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fanfiction4thesoul · 5 years

Text

At the Bar

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6

Warnings: slight violence (really small); fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Alpha/Beta/Omega au. You get some unwanted attention during one of Roger’s shows.

A/N: PLEASE READ. This is an a/b/o au as it says in the description. If it’s not your cup of tea, then go ahead and skip it, I won’t be offended :P. If you’ve never heard of it and want to give it a whirl, go for it! My friend insists I must spread that a/b/o love throughout all the fandoms, so here’s my contribution. Thank you for any comments/likes/reblogs. And feel free to ask any questions! Enjoy.

You watched as Roger played his drums up on stage, nodding along to the beat. Freddie was dancing around as much as the stage allowed while Brian and John tried to stay out of his way. They sounded really good tonight and the crowd was especially active, making their performance even better.

The bar smelled of sweaty dancing bodies, alcohol, and the mixture of mostly beta and alpha scents. You were one of the few omegas at the bar tonight. Roger was a bit worried leaving you to play his set, but you reassured him you would be fine. There were always rowdy alphas around, but most of them knew respect. Roger still caught your eye multiple times while he was playing, not so casually checking up on you. His protectiveness made you roll your eyes but caused your affection to grow. To ease his mind, you made sure to stay close to the bar and away from the crowd. And it never hurt to be careful.

When the last notes of Keep Yourself Alive rang out, you cheered with the rest of the crowd. Roger looked elated from behind his kit and you couldn’t help but smile. Now that he started devoting more of his time to the band, you noticed he seemed more happy and free.

The band left the stage as Freddie bade them all a good night, and you waited for Rog to appear. It didn’t take long for his long blonde locks to come into view. His eyes were bright as he gave you a big smile that you easily returned.

“You did great tonight, Rog. One of your best,” you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

His hands found your hips and brought you close, giving you a quick kiss. “Thanks, love. We were really jammin’ yeah?”

Just as you were about to respond, Brian yelled out, “Rog! You need to take down your kit!”

Roger rolled his eyes fondly, making you smile even more. “Wankers,” he mumbled. “I’ll be back, love. Will you be okay for a little bit longer?”

“Go, Rog. I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, gently pushing him away. He gave you one last peck before heading back towards the stage. Sighing to yourself, you watched him go. You distracted yourself with some people watching while you waited. The crowd was still dancing to the jukebox in the corner without a care in the world. Even though it was going on 2 in the morning, everyone still seemed raring to go. You silently hoped Roger wouldn’t want to stay. All you really wanted to do was head home and go to sleep. You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice someone approach you.

“He your alpha?”

The sudden voice behind you startled you. Turning around quickly, you took a step back when you immediately smelled the alpha’s scent. He was a man, probably slightly older than you and extremely tall. He towered over you. And the smirk on his face was predatory. Being hit on wasn’t unusual if you didn’t have Roger on your arm. Even if he wasn’t, most still backed off if they knew you were taken. You hoped he didn’t want to cause trouble.

His close proximity was obviously meant to intimidate you. Though your instincts told you to back away and cower, you stayed where you were, looked him in the eye and said, “Yes, he is. What’s it to you?”

The alpha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his smirk only widened, giving you a queasy feeling. “Oh, you’re a feisty one. That why he hasn’t marked you? I bet he can’t handle an omega like you.”

You bristled and felt your face turn red. “Fuck off, would you? Take your bigotry and shove it up your ass.” Turning to leave, you intended to find one of the boys. But as soon as your back was to the alpha, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm tightly. You cried out in surprise, but his low growl quickly silenced you. The noise made you freeze as it reverberated through you. He quickly turned you around, not loosening his grip. The smirk was gone off his face, replaced by an ugly sneer.

“Don’t think you can just walk away from me, omega. We weren’t done talking.” His voice was low but harsh. You opened your mouth, intending to shout out, but the alpha’s hand was quick to cover it. His eyes were hard as he said, “Nuh-uh. No sounds, omega.” He was bringing out the command in his voice and you whimpered, unsure what to do.

Panic started to set in. Your instincts were taking over, but they were conflicted. An alpha was giving you an order, but he wasn’t your alpha. You tried looking around to the people near you, but they either didn’t notice what was going on or didn’t care.

“Hey, asshole! Let her go!”

Roger’s voice rang out through the noise of the crowd, cutting through your panic like a knife. Your alpha was here. He would make sure you were safe.

“Relax man. I just wanted to see if she wanted to take a real alpha for a ride.” He said, switching back to his cocky attitude.

Roger growled behind you and you desperately wanted to turn around to see him. But you stayed in place, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Not seeing him didn’t stop you from smelling his anger through the stench of the alpha in front of you.

“She’s mine. Back off,” Roger commanded. A shiver ran through you at his tone. If it was directed at you, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to resist the command.

You closed your eyes as you waited, praying the alpha would take the warning and leave. After a long, tense moment, the alpha pushed you away and your eyes shot open. Roger was quick to catch you in his arms as you stumbled, pulling you flush against his chest. You heard the alpha mumble something about you being too much trouble anyway before you were distracted by Roger.

He turned you around, scent changing quickly from anger to worry as he carefully looked over your face. “Love, are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You looked down at your arm where he grabbed you, noticing the red mark his hand left behind. It throbbed slightly and you were sure it would bruise. When Roger followed your gaze, his eyes turned hard and he growled again. “I’ll kill him.”

“No! Rog, please.” His face softened again as you spoke. Now that your instincts were coming down from their hyperaware state, you felt exhaustion creeping in. “Can we… can we just go home? Please?” You asked meekly as a shiver went through you.

You felt so stupid for getting worked up - barely anything happened - but you were rattled and the omega inside you just wanted to be reassured. Roger caught on immediately and agreed, though you still saw his eyes track back to where the alpha disappeared.

He was quick to pull you out back to the van. Brian was already there waiting. You saw him tense as you neared, picking up on your distress and Roger’s left over anger. Roger helped you into the backseat without a word and got in the passenger's seat.

Thankfully, Brian didn’t say anything on the drive back to your flat. When you pulled up, Roger didn’t even bother unloading anything. He opened his door before the van even stopped rolling and pulled you out of the back seat as gently as possible.

He tugged you close as he lead you inside and didn’t stop until you reached your shared bedroom. His blank face and continued silence made you nervous. But his actions remained soft and careful. Tugging on your dress, he slowly helped you out of it. He sat you on the edge of the bed and took your heels off, kissing each ankle delicately as he went. The more time he took, the more anxious you became. You just needed him to hold you. But you knew that by taking care of you, he was calming down his anger. So you stayed quiet.

Instructing you to stay where you were, he disappeared out the room only to come back with your makeup wipes. You let him gently remove your makeup. He gave you tender kisses where he carefully cleaned your face. When he deemed you done, he started rummaging through your drawer. He pulled out your favorite sleepwear and helped you pull them on.

You climbed into bed, Roger right behind you after he stripped down to his boxers. Once he was situated at the headboard, he guided you onto his lap so you were cradled against him. Finally, you rested your head right against the juncture of his neck where his scent was strongest. You sighed immediately at the calm that washed over you. Nosing at the spot, you scented him slightly and you felt his rumble of approval. You got lost in the haze of his sweet scent and let your instincts take over.

Roger’s hand that wasn’t holding you against him carded through your hair, playing with the strands. He sat there, slowly letting the tension from earlier ease away as you scented him. He couldn’t help but think what would have happened if he didn’t get to you in time. When he saw the other alpha gripping you so tightly, holding you too close, he snapped. He would have pummeled the guy if he hadn’t been holding you. But his first priority was making sure you were safe, not to show his strength.

That didn’t stop his anger from simmering when he saw the mark on your arm. Or thinking about all the people who didn’t help you. Were people really so oblivious that they didn’t notice your distress? Or did they willfully ignore it? Either way, it made him mad. It was the 1970’s for God’s sake! That shit might have flown a few decades ago, but now omegas had rights. Some people just didn’t want to see that, though. Like that asshole.

Alphas like him were the reason Roger worried so much about you. Most were changing with the times, but there’d always be those that thought they could take whatever they wanted.

It took everything in him to ignore the urge to find the guy and kill him. It was your distressed scent that stopped him. He needed to make sure you were okay and comfort you. That didn’t mean he wasn’t brooding. The alpha still hurt you; he still marked what wasn’t his.

His grip on you tightened.

But she’s not mine either.

Almost in defiance of his thoughts, he brought you closer so he could scent you back. He needed to make sure everyone knew you were taken. But it still wasn’t a mark.

So long as you didn’t bear his mark, you belonged to nobody in the eyes of society.

Giving you a mark would show an extremely high level of commitment. You hadn’t really discussed marking, but the more Roger thought on it, the more he liked the idea. He felt terrible that it took the events of tonight to realize that. But the thought of anyone else touching you, marking you, claiming you had his alpha ready to fight.

He needed you to be his.

“(Y/N),” Roger’s voice cut through your haze, pulling you back to the present. “Love, I need to bring you back.” Slowly, you blinked your eyes open. His hot breath was against your neck and you could smell your combined scents permeate the air. You hummed, shaking away the pleasant daze. Pulling back, you met Roger’s eyes. “You with me, love?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “yeah I’m good.” You were still tired, but your head was clearing up and you were feeling so much better.

“Love, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there earlier tonight. I’m sorry you got hurt.” Roger said, regret tainting his voice.

Your heart clenched at his worry. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Rog. Does it suck? Yeah. But it doesn’t happen often. And you got to me before it got worse.”

“But you shouldn’t have to resign yourself to assholes trying to take advantage of you because of your designation!” He sounded so exasperated.

“That’s just the way it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be, though.”

You paused. “What do you mean?” He hesitated, eyes darting away from your face. “Hey,” you said, putting a hand on his cheek to bring his attention back to you. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You wouldn’t… well you wouldn’t have to worry about other alphas if.. if I marked you.”

Oh. That was a thought. A mark would make any alpha steer clear of you, lest they incur the wrath of your alpha. But a mark also shows intent to bond. Did Roger really want to bond with you? You searched his eyes for any hint that he was joking, but all you found was sincerity. Sincerity, and uncertainty.

You realized you hadn’t said anything yet. “Would you, ya know, want that with me, Rog?”

“Do I think we’re ready to bond? No.”

His answer was so quick. Your heart sunk.

“No! (Y/N), let me finish,” he panicked. “I don’t think we’re ready to bond. Not yet. But I want that with you. Eventually. You’re my future, (Y/N). So why don’t we let everyone else know?”

“Oh, Rog,” You couldn’t quite find the words you wanted to say.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything. I know it took awhile for us to start dating, and you only moved in a few months ago, so I understand if you think it might be too fast. And it’s not just my alpha instincts pushing me. I mean, of course I want you as an alpha, but not just like that I mean. But the thought of anything happening to you or someone else marking makes me so unbearable upset, and-”

“Rog, stop,” you cut off his heated rambling before he got too carried away. He quickly shut up, looking at you questioningly. You thumbed over his cheek, trying to calm him down a little bit. “I want you to mark me… okay? I love you.”

He positively beamed, making you smile as well. Grabbing your hand on his face, he guided your hand so he could kiss your palm. “I… had another idea as well…” he mumbled. His eyes quickly darted to yours before returning back to your hands. You waited a moment. “I was thinking… that is, if you wanted… you could mark me too?”

Once the words processed in your brain, you made a quick shout of surprise before tackling him in a hug. You laughed incredulously before pulling back to give him a long kiss. “You’d really want to carry my mark?” you asked, still not believing what he said.

His mouth turned up. “I know it’s an uncommon practice, but we’re anything but conventional. You’re my omega, (Y/N), but you’re also my equal. I’d be so damn proud to wear your mark.”

You felt your eyes watering a bit and you willed yourself not to cry. Leave it to Roger to make you all emotional. You nodded, not quite trusting your voice at the moment. He smiled wide, bringing you back in for a kiss. He broke away just barely to whisper against your lips, “You don’t know how happy you make me.”

