might have been, what’s left you behind.
Your stomach still hurts. The ache had intensified as soon as they told you they were leaving too, that John and Kyle were so desperate for backup they had to call everyone in. It had made you uneasy, the idea of being alone so soon after everything, the idea that things might be going so badly that they need help. The memory of what had transpired while you were alone the first time makes you nervous.
What if it happens again?
What if something worse happens?
You won’t be stupid this time, you told yourself. If anything is off, you’ll notify Dr. Keller immediately. You’re not making that mistake again. If you did make that mistake, the consequences wouldn’t just be dealt out by whoever is so desperate to get to you, to watch you. Your pack will leave you, will mark you as untrustworthy and give you up, or worse, throw you in a cell until you can be sent back home, back to the institute. Maybe they would be merciful and send you back to the CIA. What would the CIA do though? They couldn’t send you to another pack, not in the initiative, not with you already having been claimed. They wouldn’t take that risk when the severing of those bonds would destroy you and everything that you are.
Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you. Save you from the pain and mental anguish after the severing of a bond.
“Hungry?” Dr. Keller asks. It’s close to lunch, you think. Time is meaningless, the only routine you have left the necessary mealtimes Dr. Keller insists on keeping. Even then, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t know when those were supposed to be.
“No.” You murmur, still staring at the plant. The leaves have begun to blur, blending together as your eyes unfocus.
“You should eat.” She says.
“Not hungry.” You say. “Stomach hurts.”
She sighs softly, pushing her chair back before walking over to you. She drops to a knee in front of the couch, staring at you. “How long has it been hurting?”
“Weeks.” You say, still not looking at her.
“Weeks?” She sounds surprised. “You didn’t say anything. Nausea? Any headaches?” She asks.
“Uh huh.” You nod.
“Any fever, body aches, congestion, dizziness?” She asks.
“Body aches.” You say, finally looking up at her.
She hums, staring at you for a moment. Her face is the usual clinical mask she wears when she’s in doctor mode, but you can make out the slight furrow of her brow as she thinks. She puts a hand on your forehead, your skin cold instead of the warmth it would usually have. Even you’ve noticed it in your numb state, your fingers and toes aching constantly from how cold they are.
She removes her hand, letting out a quiet breath. “Well, my dear.” She says, staring down at you. “I’m diagnosing you with stress.” She says, resting her arms on her knee. “It’s been a long few weeks, and then with your alpha leaving on top of it, I’m not surprised by your symptoms. I know you may not feel like it, but eating will help. You’ll be no good to your pack when they return if you’re wasting away.”
“If they return.” You say, not even able to sound worried like you did last time. There’s no tears, no panic, not even a hint of worry.
“They will.” She says, pushing herself up to stand. “They know what they’re doing and all we can do is trust their skills.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You murmur, taking her offered hand to get yourself up off the couch. You’ve heard it a thousand times. “I know.”
“Come on,” She says, giving you a smile. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can eat in the barracks again. Watch some dumb daytime TV show for a while.”
“Yeah.” You say, trying to sound excited as you follow her out the door. It’s been your routine for weeks. You’re growing sick of it, but what else is there to do? Read? Sleep? Lay numbly in bed staring at the ceiling until it blurs together or until you inevitably pass out from exhaustion?
Your life has become sad and pathetic, and it’s all your fault.
The days continue to drag on, every one without a single word of your pack driving you deeper and deeper into the hole you’ve already sunk into. You’re not drowning anymore, not clawing desperately to the surface, praying you can cling to hope long enough to drag yourself out of the depression. Now you’re just sinking, letting the weight of your numbness drag you down until the pressure becomes too much and you implode.
You miss them so badly it hurts.
Do they miss you? Do they think about you? Have they even thought about you? Did John and Kyle ask about you when Johnny and Simon arrived? What did they ask about? What did they say?
Or perhaps they just mutually agreed this was the opportunity to leave you, the chance to move on and make the job 100% of their lives again. No more worry, no more stress, no more distraction, no more needy omega clinging to them every minute of every day.
Maybe you should have been less needy, less reliant. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so close. It would at least have been easier on you. The job comes first. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself under that rule, distanced yourself to make this pain less severe?
Why didn’t you just tell them right away?
“How are you doing over there?” Dr. Keller’s voice breaks through the endless haze of thoughts.
