Chapter Text
Chapter One: August 1976
Move in day at the dorms was an obscene affair of cars, people, suit cases, milk crates and more stereo speakers then could be conceived by mortal man being crammed into spaces where you had to step out into the hallway just to change your mind. I 'd dropped my duffel bags on the floor and as I was there first, picked the left hand side of the room. Carefully setting my portable typewriter up on the desk, the little Smith Corona was my life line to resumes, term papers and letters to my sister Anna. She preferred them typewritten as opposed to handwritten maintaining that she wanted to read not decipher.
Id gotten my stuff mostly unpacked when beta roomie Chuck Shurley of Pittsfield, MA arrived with all the grace of a hurricane and the inconspecusness of a Bavarian Fasching parade. His parents and three sibs brought arm load after arm load of stuff into the tiny room, filling both sides and overflowing into the hallway. I said hello, shook hands all around, then got the hell out before being buried under debris and goodbyes. We were on the top floor of the six story omega/beta Kate Gleason Hall, this was mixed floor, both men and women -omegas and betas, the administration figuring betas could handle themselves around omegas without going all rapey at the first whiff of slick.
RIT had the well deserved nick name of 'Brick City', as all the buildings were a uniform red brick . Dorms and the Grace Watson Dining Hall were on one side of campus and across the Quarter mile-a strip of black asphalt leading to the Schools of Engineering, Art and Photography, Computer Sciences and General Sciences. The other buildings included the student center which housed the bookstore, Ritscheller, theater and olympic sized swimming pool. There was also a hocky rink with an indoor running track surrounding the ice and bleachers.
I'd walked into the bright afternoon sun and humidity of a late Rochester summers day. Was trying to walk off the effects of the four hour drive from Schenectady in my 1965 VW Beetle. Think of scrunching yourself into a beachball attached to a lawnmower engine cruising down the road at 70 miles a hour. Okay, I'm five foot 10, but with only one gas/piss break along the NYS Thruway, this was still a killer on my back and legs. But considering the alternatives, even in this day and age an omega traveling alone was just asking for trouble if they weren't careful. Mom had given me her favorite 38 police special and a three month supply of suppressants. “Never can be too careful,” she always advised. “Shoot first and carry the name of a good attorney and an even better abortionist..” Naomi Westmoreland Novac as a generals' daughter had been well traveled and well armed having been given weapons training starting at the ripe old age of five. Mom had a coldly weird logic to go with said training..
Anywho, I took off across campus to recce around before dinner at Grace Watson dining hall, didn't want to look too lost lamb tomarrow. Chuck was going out to supper, one last good meal with the fam before being subjected to the horrors of cafeteria food for the rest of the quarter. I'd stopped at the indoor track surrounding the hockey rink to cool off as I was sweating my balls off with just a quick jog across the Quarter mile. Finding a discreet corner, I'd slumped on the concrete floor, with my back against the wall letting the coolness of it leach through my jeans and t shirt into my skin. Mmmmm, now that was heavenly.
There was a lone runner circling the track, his foot falls echoing through the empty building. My nose twitched as I took in a breath, scenting the air. Fight or flight? Safe or run for the hills bitches? Alpha, tasting the air further, with an interesting bouquet of lake water, and water lily....interesting for this manly man type to have such a delicate fragrance. He was tall, blonde, hair cut in a military fashion and holy bouncing booby lady he had one perky little ass encased in pair of running shorts (oh thank the G-d that looks after wayward omegas like me, those little shorts were so damn short) and a set of long bow legs to go with it. Sliding over a bit, I causally positioned myself to catch glimpse of his face as he made the next circuit and......OH GOODIE GOODIE YUM YUM! He was easy on the eyes. A recruiting poster come to life. Full lips, great cheek bones, a hint of five o’clock shadow, it was as if Bucky Dent stepped off the back page of Solders Magazine.
He noticed me noticing and gave a smile and wink.
Oh, I am in lust. To be clear, still have the V card. Gave up first and second base, had the boys juggled and joined the mutual masturbation society but because of the suppressants, I hadn't had a heat in 10 years and really didn't want one. Like my mind right where it was thank you, not bouncing around the Sea of Horn-quility with Neil and Buzz. No, the V card stayed in the deck until such time as I found the right Alpha or Hell froze over. My money was on the second happening before the first.
I sent the smile right back and then tried to get to my feet only to have a leg cramp come ripping through, sending me to my knees with a gasp. “Hey man,” I hear through the grainy black and flashing white spots. “You okay?”
