Chapter Text
Dustin knows of Steve long before he meets him.
It was unavoidable, given how the reputation of Hawkin’s resident omega tended to precede him. Everyone’s heard, to some extent, of the rich, pretty princeling who lived at the grandest mansion in Loch Nora, with the jetsetting parents to whom over half the town owed their livelihoods, who ruled the high school despite his status, or because of it.
Steve Harrington, with a head of hair envied by every housewife and a car coveted by their husbands; who had jocks wrapped around his finger and cheerleaders bending over backward, literally, for his attention. Who was both a goody two-shoes that volunteered at the church on weekends and a party animal with the dubious title of Keg King. Rumor had it he was an airhead, sure, but also apparently so fine that eighth graders were eager to advance onto the next year just for want of a glimpse.
So, the boy was a bit of a legend by the time Dustin finally encountered him. He’d expected a snobby, snippy peach of a person, with a mean, pink sneer to match faux-innocent eyes, the perfect picture of pampered privilege.
But perhaps like the fruit, Steve Harrington had been spoiled so rotten he’d turned sweet. Because the first thing he’d done when he spotted Dustin, slowing to a squealing stop on his bike in front of the Wheelers’ porch, openly gawking at the cotton-candy figure leaning against an admittedly gorgeous beemer, was smile.
At least Dustin had been right about the preppy pastels. He wasn't far off on the eyes.
“Oh my god, you’re actually Bambi,” he blurted, disgusted that this cheesy moniker, overheard from some older students, proved totally justified.
“What?” Steve’s smile went slightly bewildered, but nonetheless sunnied on. “I think I’m actually Steve.”
“I know,” Dustin snapped and then immediately wanted to die. “Uh, I mean—”
“Hi there,” the teen did him the kindness of barreling ahead like Dustin wasn’t an affront to all social niceties. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you one of Mike’s friends?”
“Yeah,” Dustin squeaked, cleared his throat, squeaked again. “We’re playing Dungeons and Dragons at six.”
“That’s cool,” Steve said with an air of determined optimism, even though he clearly had no idea what Dustin was talking about. “I’m picking Nancy up for dinner at six, too.”
Forcing himself to squint at his wristwatch, just so he’d have a reason to stop ogling Steve Harrington, Dustin noted, “You’re kinda early.”
“Oh, yup,” now the older boy flustered, running pianist fingers through his ridiculous locks. Something about its movement was oddly enthralling.
“I guess I got here faster than expected, but I didn’t wanna knock in case Nancy was still getting ready, and I don’t wanna rush her, ‘cause I know how annoying that is, being rushed when you’re trying to—um.”
Steve halted abruptly, looking sheepish. His cheeks were rosy, lips puckered closed, as if he were embarrassed about something. Silence stretched between them while they stared at each other.
Finally, Steve blinked and swiveled round to face his car. “Hey, you want a cookie?” he reached through the rolled-down window and produced a beige-capped tupperware. Popping the lid released aromas of allspice and brown butter. “They’re oatmeal raisin.”
Dustin shook his head to clear it, making Steve frown at the action before he hastily clarified, “Yeah sure, I—I love oatmeal raisin.”
“Really?” Steve perked up, tilting his head, puppy-like, as he offered the container for Dustin to take his pick. “Most kids only want chocolate chip. But Nancy likes to eat healthy, so I figured I’d go with these, even though I’ve never made them before. So, uh, not sure if they taste all that good, sorry.”
He trailed off, having talked himself into a corner, and gave a little half-shrug. Suddenly annoyed by that show of insecurity, Dustin quickly crammed a cookie into his mouth, taking such a large bite that Steve’s eyes went round and worried.
“Oh gosh, were you hungry? Maybe slow down, though—”
“It’s,” Dustin managed between energetic chews. “Really good. Really good, dude.”
Steve beamed at him. “Seriously? That’s great! Here, have more—”
He pressed another two cookies into Dustin’s palm. They were moist-warm and cutely lumpy, like the best kind of homemade treat. Dustin swallowed noisily and licked his lips, chasing the flavor.
“Thanks!” he grinned at the older boy, who readily returned his cheer. “These are awesome, best I’ve had in a while.”