You’re in the rec room with her, your most frequented place over the last few weeks. You might as well have moved in there. It would almost be better than the four places that only serve as constant reminders of what is gone. You could sleep in your room, but it’s been tainted, ruined. It’s not safe anymore. Even with your pack you hadn’t felt comfortable to be in there longer than it took to grab clothes.
“They left me.” You say quietly, voice muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. You’re on your stomach on the couch, a blanket thrown over your back.
“Not by any choice of theirs.” She says. She’s sitting in the chair, Simon’s chair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her. He’s gone. It’s not his place anymore.
“They’re not coming back.” You say, fingers digging into the front of your sweatshirt where they’re tucked under you.
“You don’t know that.” Dr. Keller says, closing her book. “Those men would fight from the brink of death to make it back to you.”
“They hate me.” You say, nails digging into your palms from how tightly you’re gripping the fabric.
“They don’t hate you.” She says softly. “They may have been a bit upset, but they’d never hate you.”
“Simon does.”
She lets out a quiet laugh. “Lieutenant Riley is his own beast.” She pushes herself up to stand, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to you. “He’s in his head just as much as you are. In my professional opinion, he could use some therapy as well. Some extensive therapy.” Her hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing it gently.
You’re thrown back to the times you were sick when your mother would rub your back, almost as if she was trying to ease the sickness away. You are sick. Sick in your own grief and disappointment and anger with yourself. The depression is its own sickness eating away at you. You’re not even sure your pack’s return could cure it now. You might be too far gone, your brain too convinced that they’re not coming back that you won’t believe it when they do. They won’t return for you, they won’t be happy to see you. They won’t be real.
Dr. Keller lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t think any of them are capable of hating you. Even Lieutenant Riley. They love you too much to abandon you like that. I don’t think they’re capable of abandoning you at all. I’m sure they’re just as worried, just as eager to get back here.”
She pats your back before holding her hand still. It’s warm through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s almost comforting, almost seeping through the chill that’s taken over you despite the warm summer air outside.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” She continues, her voice soft and laced with emotion. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it. It’s not good for you mentally or physically. It’s downright cruel. I thought maybe at first that you’d be taken care of, that you’d be taken into consideration as much as they are.” She scoffs. “I was stupid to think they’d ever give an omega the decency of being considered a human being.”
Her voice is determined, almost angry. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the program, at the initiative, at those above you making the decision, pulling the strings, controlling every part of your pack. You can almost feel it, the passion, the compassion for omegas that she carries. She knows firsthand what it’s like. Even before she became a specialist she knew. She could have presented as an omega herself. Instead she was blessed with presenting as a beta, able to be seen as a human being, able to have rights and make decisions for herself.
“I’m not going to give up on you.” She pats your back gently. “Once your pack returns, I think we need to have a long discussion about the future of this initiative.”
“Are they going to take me away?” You ask.
“No.” Dr. Keller says. “Your pack will fight for you. I will fight for you. But this isn’t good for you. It’s making you sick. I’m worried about what might happen if it continues.”
You slide your arms up, wrapping them around your pillow. “They’re not going to give it up, their jobs. They won’t. I hate it.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them. “I hate that they don’t put me first. I hate that they have to hide things from me, keep things from me. Why is it fair that they can keep things that might put me in danger hidden, but I can’t do it without them getting mad at me? I hate that they have to leave, that they can just leave so easily. I hate their job, I hate what they do when they’re away. I hate them sometimes because they don’t even think twice about hurting me.” The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to rise again. “It hurts a-and t’s not fair!”
Dr. Keller shushes you gently as you press your face down into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes for the first time in almost two weeks. “I know. The CIA should have had an omega expert in on this from the start. There should have been someone that could advocate for the omegas they want to throw into these positions. I hate this too, what they do to you, what they put you through,” Her voice goes quiet, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “What they will put you through.” She runs a hand over the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “All we can do is cling to the hope that word will come in soon that your pack is on their way home.”
You want to believe her. You want to believe she’s telling the truth, that they will be coming home. You want to have that hope, but hope has long faded from your mind. You don’t have hope anymore, as much as she tries to instill it in you.
The days continue to drag on. There’s been no word on their status, no calls, not even a text. Dr. Keller has tried to get ahold of Kate, but she’s been unsuccessful. It hurts. You feel abandoned, even by those that were supposed to be available, those that were supposed to help you. It all feels wrong. There’s something happening. You can feel it.