He brought you back to his lips and you hummed in content. With his scent swirling around you, tinged with nothing but happiness and love, you thought you had a pretty good idea.

~~~

Part 2

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x Y/N #fanfiction #Queen #alpha/beta/omega au

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Comfort

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Ambrose/Omega!Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: How about a Thirst Party Saturday...Wednesday pick-me-up? I was thinking an Office!AU, with that sweet, sweet Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic we all know and love. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, the campaigner for all things LaBraun, @hardcorewwetrash!

Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains threats of rape, musings on consent and general manhandling. Stay safe everyone!]

You knew that you probably should have stayed home today.

Suppressants were expensive and you had the sneaking suspicion that your script had been cut to begin with. You hadn’t felt right for months. But your doctor always dismissed your concerns as Omega paranoia and you didn’t want to make your visits any more difficult, so you just put your head down and accepted the reports without complaint.

You were very lucky after all, you had to remind yourself. Getting hired into an office setting while being an Omega was no easy task, but you’d managed to pick up some runner work that would get your foot in the door over at King’s Game Enterprises. It was only small things for the moment and you’d had to sign a waiver before you started stating that you would keep up with your dosages or face immediate termination, so you couldn’t exactly afford to have your prescription cut with sugar pills. But you had this unshakable feeling of restlessness while making your morning commute. You were tense and tight, as though you were about to jump out of your skin at any given second.

In a burst of desperation, you decided to be honest with your boss about your situation. There was an off chance that maybe, he might understand and send you home early. His wife was an Omega and he treated her like an equal.

Maybe it’ll be okay.

You gathered up their coffee orders and a few files from Alicia, then squared your shoulders and headed for Hunter’s office. Please don’t fire me, you begged mentally. Please please please.

You heard the office door click open before you were halfway down the hall and Stephanie poked her head out. “Alright, move it.” She said, not unkindly. “Smelled you a mile away.” Your heart sank. They know. She at least waited until she’d closed the office door behind you before she started in on you. “Did you not understand the paperwork you signed? Because I can find someone to explain it to you. In perfect detail.”

You bowed your head meekly and pressed her coffee into her hands. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t exactly the equivalent of coming in with a sore throat, but I don’t have any sick days saved up yet. I didn’t know what else to do, ma’am, I need this job so much.” You kept your eyes on the floor, blinking back tears. “I wanted to ask if…if maybe Mr. Hunter could send me home. Or even you, if you have that authority. I know it’s dangerous for me to be out and about like this, I swear I didn’t skip a dose. I-I take my meds, always, but I don’t feel right today and I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“I’ll get Hunter in here. You sit down.” Stephanie clicked her tongue. “Your script get swapped? Did they put you on the generic?”

“My doctor doesn’t give me my scripts, he calls them in himself. He says it’s too dangerous to have an Omega walking around with an unfilled script.” A tear slipped out and you quickly wiped it away, irritated with yourself. Stupid suppressants!

There was a loud knock on the office door and then it was shoved open, the person on the other side not even waiting for acknowledgment. “Heya’ boss one, is boss two he…” The person, a man with a mop of unruly sandy-blond hair, ground to a halt. His nose twitched.

“Perfect timing Ambrose, as ever. Hunter already call you?”

“Y…yeah.” Ambrose said slowly. He shook himself all over. “Whew, sorry. I’m back.”

“Wonderful, I’m so glad Seth is teaching you to be prompt.” Stephanie turned back to you, gesturing at Ambrose. “Dean is one of our Omega therapy Alphas. It’s a new program that some of the higher-ups initiated for the safety and comfort of people like you and me.”

“Basically we’re here to keep you okay.” Dean explained simply. He radiated calm Alpha scent, the new fragrance washing away your terror at being fired.

“We?” You asked in confusion.

Another knock sounded on the door and Ambrose moved to open it, revealing two more men. The Alpha smell, which was heady enough in the room from Dean alone, instantly thickened. Your stomach filled with warmth and you gasped for breath, dimly aware that Stephanie was saying something. Seth. Roman.

Mr. Hunter’s hand was suddenly tilting your chin up. “You still in there, kid?” Hunter Helmsley was the epitome of mated Alpha, broad-shouldered and confident in his own skin. You could see why Stephanie adored him.

You barely had the mental capacity to shake your head. “I don’t feel well, sir.” Your voice was a trembling whisper.

“It’s alright. That’s why our boys are here. Can you make it to lunch time? Two hours.” Hunter glanced at the clock. “Then, it’s only half a shift missed instead of a full one.”

Two hours. Two hours. You nodded dumbly. You could do whatever this Alpha asked. You were a good Omega.

Hunter chuckled. “Alright. The boys are going to escort you to our Omega office, okay? Scent-dampening walls like mine. We need to keep you under wraps until this calms down. You may want to talk with your physician as well, figure out what he gave you.”

“Not the right amount. He won’t listen to me.” You breathed.

“He’ll listen to Dean.” That was one of the other Alphas, but was it Roman or Seth? Seth or Roman?

“Our Alpha partner program can also accompany you to appointments, if necessary.” Hunter added gently. “They’re here to make things easier.”

The idea of having a strong, secure Alpha with you in the doctor’s office made your chest ache with longing. You whined without meaning to, blushing and covering your mouth. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize, Omega. We understand.” Seth (or was it Roman?) took your hand, sending tingles through to your fingertips. “C’mon, before everyone in the building is banging on Hunter’s door.”

Roman (or was it Seth?) opened the door for you, making you flush even hotter than before. Normally only mates were offered the courtesy of having a door held for them. Dean came up on the other side of you, the two Alphas flanking you in the hallway while the third brought up the rear.

You finally got up the courage to whisper, “Are you Seth or Roman?” to the dark-haired man at your side.

“He’s Seth, I’m Roman.” The young man behind you answered, making you glance over your shoulder to look at him. He gave you a small smile, as though he was doing his best to soften his hard features. “Roman Reigns, Alpha at your service.”

“Um, no offense to any of you but…why were you guys picked for this?” You asked awkwardly.

“Even temperament, mostly.” Roman replied, shrugging.

“I don’t get nuts around Omegas. Hormone imbalances.” Dean said shortly.

“And I’m too smart to lose my cool.” Seth added smugly. “We aren’t like those other Alphas, butting heads over a piece of ass.”

“Rollins.” Roman’s tone held a sharp note of warning.

“Sorry, sorry. Not to imply that you’re a piece of ass or anything.” Seth apologized hastily. “You’re an Omega, and an Omega that doesn’t want to sit at home and do nothing! Pretty rare.”

“Sitting around is only good until the bills need to be paid.” You commented dryly. “Wait, how am I supposed to do my job if I have to-”

“Ambrose is going to be with you when you’re running errands, okay?” Seth murmured, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not ideal, I know, the space in here is kinda’ tight. But if something happens while you’re in our care, Hunter will eat us alive.”

Dean opened the door to the Omega office and stepped in, gesturing for you to follow. “C’mon, let’s sit you down for a minute. How you feeling? Doing okay?” He asked kindly, touching your forehead with the back of his hand. “You don’t feel fevery.”

“I’m just nervous, mostly. Restless. Like it’s hard to breathe. I mean, it’s not actually hard to breathe, but like how you feel when it is?” You fumbled to explain. “Chest is kind of tight.”

Roman had pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket, the well-built Alpha turning to a fresh page before clicking his pen. “Can I get the name of your primary care physician, and a rough estimate of how long he’s been cutting your medication? Mr. Helmsley will need it for your file.”

“Oh, b-but I have no proof-”

“Your body is out of sync. Unless Hunter--er, I mean, Mr. Helmsley, has put you under a significant amount of stress, there’s no logical reason for you to be feeling like your lungs are too small.” Seth raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you have anything going on outside of work that could contribute to the level of discomfort you’re dealing with. Shortness of breath is a pretty common complaint in Omegas once their meds are switched.”

“According to my primary, every complaint is a common complaint for someone like me.” The statement came out more bitter than you intended and you grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, this is good information to have. With your consent, Dean will accompany you on your next appointment.” Roman continued to write for a moment, before clearing his throat. “Ah, when is your next appointment?”

“I had made an emergency one for tomorrow, a cancellation happened and I picked up the slot. Waste of a day off, but I was really hoping to talk some sense into the doctor.” You said weakly. “Or at least try. It’s...hard. He has me strip down and put on the examination gown before he’ll speak to me and I just…I mean it’s a vulnerable situation for someone like me and I don’t really have anyone to come with me.” You were so relieved that someone might be taking you seriously, the words just came pouring out. “I know he doesn’t like Omegas so I just try to make everything simple but now I’m sick or confused and I’m scared, what if there’s something really wrong with me?”

“Easy, easy. Look, I’m gonna’ go grab you a soda from the break room stash. We’ll get some sugar into you, perk you back up. Like Mr. Helmsley said, if you can duke it out for two hours you’re in better shape.” Dean reminded you, heading for the door. “Everything’s gonna’ be just fine. I can come with you tomorrow, I don’t have any prior assignments.”

Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth the door flew open and half the contents of the IT department poured into the office. Drew, Tony and Perkins led by one Brian Kendrick who shouted, “There! I told you I smelled heat in the hallway!” pointing an accusing finger at you. You were frozen with fear. The small room was packed with Alphas and Betas now, crowding in on you from all sides. The air was thick with different smells and the snap of hungry teeth and this is why you can’t have a job this is why you need to stay at home-

“Ambrose!” Seth yelled over the hubbub. It must have been something they had rehearsed, because you were suddenly pulled tight to Dean's chest.

“Face into my collarbone, breathe in. Breathe out. Don't look at them, focus on me.” Ambrose said calmly. There was the sound of a solid impact behind you and Kendrick abruptly stopped hollering.

“You're all really gonna' let this yappy son of a bitch rile you up into acting like a bunch of animals?” Roman asked, his voice low and irritated. “Get out. All of you! Out!”

You whimpered and Dean cupped the back of your head, humming comfortingly. “It's alright. He's a friend. You're safe with me.” He soothed. “We're on your side. Nothin' is gonna' happen to you while I’m here.”

“I'm going to talk to Kalisto and Mustafa. This is some bullshit.” Rollins grunted angrily. “Jesus Christ, that was a fucking nerd mob.”

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, sounding concerned. A large hand covered Ambrose’s on the back of your neck and you relaxed a little into Dean. “Go talk with the smart ones, Seth. We’ll stay put with them until you get back.”

“My legs are going to give out in a second.” You warned thickly.

“Grab the chair, Reigns.” Dean ordered. You closed your eyes, the sound of your swallow loud in your ears. “I’ve got you. Focus on my voice, calm that breathing down so you’re getting enough air.” Ambrose coached, settling you into the chair.

Roman’s hands rested on your shoulders, keeping you upright in the seat. Ambrose shifted in between your thighs, the comfort you felt at his presence a little startling. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you while one of us is here.” Roman said firmly.

“Promise?” You whispered, opening your eyes.

Dean stared back at you until you glanced away, unnerved by the intensity of his look. “Promise.” He replied softly.

…

“Clothes stay on. No, fuck you, their clothes stay on. You’re not bullying them anymore, got it asshole?” Dean rasped, looking like he was inches from pinning your doctor to the wall. “I’m here with them. Now do your damn job and explain what’s happening.”

You hadn’t taken two steps into the examination room before your primary care physician had gestured at the gown on the table and barked at you like he always did. But Ambrose didn’t take kindly to that, the light-haired man glaring holes through the old Alpha doctor. “You can’t threaten me in my own practice!” The older man sputtered.

“They have the right to be treated with fucking dignity, not like they’re an inconvenience. Shit, they’re sick and scared and you’re over here playing high and mighty!” Dean snapped. “What’s the story, huh doc? What’s your issue?”

“Omegas are breeding machines with hysterical, hypochondriac tendencies. My issue is that I’m having my time wasted.” The doctor answered primly.

“This is an Omega who’s got shortness of breath and their heats are getting worse even though they’re taking their suppressants. You’re the one writing their scripts; you’re the one who switched them to a generic without asking them first and then, you cut their doses in half!” Ambrose was fairly roaring at this point. “Feeding them some bullshit story about how they couldn’t take their own script to a fucking pharmacy! ‘Course they can, most Omegas do!”

