Archive of Our Own

1. When Hughie first joined… 

Hughie didn’t get it at first. He was your average beta, a little bit on the lanky side, but overall noticeably normal. He went about the world averagely and he was glad for it. Alphas and omegas had to deal with all the heightened smells and heats and ruts and accidental pregnancies and pack dynamics and all the other antiquated bullshit leftover from the ancestors. Alphas spent all their time fighting one another, souped up on testosterone and toxic masculinity bullshit. Omegas were kept and then they had their equal rights liberation and now they dealt with knot-heads while working nine to five. 

Betas had it easy. They filled the gaps. They stayed out of trouble. They kept their heads down and were idiots only because they were stupid, not because of any bouts of biology every few months. And, they kept to themselves. Alphas and omegas needed pack dynamics, even in the modern age, while betas could do without such groups. Hughie never had the urge to take care or protect close friends, never had a reason to. 

With Robin, they cared for each other without any anthropological reasoning, no bearing of second-gender status. They’d laughed, fucked, and loved one another because they wanted to. They’d even talked about mate bonding with one another. While alphas and omegas tended to mate with their partners with bites on the necks, betas bonded through bites on the wrist. It wasn’t as binding as an alpha-omega bond (or even a alpha-beta, or omega-beta bond.) In fact, it was the same kind of bonding technique used for those joining packs or the preferred show of bond between same-status couples. It was the only kind of bond two betas could share to feel one another.

And then Robin died.

He was almost glad they never bonded. Why miss what he never had and all that fucked up shit. But it left him angry and less average-joe than a beta had any business being. He wondered if that was what drew Butcher to him. If slightly-feral beta without an outlet was his weapon of choice. 

But once Hughie met the rest of The Boys, he had no idea why Butcher brought him in. Butcher already had a pack. He was the alpha, unsurprisingly, and his pheromones were thick enough that even beta Hughie could smell the anger on him. Normally only Supes were powerful enough to affect betas, but Butcher lived to be an exception to the rules. Then there was M.M., a relatively cool-headed alpha, and Hughie thought, yes I’m here to help settle things between these two, but then Frenchie had to go and be an omega and shoot Hughie’s necessity out of the park. Frenchie was a weird omega, and Hughie almost didn’t think he was one, but Frenchie was skittish in a way that only omegas were and he had way too many eyelashes even for a Frenchman. When Kimiko joined their group, another alpha in the fold, he thought maybe he was necessary to keep tensions low, but Kimiko was only aggressive in the field and their little group was a well-oiled pack (or as well-oiled as a bunch of bastards trying to take down Vought could be.) Which left Hughie at a loss.

He asked Butcher about it once. Why he was there, what use did they have for a beta, and all other sorts of existential crap one could ask during a Supe stakeout.

“You’re a stand up kind of guy Hughie,” Butcher told him then. “People will want to talk with you because you’re unassuming and shit.”

And that answered that, he guessed.

Against popular belief, and a running gag in their group, Hughie and Annie hadn’t fucked. It was the only reason they believed, that an alpha like her, a Supe like her, would spend so much time with a beta like Hughie. Hughie had to hand it to them; he thought they were going to fuck too. But Annie wasn’t interested and they never really had the time with all the sneaking around and evidence collecting. There wasn’t a point to it anyway. Hughie would’ve made a terrible honeypot.

Annie sat across from him and M.M. in a beat-down diner on the west side of Buffalo, discussing a Compound V smuggler. “They use the tour guides,” Annie explained, “of the falls and the boat, hiding crates to the underside. A Supe, Waterhook or something like that, uses her powers to get the goods and takes it to the Canadian side.”

“And who told you this?” M.M. questioned, jaw tight as he looked at her.

“I listened in on a call with A-Train,” Annie explained, just as tense.

Even after all these months working together, M.M. still questioned Annie’s motives, and Annie questioned whether or not to share the intel or stop it herself. But it was in everyone’s best interests if Annie stayed on the inside and Butcher handled it from the outside.

“Thank you,” Hughie said, breaking the gross tension in the room, “for telling us. Is there anything else?”

Anne smiled briefly at him and M.M. relaxed enough to drink his coffee. “Actually, yeah,” she started, “I overheard Maeve talking about…”

Later, while M.M. and Hughie are driving back to their current safehouse, M.M. snickered and shook his head, tapping the wheel slightly as he got a good look at Hughie. “I don’t know what kind of freaky stuff you do to make your girlfriend so eager to give up on her own kind, but keep it up.”