Something is changing, something is ticking at the back of your neck. It could just be the paranoia, the fear, the unease brought on by the isolation and the separation from your pack. It’s not normal. Johnny and Simon promised they’d do everything in their power to get a hold of you when they can.
Unless they can’t.
What if they’ve been trying but no messages are getting through? What if there’s something along the line blocking them? What if there’s someone purposefully keeping those messages from coming through? Purposefully isolating you from your pack.
The thought has a chill running down your spine. There’s things happening behind the scenes you can’t even fathom. Things beyond you, things beyond Dr. Keller and even John. Someone had those cameras put up. Someone was watching you, even after you found them and hid them. Someone wanted to see you, wanted to watch you with your pack.
Why?
It all seems too coincidental. John and Kyle being called away and then Johnny and Simon weeks later, isolating you from your pack. No word has been coming through, possibly no word from anyone getting to them. They won’t know what state you’re in, they won’t know something is wrong. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t know. They’d have no idea until it was possibly too late.
You’ve been isolated on purpose.
All five of you.
What if it’s Kate?
You don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to even think about it. Who has contact with them during their missions, though? Who has been in control of relaying messages back and forth to everyone? Would she do it? Was she capable of such betrayal? John trusts her more than anyone besides the members of your pack. They’ve known each other for a long time, why would she betray them like this?
You can’t trust anyone.
The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to choke you for a different reason this time. You’re beginning to panic, and while it’s nice to finally feel something, this is almost worse. You’d prefer the numbing depression, the emptiness, the inability to think. This is worse. It’s so much worse.
So many thoughts are flying around in your head, your stomach aching as you begin to panic. You’re not safe. You’re not safe here alone, not even with Dr. Keller. There’s too many chances. You’re too open and exposed.
You can’t trust anyone.
What if your pack is in on it? What if they were responsible for all of this? What if they knew Shepherd was coming and hid it from you on purpose? What if they had the cameras put up to watch what you do when they’re away? What if they’ve been surveying you to report to the higher ups about your progress and the initiative?
What if they pretended they didn’t know to see how long you’d hide it, how you’d take it if they were upset at you, how far they could push you before you’d crumble?
What if they left on purpose to make you crumble?
You can’t verify it. You can’t even know if those orders were real, if they ever came in. You’ll never know because you can’t because they have to keep you safe. What if Kate doesn’t even know they’re gone? What if they’re sitting in a pub in Hereford watching you fall apart at the seams? You want to leave, you want to run there, comb every inch of town just to find them and scream at them. What if they’re too cowardly to force you out themselves? What if they want you to leave, and they’re pushing you to the point you want to?
“Hey,” Dr. Keller kneels in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me.”
You stare at her face, the furrow of her brow, the worry in her kind eyes. You feel sick, your stomach churning. You want to vomit, you want to puke up all the worry and the depression and the stress. You want it all to be over with, you want it all to end.
“Come on.” She says, squeezing your shoulders tighter. “In and out, nice and slow.”
You can’t. You can’t breathe. The world is falling apart around you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your breaths catch in your throat, stuttering as your lungs spasm. You’re beginning to tense, your joints locking into place. It’s not all that different from a few weeks ago in the rec room with Simon as you panicked.
Only there’s no alpha to help you this time.
“Come on.” Dr. Keller says, hauling you to your feet. It’s like trying to move a mannequin, your joints locked into place, dead weight as she half drags you down the hall and into one of the exam rooms. She manages it, stronger than you thought as she moves you easily into the private room. It’s the one you spent your heat in, still set up just like it had been then.
She gets you into a chair, wheeling over the oxygen. It’s cold as it hits your face, a clammy sweat covering your skin. Your hands close around the arms of the chair, fingers clenching until they pop and ache, shaking from the force but you can’t let go. You cling to the chair like it’s the last thing keeping you sane, keeping you in place, keeping you from floating away.
Maybe then they’ll come back. Maybe then they’ll feel guilty for doing this to you.
Dr. Keller approaches with a syringe, wheeling the tray closer before setting it on top. You stare at it, tears slipping around the mask before dripping onto your chest. “It’s a sedative.” She says, putting a damp paper towel on the back of your neck. It’s cold, still dripping water. “If you go into distress, our only option is to put you under and hope it calms your brain fast enough that you’re not going to lose yourself to your omega.”
You almost wish she’d let you. It would be an easier end than finding out your pack was involved in all of this. You’d fade away, let your omega take over until the toll was too great on your body and you died before you even knew what happened.