“Aw,” Steve placed a hand over his heart. “You’re a sweetie.”
Dustin felt his face get hot. Unfortunately, his natural response to nervousness was to be obnoxious. “But oatmeal raisin cookies aren’t actually that healthy. Like there’s still a boatload of sugar in them. And butter, which is a fat. Pretty sure fats contribute to high cholesterol.”
“Oh,” the omega considered this information with furrowed brows.
And Dustin couldn’t stand that expression—confused and concerned about it—on Steve, either.
“They’re still healthier, though,” he assured, with all the sage confidence an eleven-year-old could muster. “Like, definitely the best cookie choice out of all cookie options. You did good.”
Steve huffed a startled laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”
“No problem, man,” Dustin munched into his second helping, throwing him a thumbs-up.
The front door swung open, prompting the two of them to turn to attention. Steve straightened and shone even brighter, calling out, “Nancy, hey!”
“Hey yourself,” Mike’s older sister said, gifting an affectionate glance to her date. Then her gaze moved from Dustin, to the cookies in his grasp, to the tupperware Steve was toting.
“Are those for me?” she asked, and Steve’s whole body bounced with his nod.
“They’re oatmeal raisin,” he repeated, brushing his hair back again. Dustin was beginning to suspect that habit had an ulterior motive. “It’s healthier.”
“Not really,” Nancy said kindly and broke off a corner to sample. “But still tasty.”
If Dustin thought Steve resembled an eager puppy before, it was nothing on how he preened at the praise now.
“You look lovely, by the way,” he complimented, pecking her on the cheek. The beautiful alpha seemed to soften at the gesture.
“Ugh,” Dustin thought out loud, drawing their notice. Nancy rolled her eyes.
“Dustin, could you leave these on the counter for me?” she held out the container expectantly, and the beta took it off her hands without complaint.
“Thanks, Dustin!” Steve chirped, saying his name like he was pleased to learn it. This close, Dustin could scent how sweet he really was.
“Yeah man, no big,” it was a miracle his voice didn’t crack. “I’m late for my campaign, so.”
He waved them along. Steve laughed again, a delighted ringing of bells, while Nancy rolled her eyes again.
“Have fun, kiddo,” the omega ruffled Dustin’s cap-covered curls with an ease like he’d been doing it for years, leaving Dustin pleasantly dazed.
His head was still stuffed with marshmallow fluff by the time he deposited the container in the kitchen—ignoring Mr. Wheeler, who ignored him in turn—and shuffled down the stairs to Mike’s basement. The others were already gathered around, blanket robes and tinfoil hats adorned.
“Finally!” Mike threw his hands up by way of greeting. “What took you so long? Is that a cookie?”
Belatedly, Dustin realized he was still carting around his remaining treat like a prize. “Uh, you wouldn’t like it. Oatmeal raisin.”
Mike made a face, but Will sniffed. “Smells good, though.”
“Okay, fine,” Dustin sighed. He plopped himself down and divvied up his last cookie into equal parts on a piece of construction paper. The Party helped themselves.
“Mmm!” Lucas said appreciatively.
“Did my mom make these?” Mike boggled, mouth full.
“No, I got ‘em from Steve,” Dustin said without thinking. “Uh,” he stuttered at Will’s raised brow. “I think—Nancy’s new boyfriend?”
“What.” Mike said, and Will’s eyes got wide.
“Steve Harrington?” his jaw dropped. Lucas mirrored him, “Nancy got Bambi?”
“Ew, what the heck?” Dustin hissed at him.
“What.” Mike said again, desperate.
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Will leaned back and crossed his arms thoughtfully. Lucas hummed in agreement, polishing off his quarter.
“Excuse me—why? ” Mike squawked.
“Isn’t he, like, captain of the basketball team?”
“No, it’s the swim team,” Dustin corrected.
“Jonathan says his family’s crazy rich,” Will added. “They’ve got houses, as in, plural.”
“Yeah, but who’d wanna date Nancy? ” Mike scowled, and both Dustin and Lucas turned twin looks of incredulity at him.