“I’m not going to stand here and be accused of-”

“Accusing you? Buddy I haven’t even shown you my evidence. I’m flat-out condemning your ass. I have invoices. Faxes. Pages and pages of scripts with your name all over them. I suggest you fucking play ball with my Omega, or King’s Game is gonna’ raze your little pop-up clinic and turn it into a fuckin’ penny candy store.” Dean bared his teeth. “You feel me yet, doc?”

“I…” Your doctor paused, looking like he’d had the rug yanked out from beneath him. “Listen, this is standard procedure for Omega-exclusive practices, I can’t just-”

“You’re diggin’ a pretty deep hole for yourself, doc. You tryin’ to tell me that there’s more guys like you out there, purposely fucking up people’s lives?” Dean snarled.

“It’s the way things are.” Your doctor replied with a weary air. “We need to perpetuate our species one way or another. I don’t expect you to understand, you don’t smell quite right yourself.”

“You’d better watch that nose around me, doc. I’ll bite it off.”

“Aside from your own issues,” Your doctor continued, looking much more pale, “I can’t just up their dosage on a whim, this-”

“Hey, you’re not talking to me. Talk to them. This is their health at stake.” Dean growled.

“Fine.” Your doctor turned toward you with a huff, still not meeting your eyes. “It will take weeks for the suppressants to regain their previous effectiveness. A gradual increase is the only way to straighten you out. If, of course, this is all true.” The doctor didn’t seem to be able to help tacking on the snide remark at the end.

Dean was all over him like a bad suit, fists digging into the older man’s white jacket. “You keep this attitude up and I’ll bite your nose off for free.” He threatened. “This is your last warning to cut the shit. Write them the correct script or so help me God, my people will call your people.”

You just sat there wide-eyed, barely believing what you were watching. Dean was going to bat for you like you were his, radiating scents of fury and Alpha. Your body lit up with excitement and you barely kept yourself from begging Ambrose to mate you until you couldn’t remember your own name. Your face flushed. Where had that desire come from?! You had never been that forward before!

Ambrose kept up the rumbling threat of a snarl in his chest while your doctor printed off some new paperwork, the younger Alpha quickly yanking it out of the older man’s hands and then passing it to you. “Let’s get you taken care of, okay?” Dean murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steer you out of the examination room. “I know a guy, Doc Swagger. I’ll give you his number for when this script runs out.”

“Wow.” You breathed.

“Too much? I wanted him to take you seriously. I wasn’t sure whether ‘upset mate’ would work, so I went with ‘upset bad cop’.” Dean sounded worried. “Did I overstep?”

“Oh no, gosh. I’m just…a little hot is all.” You admitted, flushing.

“A little h…oh. Oh.” Ambrose paused, then gave you a grin. “Yeah? You think maybe you like when I get tough?”

“No! I do not!” You protested frantically, watching his grin widen. “I’ve never had anyone defend me like that is all and I don’t…I mean I’m not…look, I don’t want to offend you.”

“Offend…?” Ambrose raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “I think you’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Well because I’m an Omega. And…and I can’t control myself as well as I should.” Your flush was from shame now. “It’s not fair to you that you have to deal with me all…messy like this and probably smelling like a...I-I don’t mean to be this way. It’ll be so much easier once my medication is evened back out.” This was so embarrassing. You had never felt smaller in your whole life. “I really don’t mean to be this way, I know what you must think of me.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with how you smell.” Dean finally murmured after a minute of silence, his back ramrod straight and that teasing smile gone from his face.

…

Hunter assigned Dean to you permanently when he saw how well the two of you were getting on. He mostly just seemed pleased that the program was a success and that you could get your work done with minimal interruptions.

There were no more outbursts from the IT department, and if anyone so much as twitched their nose at you it seemed like Ambrose was at your elbow, brandishing a stapler with deadly intent. His methods were a bit more…hands on than you would expect from someone in an office setting, but you were grateful all the same.

“I ain’t hurt anyone for real in years.” He confided in you one day while you were making copies, his lean frame towering over you. He tended to station himself to the side of you if he could help it, stating that he didn’t want to loom. “Used to pretty often though. This little program is good for me, I think.”

A huge pair of hands abruptly clamped down on your hips before you could respond, and you were rudely hoisted into the air and dropped to the side to free up the copier. “Out of my way.” Brock from Financial grunted.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, his expression gone fierce. “You don’t fucking touch them, Hunter’s orders!”

“What makes you think I give a flying fuck about Hunter’s orders?” Brock snorted derisively, “The little go-fer with slick-reek was taking too long. I have important work to do.”

You blushed hotly with shame, hoping that you didn’t actually smell like slick. How incredibly embarrassing!

“You can ask them to fucking move.” Ambrose’s fists clenched. “Or you can wait.”

“Copies really worth getting your panties in a wad over, Ambrose?” Brock’s grin was infuriating, arrogance shining through in his slouched posture.

“Certainly seemed like it was to you, Lesnar.” Dean scooped up the copy that Brock had made before the other Alpha could reach it, quickly ripping the page in half.

“Your maturity knows no bounds.” Brock sighed.

“Were you all set with the machine?” Dean asked you, studiously ignoring the massive Alpha blocking the door. You nodded quickly, not wanting to cause more trouble. You could always come back on your way out, after all. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Lesnar.”

“You do realize that they’ll fuck anyone, Ambrose. Regardless of how that person treats them.” Brock chuckled, his nasty smile back full-force. “Isn’t that right, little Omega? I bet you’d love it if I shoved up your skirt and just-”

“Stop!” You said while shaking your head violently, unsure at first if you were trying to shut him up or trying to keep your thoughts from circling on the visuals his words were eliciting. Normally you would have been thrilled at the idea of an Alpha offering you any sort of attention, especially attention that might ease the hot shivers in your stomach. But all you could focus on was the brief flash of a wounded look that crossed Ambrose’s face and the nausea that was building in your throat.

“Man, why the hell would you say something like that? Were you raised by wolves? Jesus.” Dean seemed more offended than anything else, moving until he was between you and Brock. “I mean shit, what’s your problem? Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Tiny penis? All three? Get the fuck away from them.” He gave Brock a hard shove, clearing the doorway. “Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.” Dean urged you, making you scramble for the hall.

You slid down the wall once you were in the hallway, tucking your knees up into your chest. Brock had done nothing but make everything worse, your face still hot from the notion that you might smell like slick and be unable to do anything about it. You got unsteadily to your feet and fled to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and resting your forehead against the door. Too late you realized you had forgotten your copies in the hallway, and tears choked your throat. Why was this so hard? Why did you have to be so stubborn about this job? Plenty of Omegas stayed at home, raising babies and keeping house. Why couldn’t you?

Maybe the suppressants failing was a blessing in disguise. Maybe…maybe you should be one of those Omegas. You had been so sure of yourself, and look where it had gotten you! Huddled up in a bathroom stall, your stomach rolling and tears dripping down your face. And now your nose was running. You thumped your head against the stall door and then flinched back when the bathroom door opened with a loud bang!

“Omega?” It was Dean, whispering as loud as he could. “You in here?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, unlocking the stall and opening the door. You kept your eyes fixed on the floor. “Sorry I ran. I know you have the worst job in this place and I’m not exactly making it easier by taking off on you.”

“Hey, I get it. You were scared, maybe a little embarrassed. Don’t listen to anything that asshole says, okay? He’s just pulling the same shit every other Alpha and Beta does, trying to guilt or threaten you into boning them.” Dean said bluntly. “Like I need to tell you that, like you don’t already know.” He laughed weakly. “And what the heck do you mean by ‘worst job’?”

You just shook your head, finally raising your eyes to look at him. He had a new graze on his cheek, the small cut oozing blood down the side of his jaw. “Oh, what happened?” You asked unhappily, reaching out and wiping the blood off with your thumb.

“Caught the side of the copier funny. It made that low toner warning t-turn off though, so I think I fixed it.” Dean’s voice hitched slightly and you hastily pulled your hand back.

“Sorry, I…reflex.” You apologized, tired to death of blushing. But you shouldn’t have touched him! He wasn’t yours, after all, and it was a little frowned upon when an unmated Omega went around touching unmated Alphas unnecessarily. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright.” Was all Dean said in reply, jamming his hands into his pockets. When you caught sight of his hands later on in the day, you noticed his knuckles were scraped open in a few places.

I ain’t hurt anyone for real in years.

What did he consider ‘for real’?

…

Your heat cycle ended and life returned to normal for the most part. Dean no longer needed to accompany you everywhere and he said as much, pressing the phone number for his doctor friend into your palm. “I’ll see you around, Omega.”

You scolded yourself for your daydreaming, sentimental tendencies on the way to your appointment with Doctor Swagger. You felt guilty for the trouble you must have put Dean through during your cycle and you were hoping this new doctor would be able to help you manage yourself better.

Doctor Jack Swagger was the largest Omega you had ever met, the blond man standing head and shoulders over you when he shook your hand warmly. “The usual? I doubt you want to spend your whole day off in my tidy little exam room.” His easy demeanor was a complete change from your prior physician and you found yourself relaxing. “Ambrothe recommended me, huh? I’m flattered.” Swagger grinned. “He’s normally all teeth when I have to poke and prod him, poor bastard.” He patted the examination table. “Alright, quick checkup and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

True to his word it wasn’t long before you were on your way, the fresh script for name brand suppressants tucked safely into your pocket. Swagger said he had already called the order in, but that “it might be a good idea for you to have the script in hand, so they can cross-reference it.” Which you were sure was his way of letting you know that he wouldn’t be offended if you wanted to be certain you were getting the right product.

You were grateful that he seemed to understand your plight. But then again, who knew what kind of trials he had been through? Nobody could have believed he was an Omega, as huge as he was. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. Of course, not every Omega was going to be small-boned and delicate, the world just didn’t work that way. People like you did lean towards the diminutive, but an Omega’s size wasn’t nearly as much of an issue as it would be for, say, a shorter Alpha.

There were plenty of other things people could find wrong with Omegas. Size was an outlier.

You shook your head at yourself. Those thoughts weren’t going to do you any good. Everything would be okay now! You would be back to your usual self in a few months and hopefully you could still see Dean every now and then--

No! Stop it! That’s not how this works! Just because he had treated you decently, just because he was required to keep you safe when you were more likely to have a lapse in judgment? You were a job, that was all. Something to keep Mr. Helmsley signing checks for him. Nothing was going to change that. I don’t get any say in the matter, you thought sadly. He’s not mine and he’s never going to be. Might as well get used to it, no Alpha is going to so much as look at me unless I’m in heat.

…

The next time your cycle came around, you were caught off guard. It was almost two weeks early! You did your best to remain calm on the drive to work, calling ahead to let Stephanie know you would be a little late. Dean met you at the door, his expression carefully neutral. “Again?” You nodded, biting your lip. He grunted, taking off his heavy leather jacket and dropping it over your shoulders. “That ought to mask it, at least for now. How do you feel?”

“Queasy.” You admitted, snuggling down into the coat and tucking your nose into the collar where Ambrose’s scent was cloyingly thick. It was pitiful and you knew it, saying as much when Dean gently took your arm to lead you in. “M’sorry, your jacket is going to smell all gross.” You mumbled.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t mind your smell? Damn.” Dean huffed.

“What if people think you’re my mate because my scent is all over your stuff?” You continued over him worriedly. “What if Brock comes after you?”

“That’s kinda’ the point.” Dean said matter-of-factly, making you pause. “Look, I’m here to help you avoid conflict. No one said I had to fight fair.” His smile was crooked. “I just hope you can deal with the group of people who will pity you.”

“Pity…?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly a prime cut of Alpha steak.” He shrugged. “Not really much interest. Hell, I’m scrawny when you look at Reigns or Rollins.”

“I don’t think you’re scrawny!” You protested, touching his hand on your arm. “You’re trim.”

“Is that a thing? Sure, okay. I’m ‘trim’.” Dean chuckled. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Not every Alpha needs to be huge, y’know.”