It almost sounds blissful right now.
“Easy.” Dr. Keller says, cupping your face. “Don’t think too much. That’s just going to send you spiraling even more.”
If only it was that easy.
She gently peels your fingers from the arms of the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. Your hands close around your arms, squeezing until it hurts, until you’re sure you’re going to have bruises. It’s a comforting position though, even without anything pressed against your chest.
You miss your bear. You miss having John wrapped around you, offering you comfort only he can. You want him back, you want to be in his arms again. You want your safe space back, your nest, your pillows and stuffed animals. You want your alpha no matter what. Even if he is behind this or not, if he’s involved, you don’t care. You need your alpha again.
The air in your lungs rattles as Dr. Keller replaces the paper towel on your neck. It drips down your back, sliding down your spine. Goosebumps rise on your skin but it begins to calm you, shocking your system out of the edges of distress it had been rapidly falling towards. It makes you miss being numb. Numbness was at least better than the dangerously high panic of distress.
You can’t even be stressed without being in danger of your own body.
The churning in your stomach intensifies and you rip the oxygen mask off, bending forward as you take deep breaths. You don’t want to vomit, especially not on Dr. Keller’s nice shoes. Your hands grip the arms of the chair again, eyes squeezing closed as you breathe.
“Good.” She says, rubbing your back. “Keep breathing like that.”
She steps away for a moment to grab another wet paper towel as you continue to focus on your breathing, in and out. You pretend John is there, breathing with you slow and even. You can hear it in his chest, feel the rise and fall as he inhales and exhales with you. The steadiness of his heartbeat that never seems to raise, even when he’s stressed, thumps under your ear. He’s always so calm, always so aware, always so capable of acting even in the most stressful situation.
A strength he possesses thanks to his job.
“I miss my alpha.” You whimper as your joints begin to unlock, muscles relaxing.
“I know.” She says, replacing the cold paper towel. She squeezes the back of your neck gently for a moment, sending a cascade of cold water that soaks into your shirt before she releases you. Something prickles in the back of your mind as she moves her hand, the back of your neck tingling and not from the cold.
You continue to breathe deeply, the hitch in your lungs slowly lessening until it's gone, the air flowing in and out evenly. The air in the room is cold, only made worse by the sweat on your skin. You’re trembling, the effects of the almost distress coming down, leaving you a mess. More of a mess than you had just been.
“I just want him back.” You croak out, the tears still falling.
“I know.” She repeats, easing you back so you’re reclined back in the chair. She stares at you for a moment, chewing on her lip before she nods. “I’m going to make a few calls.”
The days continue to go by in a haze. You’re not sure what to think anymore, the numbness and stress battling in your brain for control. The near distress you went into has left you exhausted and burnt out, yet your thoughts won’t let you relax. You just want your alpha, the need sinking deep into your bones, nearly consuming you now.
It’s getting colder, Fall making its rapid approach. A couple short months and it’ll mark a year since your arrival, a year since this entire thing started, since you joined your new pack. To think it might not even last a year. That was the point, though, to test if it would work and how long it would work.
Less than a year. Hope you’re happy with those results.
It’s windy today, blowing hard enough you can hear it inside the barracks. The whooshing as the air hits the side of the building, being forced over the top of the immovable object in its path. It’s grey outside too, the sky cloudy. It might rain, though it’s hard to tell. It’s been grey for the last couple days, the weather always seeming to be in tune with your emotions.
You’re seated on Johnny’s bed, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your packmates, since you’ve seen your alpha. They almost feel like a distant memory, thoughts of them floating around the empty barracks like a ghost, haunting your mind. All of them seem like ghosts now. You’re scared you’ll forget what they look like, what they smell like, what they sound like. Your brain is being clouded by your own roiling emotions, slamming up against the sides of your brain like the wind outside.
It’s confusing, the violent rocking of your mind between numbness and stress in the storm that’s raging in your amygdala. It would be nice if it could pick one, choose a direction and send you head on into the storm or the doldrums. You want the numbness back, the clouding of your thoughts, the slowing of your body to a crawl. It would be a relief over the alternative point where you risk distress every minute.
There’s no help for you.
“Ready?” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door as she knocks quietly. It’s lunch, the usual time the two of you go. Early enough the mess isn’t as crowded. The last thing you need is a confrontation, or for you to panic like you did the day you revealed the cameras to Simon.