“Dude, your sister is like—kinda hot,” Lucas braved while Mike mimed heaving. Dustin piled on, “She’s also super smart, right? Like, perfect alpha material.”
By this point, Mike had collapsed onto the ground. “That’s so gross, oh my god. I’m literally dying, dying here in my own home.”
Will nudged him with a comforting toe. “I don’t really get it either.”
“Nancy doesn’t even like cookies!” Mike pointed an indignant finger, landing on a true condemnation.
“No way!” Dustin gawped at him, offended on behalf of Steve’s efforts. “Who doesn’t like cookies?”
“She’s probably gonna throw them out,” the younger Wheeler alpha concluded miserably, and Lucas shook his head.
“What a bloody shame,” he’d affected a British accent for some reason.
Dustin flailed his limbs in agitation. “Then we should just eat the rest, if she’s not gonna miss them anyways!”
Mike rose from the floor so quickly he almost levitated. “Jolly good idea, old chap!”
Will groaned at their antics but didn’t protest the suggestion.
Five minutes later, they were crowded back around their game, Steve’s sweet-smelling tupperware occupying a spot in the middle of them, guarding their fortress atop a map of Waterdeep. They gorged themselves on wild magic and battle strats and cinnamon-sugar until Mrs. Wheeler called down the stairs reminding of curfew.
On their way out, the Party crossed paths with Nancy, come home from her date. Mike unapologetically shoved the emptied container into her hands.
“Tell your boyfriend thanks,” he snarked at her affronted glare.
“You’re such a twerp—”
“See you tomorrow!” Dustin beat a hasty retreat before Nancy could chew them out, Will and Lucas hot on his heels.
Later, Dustin would feel a twinge of guilt for having something Steve meant for Nancy. But as he lay in bed, replaying in his mind the older boy’s shyly pleased expressions, his soft-spoken words - Dustin had a hunch Steve wouldn’t be too miffed about the outcome.
Besides, it’d be a crime to waste cookies. If anything, Dustin thought as he dozed off, he was doing Steve a favor.
-
It turned out that Mike had not been exaggerating, and Nancy truly did not possess a sweet tooth at all. She was, however, pragmatically generous, and readily allowed the party to benefit from the extraneous perks of her relationship.
Thus, over the next year and a half, Steve Harrington’s weekly dessert delivery became an odd sort of constant in Dustin’s life.
Its menu ran the gamut from hearty goodies masquerading as health-conscious—peanut-butter bars, banana bread, fruit tarts—to blatantly indulgent sugarbombs—checkerboard fudge, florentine cannoli, cupcakes topped with pale buttercream flowers. The tupperware varied, milktea or sky or lime or salmon—and sometimes mismatched, as if Steve didn’t care to keep them in sets—but was always perfect-sized for their tabletop campaigns, fitting naturally over home base on every map they played.
Somehow, and impressively, the omega’s sweet routine survived throughout the introduction of an alternate dimension, hell-monsters from said dimension, and a superpowered girl—and her subsequent exit—to their collective lives.
When Will went missing, there’d been pastel packages finding its way to Party members on a near-daily basis, packed to the brim with toffee brownies, toffee-nut clusters, toffee truffles—coincidence, that toffee was what the youngest Byers boy was partial to. There’d been a veritable mountain for him to enjoy when he’d returned.
And when Barbara Holland died, lemon pound cake materialized in the Wheeler house at a frankly alarming rate. Dustin would discover, much later, that Steve tended to stress-bake that familiar recipe to cope with anxiety.
Which was why, when October tumbled into November and a week rolled past without Mike gleefully announcing whatever new treat had been discarded by his sister—one’s trash, another’s treasure, and all that—Dustin had been genuinely disappointed.
He was looking forward to this year’s candy concoction; the previous Halloween, Dustin had ridden the sugar high of Steve’s kitchen sink cookies for an entire weekend. What’s worse, he could’ve really used a pick-me-up, given that the mutant lizard he’d adopted had just eaten his cat.
This felt like the universe was kicking Dustin when he was already down. So, he rode to the Wheelers’ house in a tizzy, hoping that Steve was just behind schedule. Perhaps he could catch him in action, and get some assistance for his pet problem while he was at it.
