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At age 4, Dean Winchester became a mother and father to his infant brother. By the time he was 5, he could pull a chair over to the stove, and cook a simple meal. At seven, he could shoot a gun, physically defend his brother, and tell very convincing lies about where his father had gone and when he’d be back. By nine he could change the oil in a car, and do basic electronic repairs. When he was 11, he could go without food to ensure his brother got fed. By the time he was 12, he understood that he existed to take care of everyone and everything around him.
John Winchester couldn’t have created a more perfect omega if he’d tried.
It didn’t stop him from being disgusted by it.
He dropped Dean at the registration center, and drove away without a backward glance at his eldest child.
The Registrations Center fed him a burger and a soda, then sent him across town to the local Omega Academy.
“So tell me, Dean,” said the intake coordinator. “Would you like to stay here at the school with us?”
Stay here? Hell, no, he didn't want to stay here. He wanted to go home to Sammy. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not ever again, so he swallowed roughly.
“Yes, sir.”
The man’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Sir. Very good. You’ve clearly been taught manners. How do you address a female?”
“Ma’am” Dean said promptly and earned a smile. He dared to ask a question.
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“Our school is a four year program. After that, you’ll be placed with an employer.” He smiled encouragingly. “Based on your appearance and manners, I’m recommending you for our elite program, and I have no doubt you’ll get plenty of good job offers at graduation.”
Dean found that he liked the elite program. All of the “omega bullshit” that John had tried so hard to beat out of him (but nonetheless benefitted from) turned out to be pretty useful. Not flower arranging, maybe (Dean had never known that you could bring flowers inside and put them in vases; he’d never even seen a vase before coming to the school.) He had always been able to keep his home clean, and make repairs, all the things that he’d done routinely back when he, Sam and John had been a family. He enjoyed cooking meals, and making sure his pans and dishes were sparkling clean. He’d always liked a tidy environment, and that was one of the few things John seemed to like about HIM. Maybe” like” was too strong a word. His father was sparing with his praise, and generous with his punishment, but when John would come home, glance around the room and give a terse nod, Dean’s heart swelled. He didn’t need to be told he’d done well; that little nod was enough praise for him.
Dean also liked safety. He found the routine of the school, with its carefully scheduled days, each one the same as the last, strangely comforting. He liked knowing what was coming next. It had never been like that before. John might disappear for a day, a week, a month, without giving any real indication of when he’d be back. The money he left behind certainly gave no hint. He might leave ten dollars to stretch over a week, or fifty to last a weekend. Dean never knew, so he became very good at making his resources stretch, and pivoting on a moment’s notice to have a hot meal and a freshly made bed ready whenever John returned.
“Fuck” Dean muttered under his breath as he scrubbed at the stain on the carpet sample he’d been handed. This one was tough. They’d been tested on successively harder stains each day. He’d gotten rid of coffee, red wine, shoe polish, and curry paste, but this one seemed to be a combination of all four.
“Dean?” he looked up into the eyes of his favorite teacher. “Sorry, Ms. Donnelley.”
She smiled. “What did we talk about?
Dean cast his eyes down in self- disgust. “There are words that should stay in your head, and words that should come out of your mouth.”
“And which one was that?”
“One that should have stayed in.”
His teacher chuckled. “That’s right. Will you say it again?”
Dean smiled too. “No, Ma’am.”
“Ok, hands.”
Dean put his hands out and she tapped them twice with a wooden ruler. It was painless and kind of funny, not like the pain inflicted by the etiquette teacher whenever he bit his nails. Those blows hurt and only made him want to bite his nails more.
In addition to domestic service, elite omegas got sexual training. How to stay clean and fresh, how to remove any unsightly body hair (omega boys didn’t grow facial or chest hair, but both sexes had to contend with the soft wisps that grew in their armpits and groins.)
“The ideal look for an omega is smooth, “ their hygiene instructor told them. “No one likes a hairy omega.”
They learned what parts of their bodies were of interest to alphas and betas, and what things they should expect.
“Please be clear- this is NOT brothel training. Your employers are looking for willingness, not whorishness. You must be demure, but accessible. You must NEVER instigate sex, nor should you refuse it. Whether you go on to a corporation or a private home, you are NOT a professional slut. You are a domestic facilitator. There is a world of difference.”
This, it turned out, was true. All omegas were trained to please, by word, touch and action. Brothel omegas were there to fulfill fantasies, domestic facilitators were there to provide comfort.
“Your job is to ensure that your Alphas and betas have a seamless experience, whatever situation you find yourself in. A clean home, good food, a beautiful environment, and a warm, welcoming omega. If-“ the instructor went on “they want something sordid, they can visit the brothels.”
Next was Social Studies, taught by Mr. Lee. “Alphas betas and omegas fit together to form a strong and stable society, and each of us is uniquely suited to our roles. At the top are the Alphas- strong, driven, and born to leadership. They excel at business, politics and command. They are the CEOs, doctors, lawyers, and managers.
Next are the betas, steady, analytical , ideally suited to jobs like accounting, computer sciences, auto repair, nursing, and teaching.
At the base stand the omegas. Patient, caring, selfless, you are the foundation on which our society is built. It is you to whom the Alphas and betas look for nurturing, for comfort and peace, an oasis of calm in their stressful lives. On your shoulders rest the success or failure of our collective survival. “
“Sounds about right,” Dean whispered to the omega next to him. “We sit down in the mud so everyone else can sit on top of us and enjoy the view.”
“Dean Winchester, if you have something to say, please share it with the class.”
Somehow, it wasn’t as funny when he had to say it again, and none of his fellow students laughed.
“Dean, why are you mocking your classmates?”
Dean swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. Is there anything wrong with being kind and caring?”
“No, sir.”
“No there is not. Can you think of a time in your life when you were a good, caring person?”
He could. He had raised his brother from the time he was six months old until he was eight. He didn’t want to think about that, but Mr. Lee persisted. “What was it like?”
Dean swallowed hard. “It was…the best thing I ever did.”
“Did you feel like you were “sitting in the mud”?”
Dean’s chin lifted and he gave him a smile. “Not at all.”
That wasn’t the whole truth, though. He hadn’t just been a caregiver, he’d been a protector. He’d gone toe to toe with bigger kids (and the occasional adult) to keep Sammy safe. He’d planned, schemed, worked, fought and strategized, all those things omegas supposedly weren’t capable of, in order to keep his family together. He kept his mouth shut for the rest of class, but it still felt wrong.
Above all else, the omegas were taught to be nice. “Other designations are not always nice, so you must always be. Being nice is an omega’s superpower.” Their etiquette instructor told them. “Alphas and betas have a lot of responsibility on their shoulders that you as omega do not, so you need to be the bigger person. When they are rude, you must be polite. When they are aggressive, you must be passive. When they are angry, you must be their calming influence. If they make mistakes you must be willing to shoulder the blame instead. It’s your job to forgive and overlook their lapses. They can’t do it without you. Remember that.”
Trips outdoors were few and far between, and the omegas were, for the most part, grateful. From the time they presented, they had known they were targets. “Have any of you had negative encounters because of your subgender?” Mrs. Michaels asked the class. Almost every hand in the room went up, Dean’s included.