Dean fell silent at your words and you wondered if you had annoyed him. His hold tightened momentarily on your arm. “Come…come in here for a second.” He muttered finally, ushering you into an empty conference room.

You were instantly on guard, your death grip on the jacket around your shoulders the biggest oxymoron you could think of. Ambrose left the door to the hallway slightly ajar, and he leaned against the wall beside it.

“Look, I don’t want you thinkin’ you owe me for this uh…well, whatever it is that I’m doing. Escorting, I guess. I was trained to do this, okay? It’s not like I moonlight in HR or somethin’, this is what I clock in to do. So you ain’t gotta’ be delicate with me, alright? I’m a big kid.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I don’t understand.” You said slowly, feeling like that was the best course of action.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair. “You…what you said. Not that I don’t appreciate hearin’ stuff like that, mind you. I don’t want to think that I’m…fuckin’, inadequate. And I usually don’t think that way anyhow. But you don’t have to say stuff just to make me feel better. Like I said, I’m a big kid.” He tried for another smile and it was even less convincing than his previous attempt. “Now, let’s get you to your office.”

“But-” You began to protest, bewildered.

“Please. Drop it.” Dean said softly, his hand tucked back into the crook of your elbow. “Seriously.”

You nodded, not really wanting to but understanding that he was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. And wasn’t that odd, an Omega trying to make an Alpha feel at ease! “Hey, if you ever need to talk to someone…”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Oh, you had definitely upset him. His words were clipped and short, bitten out. “What’s up with me is my own business, Omega.”

“Yeah, but if you have to babysit on top of that-”

“I’m not babysitting you.”

“You literally put your coat on me and now you’re leading me along this hallway like I’ve never been here before. Face it, you’re a babysitter.” Your stomach twisted suddenly, robbing you of your breath and making you stop in your tracks. “Oh.”

“Omega? Shit.” Dean swore, glancing both ways before propping you up against the wall. “It's okay, you’re alright. You’re alright, it’ll pass.” He said softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You tried to focus on his voice, tried to focus on his hands on your shoulders. “Dean-” You whispered.

“Shh, you’re alright. Breathe.” Dean urged and you nodded, trying to be obedient for this Alpha. “Just keep breathing, you’ll be okay. Nothing bad is gonna’ happen while I’m here, I promise.” His eyes lowered. “Is it your stomach?”

“Y-Yeah.” You choked out. “Hard to breathe-”

Dean grimaced and spread his palm flat on the lower portion of your stomach, applying firm, even pressure as he worked his hand in small circles. The heat of his fingers bled through your blouse and you whimpered, quickly biting down on your knuckles to stifle the noise. “Easy now, just relax into me.” He rasped, his voice rougher than usual. “I’ve got you.”

The pain in your stomach dissipated almost as quickly as it had arrived, and you held onto Dean’s arm while you tried to regain your balance. “What…God, I feel like I just ran a marathon.” You said finally, making Dean snicker.

“You probably blew through your caloric intake for the week. Let’s get you to the office and then I’ll find you a snack.” Ambrose’s hand stayed on your stomach, supporting you during the rest of the trek to the Omega office. You wanted to wonder at that, but you quickly crushed the notion. He was doing his job. Nothing more, but definitely nothing less.

He kept closer than he usually did, touching you with some part of his body for the majority of the work day. Fingertips, his jeans brushing your slacks or his arm bumping your own in the narrow hallways. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but after his curt behavior earlier it was entertaining to a degree. And confusing.

“I just don’t think I could do it.” He muttered out of the blue.

You glanced up from the pile of mail you were trying to sort, seeing that he was fiddling with his phone. “What?” You asked, making him jump.

“Oh, sorry. That was supposed to be in my head. My bad.” Dean apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinkin’ about…well, it doesn’t really matter.” You raised an eyebrow and he swallowed hard, the sound seeming over-loud in the quiet room. “Uh. Jesus, if I hadn’t seen you earlier I’d swear you were an Alpha. You’ve got the stern look down pat.”

“Oh?” You wrinkled your nose, unsure if you were being complimented.

Ambrose practically lunged across the desk to pick up one of the bottles of water he had grabbed earlier, clumsily popping the cap on it and downing half the contents. “Okay, alright, you win, you can’t do that shit with your nose.” He gasped once he was done. “Look, it wouldn’t work between us. I ain’t never even thought about dating an Omega before!” Dean sounded outright panicky and you got the feeling his mouth was miles ahead of his brain as he rambled, “I mean, I have thought about it, yeah, but it scares the shit out of me. I just--if-if they have some kind of wave and I ain’t around, what happens? What fucking happens? People talk a lot of shit but there isn’t any hard proof, do Omegas want to bang whatever whenever? And if they do, why would--”

“Listen, I’d love to answer but I can’t. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Official orders from Omega higher-ups.” You interrupted Dean pompously, barely holding back your giggles when he gave you a wide-eyed look. “What, you don’t know about the network? We have influential Omegas stationed at key points across the globe, Dean. There’s nothing Alphas or Betas can do without us knowing.”

Understanding dawned on Dean’s face and he shoved your shoulder, giving an embarrassed laugh. “Shut up, I was bein’ serious y’know.”

“I don’t really know the answers.” You admitted. “I’ve been on suppressants since my first heat, and up until relatively recently they worked fine. So I couldn’t tell you. I doubt Omegas actually want to bang whatever whenever, but hormones are a funny thing. Especially if they’re combined with a fertile Alpha or Beta. Your scent makes me weak in the knees, sure, but I’m not about to jump you. With the half-strength suppressants the hardest part was dealing with the mental images.”

“Oh. Like when Brock was-”

“Ew, Jesus, don’t remind me.” You cut him off, covering your ears. “It was bad enough in the moment, God. I wanted to die.”

“Why do people do that shit to you guys?” Dean asked, “Just to get you wound up? Give you some kind of picture that’ll make your body feel even worse until you get some relief?”

“So that they can conveniently offer to be the relief.” You shook your head. “Guilting and manipulating an Omega into mating while they’re in heat ought to be a punishable offense. Nine times out of ten we aren’t in our right minds, how are you supposed to get consent out of someone who can’t even remember words anymore?”

“And that’s the ticket right there, isn’t it.” Ambrose growled. “Fuckin’ pieces of crap get an Omega riled to the point of incoherence and have their fun.” He gave you a sidelong look. “That uh, that something that’s happened to you?”

“No, not me personally. I’ve been very lucky.” You replied softly.

“Well you ain’t gotta’ rely on luck anymore, okay? I’m here. I’m not particularly lucky myself, but what little I’ve got I’ll happily spread thin for ya’.” Dean cracked his knuckles, looking very serious. “That’s why I signed on to this program anyway, figured if my Alpha hormones are fucked I might as well do some good.”

“How are they messed up?”

“Ah, I get weird dry spells. Months, sometimes. I’ve got some meds to regulate it for when the spigot turns back on, mostly because if I didn’t I could probably tear a stack of phonebooks for kicks. It’s like testosterone overload, I can’t get a straight thought through my head even with the meds. I’ll be like ‘I need food’, then two seconds later I’m out climbing my fire escape, stealing tomatoes off the balcony of the guy who lives above me.” Dean shrugged. “Probably naked too, if I know myself.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, I’m uh, not too bright when I get that way.”

…

Friday had come at last. It had been a long week and you were definitely looking forward to some time off. Ambrose was more fidgety than normal, to the point where it was actually getting on your nerves. Usually you barely noticed it, but today Dean seemed like he was trying to tap and shimmy his way out of his own skin.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked, much sharper than you had intended.

Dean flinched, not meeting your eyes when he looked up and instead focusing on a point by your shoulder. “Yep.” He said shortly.

You quirked an eyebrow at his behavior, getting to your feet and smoothing the wrinkles out of your skirt. “Hey, if something is wrong you can tell me, you know. I’m not in anyone’s pocket just yet.”

“I just have to get through this shift. I’d appreciate it if you would drop it.” Was his stiff reply.

“Is it something that I did?” You asked worriedly, thanking God that you were at the end of your heat and your flush wasn’t quite so neon. “Did I say something? Did…did Brock do something?”

“This ain’t got anythin’ to do with you!” Dean said, his voice rasping badly when he raised it. He deflated almost immediately. “Sorry, I’m…sorry. I promise it’s not anything that you did. I just gotta’ get through today. I’m trying real hard to keep my cool here, Omega.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked, lowering your own voice and crouching so you were at eye level with him. Dean still wouldn’t look you in the eye, awkwardly shifting in his chair. “Hey, I’m serious. You take such good care of me all the time. Do you need a water? Something to snack on?”

“It feels like someone cranked the knob up to eleven and then snapped it off.” Ambrose mumbled, not answering your question. Then, “If something happens…”

“Nothing is going to happen. I’m running down the hall to the lounge, getting you a water and some chips, then coming right back. Three minutes tops.” You promised, giving him a reassuring smile. “Let me take care of you.”

Ambrose groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples. “Alright, okay, fine. Just be careful. Three minutes. I’m coming to get you if you’re not back.” He threatened half-heartedly, making you snicker while you stood.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” You eased into the hallway, making sure it was empty before you closed the door behind you. As you made the short walk to the break room, you wondered whether this was the beginning of Dean’s own proverbial hell week. Your heart went out to him if it was, you of all people understood that having your body go to war with itself was not a fun experience.

The vending machine was devoid of chips, but there were a few packets of crackers available. You fed it your change and then huffed in annoyance when the crackers got stuck in the dispenser. Pounding your fist on the side of the machine did no good, and you resorted to shoulder-checking it until it rocked enough to drop the crackers. “Ha!” You said triumphantly, retrieving your prize and turning around.

Brock was so close you all but walked into his chest and your heart sank to your shoes. “Well well well, if it isn’t the office pet. Where’s your cuntlicker?” Brock leered down at you.

You swallowed hard. Cuntlicker? “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Omega bitch. Where’s Ambrose?” Brock’s tiny eyes narrowed even further. “I owe him for the other day, after all. Maybe I ought to have you suck me off as an apology.”

“What makes you think I would agree to something like that?” You snapped, ignoring the faded response of your body that clamored to be claimed by an Alpha.

“I don’t need you to agree-”

“If you don’t want me to bite your cock off, I feel like my agreement is incredibly important.” You snarled, surprising yourself with your own aggression. “Also? Not even if I was out of my mind with heat, Lesnar.”

“Is that fucking so?” Brock’s hands crushed your shoulders, the large Alpha hefting you up and pinning you to the wall without so much as a noise of exertion. “Try again, Omega bitch.”

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” You struggled in his grip, kicking your legs and wriggling wildly. “You don’t own me, no one owns me, no one has any right to treat me like this so fuck you!” You proclaimed furiously. “I’m nobody’s sweet little Omega and I will tear your dick off if you touch me again!” You were screaming at this point, so incredibly outraged that you were seeing red.

“What are you gonna’ do to me? You can’t even fight back.” Brock sneered. “Until I decide to let you go, you’re stuck. So do me a favor and stop wasting my time, little bitch.” His fingers dug in harshly but instead of crying out in pain you spat at him, refusing to be cowed. “I know you’re gonna’ change your tune the second you see my cock, you Omegas are all the same. Once I wreck you, Ambrose won’t come within thirty yards of your sorry ass.”

You jerked your head to the side and sank your teeth into his hand. Brock responded by slamming your back against the wall so hard you saw stars for a second.

“Don’t push your luck-”

The door to the room opened and Ambrose half-fell through the doorway, barely catching himself in time. “What are you fuckin’ doing?” He asked Lesnar bluntly, his teeth clicking loudly at the end of the sentence. Dean looked feverish, his hair messy and eyes wild.

I’ve got some meds to regulate it for when the spigot turns back on, mostly because if I didn’t I could probably tear a stack of phonebooks for kicks.

You gulped. “Ambrose why are you so fucking obnoxious?” Brock grunted. Dean didn’t bother to respond, he simply latched onto Lesnar’s fingers and peeled one of his hands off your shoulders. You dropped to the floor and then with an ugly twist of his wrist, Ambrose snapped every finger on Brock’s hand.

“Keep it up, Lesnar. Give me an excuse t’ send ya’ ass t’ the fuckin’ ER.” Ambrose snarled. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time? I figured you’d appreciate the black eye, but I guess you’re more hands-on than that.”

“You broke my fucking fingers!”