Dr. Keller could help you, would know how to help you through that, but you’re not sure you could handle that stress, that embarrassment of falling apart in front of the soldiers that already send judgemental looks your way. Falling apart again.
Not when you can’t trust anyone.
The words still float through your mind, one of the last things John had said to you before he left. Before he abandoned you.
Don’t trust anyone.
Anyone could be a threat.
Dr. Keller knocks again, calling out your name softly.
You force yourself off of Johnny’s bed, your joints cracking as you stand. You’ve been in that position far too long. Your body has stiffened, losing the flexibility you once had in the weeks since John left. You’re not even sure you could run as fast as you used to. There’s no space to do it in the barracks, and with how numb you’ve been, you have no drive to even reach down and touch your toes anymore. For all you know you’ll fall forward onto your face and break your nose if you try.
You open the door with a sigh, looking up at Dr. Keller. You’re sure you look like death...you have probably looked like death for a while. The constant rocking between stress and numbness has made you feel that way, and has likely made it worse. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not even sure you remember what you look like.
You don’t care anymore.
There’s no one to impress here.
The less alive, the less enticing you look, the more likely it is to keep audacious alphas away.
“Ready?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowed slightly as she looks down at you.
You nod, knowing you have no choice. “Yeah.”
She nods. “Okay, I-” She’s cut off as her phone begins to ring, the loud ringtone slicing through the air. She keeps it on at all hours in case someone calls about your pack.
For just a moment you feel hope, something coming back to life inside of you as her phone rings. Could it be Kate? Could it be someone with word of the status of your pack? Maybe it is your pack, calling just to let you hear their voice.
Maybe for the last time.
That hope fades as Dr. Keller frowns. “One second.” She steps down the hallway to answer, leaving just enough space between you, you can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.
You don’t really care to hear, leaning against the wall as you wait. It’s not about your pack, obviously. The thought stings. Still there’s been no word, not even a text. The drop of excitement is almost worse than the numbness, the acceptance that you’re not getting any word, that had begun to form in your mind.
Dr. Keller walks back up to you, the frown on her face deeper than it had been. It had been a short call, most of the talking done by the person on the other side, you assume. Her answers had been short and simple. Whoever it was...it must not have been good judging by her face.
“I have to run to my office.” She says. “I need you to stay here.”
Your heart rate picks up at her words. She’s leaving you alone? You’ve gone back and forth with her so many times, why does she have to go alone now? Maybe whoever had called wanted to continue the conversation without the risk of anyone listening in.
Who called her, and what did they say to get her to break her promises to your pack?
“I’ll be right back.” She says, sounding anxious to get to her office. “You’ll be okay here? I won’t be gone long.”
You nod. You’re not sure you have much of a choice but to agree, but you’re also not about to argue. It’ll be the first time you’ve been alone since the day you confessed to your pack. You’re itching for it now, just a second to be truly alone. Just a second to breathe.
“Don’t leave the barracks.” She says pointedly. “John will have my hide if he finds out.
You shrug. “Don’t know where I’d go anyway.”
She nods, accepting your answer. It is the truth. You wouldn’t have left anyway. “You call me immediately if anything happens. I’ll be just a couple minutes.”
You nod in understanding. “I’ll be here.”
“Good.” She seems satisfied by your answer as she turns to jog down the hallway.
Good thing she’s wearing comfortable shoes compared to the ones she normally does.
You let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as the door closes. You stand there in the silence of the barracks for a moment. You’re finally alone, the oppressive feeling of being watched, of being held prisoner lifting just a bit. Sure you can’t leave, but you couldn’t do that before anyway. You head for the rec room, walking as silently as you can, almost as if one of your pack members will jump out from around the corner and reprimand you for being alone. It’s not your fault. Dr. Keller was the one who left you.
You try not to think about what that phone call had been about as you grab a snack, tiding yourself over before Dr. Keller returns. She said she’d only be a minute, but you’re not sure how long it really will take. You’re silently glad for the break, silently glad for the ability to rest in silence, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.
You’re not sure what to do with your newfound freedom. It’s not like you didn’t have freedom before, but at least now you feel like you normally do, free to wander around and go to the bathroom by yourself.
You’re going to do just that.
It’s instinctual that you choose Simon’s room. You’ve been using his shower still, comforted by the routine you picked up during the time he and Johnny were still with you. It’s comforting, so much so you’ve made sure you hang your towel where it’s supposed to go, and put your soap and shampoo back in place with his. He’d be angry if he came back to find his room a mess, the order he exists in disrupted.