He’d had his first “negative encounter” the day he’d presented. Not only had his father kicked him to the curb, he’d left him there, alone. Dean had been standing on the sidewalk, afraid to go into the Registration Center, but equally afraid to go anywhere else, when a teenage Alpha came running at him. Dean, raised to stand his ground, tried to make himself look as big as possible, but the Alpha kept coming. Dean took an involuntary step back, and bumped into a second Alpha right behind him. He felt his arms pinned to his sides, while the first teen punched him in the stomach. Both of them ran off, laughing, leaving Dean doubled over on the sidewalk, gasping, furious and terrified. After that, he had no trouble deciding where safety lay.
That had been his first experience as an omega, but not his first with one. John, who was always one perceived slight away from violence, found omegas a convenient target. Dean had grown up watching John slam his fists into omegas on the street, in bars, and anywhere else his anger boiled over into rage. At the time, Dean had been shamefacedly glad that his father had a new target for his anger and wasn’t hitting him.
With a jolt, Dean remembered Bones. He didn’t want to; he’d spent the last few years pushing anything from before behind a locked door, but he couldn’t help himself as the memories flooded his brain.
As long as he could remember, John had brought omegas home to their motel rooms. Dean had grown accustomed to going to sleep to the rhythmic squeaking of a bed frame, to grunts of pleasure and gasps of pain. In the morning, John would grab the omega by the hair, drag them to the door, and shove them back where he found them.
But Bones had been different.
Dean was seven when John brought him home, a thin, pale young man; a boy, really, with thick blond hair and wary eyes. He’d stayed the night, but in the morning, John had gotten up, dressed, and glared at his eldest son. “Dean, you're even less useful than a goddamned omega, so I may as well keep this one around for a while.” He shifted his gaze to the omega. “You can stay as long as it makes MY life easier, understand? You watch the boys, keep ‘em safe and out of trouble. If you can do that, I’ll feed you, and keep a roof over your head. Screw it up, and you’re out on your ass. I’ll be back in about a week. Got it?”
The omega nodded.
“Fine. Sammy, you’re always whining about wanting a dog, this is close enough. What are you going to name him?”
“Bones!” Sammy crowed. His little brother was too young to realize what was going on, but Dean felt sick. This person was going to be their dog? Would he have to eat out of a dish on the floor, and go to the bathroom outside? Before Dean could ask, John was gone, slamming the door behind him. The young omega looked scared, and glanced at the boys nervously. What he saw there must have reassured him that they posed no immediate danger.
“Well, shit.” Bones said, running a hand through his dirty hair. Even in the midst of his worry, Dean could tell that this was not one of the better class of omegas, and the cursing confirmed it. Still, Bones seemed to come to a decision, and stood up straighter.
“Are you two hungry?” Both boys nodded, and he turned to the small kitchenette. There wasn’t much there- just a few packets of ketchup left over from the fast food John had gotten the night before. “Ok, let’s go grab some food.”
Dean didn’t want to get in trouble, but he knew he had to say something. “Um, we don’t have any money…’ To his surprise, Bones gave him a smile. “Don’t worry about that. I know a place where we can get some food. It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”
Bones helped Sammy dress and got his shoes tied. John hadn’t left them a key for the hotel room, but Bones showed them how to use a knife from the silverware drawer to open the door again. “You just slide the knife between the door and the frame, right where the handle is, then push, and…!” The door popped open. “It doesn’t work on stronger locks, but this place?” He looked around, as if seeing his surroundings clearly for the first time. “For this place, it works just fine.”
Being with Bones opened Dean’s eyes to a world he had never known existed. First they walked to a building where a line of people waited outside. Sammy needed to be carried, and even Dean;s legs were tired by the time they arrived an hour later. “This is a soup kitchen,” Bones told them. Dean’s stomach immediately growled, but his first thought was for his brother. “ Sammy doesn’t like soup, and plus, he spills it all over the place.”
“Don’t worry, just because they call it a soup kitchen doesn’t mean they always serve soup.”
Bones was right. They grabbed trays and went through a line, where people served food from big, steaming containers. They each got a grilled cheese sandwich, a scoop of mashed potatoes, and some green beans. To the boys' delight, they also got containers of applesauce, and a carton of milk each.
“How come they give this out for free?” Dean asked, as they found their way to a table.
“Because there are still nice people out there who want to help.”
“Why?”
Bones looked thoughtful. “I think it makes them feel better. If they feed people who are hungry, they don’t have to think about how people got that way in the first place.”
It made no sense, but Dean was too focused on the food in front of him to worry about it any further.
After the soup kitchen Bones took them to a food pantry, which thankfully was just down the block. There, they got a prefilled bag of groceries, as well as two winter coats, with hats and mittens for the boys. Dean was exhausted but thrilled by the time they got back to the hotel room. He and Sammy spent the rest of the day lying on the floor, watching TV, and revelling in their full bellies. It was bliss. Dean had long since learned not to ask questions but three year old Sammy had no such inhibitions.
“Where do you live?” He asked Bones, who looked sad for a moment, then growled “Here.” Sam nodded "Where did you live before here?”
“Somewhere else. Watch your show.” No one said anything for a few minutes, but Dean knew that Bones was sad. He wondered where Bones had come from, if he had a family, or friends he missed, but knew better than to ask. He also wondered why Bones didn’t just leave. He knew better than to ask that, either.
One day, Bones went out for a few hours, and came back with bruises on his face, and an old grocery cart. From that point forward, both Dean and Sam got to ride in comfort to the soup kitchen, although they had to share space in the cart with the donated groceries on the way back.
Despite Sammy’s whining, Bones was frugal with the food, and it lasted until John returned. It had been three weeks, and Dean had been quietly panicking about Dad’s long absence but it appeared everything was fine.
“How’d you get the extra rent?” John asked casually.
Bones stood up a bit straighter. “I took care of it.” John looked at the omega’s red and swollen lips and grinned. “I’ll bet you did. All warmed up for me, huh?”
He turned to his sons “Why don’t you two go out and play in the car? Lock the doors, and honk the horn if there’s any trouble.” He turned back to the omega. “We’re gonna be a while.”
The next day, John bundled all of them into the car. Bones sat stiffly in the front, his hand on John’s thigh, while Dean sat in the back and kept Sammy fed and occupied. They drove for hours, and Bones got more and more tense as the miles passed.
“Where are we going?”
“What the hell do you care? You can fuck just as well in Omaha as you did in Buffalo.”
After that, Bones was silent for the remainder of the trip.
John dumped their gear on the bed, and shot his sons a hard look. “I’ve got some work to do. You two stay inside, and behave,” Then he was gone, tossing a ten dollar bill on the table.
“I’m hungry” Sammy whined and Bones looked scared. “I know, but I don’t know where the soup kitchen is in Omaha. I’m going to have to ask around, and that can be dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because letting strangers know you’re vulnerable is a very bad idea,” Bones sighed. “It’s better to hit a store and use the money we’ve got. We can ask the people at the store if they know if there are any soup kitchens or food pantries.”
Bones walked them several blocks to a rundown store. The grocery carts were chained together and required a twenty five cent deposit to use. Bones looked down at the bill in his hands. “I don’t have a quarter right now, can you help me carry things?”
Sammy was pretty bad at it, but Dean proudly helped carry a pile of cans to the checkout.
“Do you know where there’s a soup kitchen or food pantry nearby?” Bones asked the beta woman who was ringing up their order. She gave him a long, blank look,
“We expect able-bodied people to WORK for their food around here.”
“Yes, and I would, but I can’t leave the children alone all day.”
She shrugged. “Should have thought of that before you spread your legs. Why should MY tax dollars go to feed YOUR kids? Go find yourself an Alpha, like a decent omega.”