The burgundy BMW idling by the curb instantly lifted Dustin’s spirits. He dropped his bike on the lawn and sped over to the open passenger side window.
“Steve, just who I wanted to see!” he unlocked the door without preamble and slid right in. “This is gonna sound crazy, but I really need your help—whoa, wait. What happened?”
Steve blinked at him owlishly, gaze watery and dull. His nose and cheeks were flushed pink, the area under his eyes plum and puffy—it was clear that he’d been crying. He was clutching a bouquet of roses.
“Oh,” the older boy’s voice was hoarse. He made a gainful attempt at a smile, false-bright. “Hey Dustin. What, um, what’s going on, man?”
Dustin was so perturbed by how sad Steve looked that thoughts about devil-dogs and desserts completely fled his mind. “Did something happen? What’s the reason for,” he gestured at the flowers, the still-drying tear-tracks. “All this?”
The movement seemed to startle Steve into awareness, and he hastily scrubbed at his face with his free hand. “Nothing—no reason. Sorry. Did you need anything?”
“It’s obviously not nothing,” Dustin snapped, concern coming out caustic. The day had been trying. “Are those for Nancy? Are you—” he sat up straighter, jaw dropping. “Did you guys break up?”
Steve sighed and tossed the flowers onto the backseat. He brought a hand to Dustin’s ear, gentling at the curls covering them. “I’ll tell you later, okay? You said you needed my help?”
The young beta crossed his arms and huffed, annoyed that his urgency was being pulled in two directions. But he quickly made up his mind—the bloodthirsty, possibly demonic, terrible excuse for a pet currently trapped in his family cellar was a more pressing matter.
“Alright,” Dustin said. “We’ll talk later. For now—do you still have that bat?”
Steve side-eyed him. “What bat?”
“The one with the nails.”
There was a beat of silence, broken by the jangle of car keys and a slow, resigned turn of the ignition. “Oh no.”
Dustin winced apologetically. “Yeah, so, there’s this lizard…”
Unfortunately, D’artagnan had escaped by the time they checked on the cellar, and it had gotten too dark to properly track him, though not for lack of trying. Steve was circling the perimeter of the Henderson property for the umpteenth time, flashlight scanning in wide arcs over dried leaves and upturned mud, when Dustin sat in a slump and buried his face in his hands.
“We’re so screwed,” he groaned. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He thought he heard Steve mutter, “We?” before the older boy walked over to crouch beside him.
“Hey, buddy. It’s gonna be okay,” Steve rubbed a comforting palm over Dustin’s back. “I don’t think, uh, Dart could have gone too far. And if we can’t find him, we can help him find us, you know? Either way, we’ll figure it out.”
“Slight problem,” Dustin tipped his head back to pin Steve with a baleful look. “Dart made mincemeat out of Mews. Humans and cats aren’t that structurally different.”
Steve frowned. “We kinda are, though?”
Dustin sighed. “What I mean is—we’re also meat and bones. Dart’ll rip us to shreds if we try to catch him. You didn’t see him, Steve—he’s like if the Demogorgon were a dog.”
“So, a demodog,” the teen snapped his fingers, undeterred. “I’m good with dogs. It’ll be fine.”
He wrapped an arm around Dustin and eased him to his feet. “Since it’s so late, what do you say to having a little sleepover tonight? If it’s okay with your mom, of course. But we can hatch up a plan while you help me finish some leftover lasagna, yeah?”
Despite his worries, Dustin grinned at the proposal. He’d never slept in a mansion before. “Really? Let’s go ask.”
Claudia Henderson was utterly unopposed to the idea of her son spending the night with Steve Harrington, who apparently had a sterling reputation as an excellent babysitter. She did, however, pull Dustin aside while he was packing his duffel.
“Bring some extra clothes, honey,” she deposited an armful of camp hoodies and added another knit blanket on top.
“Why?” Dustin asked, nonplussed. “It’s not that cold yet.”
“Oh Dusty, Steve’s in pre-Heat,” she said as if it were obvious. “I could smell it on him already—that’s the Henderson nose, you know! He must adore you if he’s inviting you to his home so close to his cycle—and isn’t that just sweet!—so we ought to supply some things for his nest. It’s the right thing to do for an omega!”