“You had the Omega trapped, not much choice.” Ambrose shrugged. “My job description is ‘any means necessary’.” His footing was unsteady, the slender man almost falling over when he managed to pull you upright. “Are you alright, Omega? Anythin’ hurt?” He asked, straightening out your blouse clumsily.

You threw your arms around him, hugging him as fiercely as you could. Dean stiffened for a second before he returned your embrace, holding you tight to his chest and cradling the back of your head like he had the first day you had met.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, quieter this time. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no, I’m okay. I had it under control.” You selfishly buried your face in his shirt, inhaling his scent deeply.

“I noticed.” Dean whispered.

“You're gonna' fucking pay for this, Ambrose!” The larger Alpha swore, easily ripping Dean away from you and delivering a blow to the smaller man's jaw that snapped his head to the side. “After I'm done with you, you'll eat through a straw for the rest of your life!” Brock raged, his broken hand cupped to his chest.

Dean shook his head and then bared his teeth, blue eyes wide and pupils blown in a fixated stare. “And I was gonna' let you live, too.” He rasped, giving a harsh bark of mirthless laughter. He caught your arm and pushed you towards the door, his fingers lingering on your skin longer than he needed to. “Get Hunter, Omega. Be good for me, okay?” His scent was saturated with Alpha smell, strong enough to take your breath away.

“But-!”

Ambrose didn't have another second of attention to spare, throwing himself bodily at Lesnar and flooring him. The last thing you saw before fleeing to go find Mr. Helmsley was Dean straddling Brock, the slim Alpha ranting swears while the two of them swung wildly at each other.

…

What was left of Brock Lesnar was blackballed from King's Game and all its subsidiaries. Which may have stretched further than you had anticipated. Dean was released into the care of Rollins and Reigns. According to Mr. Helmsley he was a little too far gone to be trusted with driving himself home. “He’ll be fine in a few days.” The older Alpha assured you, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He bounces back pretty quick. Tough kid, Ambrose.”

You spent the weekend quietly. You were shaken by the fact that while Ambrose clearly displayed dominant tendencies, he hadn’t ever tried to assert that dominance over you. He also hadn’t thought for a second about taking a piece out of Brock, recklessly lunging at the larger man.

Was it because Brock had gone after you? Or was simply because he had hit Dean? Ambrose had seemed to be in his right mind until he had been punched, then he had obviously lost the battle with his surging hormones. Now that you thought on it, if what Dean had said was true, Brock was probably lucky to be alive.

Dean wasn’t at work on Monday or Tuesday. When Wednesday came, you marched straight to the Alpha Program office and banged on the door.

Seth opened the door, staring down at you momentarily. “Uh. Yes?” He asked after an awkward pause.

“I need Dean’s address.” You said firmly.

“Ha! Pay up, Rollins.” Reigns called from his desk across the room, chuckling while Seth swore under his breath and dug into his pocket for his wallet.

“Why do you want Ambrose’s info?” Rollins questioned you warily. “He’s not in the greatest shape right now, and I dunno’ if he’s fit comp-”

“He lit into Lesnar and I want to know why.”

“Brock put his hands on you. Dean takes his job very seriously.” Seth explained like you were a child, making you bristle.

“But why pummel the guy? Not that I’m ungrateful, mind you. It just seemed like overkill is all.” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to talk to him. Make sure he’s alright. I haven’t felt okay since that day and I…” You trailed off, feeling that familiar blush creep up your neck.

“Ah. Talk.” Roman cleared his throat. “I don’t know if he’ll be in the proper headspace for speech. But hey, maybe having you there will help him come back around.”

“Is he really that far gone?”

“The spat with Lesnar pushed him further than it should have. He’s been mostly non-verbal whenever Rollins or I check on him.” Roman shrugged. “He’s not hurting himself. He’s all bundled up in a blanket den like usual, it’s just that he’s not talking. Dean gets into his own head sometimes and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it except let him know that we’re there for him if he needs us.”

“Will he hurt me if I show up?”

“Ambrose ain’t like that.” Seth answered sharply. “He’s a couple sandwiches short, yeah, but he’s never violent without a reason. He thinks the world of you.” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Uh, not in like…a creepy way or anything. Just, y’know, you’re important to him, I guess.” He floundered.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. “So give me his address.”

…

Ambrose lived in a rougher neighborhood and you were immensely thankful that your heat had passed. You weren’t sure you would have been as confident if it still had your body in its grip. Even in your right mind, you spent a solid five minutes talking yourself up in the car. “C’mon, Rollins said he wouldn’t hurt you. You don’t even think he would hurt you, you big baby.” You shut the car door behind you firmly, straightened out your skirt and headed for the apartment complex stairwell.

Reigns had given you Dean’s door code, stating that he was unsure if Ambrose would be able to answer the door in his current state. The lock clicked open under your fingers and you let yourself into Dean’s apartment, knocking your knuckles against the wood of the door to announce your presence. “Ambrose?” The first thing that hit you was the smell, Alpha scent so strong it made your head spin and knees weak. You braced yourself on the chair beside the door, trying to clear your head.

The second thing you noticed was that the whole apartment was dark. Daylight filtered in weakly through the curtains, but other than that the place was in shadow.

You put the small bag of groceries that you had picked up before coming over onto the counter, noting with worry that there were no dirty dishes in the sink. “Dean?” You called a little louder, thoroughly concerned now. “Hey, where are you? Roman and Seth said that you’d be here.”

Behind you there was the sound of a door creaking open. You whirled just in time to see Dean unfolding his lanky form from a pantry that was definitely not meant to be a living space. He spilled out onto the floor and laid there for a minute, before he turned his head to the side and groaned pitifully.

“Dean!” You dropped to your knees, forgoing your usual Omega propriety in favor of touching his shoulder. “Dean, oh my God. Are you alright?” After another long minute he raised his head slightly, dazed blue eyes trying hard to focus on your face. “Dean, it’s me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You said quietly.

Dean’s reply was a hum that turned into a low moan, his forehead hitting the floor again with a dull thud. “Om’ga.” He slurred. “Thought y’ were th’ guys. Y’kay? Lesn’r come back? I’ll geddup, ‘ll kick his ass again…” Ambrose struggled to do just that, shoving himself into a sitting position. He then inhaled deeply and you watched his pupils dilate. “Y’ didn’t need to come over here. M’ fine. Just been in my den.”

“Is that what you call the pantry?”

“Small, dark. Quiet. I need that when I’m like this.” His voice sounded shot.

“Can I get you something to drink?” You offered. Dean flailed an arm out until he caught hold of a drawer pull, hauling himself partially upright. You grabbed his free hand and managed to help him the rest of the way.

“Fuck’s sake.” He rasped, holding tight to your arm. The knuckles on his hands were still cracked and yellow-green bruised, presumably from his fight with Lesnar. “Feel like hot garbage. Why y’ here?” He asked wearily, his head lolling back momentarily.

“I’ve been worried about you.” You said, a little plainer than you had intended.

Ambrose jerked his head up to look at you, obviously startled. “You…what?” You propped him up against the counter and filled him a glass of water from the sink, which he quickly drank. “Om’ga m’ serious, wh…what did y’ say?”

“I was worried about you.” You whispered, twiddling your fingers nervously.

“Why?” Ambrose asked bluntly.

“I don’t know, because you got into a fight with an Alpha who’s at least twice your size? If I had just-”

Ambrose placed a finger on your lips, stopping the flow of words. “Y’ not gettin’ raped while I’m on th’ fuckin’ clock, un’nerstan’? Don’t care how sick I am.”

“But if I had let him-” You tried to continue your previous train of thought.

“No. There’s no gray area here, Om’ga. Not allowed. No is no, always has been. Y’ did th’ right thing by fightin’ back.” Dean closed his eyes, tilting his head back to bump the cupboards. “I saw him fuckin’ pinnin’ you there an’…thought I was too late. Got so scared.” He confessed. “Needed you t’ leave. Wouldn’t hurt you, but…but I didn’t want y’ afraid of me if I fucked him up.”

“Is he at least fun to punch?” You asked dryly.

Dean’s drawn-out groan of a response sounded downright filthy. “So much fun.” He dragged a hand through his hair, finally seeming to notice the shopping bag you had brought in. “Whuss’at?”

“Dinner. I didn’t know how sick you were, so I um. I brought dinner.” You fought down the feelings of self-consciousness when Dean’s face became guarded. “It’s pretty basic stuff, but I know when I’m knee-deep in heat there’s nothing better than not having to make your own food.”

“Omega, m' okay. You don't need to--y'know.” Dean fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “I already tol' y' that I'm a big kid. Don't have to take care of me or say shit I wanna' hear. Which one of th' guys put y' up to this? Bet it was Rollins.”

“Nobody put me up to anything, why is that so hard to believe?” You asked, thoroughly irritated.

“It wouldn' be th' firs' time, is all. Don't mean t' be all weird abou'it.”

“I'm here because I was worried sick about you, and I wanted to know why you went after Lesnar so hard even after you got him to let me go.”

“Make sure he never did it again. He shouldn't have put his hands on you.” Ambrose snarled. “He talked so much shit when you weren't around, tryin'a rile me up n' get under m' skin. Fuckin' rattlin' on about how I mus' be fuckin' you, there's no other reason I'd take on the job 'cept to get first crack at an Omega, righ'?” He said bitterly. “It's Alphas like him that made me apply in the first place, an' look at me. Stooped to his fuckin' level th' firs' chance I could get away with it.”

“But you were on the opposite side of it!” You protested.

“It don't fuckin' matter. I went full rut-brain and hauled off on someone. Coulda' killed him.” Dean muttered grimly. “Been thinkin' about it this whole time. If Hunter hadn't gotten there when he did...Christ, was so fuckin' mad.” You wrapped your arms around him impulsively, hugging him tight. Dean actually moaned at the display of affection, his cheek dropping to rest on the top of your head. “Omega, y' can't...”

“I can.” You said softly.

“I won't prove him right, Omega.” Ambrose whispered, his hands trembling when he rested them on your hips. “I won't accept a reward for bein' someone like him, some domineerin' Alpha fuckstick.”

“I'm not a reward, I'm a human being. A lot of time and effort goes into me, Ambrose. I expect you to appreciate that.” You said huffily into his chest. “I'm hell on wheels during my heat if I'm not on suppressants and I don't fully understand how bad you get during your own spells, but I'm willing to try if you are.”

“Y' willin'?” Dean tipped your chin up, searching your eyes with his own. “Are y' serious?” You kissed him on the mouth instead of answering and he startled you with a gravelly whimper, his body going slack against yours while he cupped your face and kissed you back. “God, Omega, I've been goin' out of my mind, I wanted t' ask, wanted t' do it right.” He breathed. “I know I'm not much of an Alpha, m' skinny an' not nearly as dominant as I oughta' be, but...but God I want you. Wanted you t' want me, t’ take me as your mate.” He crooned helplessly in his throat. “Knew it from the first second I saw you, but you were so pretty. I don’t get pretty things.” He buried his face in your hair, rocking you back and forth. “I thought I fucked everythin' up when I went after Lesnar. Thought I scared you.”

“I was scared for you. I knew you weren't feeling well and I didn't want you to get hurt.” You assured him, boldly resting your hands on his hips.

Dean chuckled. “Ain't gotta' worry about me, Omega. Been in way worse shit than that.”

“Don't say that. I don't even want to think about you getting hurt.”

The Alpha groaned louder than you expected at your words. “I don't think anyone's ever not wanted me to get pummeled. You sure I ain't dreamin'?” You kissed him again, softer this time. “God, if I'm dreamin' don't wake me up.”

“Will you let me fix dinner?” You asked cautiously. “You can shower while I do that, might make you feel a little more human.”

Dean kissed your forehead, then teasingly rubbed his overgrown stubble across your cheek. “Not a fan of the mountain man look, Om’ga?”

“I didn’t say you had to shave!” You protested quickly, making him snort with laughter. “Just get washed up. Nothing better than a nice hot shower when you’re in heat, take my word for it. Yes, I know you’re not in heat, but I feel like a few of the rules are universal.” You ticked them off on your fingers as you spoke. “One, any food you don’t have to cook yourself is good food. Two, a hot bath is next to godliness. A hot shower will suffice, but it has to be hot. Three, if you need to cry because something hurts, that’s okay. And four, the most important one, be careful.”

“I ain’t gotten murdered in the shower yet, have I?” Dean looked troubled for a second. “Does…does it hurt when you have your heat? Where does it hurt? We learned that stomach soothe thing in our trainin’, but that can’t be all.”

“Ah, I personally get pains in the small of my back, my neck and shoulders. The stomach throbbing I think is universal, something to do with the reproductive areas going into overdrive with prep work.” You shrugged. “It’s so strange to me that there’s no concrete answer to essentially any Omega problem. It’s always a ‘possibility’ or some crap like that.”

“Tryin’ to keep you guys under everyone’s thumb.” Dean grunted, moving to scoop his blanket nest up out of the pantry. “More research means more informed folks like Doc Swagger, right? Can’t have that shit fixin’ their system.” He reasoned. His face reddened when he caught the incredulous look you were giving him. “My uh, my ma was an Omega.” He fumbled to explain, clinging tighter to the blankets as if they were a shield. “Never knew my dad.”