“We’re not together,” Hughie told him, but it did remind him that he needed to send Annie another present.

Early into their friendship, Annie had expressed the regret of not being able to relax, unable to find a soothing activity without others watching her. It had taken a few guesses, to find what Annie might’ve been looking for: a paint by the number coloring book, a mini-gardening kit, even a set of knitting needles and yarn. Annie had liked those gifts well enough, but she liked even more the miniature model kits he sent her. Dioramas of greenhouses, loving homes, even famous crime scenes. Annie had been surprised and intrigued, and liked it well enough to ask for more. Sometimes she wanted other things, and Hughie was smart enough to suss it out, whether it be a new pair of wool socks or the DVD set of Avatar: the Last Airbender. He was a good beta like that, he figured.

“Sure you’re not,” M.M. shook his head. “Is that we you two like to call it? Be all ‘strangers in the nighttime’ and all that?”

“No,” Hughie said. “We’re not together. We don’t plan on being together.”

“Then how else do you explain it?” M.M. wondered, switching lanes. “She told you about a corruption ring in the Bible-belt. There’s no way she gives up on her kind of people.” The I wouldn’t went unsaid, but Hughie heard it regardless.

“Didn’t Butcher ever tell you why he brought me into the fold?” Hughie asked.

“Besides waxing poetic bullshit about your blue eyes?” M.M. snickered. “Course not. Figured it was the tech thing.”

“He said people would want to talk with me. Because I’m unassuming and shit.” The Because I’m a beta went unsaid, but M.M. heard it too.

“I guess so,” M.M. sighed. “But you still better get her a lingerie subscription or something like that. Monique loves that stuff.”

“Okay, now you’re being gross.”

2. When the fucking Supes… 

Some two-timing asswipe in Knoxville, Tennessee, couldn’t keep it in his pants, and now no one else could too. Or at least, none of the alphas and omegas could. They were at a middle school, which sucked ass because clearly the Supe was a fucked up pedophile that liked triggering first heats and ruts for the next generation, but thankfully all the kids were at home and it was just them and the fucking idiot. Kimiko and Frenchie were making out against the shitty lab tables in the science classrooms. Frenchie seemed to have his mind pretty straight, something about the nasal suppressors he took before coming, which he’d forgotten to share with the rest of the group that bastard, but Kimiko had gone off the deep end and was currently groping Frenchie’s ass with her hands shoved down his pants. She also had her teeth firmly braced at Frenchie’s collarbone, smart enough not to bond with the guy, but still out of it because she growled every time Hughie, Butcher, or M.M. came close. Frenchie was smart enough to toss Hughie some knock-out spray before Kimiko undid his pants and Hughie got an eyefull he wished wouldn’t be seared in his brain forever.

M.M. wasn’t a problem, mostly because he’d locked himself in a janitorial closet as soon as he became affected, and was currently snapping chalk, broomsticks, and wet-floor signs in half the last time Hughie checked. This left him with Butcher, who was torn more than anything else.

“He’s that way,” Butcher pointed at the gym doors, snarling as he stalked after the Supe. Butcher took three steps in that direction, sniffed, and then turned right back to Hughie, who had been trailing wearily after him for the past couple of minutes. 

“Please stop looking at me as if you want to maul me,” Hughie said as calmly as possible. He wasn’t used to using his people-pleaser skills on Butcher, mostly because he never asked Hughie to, but it seemed important to do so right now. “I’d really like to keep all my limbs attached, thanks.”

“What kind of shampoo do you use,” Butcher demanded, sniffing again.

“I used Kimiko’s strawberry stuff--sorry, I know it probably smells like a lot right now, I promise I won’t do it again. Please don’t deck me.”

“You should use mine,” Butcher blurted, although he looked completely unfazed so maybe it wasn’t an accident. It had to be an accident right? It was a pretty fucking weird thing to say to someone Butcher wanted to murder. “The strawberry’s nice. But my shampoo would be better.”

“Yeah,” Hughie agreed, still not understanding what the fuck was going on right now. “Hers was super gooey. And when I used it as a body wash, it itched.”

“Where?” Butcher pressed suddenly, eyes flashing. Hughie thought fangs would pop out and bite him if that were possible. “Where do you itch?”