Dustin’s eyes went round. “Ohh,” he nodded slowly, suddenly filled with a new sense of responsibility. “Yeah, definitely. Thanks, mom.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Claudia kissed the top of his head. “Have fun, and don’t stay up too late!”
Steve had smiled, soft and pleased, when he spotted Dustin’s overloaded bag, turning bashful when Claudia winked meaningfully at him. The drive to Loch Nora was spent in companionable silence, Steve’s radio warbling big band tunes while Dustin mulled over his thoughts—on lizards from the Upside-Down, and omegas who may have just gotten dumped. If the older boy noticed Dustin surreptitiously trying to catch his scent, he made no comments.
The Harrington estate was as opulent as the rumors suggested. Steve chuckled good-naturedly at Dustin’s appalled reaction to various ostentatious finishings—the flowery sculptures encircling the front fountain, corinthian columns framing the entryway, marble staircases winging from the foyer, a giant chandelier heavily-laden with Swarovski crystals—before leading his charge to a much less grandiose kitchen.
As he portioned out generous helpings of lasagna and salad onto porcelain plates that Dustin suspected were more expensive than they had any right to be, Steve explained, “We only use the chef’s kitchen for entertaining. This is the real kitchen—where I cook.”
His last statement was spoken with a shade of pride. Dustin spotted hints that the space was well-used and well-loved—a rolling pin dusted with flour, a marked-up cutting board, a whetstone left out. The familiar tupperware sets inhabited a baker’s rack in the corner, daisy-printed dishtowels slung over one side.
On the granite countertop was a partly-zested lemon and a measuring cup sprinkled with cane sugar. Next to it, a glass mixing bowl contained what looked to be a half-hearted attempt at whisking together some kind of batter. Dustin made a sound of recognition and pointed to the work in progress.
“Were you making something?” he asked around a mouthful of surprisingly palatable greens. He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his tone; Steve followed his gaze with a fond expression that froze when he saw what Dustin had noticed.
“Oh, yeah - I was,” he mumbled after a pause, shrugging in a way that made it seem like he was shrinking. “Forgot I left that out, it needs to be trashed.”
But he made no move to do so, instead turning back and plastering on that smile again, chalk-white and just as brittle. “Hey buddy, make sure you eat your vegetables.”
Dustin looked pointedly at the barely-touched food on the teen’s own plate and then peered up in reproach. “You’re trying to distract me, but you promised you’d tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t think I promised,” Steve stole a cherry tomato. “And I doubt you want to hear my, ugh, woes. Especially when they’re about, well—”
“Your love life?” Dustin finished, swiping a cucumber slice in return. “Dude, that’s exactly what I wanna hear about. What are friends for, if not to lament matters of the heart with?”
The laughter that bubbled forth from Steve’s lips felt like a reward. Eyes crinkling, smile melting, Steve ruffled the younger boy’s hair. “You have such a way with words, Henderson.”
“I am aware that I possess the most advanced vocabulary out of anyone you currently associate with,” Dustin deadpanned, just to see that grin widen, Steve’s whole demeanor sparking at his friendly sarcasm.
“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” the omega leaned over from his stool to nuzzle Dustin, butterfly-soft. His touch was warm, his scent honey-sweet, and Dustin basked in the comfort.
Steve finger-combed Dustin’s curls back into place and sat back, chin in hand, to watch the younger obey an unspoken command to finish his food. As Dustin ate, Steve talked.
“You were right,” he started quietly. “Nancy and I…it’s over between us. I was going to bake her something as a farewell gift, but—I realized after all this time, I still didn’t know what her favorite dessert was. I really was a shitty boyfriend.”
Dustin hurried to disabuse him of that notion. “No, dude. That’s literally impossible to know, because Nancy doesn’t have a favorite—she doesn’t like desserts at all!”
Steve looked even more dejected. “She never mentioned,” his voice was small. “I should’ve noticed. I was impressed that she’d clean out my tupperware every time, but I guess that’s easy to do if it’s just getting tossed.”