“Oh, so you’ve had a vested interest in that kind of thing.” You realized. Dean nodded wordlessly, ducking his face into the blankets. “Hey, don’t hide from me you goof, that’s a good thing.”

“Seth thinks it’s weird.” Dean muttered.

“Seth’s not an Omega, now is he? Of course he thinks it’s weird.” You chided. “I think it’s awesome that you pay attention to stuff like that.” You tugged the blankets down and kissed him again, smiling. “Now go get washed up.”

“God, just havin’ you around makes me feel more human.” He said dazedly. “Yeah, okay, shower. Goin’.”

You squealed quietly to yourself once you were sure he was in the shower, doing a giddy little shimmy before you started making dinner. He likes me! He’s liked me since the beginning! Your whole body still felt like it was buzzing happily from all the kisses and touches; you had never been touched tenderly by an Alpha before Dean. It had always been so clinical, as though being an Omega was contagious and no one else wanted to get infected.

Dean obviously didn’t give a damn, never shying away from the limited contact you had been bold enough to make. He seemed to welcome your hugs and kisses as well, so you made a mental note to do that as often as you thought you could get away with.

A still-stubbled chin rested on your shoulder and a set of strong arms wrapped around your midsection. “Miss me, Omega?” Dean asked, grunting when you wiggled back against him contentedly. “Think I’m about eighty-five percent human again. Makin’ mac n’ cheese?”

“Mm. Ultimate comfort food.” You nodded, continuing to stir the pasta. “Want to set your table, or should I?”

“I can manage it.” Dean pulled away, pecking the top of your head. “Thanks for takin’ care of me, Omega. Y’know you don’t have to, right?”

“I’m doing this because I want to, Alpha Ambrose.” You teased, making him rumble in his chest.

“Could get used to that.” He said finally, his tongue poking out from between his teeth when he smirked at you. The smirk vanished after you commented positively on his dimples, his face taking on a more bashful look while he set two bowls out on the counter. “Always thought they were out of place on the mug of a guy like me, y’know? Weird fuckin’ cherub smile.”

“You must have gotten away with so much when you were little.” You sighed. He grinned at you, silently indicating that he absolutely did. “Who am I kidding, you probably still raise hell.”

“Nah, Lesnar was my first fight in ages. There’s this thing called getting arrested, happened once or twice. Kinda’ not a fan of it so I’ve kept my nose clean.”

“Arrested? Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, it’s when ‘The Man’ decides he’s had enough of your semi-vigilante bullshit.” Dean snuck a taste of mac n' cheese out of the pot as you reached over to turn off the heat and he laughed when you swatted him on the shoulder. “Alright, alright, I'll be good! You gotta' hurry up though, m' starvin'.”

Dean, it turned out, didn't exactly have a kitchen table. His living room sort of...flowed into the kitchen and he apparently ate on his couch most of the time. He ended up hauling the worn coffee table in close enough to bump his knees when he sat down, then patted the space on the couch beside him.

“C'mere, Omega.” He urged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders when you obliged him. To your surprise, he scooped up a spoonful of cheesy pasta from his bowl and proceeded to feed it to you. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you chewed and swallowed, and Dean cocked his head to the side. “What is it?” He asked.

“You just said you were hungry.” You pointed out, tentatively accepting another mouthful of mac n' cheese.

“I am. But if you're my mate, if...if we're dating, you come first.” Dean said firmly. “So you eat, and then I'll eat.”

“How about we compromise?” You suggested, emptying your bowl out on top of his and then offering him a spoonful of your own pasta. “We'll eat from the same bowl. I'll feed you, and you can feed me.”

“Yeah?” Ambrose looked suspiciously misty-eyed for a second, before he cleared his throat and eagerly ate the comfort food. “M' old-fashioned, sorry.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “Never had anyone to share stuff with like this. I always thought I'd have t' bring a fresh-killed deer to someone's parents or somethin'. But I guess sittin' in my apartment eatin' cheesy mac ain't so bad.”

“Think you can live with the disappointment?” You grinned.

“Oh, I'll manage somehow.”

His quiet murmurs of contentment slowly turned into outright purring as the evening went on, and you found yourself petting his hair while the two of you watched television. “Hey, can you look at me for a second?” You requested softly, making Dean tilt his head up. “Hi.” You kissed him and he moaned into your mouth, seeming caught off-guard.

“Omega, fuck.” He breathed. “Hi. Huh.” He shuddered all over. “One more of those and I'll wreck my pants. Go easy on me.”

“Why? Do you get like it when I kiss you?” You asked, giggling when Dean nodded wildly. “What else could I possibly do to you, if that's all it takes?”

“Everything.” Dean growled, twining his fingers with your own. “Everything and anything is great. Kiss me, bite me.” He was all but begging, baring his neck and burying his face in your shoulder. “Bite me, bite me please.”

You blushed bright red, licking your lips at his invitation. “Are...Are you sure? What if I hurt you?”

“I dare you.” You mouthed over his neck and he sobbed out a breath against your shoulder, his body twitching. “God, please, please Omega, just-” Your teeth dug in, canines crushing down. Dean froze for a second, almost long enough for you to get worried. “Fuck.” He snarled, “Yeah, you're perfect.”

“More?” You asked, squeaking when he yanked his shirt off and pulled you into his lap. His eyes met your own and the two of you just stared at each other for a moment. “More.” You announced.

“You're my mate.” Dean replied, cradling the back of your neck when you nosed across his shoulder. “Whatever you want, just keep biting me.” You sank your teeth in harder this time, giving a growl of your own when Ambrose rolled his hips. Your skirt rode up on your thighs. “You want to go further, Omega? We can if you want to.”

“You say while I have a mouthful of your neck.”

“Hey, don't talk with your mouth full.” Dean scolded, carding his fingers through your hair. You giggled and he started laughing as well after a second, his smile warm when he looked down at you. “What do you want from me, Omega?”

“A lot of things.” You answered truthfully, pulling your skirt up out of the way. Dean's eyes widened gratifyingly when you ground yourself against the swell of his cock in his jeans. “A specific thing right now, if you're interested.”

“Jesus Christ, if.” Dean unbuttoned his jeans, biting his lip when you pushed his hand away and unzipped his zipper. “You're dangerous, know that?” He rasped. “Checkin' up on me, feedin' me.”

“I have to take care of my Alpha.” You said simply.

“Yours, Omega. All yours. As long as you'll have me.” Dean spoke just as plainly as you, cupping your cheek. “Until you leave.”

“I'm not going to.”

“I sure as hell hope not.” He watched hungrily while you shed your panties, rumbling when he saw the slick that shone in the dim light. “Fuck, you can't still be...”

“No, m' just wet.” You rose up onto your knees and Dean shivered in anticipation, his thighs tight beneath you. “It's much worse when I'm in heat, trust me. Half the time I don't even bother with underwear.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” He sighed, gripping the base of his cock and giving himself a lazy stroke. “If that ain't a turn-on, I dunno' what is.”

“Good to know.” Dean's knuckles brushed the soft skin on your thigh and then he pulled away, letting you slowly lower yourself onto his cock. You weren't able to hold back a moan and he echoed your noise, sounding desperate. His fingers dug into the couch on either side of his body when you were fully seated, and you panted out a few shallow breaths as you tried to get used to the size of him. “God, Dean.” You gasped.

“Oh Jesus, fuck.” Dean grunted, whimpering when you snapped your teeth back down into his neck. “Yes, good Omega, good Omega, bite me, mark me.” He urged, his eyes rolling back in his skull as you tugged at his hair and began riding him. “Best Omega, don't be shy little Omega, fuck me, fuck me-”

You leaned back, using your hold on his hair to make him watch his dick slide in and out of you. “You like it? You like the way I take your Alpha cock?” You crooned, his passive behavior driving you to quicken your pace. He still had his hands clenched into fists on the cushions, like he was afraid to touch you. “Fuck up into me like you mean it, Alpha. Claim me.” You demanded. His hips bucked once, shallowly, and you ground down onto him.

“Don't want to hurt you.” He groaned, his hands seeming to move of their own accord despite his words. Dean palmed your thighs, only tightening his grip after you nodded encouragingly. “Won't hurt you. Your Alpha's gonna' make you come.”

“Yes please!” You begged, leaning into his touch.

“Look at you, taking every inch of me. What a good Omega you are.” Dean praised, “You needed this, didn't you? Needed your Alpha inside you to fill you up. Alpha's here.” He thrust his cock up, snarling, “Alpha's right here to give you what you need, tell him what you need. You need it harder? You need it faster?” You could have cried with relief when he crushed you down to sit in his lap again, his dominant tendencies shining through. “Grind on your Alpha's cock.” He ordered and you obeyed, making him grit out a swear. “Hah, fuck, Omega, you're so tight around me, fuck--”

“I'm a good Omega, right?” You panted, and Dean pressed his forehead to yours. “M' a good Omega, make you feel good?”

“God fucking dammit Omega, this is the fucking best I've ever felt in my life.” He growled, “Come for me, c'mon, get my knot fuckin' slick for you, do it, do it-” The bulge at the base of his cock throbbed against you, prodding thickly at your pussy with delicious intent. Just the thought that something so big would be inside you in a matter of moments was enough to make you arch your back and grind down even faster, your pubic mound bucking against his stomach in a frantic bid for completion.

Your orgasm surged through you, sending jolts up and down your spine where Dean gripped you fiercely. In the midst of it all, his knot slipped into you and you buried your face in his shoulder, crying out loudly and circling your hips. “Oh sweetheart, oh God, God are you alright? Are you alright?” Dean gasped, trembling fingers combing through your hair soothingly. “Jesus, I'll stop if you're not alright Omega, need to tell me y' okay.”

You managed to give him a thumbs up, making him moan in what seemed to be relief. His knot throbbed inside of you and then he grunted, coming hard. You sucked in a breath at the sensation of being mated, claimed and proven worthy by your Alpha's knot like you were an Omega out of the history books.

“Fuck.” Dean breathed. “Fuck. I've never knotted anyone before.” He mumbled finally. “Never had it engage. Holy fuck, you're my mate.”

“I'm your mate?” You echoed, unable to hide your smile.

Dean appeared to be in the same boat, his eyes going wide with the realization. “I'm your mate.”

“You're my mate.” You kissed his forehead. “My Alpha.”

“My Omega. I...God, wow. That sounds...that sounds really great.” He smiled up at you, his curls a frazzled mess and blue eyes bright with affection. “My Omega-mate.” You relaxed into Dean's arms and he began humming softly, continuing to stroke your hair and plant the occasional kiss on the top of your head. “Take a breather, Omega. We've got time.” He murmured. “Sleep good.”

Sleep good.

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journeyofahazelnut · 7 years

Text

Amnesia

One-shot

Fandom: Voltron

Word Count: 1520

Trigger warnings: car crash (briefly mentioned)

A/N- This is a little Klance one-shot I whipped together and it’s my first real contribution to this fandom (yay, participation!). That being said, it probably needs some editing so please feel free to leave some constructive criticism. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keith still remembers the day they met.

He could go on forever about his unrestrained, bold laughter and that blinding smile that left you no choice but to crack one of your own. He could write a novel about the color of his eyes, and the mischievous glint they held; the one Keith knew would be the death of him. He could ramble endlessly about the sweet sound of his voice and how it echoed across the room, demanding to be heard. He could tell you in overwhelming detail about the way his body moved, graceful and carefree, and the way his hair fell back into place every time he ran his fingers through it. He could compose a symphony about the way he carried himself with that relaxed confidence belonging solely to him.

He could tell you about how his own heart started to pound in his chest every time he saw him from that day forward.

Keith could tell you everything and anything about the day he met Lance McLain, and by the time he was done his eyes would be somewhere far away and his lips would be permanently set in a soft smile. He would have long forgotten someone else was there, lost in one of the happiest days of his life.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” the pastor says.

No one stands.

Keith still remembers the day he realized he was in love.

It had hit him hard and fast and out of nowhere, leaving him breathless and unable to think. He and Lance had been out on a walk late in the afternoon at their favorite park, a weekly tradition of theirs developed after years of friendship. Lance had put both his hands on Keith’s shoulders, asking him if he was okay. Concern laced his blue eyes- those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes- and Keith swore they bore a hole straight through him. He was not okay, and suddenly the walls he had built up to repress his emotions shattered into nothing. He was flooded with everything he had told himself he didn’t feel and he knew he would drown if he tried to bare it alone any longer.

The words had come tumbling out of his mouth and crashing into Lance like a tidal wave. For a moment time stood still. Blue eyes locked with violet as neither of them dared breathe, let alone tear their gaze away from the other.

