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Eddie presents on a Tuesday. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t mean to. Especially not at school, in the middle of the library.
Out of all the Losers, Bill was the only one who’d presented so far. He'd been out of school for two days, as he bared his fangs for the first time and felt the newly grown muscle ripple under his skin. It hadn’t been any surprise to Eddie that he’d come out as an Alpha. He was their noble, brave, beautiful Bill. The one who’d led all of them into the sewers to face their fears. The one they had always followed and always would.
Eddie had been feeling weird for almost a week now. It started as a constant itch, nibbling at him no matter how much he raked his fingernails across his scalp or scrubbed himself raw in the bath. Then there was the cramping pain deep in his pelvis, and waking up in the morning to find his bed sheets soaked with sweat. In the mirror that morning he looked shockingly pale, paper white apart from two bright blotches of pink high on his cheeks. He ran out of the house before his mom could see him. The last thing he wanted was to be bed-bound and barred from school.
He’s in the library with Ben looking at books for their English project when it happens. Eddie had asked Ben to be his partner, as he obviously appreciated classic literature more than some of the other Losers, and unlike Richie, hadn’t bellowed "Shakespeare was a pussy-ass bitch!" in class when their teacher had doled out their assignments. He’s thinking about telling Richie off for that when they meet up at the clubhouse later when the pain shoots through him. It’s the worst cramp yet, piercing through his lower stomach like an ice pick.
He doubles over with a breathy “fuck, oh my god,” clutching at the shelves in front of him with white fingers. Ben’s at his side in an instant.
“Eddie, what is it?”
“Ben, I don’t feel good. I think something’s wrong,” he judders through his teeth.
And that’s when he feels it: something hot and thick gush down his legs. For one hysterical moment he's convinced it’s blood. That he’s dying, and his insides are pouring down his legs in a river of red. That somehow he’s contracted a rare disease that pulverises your vital organs and bleeds you from the inside out. He’s only 13 and he’s about to fucking die.
He starts to hyperventilate, his pelvis on fire. Next to him Ben has gone stone still and silent, eyes glued to Eddie’s legs.
“Ben, is it blood?” he asks on a quiet, quivering breath.
“N-no, Eddie, it’s not blood.”
Eddie can’t take it anymore. His eyes shoot down and sees the inside of his legs drenched in a thick, clear fluid.
“Oh my god,” he moans. “Ben, what the fuck is happening?”
But Eddie doesn’t need to ask because he knows. They’ve been studying this all year. What happens when you present. And he knows that this doesn’t happen to Alphas. That it only happens because of one thing. Eddie starts to shake harder, the pain and the fluid making him quake. There’s so much of it, it’s started to puddle around his feet, soaking his shorts and leaving a glistening trail down his legs. And at some point someone’s going to walk around the corner and see what’s happening. See what he is. And then everyone will know.
“Eddie, you’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down,” he hears Ben say.
But that’s when his vision starts to blot at the corners. He feels himself swoon forwards, and everything goes black.
He wakes up in the nurse’s office, lying on a cot in the corner. Dusty autumn sunlight streams through the window by his head and he shifts uncomfortably. At some point his shorts have been removed, and he flushes hard at the feeling of thick padding bandaged between his legs.
There’s a ruckus going on in the hallway outside.
“Let me the fuck in! He’s my best friend, I have to see him!”
Richie.
“Young man, if you don’t stop with that attitude right now, you’re going to wind up in detention all week.”
“Blow me, dude! You think I care about a fucking DETENTION-”
Then the sound of shoes squeaking along the floor, as Richie was inevitably dragged away by whatever poor teacher had come across him.
Their school’s middle-aged nurse tuts at all the noise, but smiles when she sees Eddie’s awake. She comes over to the cot, brushing Eddie’s hair from his clammy forehead.
“How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” Eddie says, throat parched. Nurse Harris gives him a cup of water and he drains it gratefully. She’s a beta, and her presence has always soothed Eddie, who can often be found at her office, paranoid that he’s coming down with a cold or asking her for spare antibacterial wipes.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I fainted?”
“That's right. Would have had a nasty bump if your friend Ben hadn't been there to catch you.”
She pauses, and her silence feels like a loaded gun.
“Honey, do you know what’s happening?”
Eddie nods tightly. There’s only one thing the pain and the fluid could mean. He’s known all week, just hasn’t wanted to face it.
“I’ve called your mother-”
“No,” he moans. “Please.” No way can he deal with his mother right now.
“We had to, Eddie. You fainted in the middle of the library. And the way you've presented, it’s very rare. You’ll be fine, but you need to go home and rest. I have some literature for you to read when you feel better. It'll help put things into context for you.”
Eddie feels a tear slip down his cheek into his hair.
“Am I freak?” he asks, voice deathly quiet.
Surprise and something like sadness flashes across Nurse Harris’s face.