Bones voice hardened. “I have an Alpha. He doesn’t have any money, either.”
“Not my problem. Now get lost,”
They walked out of the store, and Bones looked around. “So much for that. We still have a few options, but we definitely can’t go back there again,” Dean couldn’t have agreed more, but he risked a question. “So what do we do next?”
“We go looking for a five-finger discount.”
The next week, Bones took them on a long walk to a nicer grocery store, where he put Sammy into the front seat of the cart, and Dean in the back. To both boys' dismay, he made them keep their coats on, and zipped up. “Trust me” he whispered.
They roamed the isles, and occasionally, Bones would put something in the cart, usually something inexpensive. Other times, he would slip a few bananas into Sammy’s sleeves, or pop a box of cereal down the front of Dean’s jacket.
Sammy giggled but Dean could barely breathe. What if they got caught? What would happen to Bones? What would happen to them? If Dad had to bail them out of jail, he’d be really, really MAD, maybe even mad enough to leave them there. The thought made Dean’s stomach hurt and suddenly, the thought of more food didn’t sound good. Bones saw the look on his face and frowned. “What’s wrong, Dean?”
“What if we get caught?”
Bones smiled. “As long as you stop looking so guilty, we’ ll be fine.”
Dean tried to think of something else, something good, and it must have worked, because they made it through the checkout line and past the bored young cashier without any problem.
“I don’t want you two doing that, but it’s a way to get food when you’re hungry” Bones said once they were back in the motel room. Sammy was too busy gorging himself on Lucky Charms to pay much attention, so Bones pulled Dean onto his lap and gave him a long look.
“You’re pretty.”
Dean said nothing, but Bones continued to look at him, as if he were seeing Dean for the first time. “And you take very good care of your brother.” He sighed. “Hopefully you’ll never wind up on the streets but if you do, remember- it’s not a crime to survive. No matter what you have to do.”
Dad didn’t come back when the week was up, but Bones once again arranged for them to stay. He came back limping, but tiredly let them know they could stay, as long as he went and talked to the manager every evening. After the first few days, he started spending the night. He always made sure the door was locked, and that both boys were in bed before he left. Dean was grateful for that, because Dad was gone for almost a month. When he finally came back, he looked blank for a moment as if he didn’t remember who Bones was, then shrugged and loaded them all into the Impala and drove away. This became the pattern of their lives, from Shreveport, to St. Louis, to Waco, where Dad loaned Bones to another hunter-“just for one night, got that?”
He never came back.
Dad went looking for him after a few days, and came back tight-lipped and angry.
“Where’s Bones?” Sammy sobbed and Dad roared “SHUT UP AND QUIT YOUR WHINING, BOY!” before slamming his fist into the wall.
Dean hurriedly took Sammy outside and held him until he was all cried out. A few minutes later, Dad came outside, carrying their gear. “Get in the car, boys- we’re leaving.”
This threatened to start Sammy’s tears again but there was something in Dad’s voice that made both boys stay silent.
After that, Dad took his omegas out behind the motel, or in the back seat of the Impala, but never in the motel room. Not ever again.
Once a week, the omegas went to Cotillion. The purpose of the gathering was to introduce them to social interaction with Alphas and Betas.
The omegas were expected to be engaging yet reserved, sociable but quiet, and a host of other contradictions that their instructor insisted would make them good companions for their guests. They wore their dress uniforms- neat beige slacks or skirts, white, button-down oxford shirts, and sensible, brightly polished shoes. Once they arrived, they would mingle, keeping an eye out for guests who seemed nervous or bored, and entertain them. They were also responsible for seeing to it that the Alphas and betas got enough to eat and always had a full glass of lemonade or iced tea.
At first, it was fun.
Dean was popular at Cotillion, and could always count on plenty of attention from the more confident guests. His eye was drawn, however, to a young man standing awkwardly against the wall, looking like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d come to be there. Smiling apologetically at the Alpha who was currently trying to claim his attention, Dean slid away and headed towards the boy. “Hey, I’m Dean” he said and was rewarded with a shy smile. “I’m Aaron.”
“It’s nice to meet you. If you don’t mind my saying, you look a little bit lost.” Normally Dean wouldn’t THINK of saying such a thing to an Alpha, even an Alpha as diffident as this one, but he had a feeling that Aaron needed a friend right now.
He was right.
“I didn’t want to come,” Aaron said in a rush. “My parents insisted…according to them, I’ve got a big family history to live up to, and I’m already off to a bad start.” He looked surprised, as if he couldn’t believe his own voice. “I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to say stuff like that.”
Dean laughed. “Hey, we all say stuff we aren’t supposed to…you should hear some of the things that come out of my mouth, especially when I’m pi- upset.”
“I doubt that,” Aaron replied. “You look so…put together, like you always know the right thing to say or do.”
“Wanna tell that to my teachers? I’m sure my grades need all the help they can get. So” Dean said, reverting back to the script they were all supposed to follow - “tell me about yourself. What do you do when you’re not at Cotillion?”
Aaron smiled and seemed to relax. “I have a feeling I’m supposed to tell you all about how I’m a college student, working on my degree in Comparative Religion, but the truth is…” he leaned forward and lowered his voice “I spend most of my time tearing pages out of my books and using them to roll joints.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “No way!”
“Way. Ever tried it?”
“Nah, I’ve been here at the school since I was 12…but I raided my dad’s liquor stash once.” It wasn’t a happy memory, and had led to one of the worst physical and emotional beatings of his short life, but the rule at Cotillion was to work with the conversational openings the Alpha gave you. If Aaron smoked pot, Dean would find something to admire and align himself with.
“That sounds fun- what kind?”
Dean chuckled “Every kind. And I can tell you, mixing whiskey, beer, and some kind of weird apple moonshine was NOT a good idea.” Changing the focus, he asked “What’s it like, getting high?”
Aaron sighed. “I wish I was high now- it makes you relaxed, like your problems don’t really matter.”
“They don’t. Your parents expect you to socialize with omegas? Right now, you’re crushing it.”
Aaron gave him a grin and Dean felt like he’d won the lottery.
The rest of the evening passed in quiet enjoyment, and before they knew it, it was 9 pm and time to go.
“Dean,” Aaron said, then hesitated. “Will you, I mean, is it ok, if next week, I come back?” He hurried on “I get that you probably won’t want to waste the whole night hanging with me, but maybe, we could talk for a few minutes?”
“Hey, man, that sounds good- see you next time!”
With that, the omegas were shepherded out and back to school, where they had a post-conference.
“So” said Mrs. Farren “how did it go?”
Each student reported on his or her evening, who they’d spoken with, what was said. When everyone had spoken, she turned back to Dean. “I noticed you did something very good-would you like to tell the rest of the class?”
Dean wracked his brain, but all he’d done was what he’d been told to do. Mrs. Farren smiled patiently. “Dean noticed an Alpha who seemed shy and uncomfortable, so he approached him, and put the man at ease, isn’t that right, Dean?”
Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “Hey, I was just being nice.”
“Yes, and I am sure the Alpha appreciated it. Remember that, class- it’s your job to make sure that your guests always feel comfortable. In every way.”