Ever so slowly, Lance began to smile- an image now eternally burned in Keith’s memory. It was brilliant and beautiful, something so full of relief and fierce joy. Like a man who had just been told he was being given the world. Like a man who was completely, undeniably, and helplessly in love.

“I do”

Lance smiled as Keith gazed at him, tears threatening to spill from both of their eyes.

Keith still remembers the accident.

A jolt a panic had interrupted his sleep, immediately followed by the painfully loud sound of his ringtone. The bed was cold. Lance still wasn’t home. The clock read 3am as Keith scrambled to answer the call.

The hospital.

Lance.

The ride there exists only as a blur in Keith’s memory. More clear, but still somewhat hazy, was the wait. The rest of their friends and family arriving. The news that Lance was in a car accident; a drunk driver. The emergency surgery that lasted too long. The fear, the uncontrollable sobbing, the begging for the doctor to just let him see Lance, to see the one person that meant more to him than life itself. The desperate wishes for them trade places. The vain hope that it was just a dream. Just a cruel, unrelenting nightmare.

Keith vaguely recalls falling asleep, exhausted and puffy eyed. His slumber was restless, plagued by blood-stained leather seats and bitter blue eyes. A gentle shake to the shoulder woke him sometime around noon. It was all too easy for him to ignore the horrible stiffness in his spine as blinked away the fatigue and asked about Lance. For a terrifying moment, Keith had held his breath.

Alive. Bruised and broken, but alive. Lance was going to make it. He could breathe once again.

“... to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The words were on the tip of Lance’s tongue as his smile broadened, once again blowing Keith away with its stunning vibrancy.

Keith still remembers when Lance finally woke up.

Weeks had passed. Lance’s condition had improved little by little each day and the doctors were optimistic that he would make a full recovery. Despite this, Keith was a nervous wreck during that time. Every spare minute was spent by Lance’s bedside, sometimes talking to him aimlessly- as if he could hear. Other times he simply stared at Lance. Laying in that bed he looked so frail, and yet Keith couldn’t find it in himself to look away.

Outside of the hospital he hovered over his phone and pounced on it every time it rang, praying it would be someone to tell him Lance was awake. That he wouldn’t have to sleep alone anymore. That everything really was going to be okay.

When that call finally came, Keith’s knees gave out from under him and relief flowed through him as if it was his very life force. Lance was awake and he was alive. He was going to make it. Everything was going to be okay.

Keith was one of the last people to arrive. Anticipation and excitement coursed through his veins and he couldn’t seem to stand still. He shifted from one foot to the other and back again where the doctor had stopped him right outside of Lance’s door. He tried to warn Keith of head trauma, that Lance might have a hard time remembering things.

Keith didn’t listen.

He burst through the door and hurried to Lance’s side, his name rolling off Keith’s lips with practiced ease. Keith didn’t bother to fight the grin overtaking his features as he took Lance’s hand with one of his own, the other reaching out to gently cup his cheek. The few others in the room attempted to stop Keith, telling him that perhaps it was best to give Lance a little space. He didn’t hear them. He was too busy asking Lance how he was feeling.

Hesitation.

The blank stare.

The nervous chuckle.

The ‘I’m sorry’.

The cold, hard realization slowly pulling away Keith’s smile. He rose from his position beside the bed and took a few steps back. The thick tension in the air began to choke him. How he had failed to notice it before was a mystery. Violet eyes searched blue as Keith looked for anything- anything.

He found nothing.

Keith faintly recalled what the doctor had said to him about potential memory loss. Lance needed to remember on his own. Trying to force it could overwhelm him and send him into a panic attack. Keith forced a smile. He just had to be patient. After all, he was doing it for Lance. So to him, it was worth it.

Keith could see that familiar twinkle in his eyes as Lance took a deep breath, ready to deliver those two little words to seal their fates forever.

Years passed.

Lance’s progress was slow, almost painfully so, but Keith learned to love the excited look that would adorn Lance’s face when he was able to recall a memory he thought he had lost. They mostly came from his teenage years, which was fortunate for Lance since memories made from about 15 years old and up were the hardest to remember. Lance was 22 at the time of the accident. However, the two years leading up to the accident was a black hole in Lance’s mind. Gone. The doctors told him that those memories would probably never come back.

They were 20 when they met.

Keith was determined nonetheless. They fell in love once and they could do it again. He told himself it was only a matter of time and soon Lance would be back in his arms. Everything would be okay.

As time went by, Keith never failed to do everything in his power to win back Lance. He rebuilt their friendship. He was there for Lance, rain or shine, ready to run to his side at the drop of a dime. All the while he kept their previous relationship a secret. Keith knew it was for the best, no matter how much it hurt. Finally, Keith heard those three little words he’d been craving since he got that heart-stopping call early in the morning.

I love you.

Except they weren’t for him.

Keith still remembers the tear-soaked screams echoing through his empty apartment when he realized all his efforts were in vain. When he finally gave up on Lance.

Everything was not okay.

A few stray tears fell from them both. Lance, for the joy of his new marriage, and Keith, for the love he lost.

“I do”

Keith still remembers Lance, but Lance will never remember Keith.

He doesn’t want to.

#naturally they first thing i do is write some klangst lmao whatssup yall #voltron #vld #keith kogane #lance mclain #klangst #journeywrites #fic: amnesia #klance #voltron fic

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anamelesstraveler · 7 years

Text

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Hearts in atrophy.

A SniperPilot fanfic. Rated M.

Chapter 1/? | 3,824 words

After his torture at the hands of Saw Gerrera and Bor Gullet, Bodhi finds remembering difficult. Memories are like the Jedhan sands through his fingers. He forgets places he'd been, people he'd loved, things that he enjoyed before his defection.

He forgets Joreth Sward.

This story includes

memory loss, Bodhi dealing with the aftermath his torture, Cassian making poor choices and being self-sabotaging, everybody lives/nobody dies AU, different first meeting AU, undercover meeting AU, background Chirrut/Baze, and team as family.

ALRIGHT here we go. My contribution to the wonderful SniperPilot fandom. Y’all are so wonderful!

Chapter 1

Something isn't right, babe I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin I'm somewhere outside my life, babe I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in

--------------------1---------------------

Being tossed into a Partisan cell had not been part of the plan, but Cassian can work with that. Jyn is missing - either talking to Saw Gerrera or being tortured by his soldiers. Kay’s failed to check in with him upon returning to the ship. And Cassian is locked in a cell with two bickering Jedi era castoffs--

But he can work with that.

The Partisans are immersed in their game across the room, or spread out watching the holovids, giving Cassian more than a few minutes to feel around the door panel, stealthily loosening the seams and mentally mapping out the internal mechanics. Cassian can have the door open in no more than a few well placed pulls, with the proper diversion. He has at least four ideas for that already; two of which include the charges hidden along his belt and in the seams of his coat.

“Who’s the one in the next cell?” Chirrut’s voice shatters his focus for the third time since they’d been thrown this cell. Cassian barely spares him a glance and tunes out Baze’s responding question. This, at least, is better than the bickering. (The bickering had lasted for most of the first hour, and by the end of it Cassian had been sure it was more for entertainment than an actual argument.)

But Cassian can’t ignore Baze’s snarl of, “An Imperial pilot!”

His head whips up, all semblance of stealth forgotten at the menace in the older man’s voice. “What?”

Baze is already lunging towards the bars. “I’ll kill him.”

Cassian is on his feet before his mind finishes processing the situation. “Stop!” he orders. He follows Baze across their cell, is able to grasp his arm before he can reach through and throttle the figure slumped against the bars on the other side. Cassian doesn’t hear his own words, fast and hissed under his breath. His carefully laid plans have been thrown into chaos in only a few short seconds. The pilot is still here. If they can extract the pilot, they may not need Saw Gerrera at all. “We need him!” Cassian growls, shoving insistently at Baze until he can insinuate himself between the larger man and the bars. “We came for him. We need him.”

The rage still sparks in his dark eyes, but Baze relents. He casts one last murderous glare at the shape on in the other cell before stomping back to Chirrut’s side. Cassian understands the bitter hatred towards the Imperials - the righteous fury of the occupied. He understands the itch against the trigger whenever one is in sight. Cassian understands better than he likes to consider. But if this is the defector, then they need him.

The Rebellion had never even hoped that the pilot would still be alive after being in Saw’s hands for any length of time. Saw Gerrera isn’t and has never been the type to take prisoners if he can help it. Cassian peers down at the heap. “Hey,” he calls. “Are you the pilot?”

The figure doesn’t move.

Cassian swallows back a curse, and kneels down closer. The pilot sits in the shadows of the next cell, unmoving but for the tiniest twitch of his chest. Silent but for the slightest rasp of breath. With each passing second, the dread only grows worse.

The pilot is broken. Death might have been preferable to whatever Saw put the man through.

Cassian calls to the other prisoner again. This time the man stirs, his entire body trembles and he twitches a little further out of the shadows. Cassian can better make out the shape of shoulders and jawline. The hint of a profile - of dark hair matted with dirt and sweat, the gentle curve of his nose.

And Cassian’s heart drops into his feet. The face on the other side of the bars is one he’s forced himself not to think about - one of too many. But this one, this one is different. More.

‘It wasn’t supposed to be you.’

But aloud he says: “Bodhi?”

--------------------2---------------------

Nothing and everything exist all at once. Bodhi has existed in nothing and everything for… how long? Time meant nothing to him. Shreds of memories swirl by him, flicking flames - one moment there and gone the next. They are splinters of glass that sting and crumble into cutting slivers if he reaches for them; if he tries to hold them immobile for too long.

But still Bodhi tries. He holds them so carefully in his mind, even though the pain makes spots dance before his eyes, even though it makes the floating, cast adrift feeling worse. He tries to put the memories back together. In some kind of order or function. But all Bodhi can think is that he’s going to come out wrong if he doesn’t put the memories back together right. That everything that makes him is going to come out jagged and distorted.

“Bodhi?”

Yes, that’s his name. Bodhi. There’s a Bodhi here, holding his mother’s hand as they walk through crowded streets. The tide rushes by, people moving faster, pushing. This way and that. Running from something - or to it? This Bodhi is small and can’t see past the sea of bodies. All he can do is curl into his mother’s side and hold on.

“Bodhi, can you look at me?”

A fragment of another Bodhi sitting around a table with other recruits in their Imperial white-and-grays. They laugh and joke and uncoil from the gruelling day of classes and simulations and drills. He smiles, and doesn’t think about how they will all become the same people that invaded his home. He can’t think about that. Because without friends Bodhi will not survive this and the Empire knows it.

Are they the same Bodhi? He can’t tell anymore. He can’t see where the child becomes the Imperial. They are two different lifetimes inhabiting one person.

“Ensign Rook. Are you the pilot?”

“I’m… I’m the pilot.”

“Yes. Yes, good, good. Bodhi, do you have the message?”

“The…” This is important to him. Bodhi knows, oh, he knows that, but his mind can’t draw the memory up. He sifts through the shards, the broken memories stabbing like a thousand knives. The message.

The message! Galen’s message. Galen who had looked at him with hope and despair and said, “You can do this. You’re so much braver than I ever was, Bodhi. I would trust no one else.”

Had Galen known? Had Galen known what Saw Gerrera would do to him - had he lied and sent Bodhi into the monster’s den?

“I brought the message from Galen. From Eadu.” The world comes back to him in increments. The pain becomes sharper. Not just in his head. Throat parched and chest sore (from what - from screaming for help? For someone to listen?) Limbs stiff and bruised from being dragged by his captors. From the manhandling and from sitting motionless in the dirt. Bodhi turns suddenly, his limbs disjointed - a battered marionette flashes before his mind, from one of the festival shows, tumbling into a heap as the wires are go slack. He grasps the metal bars with all the strength he has left; stares into the dark eyes on the other side. “I brought it. The message. I defected-- you have to. You have to get the message. For Jyn.”

“Jyn?” The eyes are attached to a thin, sculpted face. Sharp cheekbones. A slightly crooked, bold nose. A mouth that curls around the name.

“Yes. Jyn. Need to… it’s for her.”

“For Jyn. Not for Saw Gerrera?”

