Chapter Text
The first time there'd been a seismic shift in his life he'd been 8. He'd found his father sitting in the dark with a half empty bottle of Scotch in one hand and his mother's wedding ring in the other. He hadn't understood the look of utter devastation on his father's face then, but as the days passed and his mother didn't come home, understanding began to dawn. He remembered wiping the sweat from his father's brow with small hands as his father shook and shuddered; suffering the after effects of losing his mate. Watching his beloved father morph into a weak, broken man had hardened his heart; while he hated his mother for abandoning her omega and running off with that asshole Harris, he almost hated his father more for succumbing to the weakness of his physiology. The day his mother left had been the day he'd left his carefree youth behind him as his days filled with caring for his father. He made sure his father was clothed and fed, and ensured that he took his meds on time so as to never feel the stabbing pain of an abandoned omega. He'd been 8, but his young shoulders had almost broken under the strain of the weight he carried.
The second time there'd been a seismic shift in his life he'd been 12. He remembered opening the front door to the tiny apartment and instantly realising something wasn't right. Two minutes later he'd found his father passed out on the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of sleeping pills resting loosely in his palm. His father's pale face and cool skin had caused his heart to race and his hands had trembled as he dialled 911. Later, the doctor had told him that his father had been lucky; that if he'd been brought to the ER any later, he would have died. He'd stared blankly as the doctor explained the ins and outs of the care required for his father now that he was partially paralysed, and he felt his shoulders stoop just a little more. His 12 year old mind had shut down as the doctor had led him in to see his father, wrapped in a sterile white blanket atop a hospital bed, sedated, and ironically, looking more at peace than he'd been in a long time. Three days later, when the nurse had wheeled his father down the hall into the elevator, she'd handed him 'omega care' pamphlets with a sympathetic smile and a pat to the shoulder. As he stood outside the doors of the hospital waiting for a taxi to pick them up, he'd crumpled the pamphlets in his hand and thrown them in a trash can. His father may have been 'forsaken' (fucking omega pamphlets) by his bitch of a mother but he wasn't alone. He would never leave his father.
The third time there'd been a seismic shift in his life he'd been 14. He'd come home after a 9 hour shift at the local meat packing factory and grabbed his father's meds from the kitchen cabinet before opening the bedroom door. When he'd touched a hand to his father's shoulder to rouse him from his sleep, his father's rigid body had rolled over heavily and he'd frozen. His father's once bright blue eyes had stared at him accusingly, dull and lifeless, and for the first time in 6 years, he'd cried.
With the last of their money used for his father's burial, he'd sat alone by the graveside as the rain pelted him, and wondered what he was supposed to do. He was 14, he had no money, his mother had abandoned him and his father was dead...what the hell was he supposed to do? He had no idea how long he sat in the pouring rain, only that by the time he left the cemetery, he still had no idea what the future held for him.
By the time he returned to their small apartment, he was soaked to the skin and felt numb; physically and emotionally. He'd rummaged around the wardrobe and clutched his father's shirt to his chest before laying stiffly on the bed as his body trembled; in fear and grief. He was 14 when he realised he was truly alone in the world.
The fourth time there'd been a seismic shift in his life he'd been 15. He'd woken up sweating and parched at the back of the meat packing factory and clutched his stomach as his body spasmed. He'd thrown the thin blanket from his body and gritted his teeth as a scream threatened to escape his mouth. He'd been 15 and terrified that he was dying. It hadn't been until he felt the backs of his thighs dampen and his lower body heat as though flames licked at him, that he'd finally realised what was happening. When the first rays of sunlight filtered through the grimy windows of the factory, he'd collected his meagre possessions from his locker and run. After all, the factory was no place for an omega.
*********************
1 year later:
Stiles' thin frame shivered as the ice cold wind penetrated the thin layers of his clothing and burned his skin. He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together to try to generate some warmth but grimaced as another gust of wind pounded his body. The winter months were always the hardest but he needed work if he wanted to be able to afford next month's suppressants. And that was why he was stood in a dark alley, in a sketchy neighbourhood, at midnight, in the middle of the worst fucking winter in 3 years. Stiles checked his watch and swore as he realised he'd been waiting for 20 minutes. He wasn't proud of what he was about to do but there was no way he was going through heat while crashing at the local shelter. No fucking way.