“Oh honey, of course not.” She reaches out and clasps his hand, her skin warm and dry. “I won’t pretend that things won’t be tough for you. But you’re a strong boy. And what's happening, it makes you very special.”
Eddie starts to cry then: big, hiccuping tears that he’s never let anyone else see. Because how can any of this be fair? Eddie's always been good. He always does his homework, always comes to school on time. He keeps his room clean and is polite to his mom and has never done anything to hurt anyone. So why has this happened to him? He sobs from the injustice of it all. Nurse Harris holds his hand the entire time, not once trying to stop him or tell him to toughen up, rubbing soft circles into his skin. When he’s finished, she wipes his face with a clean flannel.
Special boy. That's not how he feels. As he waits for his mother, he flicks through one of the pamphlets Nurse Harris leaves by the cot and his stomach curdles at the statistics. While 20% of females present this way, it only affects 2% of males, making Eddie one of the rarest groups in the world. He blanches at words like bond, heat and pregnancy, and pushes his face into his pillow, wanting to die.
His mother arrives like a tornado, crashing into the nurse's office and demanding to see her little boy. The nurse blinks and looks between them, probably trying to work out how the small, quiet boy lying on her cot could be related to this red-faced barrel of a woman. But he is, and Eddie has to go with her. The nurse patiently explains what Mrs Kaspbrak needs to do over the next few days; how to ease the pain and what she can do to reduce the slick while Eddie cringes in the corner, face firetruck red and fantasising about throwing himself off the nearest cliff.
While they talk, Eddie edges gingerly off the cot and changes into the clean shorts his mom brought with her. He freezes when he sees Nurse Harris give his mother the shorts he was wearing earlier, completely soaked through, slick clinging to the plastic bag she wrapped them in.
Nurse Harris sees his frozen stare and smiles at him gently.
"Don't be embarrassed, Eddie. It happens to all children who present like this."
She looks at his mother again. "Please call me if you need anything at all."
"I think I know how to look after my own son!" his mother says shrilly, bundling Eddie up in his jacket and pulling him out of the room.
The protective bubble of the nurse's office bursts. He doesn't know what's more embarrassing: presenting in the middle of the school library, or being marched through the hallways with his mother’s iron grip on his wrist, as all the kids fall back like a congregation and stare. Eddie keeps his head down, cheeks burning, trying to ignore the hushed giggles and the way some of the older boys elbow each other as they walk past.
As they near the school entrance, he sees Bill and Stan. For one blessed second their eyes meet, and Eddie wants more than anything to run to them, to feel their arms around him, but before he can call out, his mother is pushing him through the door away from their anxious eyes.
In the car, she runs her hands all over Eddie, prodding at his pulse, pushing back his hair to feel his forehead.
“Did they hurt you, sweetie? If they touched you or gave you anything, you need to tell me.”
“No mommy,” he says, slumping in his seat.
"I can't believe they kept you there after you fainted like that. They should have taken you straight to hospital. They know about your allergies, how sensitive your skin is. If anything happens to you, I'm going to sue them, Eddie, I'm going to bring them to court and they will answer for this."
The venom in his mother's voice makes him nauseous. He wishes he could have stayed in the nurse's office forever, hidden from his mother and all the kids at school. He thinks about the way their eyes tracked him in the hallway. It had only been a few hours and already everyone knew. He wondered if they'd managed to clean the library floor yet, if his slick is still puddled in the English section like a damned spot.
Damned spot. Like Lady Macbeth and the blood she could never wash from her hands.
Tears bubble at the corners of his eyes again.
"It's okay, mommy, really. Can we please just go?"
"Oh my little lamb, of course. You just know I worry about you, Eddie-kins. No one knows how to look after you like I do."
On the way home, they stop off at the pharmacy for the supplies they'll need. Eddie tries his best not to waddle through the aisles with the padding between his legs, tries not to think about how he smells now. At the counter, his listens to his mom explain his situation, and Eddie looks anywhere but at the pharmacist, whose eyes widen comically. He gets them what they need: pills for the pain, boxes of pads to soak up the slick, and cold compresses for the fever. Over his mother's shoulder, his gaze drips over Eddie, from his freckles to his feet.
“Only the best for young blossoms,” he says as his mother pays, making Eddie’s mouth twist. He was probably just trying to be nice, but the way he looked at Eddie like he was a delicately wrapped treat made him sick in a way that had nothing to do with how he’s presented.
Back at home, his mother bathes him and brings him to bed, where she's laid an absorbent sheet out on the mattress. Like a baby that wets itself, Eddie thinks unhappily. But he doesn't have time to think about it too hard because the pain is back with a vengeance. It's so bad it feels like his pelvis is being pushed through a cheese grater, making him arch his back against the bed and wail.
"It hurts, mommy," he gasps, tears leaking from his clenched eyes.