“Uh…around my hip,” Hughie said finally, trying to not blush and admit that his lower back also itched sometimes. He was tempted to ask if Butcher would scratch it, because it was just at that point where his nails couldn’t reach, but he was afraid of what Butcher would do to him if he asked. Probably punch him in the nose and call him a cat for being so scritchy, but he only itched at all because he’d slept on the floor last night and the rug had been shit and god he hated Tennessee. “Can you still smell the Supe?” he asked, remembering that janitorial closets only had so many wet floor signs for M.M. to snap, and he’d rather not deal with another half-mad alpha now. Once again, Hughie was grateful to be a beta.

“Right.” Butcher snapped back to himself and burst through the gym doors. They caught sight of the Supe, a middle-aged substitute teacher who had a nightmare of a mustache. The minute Butcher registered him jimmying the lock at the other side of the gym, Butcher bolted. 

Hughie could barely keep up as Butcher tackled the other alpha into the ground. The two men brawled for a few minutes. Hughie could smell another rush of pheromones coursing through the air. Although it didn’t register much for Hughie, it smelled spicy like a bad combination of pepper, eggnog, and cayenne, and it reduced both alphas into senseless growling, tumbling, and sucker-punching. Butcher was vicious and the Supe was no match even as a Supe, but still unwilling to give it up. Hughie was at a loss as he approached the pair. Eventually Hughie came to his senses and pulled out the knock-out spray Frenchie gave him, hesitating because he couldn’t get the Supe without getting Butcher too, then spraying them regardless. It was better that way, with Butcher passed out. He wouldn’t be tempted to kill Hughie otherwise.

3. When that thing in Sacramento happened… 

“Hughie!” Butcher called. “Get out now!”

The stairwell around them was crumbling, the building creaking above him. Hughie could hear Butcher, but he couldn’t see him. There was an obstruction against the exit. Butcher was on the other side, trying to shove stacks of bookshelves out of the way. On the other side of the stairwell, behind a spilled dresser, was a young beta. Her name was Victoria and she was maybe seven years old and her mom was outside waiting for her with the other innocent bystanders. She was crying softly as if she knew she was going to die and was trying to put on a brave face for the world. Hughie couldn’t quite get to her. He was currently holding up another bookshelf and if he let go of it, Victoria would be trapped in there forever.

“I can’t,” Hughie called back, his arms shaking. 

Butcher must’ve been able to see him because he called out, “Drop the fucking bookcase and break the window behind you, Hughie. It’s not that hard.”

“I’m not doing that,” Hughie told him. “There’s a girl back here.”

“You can kiss her when you get out.”’

“She’s a fucking kid, Butcher,” Hughie called. “I’m not leaving her.”

“C’mon, Hughie, be realistic.” Butcher tried moving the blockage again with no luck. “I don’t know when Shockwave’s gonna hit next.”

Hughie silently cursed to himself. He was never coming to the west coast ever again. Yeah, sure, Butcher had taken him to see the Space Needle when they were in Seattle, but as soon as their little group stepped into California territory, a Supe showdown had erupted in the downtown area and one of the shitheads had caused a series of earthquakes and explosions in Sacramento before they shut their traps. A state of emergency broadcasted in the area as the buildings of the neighborhood crumbled. The local Vought assholes only wanted to save the white, upper class, elite and M.M. refused to leave without helping the people in the area. Now Hughie and Butcher were stuck while M.M., Frenchie, and Kimiko were god knows where.

Hughie wasn’t an alpha. He wasn’t strong enough to hold up this bookcase for much longer. “Victoria,” Hughie said softly, “are you still there?”

There was a wet sound of muffled tears, and then a weak, “Yes, Mr. Hughie.”

Hughie shut his eyes briefly, nodding to himself. “I know you’re scared, Victoria,” Hughie said, “I am too, but I’m going to get you out of here. But I need you to get out of there.”

“But the shelf--”

“I know, I know,” Hughie soothed. “I’m holding the shelf. I won’t let it drop on you, I promise, but I need you to climb out of there. I promise I won’t let it drop.”

“I want my mommy…”

“I know, and you’ll see her soon, I promise.”

“But--”

“Hughie, forget it!” Butcher barked. “She’s a beta, get out of there.”

“No,” Hughie growled. “I’m not gonna let you discard her like that. She’s a fucking human being and I’m getting her out! She’s worth that much.”

“Hughie, listen--” desperation creaked in Butcher’s voice. 