Sex class was…difficult. Dean, hardwired from early childhood to please, was happy to join the Alphas and betas in bed, it was just that…it hurt sometimes. In lab practicums, some Alphas wanted him on his hands and knees, presenting in the traditional manner, and others preferred him on his back, where they could see his face, and had access to more of his body. Dean found both unnerving. On his knees, he felt like a target, unable to see what was happening behind him, but on his back, he had to keep any negative thoughts from showing on his face. Worse yet, some of those partners enjoyed touching him everywhere. He had to keep himself from slapping their groping hands away and revealing how awful he found the whole experience.
The teachers had gone to great pains to explain to them that sex was a large part of an omega's purpose, so the encounters left him confused. The Sex Ed teacher, a nice beta named Mr. Crocce, asked him to stay after class one day, and Dean knew he’d screwed up.
“Dean,” his teacher said, fixing him with a compassionate look. “I’m sad to say I’ve gotten some complaints about you from your lab partners.”
Dean sighed. He knew he wasn’t doing well in the class, and knew that his future depended on improving. “It’s just that it hurts, sometimes.”
“Hurts how? During intercourse?”
By now Dean’s face was flaming, and he wanted nothing more than to flee the room. “Sometimes, yeah, but it’s also when they…do things.”
“Like what?”
“Do we really have to talk about this? I”ll do better, I swear!”
“It’s important to know what’s wrong, so we can fix it. I’ll set you up with a GYN appointment, so we can make sure there’s nothing structurally wrong.”
“It’s more about how they do it- sometimes it’s ok, really, it’s just…some of them are kind of…rough.” Dean pulled off his shirt, showing the multitude of scratches and bruises his last partner had inflicted. Mr Crocce let out a low whistle. “Well, you scored yourself a stud, didn’t you? Dean, do you know why Alphas have sex? “
Dean shook his head.
“Because they like it. And omegas have sex for the same reason- because Alphas like it. Do you know what they call an omega who likes sex?”
“No, sir.”
“A slut, a whore. Omegas like that are the reason brothels exist in the first place. Sex, for omegas, isn’t something you like, it’s something you DO. Your body is uniquely designed to please the Alphas and betas, not to please itself. Sex is just a part of being an omega, but it doesn’t hurt. All of your partners know that if they want to cause pain, they need to go find a whore. Sex is never going to be something you WANT, but it will never cause you harm. Maybe you just need to adjust your expectations a bit. Intercourse is, by nature, a physical act, and you should anticipate some pounding. A few of your partners may get a bit carried away in the heat of passion, and leave a couple of marks, but they don’t mean anything by it, and they are NOT trying to hurt you. Maybe you’re just being oversensitive, do you think that could be a possibility?”
Dean considered this. No one else had been complaining, so maybe he was just being a whiny bitch.
“Ok, I guess so.”
“And the Alpha who did all that to you is probably just young, and inexperienced.” Mr. Crocce smiled, and ruffled Dean’s hair. “Next time, focus on the pleasure you are giving. If you can get your head into the right space, you’ll be fine.”
He was. After that day, he learned to school his face and body until he could almost convince himself he didn’t mind it.
Almost.
Cotillion had become the high point of his week. Aaron always sought him out after Dean had made the obligatory rounds of the other guests, and the two of them would retire to a secluded couch, and talk. Usually, it was Aaron who did the talking, and Dean who did the listening, but that was only proper. He still felt relaxed, and was able to be himself in a way he couldn’t with the others. They sat close together, laughing and joking as Aaron told him about a fist fight he lost against a fellow student in his dorm.
“No way,” said Dean, with a laugh. “Big guy like you?”
“Yup.” replied Aaron.
“Well, I don’t believe it- you just don’t know how to fight. If that guy knocked you down, it’s because you don’t know how to take a punch.”
Aaron snorted. “Dean, I don’t know how to throw one, either. My parents ditched me at the library, not the gym.”
“Well, it’s high time you learned.” Dean jumped to his feet. “Come on, stand up, and fight like a man”
Aaron reluctantly got to his feet, and Dean squared off with him. “Ok, first things first- look at your stance- you gotta make a more stable base for yourself. Watch this.” He stood with his feet apart, one slightly in front of the other. “Now try to push me.” Aaron gave him a halfhearted shove, and Dean rolled his eyes. “No, man, ya gotta mean it. Like this.” He slammed his hands against Aaron's shoulders, and the Alpha went over backwards, an expression of surprise on his face. Dean was reaching forward to help his friend to his feet, when a hand grabbed him and spun him around. He found himself face to face with a furious chaperone.
“Dean Winchester! I have never been so ashamed in my life!” His teacher was livid, and Dean knew he was in trouble. To his dismay, a chaperone for the Alphas was also there, and equally pissed off. “Aaron! WHAT did you just do?”
Aaron staggered to his feet. “We were just…Dean was showing me how to fight.”
“How to fight? An OMEGA was teaching you how to fight? You’re a disgrace, do you know that?”
The chaperones looked at each other for a moment. “Mr. St. Cyr” said Dean’s chaperone in a tight voice. “May I apologize for the behavior of my charge?”
Only, Mr. DeForge, if you will allow me to apologize for mine.”
Once the niceties were out of the way, the two chaperones turned back to Dean and Aaron. Mr. DeForge started first. “Dean, you never, never strike an Alpha.”
“But we were only…”
“NEVER. Not for any reason. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. St. Cyr got in on the act. “And Aaron, you do NOT allow an omega to strike you. It shows weakness.”
Both Dean and Aaron were staring at their feet. “Yes sir.”
“Do you both understand?”
“Yes, sirs.”
“I don’t think you do. Alpha Bass, if you truly feel yourself worthy of your designation, do what a real Alpha would do.”
“But…”
“No buts! Do what you’re told!”
Aaron’s eyes met Dean’s, and Dean gave a barely perceptible nod. He wasn’t going to let his friend get into trouble for something that wasn’t his fault.
He knew it was absolutely forbidden to hit an Alpha or beta, but just for a moment, it had felt like- home. Like goofing around with Sammy. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to remember that he had it coming.
Aaron’s first blow was weak, uncertain, and Dean glared at him. C’mon man, HIT me! He wished he were telepathic, but clearly Aaron got the hint.
The next blow fell.
And the next.
Dean was banned from Cotillion for a month. Not because of his behavior (“I’m sure we won’t have that problem again, will we Dean?” Mr. DeForge had asked gently as he’d cleaned the blood from Dean’s face) but because the bruises were too unsightly for such a genteel gathering. He also had to endure daily “correction” in the form of whippings. None of the canes used were designed to break skin, but they left welts that lasted for days.
When he was finally allowed to go back, he didn’t even look for Aaron. Instead, he stuck close to the louder, more confident Alphas. He was with one now, a tall, redheaded woman with a permanent sneer on her face and a possessive arm around Dean’s shoulder. His own face ached from keeping a smile pasted on it while the Alphas shared their funniest jokes.
“Hey, did you hear this one? There was an Alpha, a beta, and an omega. They were all trapped on an island and the nearest shore was 50 miles away. The beta swam, trying to make it to the other shore. She swam 15 miles, drowned, and died. The Alpha swam 24 miles, drowned, and died. The omega swam 25 miles, got tired, and swam back.” The group laughed uproariously. Stifling the thought that the omega was not only stronger than the other two, but was the only one who survived, Dean gave a weak chuckle. “What’s the matter?” His companion asked. “Didn’t think it was funny?”
Before Dean could answer, a beta cut in. “He probably didn’t get the joke!” This prompted another round of laughter. Just then Dean caught sight of Aaron across the room. He was moving stiffly and Dean wondered if he, too, had been beaten for his behavior that night. Aaron gave him a blank stare and turned away. Dean understood. He’d gotten the guy in trouble, and been the exact opposite of good omega.