“No way,” Dustin was speaking before he could think better of it. “That’d be a travesty. Since Nancy didn’t want them, we got them, and we loved it—all of us, even Mike!”
“Seriously?” the corners of Steve’s mouth quirked upward. He wiped a spot of marinara sauce from Dustin’s cheek. “That actually makes me feel a lot better. I’m glad the stuff I made didn’t go to waste.”
“Never, I promise,” Dustin said firmly. “Why d’you think I’m so chubby?”
Steve made a soft noise in his throat, a cross between a giggle and a sigh. Then, he slipped from his seat and gathered Dustin into a hug, pressing a kiss to his crown like his mom had done earlier. “You really are such a sweetie.”
Chuffed by the praise, Dustin didn’t even mind that Steve could totally see his blush. “Well, you make it easy to be, with all the freakin’ sugar you feed us.”
The omega pulled back with a gasp, whether to reprimand Dustin for his almost-swear or because he’d just realized—“Oh my god, no wonder you guys were always so hyper!”
Dustin cackled dramatically, playing to Steve’s point. “It was the cookies all along!”
“Geez,” Steve huffed fondly. “I gotta start making more nutritionally-balanced snacks.”
Around his last mouthful of lasagna, Dustin couldn’t resist ribbing him, “Nice multisyllabic word there.”
“Multi-say what?” the older boy tossed his napkin at him, snorting when it floated open and suctioned to Dustin’s face, making him yelp. “And don’t talk when your mouth’s full. Manners, Henderson.”
“Whatever, mom,” Dustin said cheerfully. Steve grinned, romantic angst momentarily forgotten.
Much to Dustin’s delight, the Harrington household had sweets aplenty on reserve. As he collected the dinnerware and set about washing in an obnoxiously large sink, Steve explained, “I always make big batches to freeze so I have stores for my Heats, since I can’t really cook during. Well, I can, but—” Steve pointed to a black smudge on the tiled backsplash above the stove. “Badly.”
Dustin had fixed himself a bowl of fudge-swirled ice cream and was crumbling a freshly-microwaved brownie atop it. “Not that I’m complaining,” he hummed happily at the first spoonful. “But why bother? Don’t your parents cook?”
While he lacked practical experience, all eighth graders were subjected to Sex Ed. So, Dustin knew that Heats were strenuous, especially for unmated omegas. Pack duty meant taking care of an omega’s needs, from food to hygiene to physical comfort, during that time.
The Party had taken those lectures seriously, even though they were currently composed of only alphas and betas. They had an unspoken agreement to be prepared if they were ever lucky enough to welcome an omega into their fold. Recently, secretly, Dustin had been wishing for one that might be as lovely as Steve.
“Oh, they aren’t usually around,” said omega dismissed. “But they make sure I’ve got everything I need. I have a—” he grimaced. “Pretty big allowance.”
Steve waved a hand at his surroundings, looking a bit embarrassed. Dustin scrunched his face, confused. “Then who takes care of you when you’re in Heat?”
“I do?” Steve asked rather than answered, blushing deeper. “Um, I dunno if you know yet what Heat entails, but—”
“Ew, dude, I know about the icky stuff,” Dustin scowled, ignoring Steve’s squawk of, “Wait, you do?” to plow onward. “I mean, don’t you need someone to like, feed you and wash you and check your mail and stuff?”
The teen dried his hands and put them on his hips. “I’m an omega, not an invalid. I can handle myself just fine during my Heats.”
Dustin mirrored him by crossing his arms. “But your family is supposed to do those things! That’s what we learned in school. Mr. Rosenberg said so!”
Mr. Rosenberg was the Health teacher for the entirety of Hawkins Middle, a practically ancient and thus very well-respected alpha from an omega-borne lineage out of Chicago. Therefore, he’d been the chief authority on gender relations in the community for generations. Mr. Rosenberg had taught Dustin’s grandma, for crying out loud; his word was law, in the beta’s book.
Apparently, Steve had missed the memo. “Well, I don’t know him, and I don’t care what he says. I take care of myself - always have, always will.”