“Victoria,” Hughie called, steeling his voice. “It’s okay, you gotta believe me on this. You can climb out of there, I’ll keep you safe.”

More sniffles. Hughie’s shifted his weight on his feet, trying to nudge the shelf in the other direction. Any moment and another Supe-level earthquake could bring this place down. Outside of their little bubble, Hughie could hear the distant screaming of injured people and the wail of sirens, car alarms and crying and broken glass rattling through the walls. Desperation clung heavy in the air and Hughie was grateful to not be an alpha or an omega in this moment. He was sure he’d be overwhelmed. Even like this, Hughie was feeling dizzy, but that might’ve been because of the bookshelf.

“Okay,” the little voice wobbled. 

Hughie watched as she stood up from behind the garbage and climbed her way over the dresser. He could see her favoring her left side. Something must’ve hit her and there was a cut on her forehead, her purple shirt torn covered in grime. “That’s it, Victoria, you’re doing great.” Sweat dripped down his face, getting in his eye. He pushed the discomfort out of his mind. “Almost there--”

Another rumble tore through the neighborhood. 

“Hughie!” Butcher shouted.

Victoria screamed as she fell. Hughie reached out with one arm to snatch her and then ducked down, the shelf falling down on the dresser and leaving them in a tiny hole. Thankfully, Hughie could crawl them out of here. Victoria cried in his arms and he tried to sooth her, but he really wasn’t any good at this.

“Hughie! What’s goin’ on?” Butcher yelled.

“It’s okay,” Hughie soothed Victoria. He repeated himself louder for Butcher.

“C’mon, get outta there,” Butcher called. 

Hughie and Victoria crawled through the debris and towards the window. It was next to the door, where the blockage keeping Butcher out was. He could see Butcher now, a new cut on his face. Hughie hefted Victoria over the blockage and to Butcher, who took her easily enough.

“I can’t climb over this,” Hughie told him. “I’ll go through the window.”

“I’m not leaving until you get out,” Butcher growled.

Hughie wanted to fight him on that, remind him that Victoria needed saving too, but Hughie had won enough fights today. He climbed up on a rickety stool, bundled his jacket around his fist, and punched the glass. Thankfully the hole was wide enough for Hughie to shimmy through, but it would’ve been impossible for Butcher. Hughie crawled through and landed safely on some bushes on the other side. 

He got up and made his way to the entrance of the building, finding Victoria’s mother. They had the same green eyes. Butcher and Victoria came out of the building soon after, and the mother and daughter were in each other’s arms again, crying in relief. 

“See?” Hughie scoffed, pointing at the pair. “It’s worth it.”

Butcher grabbed Hughie by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to their van across the street. “I didn’t say it wasn’t and not cuz you were a beta,” Butcher scoffed, grip tightening.

Hughie winced and then glared. “What else could you have possibly meant?”

Frenchie and Kimiko were in sight, making their way out of an on-fire bakery. The van was running, so M.M. must’ve made it out too. People staggered out from the rubble, head wounds and twisted arms and blurry eyes all around. Hughie was grateful to only have sore arms and bruises. There was a couple screaming on the street, their place blown to bits. The earthquake had punched through the area, leaving most of it structurally iffy. 

“Betas are quiet,” Butcher grumbled, “I could barely smell you.” 

Hughie stared at him.

“All I could smell was the girl. I couldn’t smell you--I thought--” Butcher wrinkled his nose. “I needed to know you were okay.”

It must’ve been hard, Hughie thought, for Butcher to keep his cool while the rest of his team were scattered among the wreck. M.M., Kimiko, Frenchie, Butcher could find them anywhere in a crowd like this. Hughie was harder to track under all of the smells. Butcher must’ve been stressed. Butcher didn’t like not knowing where everyone was. Hated the lack of control.

“I’m okay,” Hughie sighed. “We’re okay.”

“Good.” And then Butcher’s hand loosened around his collar.

4. When Frenchie and Kimiko couldn’t keep their hands… 

Something about New Orleans eased Frenchie. Hughie had to guess that it was the heavy-French tones that still breathed in the city. It also probably had to do with Kimiko’s surprised glee over beignets and M.M.’s relaxed nature while he drank sazeracs at the bar and did the crosswords. Even Butcher liked chilling in the city for a couple days after their case wrapped up, dining on gumbo, jambalaya, and bananas foster like it was the end of the world. Frenchie would never admit it to it, but he was wound tighter than the rest of them sometimes, half-crazy over the worry and safety of the rest of his pack. It made Hughie chuckle sometimes, because Butcher and M.M. would’ve never noticed it, but Frenchie needed his family be safe in order to feel safe. So when the case settled and they were still in New Orleans, Frenchie’s omega decided it was time for a heat. It was well overdue too. 