He snapped his head up as he heard a sound to his right and took a deep breath as he saw two men walking towards him. As they neared, he stared enviously at their thick jackets and even thicker gloves. The bigger of the two reached into his jeans for a cigarette before fishing out a lighter from his jacket pocket. As he lit the cigarette, Stiles saw his face in the light of the flame and flinched. This was not a man to be fucked with; if the huge frame and arrogant air weren't enough to convince him, then the scarred face and cruel eyes he saw in the light of the flame most definitely were. The man took a drag of the cigarette before blowing rings of smoke into the icy air.
"You Stiles? " he asked, fixing his eyes on him. Stiles pulled his thin pullover tightly around him and nodded. The man looked him up and down before taking another drag of the cigarette.
"You ain't what I pictured." Stiles narrowed his gaze and clenched his jaw. What the fuck was it to this guy what he looked like? Deciding he'd had enough of this bullshit, he stepped forward and met the man's eyes directly.
"Moe said you had some pills you needed moving? I can do that. I'm young and pretty harmless looking so I can move them where you want, whenever you want, without getting hassled by the cops...I've done it before." That was a lie; he'd never done anything like this. In the year since his father's death, he'd done many things to survive; clean houses, clean motels, pack boxes, work at the dump, pick fucking fruit...but drugs? Never drugs; it was dangerous and the cons far outweighed the pros in his opinion. This month though...this month he was desperate; his heat was due to start in 3 weeks and he had no suppressants. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Stiles was desperate.
The man leered at him and licked his lips. "You got one thing right, you sure are pretty." The smaller man behind him laughed and turned his beady eyes on Stiles.
"You know, Kev's right, you ain't too bad to look at....bet you'd look even better on your knees" he jeered as the bigger man; Kev he presumed, flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and smiled at him.
"Steve's right pretty boy, you'd sure look good on your knees...pretty pink mouth filled and stretched...hmmm" Stiles watched in distaste as the man adjusted himself and groaned. "You need money, right kid? How about we forget the pills and I give you 10 bucks to suck me off? Bend that pretty ass over and I'll throw in another 20."
Stiles recoiled and swallowed the bile that hit the back of his throat. He knew what he looked like and this wasn't exactly the first time he'd been propositioned by some sick fuck, but these guys didn't look like they were about to take no for an answer. The bigger man unzipped and reached into the opening of his jeans as he stepped forward. Stiles backed away until his back hit the chain link fence at the end of the alley.
"I don't do that shit...I'm just here for the pills" he said in a tightly controlled voice, back to the fence. The man pulled out his dick and slowly stroked himself as he got closer and closer.
"You know kid...that was a retorimal question. Now, get on your knees and open up like a good little bitch."
Stiles almost puked as he saw precome leak from the man's erect dick. He looked beyond the bigger man to see the smaller, weasel like guy behind him already unbuckling his belt. He breathed deeply, shoved his hands into the pocket of his pullover and curled his hand around his knives. He quietly watched the bigger man unbutton his jacket and move forward until he stood a foot away.
"Come on boy...open up for daddy."
Stiles stiffened and his fear scurried away as cold, hard anger swept over him. Tightening his hold around the knives in his pocket, he stepped forward and dropped to his knees as the man above him groaned and pulled at his hair.
"That's it ba-aaaarrrggghh" the man above him screamed as blood poured from the open wound where his penis used to reside. Stiles jumped up and kicked the man's knees so he fell to the floor, before kicking away the now limp member by his foot and turning to the smaller man. The smaller man paled as he saw the blood bathe the lower half of his companion's body. Stiles stepped forward with both knives held in front of him and edged around the weasel like man to the opening of the alley.
Stiles saw the smaller man turn toward him and rush forward with a snarl. He held the larger knife tightly and ducked under the man's clawing hands before spinning and striking the man in the back. The man screamed and tried uselessly to reach for the knife lodged in his back. Stiles kicked the man to the floor, and slowly pulled out his knife before wiping the bloody knife clean on the man's thick jacket.
As the men lay groaning on the floor, Stiles wiped his face clean of blood with the sleeve of his pullover and walked away. Finally stepping into the open street, he took a deep breath and pocketed the knives. He turned back to the two men in the alley and looked to the bigger man lying pale in a pool of blood.
"By the way asshole, it's rhetorical."
Stiles pulled off his bloody pullover and threw it in a dumpster as he jogged back to the shelter. He was gonna fucking murder Moe when he found him. Not only had tonight nearly ended up with him being used as a chew toy by two drug pushers, he hadn't made any money, and that was not acceptable. His heat was 3 weeks away and he would get those fucking suppressants...no matter what it took.
TBC.......