More angry than he already is with you.
You let out a sigh as you leave the bathroom, eyeing the books on his dresser. You’ve read all of yours already, and there’s nothing new in the rec room. You haven’t felt like reading much, and you’ve already read all of yours. Now, though, as life begins to fill you again, you feel the urge to do something.
The spines of the books are slightly dusty as you run your fingers across them. You’ll need to clean again soon. You’d forced yourself to do all of their laundry once their shirts lost their scent. It was beginning to stink and after being gone so long, you doubt they’ll want to come back to stinky dirty clothes.
Maybe you should clean their rooms too. Dr. Keller has been saying it might be helpful to do something productive.
And this way it might help in case they do return. Omegas are supposed to keep house. It’s what you’ve been taught to do. The last thing you want is for them to be upset with you for not doing your duties.
You grab one of the books randomly before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind you. Your steps are still instinctively quiet as you make your way down the hallway. Until you freeze mid-step. There’s a sound ahead near the rec room, the wind outside getting louder for a moment before it quiets again.
Someone opened the door. Someone is inside.
Your breathing hitches as you take a step back, then another moving backwards down the hallway. Dr. Keller did say she’d be back soon, but why would she go through that door? She knows your pack always uses the door at the front, the door behind you to enter. That door only gets used when the guys smoke outside, or when Simon and Johnny have to leave during your heats.
Whoever entered wouldn’t know that.
Dr. Keller doesn’t smoke.
You stumble back to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle for a second before slipping inside. You close the door quietly, clicking the lock before pushing the dresser in front of the door. It’s your room you’ve taken refuge in. There’s dust coating everything, floating around you as you disturb the stale air. You hold your breath, fighting the urge to cough as you wait, hoping the air filters hide your scent before they make it down the hallway.
Your hands are shaking, gripping the book tightly in your hand. If nothing else, you can use it as a weapon. Simon would be proud of that, improvising a weapon to protect yourself. The panic is rising in you as you wait, the silence of the barracks the only thing allowing you to hear the quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. There’s a nervous fluttering in your chest as you wait, trying to keep your breathing under control. If it’s Dr. Keller she’ll knock, she’ll say something to let you know it’s her. She wouldn’t sneak around the barracks. She knows how much stress you’ve been under. She wouldn’t try to scare you like this.
A scream dies in your throat as the door handle starts to jiggle, forced back by your own panic. Whoever it is on the other side is trying to get in. You're thrown back into the terror of your first time alone, when someone tried to enter your room in the middle of the night.
You’re not going to be stupid this time. You’re not going to face this alone. Your fingers fumble around your phone, barely able to unlock it as the jiggling of the handle gets more aggressive. Whoever it is, they’re determined to get in.
You press Dr. Keller’s number, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you lift it to your ear. It rings in your ear, the sound echoing outside the door. Your stomach drops, following your phone as it slips out of your hand, still calling Dr. Keller. The ringtone echoes in the empty hallway, quickly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.
The sudden phone call, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks to run to her office, entering through the wrong door...
No...it can’t be.
The door shudders as something rams against it. You have to hide, you have to get out. You can’t hide in the closet or under the bed. Even the bathroom wouldn’t be smart. It’ll leave you too vulnerable. If whoever it is can break through your door, they’ll get through the bathroom easily. You turn to look at the window. You have to get out. You have to get help.
There could be others out there, waiting for you to try.
You have no other choice. Better to try and fight than to stand there and let it happen. That’s what Simon always says.
You can defend yourself. You can fight until you get a chance to run. You can run. You’re an omega. Running is what you do.
You barely remember to pick up your phone before you climb onto your desk, not caring as you knock things off. You have to move fast. Whoever it is on the other side of the door probably heard that, probably has figured out you’re going for the window. You have to get out. You have to run. The window slides open slowly, the adrenaline pumping through you, giving you strength you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re not sure you’ve ever opened the window in the time you’ve been here. You squeeze through the opening just big enough to fit you through. You don’t waste time looking back as you take off running, heading in the direction of the trees.
You’re alone, kicking up gravel as you run to the road. You have to find someone to help you before whoever it was catches up to you. Would they be that brave to attack you in the middle of the base? Would they try something with witnesses around?
You can’t trust anyone.