Never again.
From that point forward, Dean devoted himself to his studies, and before he knew it, his education was complete. Everyone was buzzing-today was Recruitment Day, the day when all companies and private individuals would be coming to campus to hire new omegas. The top graduates were going to be interviewed by Sandover, who only took the best and brightest. “Remember, even finishing the Elite program with honors may not be enough for them- Sandover’s standards are the highest in the industry, and a single mistake can put you out of the running.” His advisor looked over the group, straightening a collar here, brushing back a wisp of hair there, before pronouncing them ready to enter the room. The omegas filed in, introduced themselves, and waited for questions.
The questions were tough, and Dean had a feeling that they were being set up for failure. “What’s your biggest fault?” A hard faced man in a blue suit asked a blond girl who stood next to Dean. She paused, and then said “I work too hard.” The man nodded. “So you wouldn’t be attentive to the residents?”
The girl looked frightened. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that!”
“Then why did you say it?” He turned away dismissively. “Next. You, green eyes- If your resident walks through the door angry, do you 1) offer him a drink, 2) offer him sex, or 3) offer him a massage?”
Unbidden, an old memory surfaced- John Winchester, returning home irritated and drunk after a hunt gone wrong. He’d slammed into the house, already cursing and shouting at Sammy for having his nose in a book. Without a second thought, Dean had knocked a bottle of beer off the kitchen table, and watched as it smashed to pieces on the floor in an explosion of amber foam.
He hadn’t been able to sit for a week, but Sammy had been safe, and that was all that mattered.
“I wouldn’t do any of those things, sir.” Dean kept his voice even and deferential. It was dangerous to contradict anyone, especially an Alpha who was deciding your fate, but he pressed onwards. “I would do something to direct his anger onto me, so that he could get it out of his system.”
The man nodded. “You’re hired.”
“Well done,” Headmaster Jones said when the interviews were done. “Sandover is one of our biggest employers. When you leave this school, I expect you to be proud of your education and do everything you can to live up to our expectations. We are all very proud of you. To be a Sandover omega is a badge of distinction.”
Dean had no way of knowing that everyone from the school wound up working for Sandover.
One way or another.
The first day of orientation was scary. All of the new omegas filed into the auditorium, where an imposing man stood at the podium. “I am Mr. Morello and I have a question for you- who is the most important person in this company?
He waited until one of the groups raised a tentative hand. “You?” The man smiled. “That’s right! I am the most important person at Sandover- and so are you! He swept his arm around the room- “all of you, all of US are the most important, essential people here, and don’t you forget it! Everyone at Sandover is a part of a greater whole, and even the smallest part has a role to play to keep the entire company going. You, as domestic facilitators, can make or break a resident’s day. Sending your resident out the door each day with ALL of his or her needs met determines how well they can meet the needs of the people THEY work for. If they can meet the expectations of their superiors, they pass the satisfaction up the line, and the company prospers. A prosperous company can keep its omegas in comfortable apartments. It can keep its omegas well fed, well dressed, and, most importantly, it can keep its omegas SAFE. By providing you with a home, and a purpose, Sandover keeps you under its protection. If any of your guests mistreat you, they will be dealt with.” His voice darkened. “Our residents are expected to sign, and abide by, a code of conduct. If they violate that code of conduct, they will not be welcome again. We expect each of you to know what the code of conduct is, and to report any violations to Omega Management.” By the end of the day, every new omega felt safe, and protected, and would do anything to stay that way.
This made the second day so much easier.
“Yesterday we talked about how each one of us is the most important person in the organization, remember?”
All of the omegas nodded. “It’s good to be important, but it’s even more important to be good. We each have a job to do, and if any one of us doesn’t do our job, what happens to everyone else? They can’t do THEIR jobs! If you don’t do your job and take the best care of your resident, your resident can’t go to work and do his or her job either, and then no one around them can do their job. If that happens, the whole company fails! What would happen if I decided I didn’t want to do my job one day? That it was too much work to be the head of Omega Management? What if I decided that I didn’t need to check in on each of you each day? Would you be able to do YOUR jobs?” There was an uncertain chorus of “no”s, and he smiled. “What would happen if one of the clients thought he could get away with hurting you? Cutting you with a knife, or beating you? What would happen then?” He paused and looked at the ashen faces of his audience.
“And what would happen if one of you decided you didn’t feel like being a domestic facilitator for a day? That you didn’t want to cook, or clean, or go to bed with your resident? What would happen if you hit them, or argued with them?” He paused to let the questions sink in. “You would be putting all of Sandover in jeopardy and we can’t allow that. You have no right to jeopardize the safety and well-being of your fellow omegas, to say nothing of the rest of your fellow Sandover employees. If any of you did anything like that, we would have to rethink our entire program. We wouldn’t be able to offer our omegas luxury apartments with nest cubbies, or nutritious food. We wouldn’t be able to offer you safety. Our CEO might decide that it’s easier to hire a cleaning crew, and a caterer, and let the residents use an escort service. And all of our omegas would be out of a job, and on the streets. Would ANY of you do that to your fellow workers?”
This time the chorus of “NO” brought down the ceiling. Mr. Morello smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Sandover will provide you with safety and structure. You have a post, and you must never desert it. There is no reason for you to leave the apartment. Everything you will never need is already there. If you don’t have it, it will be ordered and delivered. Tomorrow we'll go over the intranet system- each of you will have a computer and you can access our corporate grocery service, our recipe website, and our company store, where you will find any and all supplies that you need. You will be issued four standard omega uniforms, which you will wear every day. At night, you will wear, or not wear, clothing based on your resident’s preferences.”
There are going to be things about your job that you don’t like, and that’s perfectly normal! There are things about my job I don’t like- I don’t enjoy having to escort an omega off Sandover property when they’ve violated the rules. It makes me feel bad, when they’re crying and begging for a second chance, when they know that they are going to wind up on the streets as a result of their choices. But I have my job to do just as they had theirs, and neither of us gets to change the rules. If there is a problem, you contact Omega Management, and we will help you. If you decide that this is not the job for you, you are free to leave. If we decide this is not the job for you, you’ll be fired. So-” he looked around the room “if anyone here thinks they’re not up to the challenge, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
No one spoke.
Dean walked down the hall of the building, a half step behind Ms. Burrows, his Omega Management supervisor. He felt proud. All of the other omegas had been sent off with an underling, but she had taken the time to escort Dean personally to his first assignment. It was an honor and he vowed to make himself worthy of it.
They took the elevator to the 29th floor, and walked down a long hallway. There were doors at regular intervals, heavy walnut portals with gorgeous millwork and bright brass fixtures. Dean waited to see which one would be his but instead, Ms. Burrows stopped at a blank expanse of wall. On closer inspection, Dean could see the outline of a door. She produced a keycard from her pocket, and waved it at the door, which opened with a soft click. Stepping back, she gestured for Dean to enter.
He found himself in an amazing kitchen. It was small but fully functional, with a gourmet stove, top-end dishwasher, farmhouse sink and a small refrigerator. On the other side of the kitchen was a bank of cabinets with quartz countertops, a stand mixer, and gourmet knives, pots and pans. For someone who loved to cook, it was almost heaven.
Dean, long accustomed to phrasing complaints as self-criticism, said “I hope I can manage to fit everything into that fridge.”