The villa was big and had a pool in the backyard. M.M. had decided to go explore the French Quarter while Kimiko and Frenchie nested. Butcher was by the pool, slurping mai tais and reading a Janet Evanovitch novel. Upstairs, the distant sound of moaning could be heard, but Hughie barely paid attention to that. He was at the kitchen island, computer overheating and screen scrolling through news feeds. Sometimes Hughie felt like he was a part of the Scooby Gang with how often they found their cases by looking up on the internet all the weird shit in the country. But it was better than waiting for Mallory to send them on a Vought-centric battle spree. Hughie’s cases were easy to find and easy to solve, and more often than not, Butcher approved of Hughie’s tenacity. Once, he even smiled. 

That had been a sight.

Snap snap.

Hughie jerked away from the screen. He swiveled in his chair to look at his new guest, who ended up being a disheveled Kimiko. She wore a bathrobe and there was a bright red mark on her neck, thankfully on the other side of her bonding site. Frenchie and Kimiko were clearly for one another, but now wasn’t the time to mate and pop some unsuspecting babies in the world.

“Food,” Kimiko signed. “Now.”

Any other time, Hughie would raise his brow at her aggressive tone, but it was clear to Hughie, Kimiko was exhausted. And probably suffering from some heat starvation. And based on her complexion… 

Hughie got up and went to the sink, pulling down a glass and filling it with water. “Drink first,” Hughie said, handing it to her. “Slow sips. I think you’re getting dehydrated. I thought I put the coconut water upstairs.”

“We drank that,” she told him. “Yesterday.”

“All of it?”

“He is…” Kimiko’s eyes crinkled slightly. “Active.”

Hughie snorted and went back to the pantry. He pulled out the granola bars Kimiko wanted, and some trail mix. Frenchie might not eat it, but Kimiko could while Frenchie was passed out from her knot. He also snagged some of Butcher’s not-so-secret-but-secret chocolate bars and gave it to her. He then went to the fridge and pulled out the juice boxes Hughie asked M.M. to get for him and filled a gigantic bottle with water. He gave all of this to Kimiko, looking her over just in case.

“I think this might be enough,” Hughie guessed. He brushed the hair out of her face gently and then tugged one of her sleeves over her shoulder. “I can go out and get you more coconut water and some high-energy snacks. I heard canned peaches does wonders in the heat nest.”

“Please. Thank you,” Kimiko signed. Hughie shut his computer off and grabbed the car keys, getting ready to leave now. Then Kimiko added, “Hen mother.” 

Hughie would have objected to that, almost bewildered at how true the statement seemed to be, but he just piled a boatload of snacks into her arms, so he guessed she had a point. “You’re lucky, I’m not an omega,” Hughie said instead. “I’d mother hen you all every day. It’d be crazy. Fluffy towels every day.”

“No.” Kimiko gestured.

“No? You don’t want fluffy towels? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you, Butcher, and M.M. liked the motels. Frenchie and I know better.”

“No,” Kimiko corrected. “You are not an omega. You are a beta. Our beta.”

“Yes, that’s true, I’m the beta here.”

“Our beta,” she repeated. “Pack.” And then she gestured to his wrist and mimed biting it, like she wished for all of them to be a real family.

“Oh.” Hughie shouldn’t have been stunned by that, but he kinda was.

“Yes.” Kimiko signed biting again and then left. 

Hughie stared at the empty space for a moment, trying to work through the sort of impossible question Kimiko reminded him. Hughie walked outside to where the pool was, thinking he should tell Butcher where he was going with the second car.

Butcher was tanning on a pool floatie, black shades resting firmly on his face and reading his book. His body glistened from sun, sunscreen, and flecks of chlorine. Hughie tried not to stare too long at the happy trail of hair that led to Butcher’s swim shorts, but he was a simple man.

He opened his mouth and instead of the store, what came out of his mouth was, “Hey, are we pack?”

Butcher dropped his silly murder mystery to his chest and looked at Hughie. “What?” Hughie couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but he heard the surprise in Butcher’s voice.

“Are we a pack?” Hughie repeated. “You, me, M.M., and Frenchie?”

