Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can take care of this sticky situation, I’m an Alpha, I was built for this.” A handsome blonde in a tailored suit winked at the swooning lady, turned, and released fire on the goons rushing the cocktail party. 

Keys sat glued to the television, eyes roving madly over the screen to take in every detail of the cheesy spy movie. The alpha dipped the lady into a deep kiss before the sunset as the credits started scrolling past and Keys turned to his mother dozing on the couch,

“Mom! I’m going to be an alpha when I grow up!”

She faintly mumbled, “Good luck with that, kid.”

A door slammed and Keys scrambled to his feet as his father hauled his older brother into the house. He quickly shimmied between the wall and the couch and held his breath as he listened.

“Luce! I caught this rat skulking about with the Culkens! The last thing we need is another small child eating my pay!” 

A thump sounded and heavy footsteps headed towards the couch. 

Keys shut his eyes tight and waited. The footsteps stopped and he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Could they hear his heart?

A shuffle and a click and the background electronic buzz of the television shut off. 

His dad complained, “What is up with the crap on tv nowadays? You’re seriously letting Walter watch this shit? He’s going to grow up as useless as Aaron.”

Keys was six when he decided what his secondary was going to be. 

“For the last time, no, Keys. No means no means no! Last time I told you it was the last and I mean it!” Mouser crossed his arms over his chest and scowled detirmidley.

Keys begged, “C’mon Mouser! Just one more time? Please?”

Josie laughed as the two walked by her workstation, “Might want to listen Mouser if the big bad alpha is bringing out the please.”

Mouser turned to her, “He’s just asking me to help rearrange his pokemon merch again when we just finished last weekend .” He pivoted to Keys, “You just keep buying more shit!”

Keys coughed and then continued In a beseeching tone, “I forgot that last delivery was coming, I already said I’m sorry!”

Keys watched with disgusted fascination as Mouser destroyed his lunch with open mouthed gusto. Food flew every which way as he emphatically declared, “I just don’t understand why you won’t give the man a chance. He’s obviously trying to court you.”

More sedately Keys picked at his sandwich, “Yeah I’m pretty sure picking a fight with me is not declaring intentions in any sense of the word.” He paused to cough and furrowed his brow. He used up his sick time to stand in line for that last preorder, he couldn’t afford to sit at home now. 

Mouser continued despite his protest, “Dude have you ever seen alphas courting alphas before? It’s like all challenging and backing down and taking into account stances and compromise. They want to show that they’re strong and can engage you. Tell me that’s totally not what Antwan’s doing? He looks for your opinion like all the time.”

Keys mused, “If that’s what you want to call badgering me, sure.” He wrapped the half eaten sandwich up and placed it back inside his bag. Looking at Mouser seriously, “Look, even if he is, the last thing I need is an impulsive, temperamental, emotional, alpha.”

Mouser shrugged, “Hey fair enough.”

“Art nerds!” Antwan emphasized his scolding with rhythmic claps, “Why. Aren’t. The. Models. Done. Yet?!” 

He could smell the fight brewing in the air as an offended Destiny was riling to bite back at the unrealistic deadlines and with a push of his swivel chair Keys was facing Antwan as he casually floated a suggestion out,

 “Now I might be sounding like a broken record, but why don’t we just make an original game?”

Bait taken, Antwan stormed over and pulled out his spheal, “We have the customers, we have the brand recognition,” Keys glanced over to Destiny who shot him a grateful thumbs up.

About when Antwan was hitting his stride with his IP and KFC analogies Keys felt another cough coming on. What a time to get a cold. 

“Now why would I open up a turkey restaurant called I don’t know Albuquerque boiled turkey” Keys coughed into his hand,”If I knew that you-...Walter?”

Keys raised an eyebrow at Antwan’s unexpected ending to his monologue and tried to motion for him to continue when he caught sight of his hand. 

The office felt too quiet. 

Keys didn’t think hands were supposed to be that red. 

He felt something thick dribble down his chin and thought Oh before blacking out.

Chapter Text

Aaron was Keys’ primary caretaker growing up. The one that woke him up in the morning, scraped together breakfast, and waited outside for the school bus with him.  Keys wouldn’t mind being an omega if he was like his brother. 