His tone brooked no argument. But Dustin’s mind still rebelled against the idea of someone like Steve, who seemed so quintessentially omegan in both looks and behavior, being left alone at their most vulnerable. In this big, empty house, however lavishly furnished it was, with no one to tend, no one to guard—
“Holy shit,” Dustin realized with growing horror. “You don’t have a pack.”
Steve made a wounded noise—half-stifled, as if he failed at choking it back—his stubborn front dissolving. He’d turned to hide his expression. Melted chocolate dripped onto the table, and Dustin felt his thoughts dropping with it. Because Steve was—
Alone, young, and unmated, at an address that may as well have a target painted next to it in the phonebook—infamous, the most expensive property in Hawkins. In small-town Indiana, which, characteristic of rural America, was somewhat bereft of the most coveted sex. With no guardian or caretaker or companion—nobody to close ranks around him and offer safety, to help calm the fever, to ease the pain of Heat. For it was painful—according to Mr. Rosenberg, who’d turned solemn as he addressed the burdens of biology, impressing upon the class that an omega in Heat should never be left on their own.
It’s not only dangerous, the old alpha had intoned gravely. But very cruel. Omegas are the most prosocial of all designations, and their psychological well-being depends on pack. To abandon them at their most vulnerable is unforgivable.
“Why?” Dustin asked helplessly, something in him aching at the sight of the older boy curled in on himself.
“Language, Henderson,” Steve scolded belatedly and without bite. He sighed as Dustin’s gaze only grew more aqueous. “My family is…different. Pack isn’t important—loyalty is. And I obey my alpha.”
Though unspoken, it rang loud and clear—it was his alpha’s will that Steve spend his Heats in solitude. For what terrible reason, Dustin didn’t even want to try to discern.
“It’s always been like this?” he echoed, and Steve nodded slowly.
“After my first, yeah,” his face was carefully blank. “It’s really not that big of a deal. My parents are rarely home anyways. I’m used to it, and it’s better this way, trust me.”
Dustin hoped that his nauseated expression was enough to convey how vehemently he rejected that statement. It wasn’t that he doubted Steve’s competence. It was a matter of security.
“Nobody else knows,” it wasn’t a question; it was insistence.
Steve rubbed at his brow. “Basically.”
Dustin glared something fierce, and the teen relented. “Nancy knows. Because I’d asked her to spend my Heat with me. And she…said no, and I—I begged, I was so desperate, and that’s how it came out.
“But Nancy doesn’t count—she’d never do anything to risk my safety,” Steve said firmly.
“Didn’t she literally point a gun at you last year?” Dustin snapped.
He regretted it immediately when Steve flinched back at his bite. “That was…for my own good. At the time.”
He steamrolled over Dustin’s incredulous stare. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not needed. Nothing like that is ever going to happen, and if it does, I’ve got my trusty nailbat, yeah?” he made a weak impression of a grin that twisted on his next words. “Besides, I wear a collar.”
Dustin couldn’t suppress a sound of disgust, but Steve didn’t seem offended. Collaring was an archaic practice, meant to preserve at least the virtue of an omega’s bond lest the virtue of their body was forfeit. It was a remnant of times when omegas were treated as more of a communal resource. Mr. Rosenberg had spoken of them with supreme distaste, even as he’d held up a loop of wide-banded leather for demonstration.
In Dustin’s opinion, it was nothing short of a moral crime for a teenaged omega to have resorted to collaring themselves in Heat, deprived of the comforts and defenses of pack. By god, his mother would be spitting sparks by now. Speaking of—
“You tell no one, Henderson,” Steve’s eyes were steely. “Not your friends, not your mom, not your lizard—no one.”
Dustin clenched his fists. “Fine,” he acquiesced, but only because something else was bothering him. He searched his recent memory until he came up with, “Nancy. You were going to—with Nancy?”
Instead of answering, Steve took to the mess on the counter with a paper towel, sundae long forgotten. He dumped the remainder down the sink and rinsed the bowl. Dustin waited patiently.
“I hoped,” Steve murmured finally, slumping against the wall. “That she would want to mate me, too. Because she - I thought she loved me, like I love her. But she doesn’t, so—to her, it wasn’t—ugh. Apparently, it was all just. Bullshit.”