“Suppose so,” Butcher murmured absently. “Why do you ask?”

“I guess I’m just surprised and all.” Hughie shrugged. “I’ve never had a pack before.”

“Neither have I.”

And that surprised Hughie. Because Butcher’s wife had been an omega, so they must’ve had some kind of pack when they got married, but maybe it had been so long he didn’t register the pack bonds as clearly as before. Still, most alphas didn’t survive long without packs to be a part of.

Butcher took off his sunnies and nodded at the upstairs of the villa, where a poignant groan and moan could be heard. “You’re good at this. I can’t recall the last time Frenchie went into heat.”

And that was weird, because it wasn’t like Hughie was the reason Frenchie relaxed enough to trigger his heat. It was Kimiko, and the villa, and the beignets. 

Instead of touching on that, Hughie asked, “Can I be in your pack?”

Butcher’s face went funny, something between a dark gaze and a sudden rainbow, and he didn’t seem to know how to talk for a moment. Hughie wasn’t familiar with the introductions to packs. Maybe asking an alpha if he could join instead of being asked by the alpha was a break in the rules. Etiquette and all that. Would Hughie have to learn shit like that now? But then Butcher nodded and he felt relief swirl giddy and surprisingly sweet inside of him, and he didn’t have to think about all that anymore.

Hughie presented the car keys to Butcher. “The happy couple needs more supplies. Wanna come with?”

Butcher shrugged. “Alright,” he agreed, and began to paddle towards Hughie.

5. When Butcher lost his goddamn mind… 

First it was the car ride. 

“Where are the others?” Hughie wondered, fidgeting in his seat. He wanted to play his Billy Joel songs through the car, but Butcher would’ve decked him if he tried. They had very different tastes in music, but they both agreed on The Black Keys for some reason that Hughie had yet to explain. “Did we not close the Juice-King case?”

Hughie fucking hated the Midwest. It was mostly boring, but the crazies that came out here were crazy and Hughie wanted to be able to drink another Capri-Sun without cringing. Also, Nebraska was fucking stupid and flatter than a penny.

“Zip-tying loose ends,” Butcher told him, tapping the steering wheel. “Kimiko and Frenchie are reviewing the Vought footage. M.M.’s sleeping off his fuckin’ sniffles. We’re rounding up our sources.”

“Oh…” Hughie settled back in the passenger seat. “Okay. Can we get fries later?”

“For fuck’s sake…” 

Then it was the place.

“What are we doing at a bowling alley?” Hughie squinted at the red-light sign with the bowling pins. Hughie loved bowling. It was his favorite thing to do in college with his friends. “I didn’t know Juice-King bowled.”

“He’s huge here,” Butcher murmured. Something about his voice was off, but Hughie didn’t know how to question it. “Listen, there’s our source.” He nodded at the guy at the register. He didn’t look like much, but in this kind of business, Hughie had learned to suspect everybody just a little bit. Butcher placed his hand on Hughie’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get us a lane? I’ll talk to the fuckface.”

“We’re staying?” Hughie asked, surprised. Butcher never let them stay, even that time at the water park.

Butcher shrugged. “Might as well while we’re here. I’ll be back.” And then Butcher squeezed his shoulder--oh yeah, his hand was there wasn’t it--and then he disappeared and then Hughie tried really hard not to think about how cold he felt at the loss.

Hughie shrugged and found them a lane in the back corner. Nice and secluded. Perfect for surveillance. Hughie watched Butcher and the register guy talk. They didn’t seem to be saying much, but Butcher was there for a couple of minutes before the guy got them some shoes and the lane turned on, ready for their game. Butcher came back and tossed a set of shoes at Hughie. He rushed to get them on, smiling brightly when Butcher picked out his bowling bowl and rolled it right into the gutter. Hughie’s smile turned viscous. He knew how to win this game.

They played three rounds because Butcher didn’t believe it when Hughie creamed his ass and demanded another go. The second round Hughie got a little prideful and lost by only a few points, so Hughie demanded a third round to settle it once and for all who was better. Hughie barely won that last round and Butcher’s amazing streak of spares fell short in the last few rolls, which surprised Hughie, but he would take the win regardless.

Then it was the food. 

“This is fancy,” Hughie whistled, settling in at the Chili’s booth. Butcher sat across from him and immediately ordered them margaritas. “I wanted fries.”