“Just need a minute,” I croak pulling myself together just as fast as I can. Not good, not good. Need to get my dance step together quick, can't be weak in front of this alpha, no matter how good looking, he could be just another knot head looking for a good time at my expense. Can feel strong hands on my shoulders pulling me to my feet. The curtain of black falls away, leaving me studied by eyes green as the jungles of Panama. “Uh, thanks.” Pulling my protesting spine to attention, I put on my best intimation alpha face and growl, “Castiel Novac,” and give him the bone crushing handshake the Col had drummed into me.
>
Big Blondie crooked a grin, “Dean Winchester.”
“Hello Dean.” Testing my leg and finding it only digging needles and not daggers, I step off and walked purposely toward the door. (“Always walk with purpose”, the Col insisted. “Even if it's just to the head, never walk like some omega pussy.”) “Thanks for the assist, but I'm fine. Just fine.”
He takes a step forward, “you sure?”
“Positive, just gotta motor-vate on down the strasse. Chop chop bali bali.” Oh crap, what am I saying? “Auf wieder-bye.” Then I'm out the door and hobbling just as fast as the leg will let me. I'm an idiot, worse then that, a crazy sounding idiot. Certifiable, send me to Utica type bat shit. All the way across the Quarter mile to Grace Watson, I replay the conversation until finally as the glop of mac and cheese on my plate is trying to make a hostile take over of the sauerkraut and hot dogs that my attention comes off my faux paus and to my surroundings.
Oh crap, the room is awash in Alpha. Not that nice gentle aroma of Dean....Whatshisname, but more of puffed up young turk/turkette metalic, rotting vegetable, Old Spice and Loves Baby Soft stink. YUCK! My gut took a lurch and suddenly I really wasn't hungry. Dumping my tray untouched on the dirty dish conveyer belt, it unfortunately splashes some of the sauerkraut on to this dopy looking little alphas shirt. “Watch it breeder,” he bitches.
Normally, I would stop to apologize, but going to go blow chunks now and he's a WIMP. Tossing him the bird, I run for the omega restroom.
Later with a stomach full of Pepto and cuddled on a too soft mattress, I listen to Chuck snore in the darkness. I miss Anna as well as brothers Gabe and Balti. My other two brothers Micheal and Luci are dicks but they're family and oddly miss them too. The way you would your favorite wart. The Col I don't miss at all and Mom........it depends on which pills she's on. But the last conscience thought is of those eyes, the Panama green enculado fula/o . My slang was a wacky mix of German/Panamanian/military, that would fly out at all the worst times.
The next morning, I was up early, in the showers that were down the hall, dressed and out the door. By seven thirty, was in line at the Ritscheller to get coffee and a hard roll. My dining card worked there and the room stunk less of Alpha then Gracies. My classes started at eight and went one after the other until noon. There wasn't much to do that first day, get the syllabus, list of text books and figure out how to drop this class and get into something more interesting/easier. My drop was 'Family and Child' too many papers and not enough interest in the subject matter. Military history was more my meat and changed to that in a red hot minute. Plus there were no text books and only one paper.due
There was a two hour break till the next class, so I headed to the admin building where the ROTC offices were on the Fifth floor. Figured it was time to check in there, get the whole meet and greet crap over with and then head over to the library to take a nap in the stacks. The elevator pinged for the fifth floor and I stepped out into a bright green anti room with large brown double doors with the ROTC logo on the front. Taking a deep breath and hoping there were going to be at least another omega or two in the program, I opened the door and waltzed in.
“Can I help you there Sport?” I look into the craggy face and curious eyes of a Sargent Major who was leaning back in his chair, his heels resting on the edge of the desk, a ukelele in his hands. Strumming various cords, he smiles and waits for my reply.
“Well Top,” I'd known his kind all my life and loved them like black sheep uncles. “I'm Castiel Novac, transfering in from the ROTC program at Siena College.”
“Sargent Major Robert Singer,” the man unfolded himself and stood to offer his hand. “Any relation to a Zachariah Novac?”
"My father." I looked at him pensively. “And hopefully you'll give me a chance to explain anything and everything before fragging my ass?”
The grin that split his face told me, my Dad the sum bitch was as way high on Top Singers' shit list as I was no where near it. “Hey Becky,” he called out. “We got any paper work on one Castiel Novac?”
A young woman in her mid twenties bounced out of another office carrying a folder, “right here Sargent Singer, got here yesterday.”
Top Singer slid the papers out of the folder and after a moment of reading, looked me over with new eyes, then turned and hollered, “Winchester, shag ass out here for a minute.”
Out of a back office walked a tall E-7. His fatigues were tailored to his body, wide in the shoulder, lean in hip, with bowlegs that even the stove pipe crisply starched trousers couldn't hide. Blonde with a spray of freckles across his nose but then the eyes.....
“Hey Cas, said Sargent First Class Dean Winchester.