This time, his entire body deflated with a sigh of defeat. “Alright, Henderson. This is too depressing. I’m being a terrible host,” he cut off the beginnings of Dustin’s protest with a sharp gesture of his hand. “Let’s get ready for bed. You can pick a movie; there’s a TV in my room.”
He pointed down the hall, where Dustin could spot a set of lited doors opening to a library, if the rows of bookcases laden with tomes and tapes were any indication. The casual grandeur of the Harrington mansion didn’t seem as splendid now, though. It just felt—sad.
Dustin found Flashdance easily—it’d been sitting on a side table, recently pulled—and followed Steve’s trail up the stairs to a room at the end of the hallway. Its green door was ajar, golden lamplight spilling through.
Inside, Steve had taken the liberty of relieving Dustin’s duffel of its contents. Besides a single set of clothes placed carefully on the dresser, everything was strewn over a huge bed already laden with pillows and blankets. Steve was briskly arranging a mountain of cushions into a nest that looked exceedingly welcoming.
In the corner, sitting atop a quilted ottoman, was a freshly laundered, neatly folded stack. There were ruffles, floral prints, pastel plaids and cable-knits. Dustin saw and understood—Nancy’s presence, excavated from Steve’s space. The older boy followed his gaze and gave a wry smile.
“C’mere,” he called, grabbing an armful of science-pun hoodies. “Help me with these?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Of course.”
Together, they placed the remaining pieces within a semi-circle of plush throws. Steve surveyed their work and hummed in satisfaction. “Perfect. Couldn’t have done it without you, buddy.”
He ushered them into their respective pajamas—soft flannels for Dustin and a french terry tunic for Steve. They brushed their teeth, and Steve indulged Dustin’s curiosity about his skincare routine. Then, Steve set up a water pitcher with two glasses on the nightstand, popped in the VHS, and crawled into the center of his luxuriously-outfitted nest.
He grinned, opening his arms to beckon Dustin in. “C’mon, Henderson. It’s comfier than it looks.”
“Is that possible?” Dustin returned his smile, climbing onto the bed and immediately burrowing under the covers. “It totally is. Wow, this is so nice.”
With a pleased chuckle, Steve wriggled over to make room for the younger boy, then snuggled close once Dustin had settled into a comfortable position. Steve was a generous cuddler, wrapping him up in his arms like Dustin was an overgrown teddy bear, tucking against his side in a natural fit. He ran gentle fingers through Dustin’s curls, massaging at his scalp.
Far from minding, Dustin was glad to be the recipient of the omega’s tactile inclinations. He curled an arm around Steve’s waist and enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by a soothing, safe scent—Steve’s vanilla and honey-lemon, like fresh-baked angel-cake and snickerdoodles. Breathing in deep, Dustin hugged his friend, wishing he could squeeze the loneliness right out of him.
The blurry glow of motion picture painted their faces in hazy colors. It made Steve look almost too pretty to bear. For the first time, Dustin worried over that beauty.
“Hey,” Steve murmured down at him. “I just thought of something. I have tons of extra meat in the freezer. Maybe we can make a trail for Dart to follow? Like breadcrumbs, but with beef?”
“Hmm,” Dustin craned his neck to meet the older boy’s hopeful expression. “We’d have to lure him someplace he can be contained, though. Someplace secluded, or abandoned like Benny’s, somewhere like -“
“The junkyard,” they said together, and Steve grinned.
“It’s a plan,” he nodded, and reached across to darken the lamp. Flashdance was muted, and they dozed in each other’s arms.
“Wait,” Steve hissed out of the blue. “Should I defrost the meat?”
Dustin snorted, half-asleep. “We’re not cooking for Dart, dude.”
The omega laughed quietly. “Right, right. Habit, sorry. Goodnight, Henderson.”
“Night, Steve.”
Left alone with his thoughts, Dustin came to a private decision. The Party was adopting Steve, whether he liked it or not. Even though they were only a gaggle of geeky pups, for now—any Pack was better than none. Somehow, they could beat the loneliness; somehow, they would keep Steve safe.
“Promise,” he whispered into the dark, and fell asleep to that conviction.
-
In a most horrific fashion, Dustin failed that pledge almost immediately.
-