Ms. Burrows laughed. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Dean knew he needed to tread carefully. “Well, if I’m shopping for a week, I’m gonna need somewhere to keep stuff …”
“Dean, Dean, don’t worry that pretty head. You won’t be shopping for a week! Every morning, you’ll type your grocery list into the computer, and your groceries will be delivered by noon. You just have to plan one day at a time, and if there is something you forget, you just put in an emergency order, and it will be delivered within a half hour.” Ms. Burrows put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But I don’t expect that will happen often, do you?” Dean shook his head.
As a rule, residents would eat breakfast and dinner at the apartment. During the day, they would be at work, so Dean would be sent the standard omega lunch. If his guest were dining out, an evening meal would be sent as well. Otherwise, Dean would be expected to cook. He would be given a profile of each resident, including their food preferences and appetites, so he knew exactly what to prepare. When the guest was eating at the apartment, Dean was expected to share the meal.
No one ever asked about his preferences and appetite.
Once Ms. Burrows had shown him around the apartment, she left Dean to start working. Even though the apartment was clean, Dean went back over it with a fine tooth comb, making sure each surface gleamed and each cushion and blanket were perfectly placed. He adjusted the lighting endlessly until he was satisfied that the room exuded a perfect combination of hominess and sophistication. He reviewed his very first resident profile, and ordered everything he could possibly need. Then, unsure what else to do, stood by the door and waited.
His first resident arrived an hour later, water dripping from his drenched hair and coat. Dean looked at him in amazement. “You’re soaked.”
The man snorted. “Tell me you’re an omega without telling me you’re an omega” he muttered, then said in a louder voice. “It’s pouring out, kid.”
Dean glanced toward the floor to ceiling windows, where beams of bright sunshine shone through, and the man laughed. “Those windows are fake.” His mouth twisted. “It’s always sunny at Sandover, didn’t you know that kid? Those windows are just there to give you omegas vitamin D, or some bullshit like that. Now grab me a towel. I’m soaked.”
His resident, Mr. Curtis, was grumpy, but easy enough to please. Dean rushed his coat and hat to the laundry area, then hurried back into the bedroom to unpack the beta’s suitcase and lay out some dry clothes. The man himself emerged from the bathroom in a luxurious robe, towelling off his hair, and gave a reluctant nod. “Good work, boy. Care to make me a Manhattan? Then light the fireplace- I need to warm up.”
It took both Dean and the fireplace to get Mr. Curtis warm again, but when it was over, Dean felt a little bit warm too. His first resident was clean, dry, warm, and satisfied. He’d done his job. And if he felt a shiver of discomfort at what the resident had done to him, he was able to dismiss it and bask in the glow of a job well done.
By the time Dean had been with Sandover for a month, he had everything down to a science. Each morning, he woke to an alarm (if he was sleeping in his nest) or to the stirrings of his guest if he had spent the night in their bed. He would quietly climb out of bed, and head for the kitchen. In addition to the cooking facilities, his part of the apartment had the small cubby that held his nest, and a tiny but functional bathroom. There was a toilet, a tiny, wall-mounted sink, a showerhead in the ceiling, and a drain in the floor. It was practical. Dean could shower, and brush his teeth at the same time. There was a waterproof compartment that always had a fresh towel to dry off with, as well as his clean clothes for that day.
He’d discovered that a comfortable life for the residents required a great deal of work from a lot of other people, none of whom he would ever see. The entire complex ran on a series of silent dumbwaiters which honeycombed the buildings. Anything Dean ordered, from food to towels, to bottles of the finest scotch, came to him via the wall slot in the kitchen, and he brought it out to the apartment. Huge, fluffy towels made of Egyptian cotton were carefully placed in the warmer in the master bath, along with high quality, milled soap from France. He kept the bar cart stocked with everything he needed to make any mixed drink his resident liked, sending the bottles back down the dumbwaiter when the resident left.
In all that time, he never went beyond the walls of his apartment. He didn’t need to. Everything he needed, Sandover would provide, including the artificial sunlight that kept him healthy. He never thought about before, about feeling real sunshine on his face, or running, jumping, racing around with Sammy outside in the fresh air. Whatever his purpose had been back then, he had a new one now. He never thought about the past.
Never.
Some residents were easier to care for than others. Mr. Davies (“Call me Mick”) was one of Dean’s favorites. He was polite, and always said “thank you”, whether it was for a good meal, or clean laundry. He was gentle, and always smiled when he asked Dean to join him in bed. He would pat Dean’s back afterward, and leave soft kisses on his nape while they were done. Afterwards, he would hold him close, falling asleep with an arm protectively around Dean. Mr. Davies made him feel safe.
Abbadon didn’t. She was all Alpha, brash, confident, and very, very quick to anger. She worked in PR, making slick, superficial commercials about Sandover’s concern for the environment, the poor, social justice, world peace, and anything else that made the company sound good. She also crafted a meticulous series of ad campaigns making their competitors look bad. Right now, she was working on a pitch to some place called “Morningstar Industries.” Dean didn’t understand much about it, and Abbadon didn’t care to explain her work to an underling, but based on her side of the phone calls she made while he lay beneath her, Morningstar was a serious competitor to Sandover, and both companies wanted to buy out the other. Dean didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Abbadon had no trouble hurting him when things didn’t go her way, and it was apparent that things with Morningstar WEREN’T going her way. As a result, Dean wound up with bruises, scratches, and very, very sore nipples. He grew to hate hearing the name at all.
The omega cubby was Dean’s favorite place in the apartment. It was small, warm, and safe. He also discovered that the apartments were mirror images of each other, and while the walls were reasonably thick, certain sounds came through. One night, as he was trying to get to sleep, he heard the unmistakable sound of sobs. At first he tried to tune them out; he’d done his share of crying, usually in the shower, where the falling water drowned out any noise. This omega clearly hadn’t learned to do that.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He whispered, hoping that his voice would be loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to disturb his resident.
The tears stopped. “Who is that?”
“It’s Dean- I live next door, Who are you?”
There was the sound of sniffling, then a female voice said “Lydia.”
“Hi, Lydia. What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying for nothing? What are you, an omega?”Dean asked teasingly, and his new friend laughed grudgingly.
“Fine. My resident got a bit…upset last night.”
Dean nodded. They had all had nights like that. “Hey, if it made him feel better, wasn’t it worth it?”
There was silence for a few minutes, then Lydia whispered “I think he broke my nose.”
“Shit” said Dean without thinking, then clapped a hand over his mouth.
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that” Lydia replied but Dean could hear a bit of a smile in her words and it made him feel like he’d said the right thing.
“Did you tell your manager?”
“I don’t want to get fired!” The tears were back.
“Hey, they can’t fire you for that! And if a resident gets violent, they throw them out! They said so right in orientation!”
“I know, but…”
“Is your resident still there?”
She sounded as if she were about to start crying again. “Yes, for three more days, but-“ her voice broke- “he says I’m too disgusting to fuck, even if he can’t see my face, so he told me to stay out of his sight until he leaves.”
“He doesn’t even want meals?”
“I’m supposed to cook, put the food on the table, then leave.”
“Wow.”
“I don’t know what to do…”
“Call your boss as soon as he leaves in the morning-it’s all you can do.”