“For the Rebellion. For Jyn.” Bodhi isn’t sure if it’s just him or the world around him that trembles with the his words. “You have to tell them!” His voice cracks dangerously. He breathes in dust that makes his aching lungs spasm and his world sways. The whole room sways - definitely shaking, not just in his head.

“Yes, I’ve got it,” the man on the other side says, hurried but gentle. “Stay there. We’re getting out.”

Bodhi slumps against the bars, the strength seeping out of him. He’s done it. He’s delivered the message. Galen’s message. He’d braved defection and extremist guerrilla fighters and that thing. He can… he can rest, now, right?

There’s a commotion outside his cell, a low, slowly growing rumble and the sound of people running. Bodhi can hear things skittering off of tables and out of their precious nooks, shattering on the floor. Chaos. Can’t he just rest - for even a moment?

“Ha, yes. Yes! You see, the door!” a laughing voice rises above the din. “You just have to to have faith--”

“Just go!” says another in a rough snarl. It’s the second voice that jars Bodhi out of his daze once more. Because after what only seems like a moment later, he hears it again. Closer. “Pilot.” Bodhi lifts his heavy, aching head.

Not to see a person, but the barrel of a repeater cannon.

“No, no please--” He’s too tired to scramble to safety. The bolt nearly deafens him. But the pain doesn’t come.

Instead the door sparks and slides open. The towering form on the other side reaches down and grabs Bodhi by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Pain flares up his shoulder, a sound like a wounded animal wrenching past his lips. The grip on his arm, the looming man with wild hair and a harsh face, eases for only a moment. “Go,” the man commands. “Before I reconsider just shooting you, Imperial.”

Bodhi is shoved forward, though with less force than when he’d been pulled from the dirt. The other man - Bodhi’s height, slimmer than his partner, neat, short hair, too pale eyes - steadies him with a hand at his elbow. Bodhi knows he’s led through crowded tunnels that quake around them, crumbling as they pass by open corridors, but the journey is a blur. He stumbles after his rescuers, listening to the chaos around them and the almost gentle buzzing of the device hooked to the blind man’s sash as they pick their way through the tunnels. Bodhi is bumped and jostled as people run past, and finds himself not in a collapsing catacomb--

--but in the streets of Jedha once more. It is not the blind man tapping at the path in front of him holding his arm, but his mother. And Bodhi is small again; clutching her hand even though her grip hurts. It hurts, but the thought of being lost in the crowd is more terrifying than the pain, so Bodhi huddles close. It’s festival time in NiJedha, and the grand thoroughfares are packed with locals and pilgrims alike. The city’s Holy Quarter will be lit up like a city of a thousand stars in the night. Bodhi is only six, but he’s already been instilled with a sense of pride in his city. There is nowhere in the galaxy more beautiful than NiJedha during festival time--

The memories flickers back out of existence. Bodhi’s standing with the cold Jedhan sun on his skin, but it’s being rapidly eclipsed by a torrent of rock and ash that was once the only bright spot of Bodhi’s life.

NiJedha is gone.

Bodhi’s delivered his message. Too little, too late.

--------------------3---------------------

“He looks different.”

Cassian snaps out of his daze, turning away from the communications array with a sharp: “Don’t.” He casts a hasty glance into the cabin, fearing someone heard them. The area beyond the cockpit is silent, however. Silent and still, despite the four downtrodden occupants. The rush of hyperspace and everyone’s own thoughts seem to cover Kaytoo’s words well enough.

From the pilot’s seat, Kay continues, unrepentant. “It has been a few years. Perhaps his hair is longer. Or perhaps it’s the torture.”

“Kay!” Cassian hisses.

“What?” Kaytoo swivels his head around. Cassian knows better than to think he’s taking his attention away from the controls. What looks like a narrowing of the droid’s eyes to an organic is actually Kay focusing his scanners. “You are distressed.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches, a barely aborted grimace. There are too many answers to that. “I’m fine, Kay.”

“Given previous data, there’s a 83.9% probability that you are lying.”

‘Only 83.9%?’ he thinks, but refrains from saying.

“Is he angry with us? Is that why you are distressed?” Kaytoo asks. His eyes don’t stray from Cassian as he speaks, he doesn’t glance into the cabin or otherwise gesture to indicate to man in question-- the defector-- Bodhi. The defector is Bodhi.

Cassian thinks again of the pilot’s frantic expression back in that cell; the glittering, feverish eyes. The complete lack of any recognition whatsoever. A chill runs down his spine all over again. “He… didn’t recognize me,” he admits at length.

The droid has no eyebrows to raise, but by the uptick in his vocabulator, they would be if Kay had any. “He didn’t? That is improbable, given--”

“Kay…”

“The amount of copulation--”

Cassian resists throwing the nearest available object at his partner. But only barely. “Quiet, Kay.”

“Would you rather I call it filthy organic relations, then? Or fucking? I believe that’s the colloquialism in Basic, isn’t it?”

He glares, rather than answer. Not that it intimidates Kay any. He pulls himself from his seat. “Just… listen for an answer from the general.”

“Of course.”

The cabin is oppressively silent as he enters. No one looks up, though Cassian doesn’t expect them to. Jyn remains crumpled in the chair at the center of the cabin, seemingly unmoved since Cassian had shoved her into it on Jedha. She stares resolutely at the hands dangling between her knees. What her thoughts are, he can’t even begin or want to guess. (It’s trouble either way. She’s going to be trouble whatever her thoughts. She’s likely going to be his death soon enough. Cassian knows this, and yet the notion of leaving her behind on Jedha had been so repulsive that in that moment it had been unthinkable.)

The Guardians are easier to read. While their faces are impassive, Baze gazing at the bulkhead across the shuttle and Chirrut with his eyes closed in silent focus, the air of grief that hangs around them is impossible to miss. It’s something so profound that it needs no words.

Jedha is gone. A whole city obliterated in a flash of light and fire. Possibly the entire moon itself. Cassian had been too consumed with getting them out alive to stop to wonder. Had the entire moon broken apart in the wake of the Death Star’s attack? Or had they left behind the smoking wound that would eventually turn the moon rotten, devoid of life? Either answer is… horrifying.

There’s a tiny, treacherous thought at the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering in insidious whispers if they’re to blame for the attack. If they had been smarter, had stayed out of line of fire, if they could have avoided the Empire’s heavy handed response.

He’s not sure if that thought is more or less painful than looking at Bodhi right now. The pilot, like the rest of them, hasn’t moved since sinking into a seat near the wall. But he’s far from motionless. He sits staring at his restless fidgeting hands, lips moving around words that Cassian can’t hear. His expression is twisted in such guilt and pain and loss, incapable of hiding anything. Not for the first time, Cassian questions how such a man could survive under the Empire.

But that’s the answer, then: he can’t.

“I defected!” Bodhi had cried desperately from behind the unforgiving metal bars.

“I hate them.” A fervent confession in the dark. Bodhi tenses the moment the words leave his mouth. Even as close as they are, curled together in the too-small bunk of Bodhi’s shuttle, it’s too dark to see more than the flash of fear that goes through his eyes. The barest hint of a grimace around his mouth.

Cassian Andor, Intelligence Operative of the Rebel Alliance - Cassian Jeron Andor, formerly of Fest - would have seized upon those words. His heart would leap. He would have to swallow back the hope, the truly worrying rush of affection, and the desire to convince Ensign Bodhi Rook, Imperial Cargo Pilot, formerly of Jedha, to take that final leap and follow him away from this hell.

But he has not been Cassian Andor for several months.

Joreth Sward, Imperial Officer and assistant to Admiral Grendeef, only gestures at their naked, entwined forms. “No uniforms,” he reminds the pilot gently. And even Joreth Sward has to smother the twinge of guilt as Bodhi’s shoulders slump in relief. Because here Bodhi thinks they are just Bodhi Rook and Joreth Sward. That’s the agreement between them: when the uniforms come off, the Empire gets left at the door.

“I hate them,” Bodhi repeats.

But even this promise is a lie--

Cassian shakes himself from the memory, ignoring the sick turning of his stomach. In the few moments the memory has stolen his focus, Chirrut has risen to his feet. His staff taps quietly against the seats as he moves across the cabin and sinks into the one across from Bodhi. The pilot doesn’t appear to notice.

“Are you with us, my young friend?” Chirrut speaks softly. “You seem far away.”

Bodhi twitches, his eyes locked on his hands. He’s trembling, now that Cassian looks closer. Something in his chest squeezes painfully, and he ruthlessly shoves it back into the farthest corner of his memory - where it should have stayed forever.

Chirrut frowns, and leans closer on his staff. “Can you tell me your name?”

“B-Bodhi…” Bodhi’s throat works. “Bodhi Rook.”

“Alright. Bodhi. You are on a shuttle. We are in hyperspace, by the sound of it.” Chirrut’s voice is even and soothing. “It is 35:1:24 by the standard calendar. It is… the third day of the Month of Red Skies on Jedha.” The calm mask cracks for only an instant, an expression of such sorrow passing over the Guardian’s face. But he does not correct his slip. “You are safe, Bodhi Rook. You are here.”

“I’m… I’m here.” The dark-haired pilot takes a shaking breath. “I’m here.”

“Yes. You are here.” He cocks his head, seeming to listen to the other man breathe for a moment. What he’s actually sensing, Cassian doesn’t know. Especially when his smile turns solemn. “You’re from Jedha?”

“Yes,” Bodhi answers mournfully.

“Would you like to recite the Chant with me?”

Bodhi’s expression wilts even further, if such a thing were possible. “I-I don’t…” His hands begin to fidget again, with a distinctly distressed tremble.

Cassian edges closer, feeling even more like an intruder with ever half-step. “Bodhi,” he interrupts, keeping his voice low and neutral. Bodhi startles, his head whipping up and his gaze darting before focusing on Cassian. The flash of fear is enough to make Cassian regret it. Again there is not a trace of recognition there. Cassian may as well be a stranger to him - a stranger that Bodhi isn’t sure won’t hurt him. That is… no. Cassian cannot let himself think about that past observation. If he does, he’s likely to go insane with guilt and grief. “We may be heading to Eadu next,” he explains. “Are you well enough to help us get there? To Galen’s lab?”

‘How can you not know that it’s me?’ He curses himself even as the thought plays over and over again in his head. There are more important things at stake.

“I… I think I can.” The pilot clears this throat and lowers his eyes shamefully. “Not everything is… it’s… fuzzy right now. A lot of things are.” He lifts a hand, motioning at his temple. “I-It’s hard to remember. But I’ll try.” He draws himself up, a burst of determination smoothing out his nervous expression. “Yeah. I’m sure I can.”

“Of… of course,” Cassian manages to agree. His mind is preoccupied, playing Bodhi’s words over and over again. “I’ll let you know when we’re coming up on Eadu.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Cassian,” he supplies, feeling horribly off balance like he hasn’t felt in years. “Cassian Andor.”

‘He doesn’t remember.’

“Cassian,” Bodhi repeats. “Thank you. For um, for getting me out of there.” And damnit, it should not feel like something sharp is being stabbed between his ribs at only a word.

It’s the first time Bodhi has ever said his name. His name. A few years ago, that was a wild, unattainable dream.

Now it’s a nightmare.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he mutters, before taking his leave.

As he heads back into the cockpit, Cassian hears Bodhi take a steadying breath and turn to Chirrut with renewed strength. “Can you help me with the Chant? I might remember it if I go through it with you.”

Kaytoo watches him slide into the pilot’s seat, his silence expectant. Cassian knows better than to wonder if the droid had been listening. “Any response from headquarters?”

“Yes. We are to continue with the mission as ordered.”

“Understood,” Cassian grunts, feeling like the ice of Fest’s coldest winters has slid into his belly. It’s not the cold focus or even the anxiety that he usually experiences at the crest of a mission. No, this is dread. It’s the same icy knowing as when he found himself staring down at Tivik as the man gasped out his last breath.

It’s the knowledge that this mission is going to change him forever. Damn him forever.

“You didn’t tell him,” Kaytoo says, pitching his vocabulator low.

“We’re not going to tell him, Kay.”

“We’re not?” Kaytoo glances out the viewport and back, a gesture that is all personality and little function. “And what if he asks? You want me to lie to him?”

Cassian winces. The memory of the droid (poorly, horrendously) attempting to lie his way past the stormtroopers is still fresh in his mind. As is the bruise blooming on his cheek. “You’re an awful spy. How did that happen? I programmed you to be a spy.”

“You programmed me to be your intimidation, Captain. To be your muscle and statistical support. I am not meant for intricate subterfuge. That is your expertise. Why are we not telling him?”

“It’s not important now, Kay.”

“I’d expect it would be very important to him, actually.”

What would it matter? In a few hours they will either all be dead or Jyn will kill Cassian when he completes his mission. There will be no time to tell Bodhi anything, much less the time he will need to explain what happened… in a way that Bodhi will not hate him.

Kaytoo seems to read his silence well enough. “This is an inadvisable course of action. A stupid plan.”

“Noted.”

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END CHAPTER 1.

#SniperPilot #Bassian #CassianBodhi #Star Wars #Rogue One #fanfic #fic: Hearts in atrophy #Let me weave you a Dream

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