"I know, Eddie-kins," his mother simpers, before pressing a palmful of pills to his mouth. "Take these and you'll feel better."
The pills make the pain foggy and pull him into a shallow sleep. He wakes up later that evening to his mother blotting his brow, a tray with soup and bread at his bedside. The slick has finally stopped but the shooting pains haven't, turning his body into a knot of agony. He knows it's because his insides are shifting, making space for something new to grow. He vomits a little when his mom tries to get him to eat and she wipes his chin with a damp towel, cooing nonsense about him being her sweet boy, that now he'll never have to leave her again.
“That awful boy with glasses was here earlier,” she mutters at one point. “I caught him sniffing around under your window trying to find a way in."
“Richie?” he asks. And as soon as he says the name, every nerve ending in his body lights up. “I want Richie, mommy,” he says. "I want Richie."
She shushes him as he continues babbling. Leaves him again to sleep. Eddie curls around his pillow, whimpering, wanting so much for Richie to be here. For his dumb jokes, for the nicknames he hates. For the gentle smile he gives Eddie when the others aren't around. Anything.
The next few days pass in a blur, phases of pain and sickness followed by numbness when his mother brings him his pills and bathes him. He's pretty sure he whines out for Richie more than once, making his mother frown and handle him more roughly.
Sometime later, maybe hours or days, he wakes up to find most of the fog and pain have lifted. He feels a lot better, though his pelvis feels bruised, and he's so hungry he feels hollowed out. He trails downstairs in his ThunderCats pyjamas, and into the living room where his mother is conked out in front of the TV. The news is on and he sees that it's Saturday, four days since he presented. In the kitchen, he gets himself a glass of orange juice and climbs up on a stool to grab a pack of cookies from the top shelf. Crams his mouth with them until his cheeks flush pink.
He tiptoes to the telephone, careful not to wake his mother as he dials Bill's number.
“Eddie?” he says, almost shouting when he picks up. “A-are you okay? We’ve been going crazy. We sent Stan over after school yesterday but your mom wouldn't let him in."
A spot of pure happiness blooms in Eddie's chest at the thought of his friends being worried about him.
“I’m okay, I think. I don't remember much. Can you meet me at the clubhouse? Mom's asleep and I can sneak out."
Bill agrees, saying he’ll alert the others, and Eddie runs back to his room to get dressed. His mom’s a dead weight, knows she won’t wake up until later when her soaps come on. Gives him more than two hours to get to the clubhouse and back.
He hesitates as he gets some clean clothes, wondering if he needs to put any fresh padding in his underwear. Pictures the packs of pads his mom had hoovered up at the pharmacy. Fuck it, he thinks spitefully, stomping over the small voice at the back of his head that says he should.
He puts on a white sweater and a pair of light denim overalls. Once he has his tennis shoes on, he's out the front door with his bike, hurtling down the street at full speed. Though getting to the clubhouse takes longer than usual: he’s so sore and his fatigue mounts as he peddles across town.
When he finally gets there, all the Losers are waiting for him.
Eddie pauses at the mouth of the clubhouse, suddenly fighting the urge to spin around and run back home. What if they reject him? What if they all think he's weak now and no good? Or even worse, what if they laugh at him? His mouth wobbles, and he hates himself for wanting to cry again. But determination makes him push his way inside and once he's there, the scent from the group is as soft and welcoming as it always is.
Bill stands at the front of the group, their fearless boy leader.
Alpha, Eddie thinks as he looks at him, the title resonating in a way it never has before.
"Bill," he says, lowering his eyes deferentially. He goes to him first and cranes his face up to rub his cheek along his. He sucks in a breath and steps back a little too quickly, wondering if he’s done the right thing.
“E-Eddie, we’re so g-glad you’re okay,” he says, smiling, and it’s the same sweet Bill he’s always known.
Eddie hugs Ben next, to the boy’s surprise.
“Thank you for helping me,” he says into his shoulder. “I’m sorry I freaked out so much.”
“Don’t be sorry. I'm just happy you're here. Let's catch up on our project on Monday?"
"I'd like that."
Beverly is next, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug and kissing his forehead.
“I think it’s amazing,” she says into Eddie’s hair. “You’re amazing.”
Eddie blushes and hugs her back, breathing in how nice she smells.
Then it’s Stan, with his dimpled smile and stick insect embrace, and Mike, who ruffles Eddie’s hair, grinning.
The last one is Richie, who has hung back not saying anything, hands fidgeting with the pockets on his shorts.
Eddie tenses, readies himself for a loud bray of laughing and some humiliating joke. Does this mean you have a pussy now, Eds? Was presenting like some fucking body horror shit? Was it like something out of The Thing?
But Richie doesn’t do anything, just stands there staring at him, eyes huge behind his glasses.
"Eddie," he breathes, the air around him crackling. "You're an omega."