He heard a sigh . “You’re right. Thanks, Dean.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
The next morning, Dean heard a commotion in the next apartment. He heard it because he had a glass pressed to the wall, and his ear pressed to the glass. It was an old trick, one he’d learned from John back before his father had deemed him worthless. He knew he shouldn’t be snooping, that it was none of his business, but he was worried. He could hear Lydia crying again, and a soothing but authoritative voice telling her that everything was going to be all right. He caught words like “Infirmary” and “Supply Center, just until you’re better.” Then came the sound of a door closing, and after that, silence.
Dean knew about the infirmary, and the Supply Center, he’d toured them with the rest of his group during orientation. The infirmary looked just like any other clinic he’d ever been in, but the Supply Center was amazing, like a cross between a big box store and Santa’s Workshop. There were shelves full of anything the residents could want, from liquor to fine china, and the food…the food was beyond belief. Coolers full of Waygu beef, Norwegian salmon, and caviar, endless amounts of fresh produce, and even teams of people making sushi and fresh pasta. There were conveyor belts, and rows and rows of omegas busily packing individual orders and sending them out to be distributed to the apartments. If Lydia was going to be working there, she would be just fine.
To his surprise, Ms. Burrows came by the next day. “Just making the rounds, nothing to worry about!” She said jovially. “How are you doing? Have everything you need?” She paused as her phone rang. “Excuse me, Dean, I think I have to take this.”
“Hello, Mr. Vickers, sir…Yes, she’ll be fine, thanks for asking. I’ll bring in a new omega and we can reassign her to the next vacancy.” She listened again and her lips tightened. “No, but this is not the first time, or the second. I don’t think…Yes, I understand that, but…” Whoever was on the other end of the call went on at great length, and Ms. Burrows' face looked more and more angry. Finally, she squared her shoulders, and said through gritted teeth “Yes, of course, a kid of 27 can’t be expected to control his behavior, and it would certainly be a shame if such a bright future were jeopardized by a few, trivial mistakes. I’m sure if you give him a good talking-to, he won’t do it again. Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” She disconnected the call so gently that Dean was sure she wanted to fling the phone across the room, but she took a deep breath and turned to Dean with a bright smile. “So, Dean, how long have you been with us now?”
Dean swallowed hard. He’d been with Sandover for about a year (he thought- he’d started in the fall, he knew that; and it had been quite a while since Christmas. No one had sent up this year’s Halloween decorations yet, but the residents were coming in with light jackets so summer must be over.)
As if reading his mind, Ms. Burrows said “We’re coming up on your one year evaluation already! You’ve done a good job, no worries, but we have a formal review process we go through- nothing to be concerned about, just a chance to look at your overall performance and see if there are areas you can get even better at.”
That night, after his resident had dismissed him from her bed, Dean pored over the self-evaluation Ms. Burrows had emailed him. It was confusing. It had over one hundred questions, but a lot of them seemed to be asking the same question in different ways. Was it some kind of trick? What would happen if he answered wrong? And was there a right answer to questions like “I like getting high with my resident “? If he said “yes” it meant he was getting high, and if he said “no” it meant the same thing. And he wasn’t getting high. Sure a few people had smoked or snorted in the apartment but they sure as hell hadn’t wasted their stash on Dean. Finally he settled on “no” and hoped that whoever was reading the thing figured out what he was trying to say.
When midnight came and went he decided that he’d rather go to bed. He had to be up at four for a morning quickie with his resident before he cooked her breakfast. The woman was almost fanatical, with every second of the day rigidly scheduled. She had a meeting at 8 am, and had calculated exactly how much time it would take her to orgasm, shower, dress, eat and get to the office. Dean had been informed he had twenty minutes to cook breakfast once she let him leave the bed. Given that she wanted eggs Benedict, and Bearnaise sauce took at least fifteen minutes to make correctly, he didn’t have a second to lose. He could finish the questionnaire once she was gone.
The next day, he stood at the kitchen counter and scowled down at the computer. He was almost done, only two pages left, and he could have taken it out to the dining room table, but he was still pretty sore, and sitting down didn’t sound very inviting.
“What the hell?” He muttered. This set of questions weren’t Yes/No, they had options. Never, Occasionally, Sometimes, Often, and Always. What did that even MEAN? Sure, Dean sneezed sometimes and he cleaned the laundry vent sometimes but he sure as hell didn’t clean the vent as often as he sneezed, so what was the point of trying to define “Sometimes”? Finally, he just picked what he hoped were the best answers, and left it at that.
He wasn’t sure who read all that crap, or what they did with it, but two days later, Ms. Burrows was once again at his door. “Hello, Dean,” she said with her usual smile. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, Ma’am. Would you like some coffee?”
“Coffee would be lovely. Cream, two sugars.”
“Coming right up. Will you have a seat on the couch while I get it ready?”
“As always, your manners do you credit.”
When the coffee was made, Dean put it on a tray with a few cookies, and brought it to her seat.
“Please, sit with me Dean.”
He sat on the couch opposite her, and tried not to bite his nails.
She pulled out her laptop and, after a few moments of tapping the keyboard, turned it toward him.
“Here is your evaluation. It’s compiled from your self-assessment, my observations, and reviews from your residents. I think you’ll be VERY pleased.”
Dean read it through. In general, he’d gotten “Above Average” in each category, and even gotten a single “Excellent” for his housekeeping. There was nothing negative at all. Even the comments from his residents were kind, and for the most part, complimentary. Of course, “looks and COOKS like an angel” was much nicer than “A great fuck, and the noises he makes!” but that was part of his job too, so he supposed he should be happy. Blushing slightly, he looked up and met Ms. Burrow’s eyes.
“As you can see, Dean, you are doing a very good job, and are popular with the residents. Mr. Davies in particular always leaves five star reviews.”
“Yeah, he’s really nice.”
“Are there clients who aren’t nice?”
Dean felt like this was a trick question. Of course there were. Just because it was his job to be nice didn’t mean they had to return the favor, and many of them didn’t. But he knew better than to say so.
“Well, I mean…there are always some you like better than others, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try to do my best for them. It’s not fair to let them have a bad experience.” He hoped he sounded sincere.
“Of course not. Well, I’m pleased to report that we’re extending your contract for the next year! Are there any goals you feel you need to work on?”
“I guess I could…make sure that all of my residents know how enthusiastic I am about caring for them?”
“That’s a fine goal. If you keep up the good work, it’s possible you could be up for a promotion, somewhere down the line.”
A promotion? Were there omegas who did things other than domestic facilitation? He wondered if maybe there were, at least a few. Maybe there were omegas in Omega Management. It made sense, right? Who better than another omega to oversee the work omegas did. Thinking of the future, HIS future, he went back into the kitchen to get dinner ready for his newest resident.
For the rest of the year, Dean worked on his goals, until he was certain he was keeping everyone happy. He wasn’t allowed to see his reviews, of course, that was a treat reserved for his annual evaluation, but his residents were almost always repeat visitors, who’d asked for him specifically. Of course, Mr. Ketch had given him a serious spanking after being bumped to a different apartment once when Dean had already been spoken for but it had only hurt for a little while, and in a funny way, it made Dean feel good. He hadn’t known Mr. Ketch liked him that much. It was easier though, having the same group of residents, whose needs, quirks and desires he knew by heart.
It was a surprise, then when he got his newest assignment. TWO residents, brothers by the sound of it. Mr. Lucifer Morningstar, and Mr. Michael Morningstar. Dean felt a prickle of discomfort. Morningstar was the name of the people Abbadon had failed to engineer a merger with. Apparently, things had changed if they were coming here to Sandover. He was even more surprised when Ms. Burrows dropped by.