“You can still have your fucking fries,” Butcher smirked, opening up the menu. 

Hughie conceded to that and looked at his own menu, stomach grumbling already for the fajitas. Maybe he could get a side of fries, and convince Butcher that they absolutely needed chips and dip too. “You’re buying, right?”

“Course,” Butcher said without looking up.

Hughie grinned and knew he’d get the molten lava cake as well. Butcher was buying afterall.

Dinner was fancy. Normally they had to eat at the greasier fast food chains or low-budget diners while on the road. Once, M.M. took them all to an Olive Garden, which had been a real treat at the time. This was better. 

It was surprisingly easy chatter. Butcher could give off some strong Batman vibes at times, angry and silent behind the mask, but when he was like this, it was all margaritas and silly mission stories. Apparently, back in the day, Frenchie had been used as a honeypot and it had gone so horribly, that Heinz pretzels were now illegal in a remote town in Sweden. Butcher also told him the plots to his favorite rom-coms and everything Hughie ever needed to know about the Spice Girls. In turn, Hughie told Butcher about the shenanigans he got up to in college like the time he rigged every teacher’s email to rickroll their students. He also told Butcher about his one failed attempt at skiing with Robin. He debated with Butcher about three in one body wash and beard pros and cons, and which Supe case had been the dumbest. They laughed and drank and they shared the molten lava cake. It was strange to see Butcher laugh, but it was also pleasantly surprising, and it made Hughie wonder if they could stick around in Nebraska chasing leads if it meant they could do this again.

Then it was the car ride.

Butcher turned on the music and queued up Billy Joel unprompted. Hughie was about to ask what was up with that, but got carried away in the music instead. He bopped his head with the song and sang some lyrics too. He noticed Butcher tapping his hand on the steering wheel and that was a victory in itself. 

They played music for the trip back to their rundown motel. The songs transitioned into something they both liked. Sometimes they talked, about stupid drivers or neat-looking road signs, but they mostly sang and they mostly stayed in each other’s presence. 

When they were pulling up to the motel rooms, and one of the songs began to fade, Hughie was reminded of the reason for their trip in the first place. “How did it go?” Hughie asked. “With the source? Are we in the clear?”

“Source?” Butcher blinked slowly at him.

“Yeah, the guy at the bowling alley?”

Something sparked in his eyes. “All’s good, Hughie,” Butcher said. “We’re in the clear.”

“Cool.” Hughie unbuckled himself. “This was fun.”

“Yeah.” Butcher did the same, staring at Hughie with those dark eyes. “Let’s do it again sometime, yeah?”

“Totally.” Hughie got out of the car and pulled out his room key. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right.” Butcher cleared his throat, looking away. “Goodnight, Hughie.”

Hughie said another farewell and went inside. He was grateful that they were sleeping in real beds this week. Ever since Frenchie and Kimiko got together, they’ve been switching off who sleeps where. Frenchie and Kimiko got a room, two of the guys got a room, and the last guy got a single. Tonight it was him and M.M., as Butcher usually lucked out on the single.

M.M. was propped up on the bed when Hughie got in, watching TV. He didn’t look all that sick, which was a relief because Hughie didn’t want to take care of any sick patients tonight, but a surprise just the same. M.M. had been watching his soaps and he put them on pause as Hughie shucked off his jacket. He smirked at him from the bed. “How was your date?” M.M. teased.

Hughie paused at his jacket zipper. “What date?”

“Your date with Butcher?” M.M. was looking at Hughie as if he’d gotten hit by a brick and was checking for a concussion. “The one you just went on?”

“That wasn’t a date,” Hughie laughed nervously. “That was for the case.”

“The case is over,” M.M. shook his head, “and you really think Butcher would drive an hour just to go bowling with you?”

“How did you know we went bowling?”

“Because Butcher asked for help with planning your date?” M.M. looked at Hughie as if he was stupid. “Hughie, you can’t be that obtuse—he  said he was going to take you to iHop.”

“Chili’s,” Hughie corrected automatically. His heart was racing in his chest. “That was a date?”

“Yes.”

Between him and Hughie? Was he going crazy? What the literal fuck?

“Why didn’t Butcher say anything?” 

“It’s Butcher.” M.M. shrugged. “You know how he is.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Hughie turned and walked right back out the door. Butcher’s room was down the hallway. He feet trudged across the ugly patterned carpet, his mind buzzing with thought and blissfully empty at the same time. He knocked on Butcher’s door, his heart still pounding. 