Would they even believe you if you did try? Or would they take advantage of your state, tricking you into believing them before dragging you into a dark corner? Even if you try to go to the higher ups on base, who would you tell? How would you even find them?
You can’t trust anyone.
Instead you choose the trees, racing down the road you had followed Price down not long after your arrival. You thank the CIA for making you run, you thank the guys for letting you run laps to keep your strength and stamina as you tear down the road, getting glances as you go. You haven’t lost much of your ability, not even in the weeks you’ve been almost completely sedentary. It’s partially the adrenaline, partially your own fear, partially your instincts to escape from danger helping you sprint down the road.
It’s lunch time, most of the soldiers probably in the mess by now. Maybe you should have run there. Someone would help you. Someone would help you.
You’ve passed a few on your way down the road, only getting passing glances. If they really cared, they would have followed you, tried to intercept you to ask what was going on.
None of them stop you as you reach the trailhead, breaking through the brush. Don’t follow the trail. Weave through the trees and double back. Confuse them so they can’t follow. Price’s advice rings loud in your ears as you rush through the forest. Confuse them, and then make for the tower. You can hide there, call Laswell, get help. You’re not sure how much help she can provide from across the ocean, but if nothing else, she’ll at least know.
If she answers.
If she’s not behind all of this.
She might rat you out.
Maybe going for the tower is a bad idea. Maybe you should double back and head for base again. If you can make it to the gate maybe you can convince one of them to help you, or if nothing else you can force your way through and get off of base. You recognize landmarks well enough you can hike to Hereford, find the police, find anyone that might help you.
You can’t trust anyone.
Your chest hurts as you run, tears burning in your eyes, making the trees around you blur. You can’t cry now. You can’t let the ache of betrayal settle in yet. You really can’t trust anyone. John had been wrong. But why now? Why wait this long?
Something has happened to your pack.
The whole thing has been organized.
You trusted her.
You dart across the trail, a sharp pain biting through your calf before you can reach the other side. You yelp as you fall into the dirt, your leg giving out from under you. You push yourself up to look, a roughly half inch wide hole cutting through your jeans. Blood is starting to seep into the fabric, darkening it around the edges of the hole.
You’ve been shot.
“You’re a quick little thing.” A voice says, stepping out from the brush next to the trail. “Though, I suppose with all the running they made you do, you would be.”
Tears burn your eyes as you stare at the gun pointed right at you. Will it go off again? Will it rip through your chest, giving you a slow painful death out here where no one will find you until it’s too late? Or will it go through your head, giving you a quick death before you even know it’s happened?
“Why?” You choke out, your heart pounding in fear. You can feel it, the edges of your vision darkening as you begin to panic. You’re going to distress, you’re going to die no matter what happens next.
“Money.” The gun shifts with the accompanying shrug. “Sure the pay in these positions is decent, but it’s never quite enough. And, you know, I’m all for helping with experiments.”
The gun lowers, but that does little to ease the panic flooding through you. You turn your upper body, trying to claw through the dirt away from your assailant, trying to escape the shoes getting closer and closer. They’re tennis shoes, practical and easy for running if need be. Your mouth has gone dry as you gasp for breath, your heart thudding in your ears. It’s getting dangerously high, the dark edges in your vision continuing to get bigger and bigger. Your muscles are tensing, ready to tighten painfully, joints locking into place. It’ll be too late to do anything, but then again, it’s too late now to do anything.
You can’t run. If you try, you’ll get shot again, and maybe this time it will be fatal.
One of the shoes lifts, stepping down on your leg. You scream as pain ripples all the way up to your hip, stopping your movements. Tears slide down your face, dripping down your nose and onto the dirt.
A hand reaches out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look straight again. Fingers dig into your jaw, making you whimper with pain. “I always hate when omegas cry.” The hand releases you as their right hand rears back.
Pain erupts across your cheek, your body being thrown to the side. You fall into the dirt, your ears ringing as the entire left side of your face throbs. You can taste blood, the coppery tang making you want to gag.
“That was for fucking up the cameras and making me do more work.”
You’re forced onto your stomach in the dirt, a knee digging into your back painfully.
“You’re going to go to sleep now.” You can barely make out the words over the ringing in your ears. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you had never been picked for this initiative in the first place.”
A stinging pain bites into the skin of your neck, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in your cheek and the burning ache in your leg. Tears continue to slide down your cheeks as you lay there, your vision going blurry as the sedative kicks in. There’s no help coming.
No one even knows you’re out here.
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