“Just checking in to see if you’re ready for your next residents,” she said with a smile.
Dean smiled back. “Yes, Ma’am. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Well…I’ve never had two residents at the same time before. Do they, um, sleep in the same bed?”
Ms. Burrows laughed. “No, Mr. Michael Morningstar will be sleeping in the apartment next door. However, they are here to negotiate a very, very important business deal, so any time they are not at Corporate Headquarters, they will be here together. You will need to provide meals and entertainment to them during the evening. From what I have read in their profiles, they are not averse to sharing you sexually, although it’s not a…” her voice dropped disapprovingly “three-way. They are normal, healthy Alphas, but as brothers, they have no innate objection to using the same omega. Perfectly normal and natural, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”
Dean made sure the apartment was spotless from top to bottom, and had the bar cart stocked with the very, very exclusive Scotch the brothers preferred. He’d baked a tray of cheese puffs and another of mushroom tarts, and made sure the china and glassware sparkled. He really wanted to make a good impression, but wasn’t sure he wanted to have the two men as regular residents.
He had no idea how bad it was going to be.
There were rules when a new resident visited for the first time. Dean would greet them, take their coats, and show them around. He would fix them drinks and snacks, then settle them in front of the fireplace while he unpacked their suitcases. If it was dinner time, he would serve them a gourmet meal, complete with the finest wines, then clean up in the kitchen while they relaxed on the couch. Then, and only then, would they lead him to the bedroom, where he would remove his clothing, and arrange himself on the bed. He would do whatever they wanted, say whatever they wanted, BE whatever they wanted. It would all be orderly and civilized. He would be safe.
Instead, the two men burst into the apartment, and slammed the door while Dean was still in the kitchen. “OMEGA!” he heard one of the bellow, and hurried through the swinging door into the living room.
The Morningstars were big men, with broad chests and strong arms. Even in business suits, they exuded an air of menace. Right now, they weren’t bothering to hide their anger.
“You the bitch that comes with this place?” one of them asked, grabbing Dean by the chin and staring at him with ferocity.
“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, and the man laughed. “Ooh, Mikey, this one’s got manners.”
“A hole’s a hole, Lucifer. If you want to talk to him about etiquette, go right ahead, but I’ve got better things to do.”
The first man let go of Dean’s face, and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind him, and shoving him roughly over the back of the couch. “Hold still, or I’ll break it.”
Dean knew they weren’t allowed to hurt him, it was against Sandover policy, but he couldn’t help a shiver going through him. These men weren’t nice, and they weren’t playing by the rules. Still, he was there for a purpose-maybe if they got whatever was bothering them out of their systems, they would settle down. Dean would help them relax, fix them a good meal, and maybe then the sex would be, if not gentle, at least less violent. They were Alphas after all, and everyone knew how Alphas got when they were upset.
Dean was expecting a beating. He wasn’t expecting to have Lucifer grab the back of his pants and yank them down to his mid thighs. There was no time to get slick, there was no time to prepare, before Dean felt the burn and pain of a hard, demanding cock slam into him. It was agony. His nipples burned from the friction of his shirt against the leather couch as he was battered back and forth, Lucifer’s hands grabbing his hips hard enough to bruise. If felt like forever before the man slowed, then thrust into Dean, as far as he could go, and came with a piggish grunt of satisfaction. He grabbed Dean’s hair, and pulled his head up.
“That’s round one, bitch. Better brace for impact.”
Lucifer stepped back, and Michael took his place. By now, Dean was gritting his teeth, and only focused on surviving this nightmare. Surely the brothers would be done soon, and then, maybe they would let him get on with his work. Instead, it seemed they were making…plans.
“Sandover’s not going to bend over for us the way this slut did” Michael said, ignoring the fact that Dean hadn’t bent over for them. “Where does that leave us?”
“If we can’t work with them, then we take them down.”
“We don’t have that kind of time. And we’re already on the Russians’ shit-list.”
“Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound,”
“Not if it’s a pound of OUR flesh. I don’t want to make that situation any worse.”
“What choice do we have? We cut in a little more on their operation, until we can get enough leverage to do a hostile takeover here. Then, we give the Russians back their share, throw in some cash or omegas to take the sting out, and we’re back on top.”
“We need to make sure Sandover knows we’re not playing games.”
“I can think of a way to let them know.”
When Michael finished, Dean lay over the couch for a moment, dazed, and aching. He knew that blood and semen were leaking from his hole, and all he wanted was to crawl to the bathroom, clean up, and hide in his nest. Instead, he felt his pants pulled up around the mess, then one of the Alphas grabbed him, and threw him over his shoulder. “Scream, and I’ll cut your throat with your own kitchen knife, you dripping whore” Lucifer warned, as he opened the front door, looking left and right. “Ok, coast’s clear.”
The brothers carried Dean down the stairs, down, down, down, until they reached the parking garage three stories below the building. He’d expected to be shoved into the back of a car; instead, he heard a truck pop, then felt himself being dumped inside. The door shut, and he was left in darkness.
Dean had no idea how long he lay there, choking on fear and gas fumes, before the trunk opened again. Seeing Michael’s face, he decided he’d rather have the fumes. “Have a nice nap?” Michael asked with a sneer, pulling him out of the trunk. “You can walk from here, I’m sick of carrying your ass.” Holding Dean roughly by the arm, he dragged him towards the house.
If he hadn’t been kidnapped, Dean might have appreciated the beauty of the dwelling he was in. The upstairs was a panorama of floor to ceiling glass, showcasing the majestic pine forest outside. The furniture was heavy, made of hewn wood and leather, and radiated Alpha masculinity. Dean only got a glimpse before he was pushed roughly down a set of stairs, with a heavy metal door at the end. Lucifer opened the door, and Michael shoved Dean onto the concrete floor. He landed hard, on his hip, and let out a cry.
“I can’t wait to hear that sound again” Michael said with a grin. “Can you guess what we’ve got in store for you next?”
Dean glared at him. They’d kidnapped him, forced him to leave his post, and he was done being nice. They’d ruined his life, stolen his future, and he hated them.
“Fuck. You. Both.” he spat, but the brothers only laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, little one, there’s going to be plenty of fucking. What we did in your precious apartment was just a warm up. We’ve got some…friends coming here, and we’re going to have a little party. We’re going to eat, drink, and fuck you until you can’t walk.”
“And when we’re done” Lucifer said with a vicious grin “We’re going to string you up like a pinata and take turns hitting you until you split open. Think about that while you’re waiting.”
Dean did.
He’d always heard that when you were about to die, your life flashed before your eyes. He saw his now- the fire that had taken his mother, the years being a parent to Sammy and a disappointment to John, that first, disastrous heat, the Registration Center, the school, Sandover. He saw Sammy and Bones, and Aaron, and Lydia. He saw John.
“If I’d wanted a bitch, I would have gotten a dog.”
Fuck that. He wasn’t gonna roll over and die like some weak, worthless, whining bitch. Looking around, he saw a small window. The Alphas had overlooked it, of course, since it was far too small for a body the size of theirs. For an omega, whose physique had been shaped by poor nutrition, lack of exercise, fresh air and sunshine, it was just right.
Dean found a broken curtain rod, wrapped his shirt around it, then closed his eyes, and rammed it through the glass. A few blows, and most of the shards were out of the frame. Barely feeling the cuts, he slithered through.
He was free.
He was alone.