Butcher opened up, looking concerned and fantastic in his sleeping shirt and boxers. “Hughie? Everything alright?”

“Was that a date?” Hughie asked, straight to the point and feeling like he would throw up if M.M. had been messing with him.

Butcher shifted awkwardly for a moment, seeming to debate something with himself, before steeling his jaw and looking Hughie in the eye. “Yes.”

“What?” Hughie blinked in surprise. How could he be surprised? It was a yes or no question. He’d already prepared for the no, he should’ve expected the yes as well. “Why?”

“Cuz I like you.”

He reached up and felt around Butcher’s head, feeling for bumps. “Did a Supe hit you too hard? Are you brain damaged?” Butcher’s hair was soft and he didn’t feel any bumps, maybe they got him in the neck. Butcher reached up and grabbed Hughie’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his hair.

“Hughie, I’m not fuckin brain damaged. Why are you so surprised?” Butcher didn’t let up on his grip of Hughie, instead letting his hands move down from his wrists to Hughie’s fingers, lacing them together. Hughie was desperately trying not to pay attention to how that felt, or how he felt like he would combust on the spot.

“It’s just that.” Hughie struggled with his words. “I can’t be your omega or whatever.” 

Butcher frowned. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I can’t go into heat,” Hughie continued.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I can’t help much during a rut.”

“There are toys we can use.” Butcher winked. And god, now Hughie was imaging Butcher in his rut and not in the angry kind, but the sexy, I’m going to fuck your brains out kind. He’d never wanted that kind of attention before, but it seemed like he’d changed his ways.

Hughie huffed, upset now. “I’ll never be pregnant.”

“Good.”

“I’m not an omega, Butcher,” he said in desperation, ”I can’t give you what you want.”

“I already fucking told you: you’re what I want.” Butcher’s thumb swiped along the skin of his wrist, and a rush of heat went through him. They’d talked, as a group, about making a real pack. They’d do it soon. Soon, there’d be a mark on Hughie’s wrists. Butcher, as their leader, was the most likely to leave the mark. And that would be something, wouldn’t it? To have Butcher biting him there. Intent. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hughie shook his head. “We shouldn’t work.”

“Shouldn’t doesn’t mean shit to me.” Butcher smirked. 

“This is crazy,” Hughie repeated, but he still hadn’t freed himself from Butcher’s grasp.

Butcher tugged him half a step closer. Hughie could smell Butcher. Dangerous and inviting at the same time. “Listen, Hughie,” he said, “either you can tell me to fuck off or you can come inside, but stop trying to talk yourself out of it if it’s something we both want.”

Both want.

Hughie bit his lip, thinking. It really didn’t make sense. Hughie was a beta. Butcher was an alpha. And yet… 

“Does this mean you’ll take me on another date?”

“You should plan the next one,” Butcher told him. “It’s only fair.”

“Do you like mini-golf?” Hughie asked.

Butcher grinned, “Love it.”

Hughie’s heart started racing. “I know a great place in New Jersey we could go.” He’d been there before with his dad and a couple of friends. It had the perfect loop and the silliest attractions. And, they made players wear silly hats. Butcher would look ridiculous. It sounded absolutely perfect.

“That sounds good.”

“Can I kiss you?” Hughie asked, surprising himself. That seemed to shock Butcher as well. He hoped it was the good kind of shock and not some kind of “you’re breaking alpha code” kind of surprise, but then again, the guy was literally holding his hands. Hughie seriously couldn’t be misreading things that bad.

Butcher smirked. “I’d like that.” And woah his voice could be liquid gold sometimes.

Butcher let go of one of his hands. He reached out and tugged Hughie by the bottom hem of his shirt. Hughie was pretty sure he could’ve pulled him in by his hands, and just wanted to feel him up, but that wasn’t bad at all. Hughie’s hand landed on Butcher’s arm, warmed skin, warmer than his hands had been. Butcher’s other hand traveled up Hughie’s chest and came up to rest on Hughie’s jaw and Hughie couldn’t help the tightening of his grip on Butcher’s hand, on Butcher’s arm, on the slack jaw of his mouth. Butcher wouldn’t stop rubbing his thumb at the skin of his wrist. And then Butcher drew him in with that low chuckle of his. Their lips were a perfect line on one another, solid, hot, a sliver of tongue that made Hughie shiver.

A promise, of more kisses to come.