In a modern workplace, it was important to stress equality, at least on the surface. Many alphas were initially indistinguishable from betas, taking scent blockers to avoid unfair treatment and intimidation suits. Little things tended to give them away, not the least the overwhelming percentage of alphas being upper management. Company could claim they were more driven, took more risks for higher rewards, and were better leaders, but it didn't go unnoticed how often betas were passed by. 

So when Walter showed up to Soonami, looked Antwan in the eye and thanked him for the position with a sharp toothed grin, and claimed a desk in customer complaints without an invitation, he was simply written off as an unambitious alpha. 

Year after year he would confidently turn down a programming position, a senior advising role, a lead complaint officer promotion, and people shrugged and moved on. You couldn't often force an alpha from their chosen path.

Dragging himself from the depths of the abyss, Keys struggled to open his eyes. After a few tries, the stark hospital room came into focus. Oh, that figured that he'd end up here. What didn't click though, was his boss sitting in the dinky little chair beside his bed flipping through what looked to be his medical records.

Keys blinked again, as if the mirage would shift and waver and prove to be false. When it didn't he clenched his jaw in a hard line and roughly asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

Antwan didn't even bother glancing in his direction, "Looking for whatever terminal prognosis would cause you to almost die in my office," the flippant shrug off stoking Keys' burning confusion.

He could feel himself prickling and angry and he wanted to leave . His brother would say he woke up swinging. 

Just as Keys was calculating the pain of ripping out the IV line the doctor burst into the room with a veritable sheaf of paper. 

Ignoring Keys entirely, to his narrow eyed disbelief, the older doctor explained enthusiastically to Antwan, guestering wildly with his papers, "We reran the tests and everything makes sense now! Of course his levels were dropping rapidly and only started stabilizing when we flushed his system! If we remove the assumption of his secondary, then suddenly everything starts falling into place!" He fixed a disapproving glance on Antwan, who did not appreciate that at all and released a small growl. He chastised "How could you let your omega get this bad? From the looks of his charts he hasn't had a proper heat in years, which is incredibly dangerous. You're lucky you caught this now." 

The diagnosis of omega dropped on Keys and a curious buzzing filled his ears as his hands started shaking, tying themselves into knots. He stared at a fixed point straight ahead trying to think over the cotton of panic fogging his mind. The one thing he had been hiding, successfully, for years , had almost managed to forget about, had been dropped in his lap with the gracefulness of a computer glitch. He had to leave now . 

He fumbled with the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the frame, glancing up briefly to see the doctor shaking his head like one would at a disobedient child and press a button and Keys' eyes rolled up as he collapsed back onto the bed, heedless of the shouting now occurring in the room. 

Keys presented at twelve. 

The second he came downstairs, bleary eyes and not aware of his surroundings, let alone his emerging scent, his mother rushed him into the family car and took off for the local clinic. On the way she called him in sick to the school. 

Keys leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, wondering why he felt so dreamy today. His head just wouldn't focus. 

In the parking lot his mom turned to him and brushed the hair back from his face, her own expression stony, “Walter. After today, keep your head down. Speak when spoken to. Don’t cause trouble.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, those were already the rules in his house. 

She stressed odd words in her next sentence, “Certain people will make your life very hard. Don’t be obvious.”

It wasn’t until he was sitting across from the elderly doctor writing him a renewing prescription for heat suppressants that it truly sank in.

He was an omega.

Chapter Text

On his fourteenth birthday, Keys discovered the wisdom of his mother’s warning. 

Delicate long limbs and a slender torso allowed him to still fit between the couch and the wall. 

Newton Culken’s scream could be heard through the house combating Aaron’s soft pleading tones, but Keys thinks it might be imprinting itself on his bones. 

The old bulbs flickered overhead and an ominous crash slammed through the floor, sounding much like their feeble coffee table splitting. 

Then eerie silence. 

Sneakers slapping against the floor and a porch door slamming against the frame. 

Something warm and sticky touched his toes, the dim light not enough to make the substance out. 

Keys peeked around the couch and locked eyes with his omega brother’s cold glossy gaze. He was lying on the floor on top of shattered wood, and the angles looked all wrong. 

Keys slowly came back into awareness to the rumbling of a car and the feeling of his cheek resting against cool glass. He blinked slowly and took in the luxury interior, his eyes flying to Antwan gripping the steering wheel aggressively while driving even more so.

The alpha was irritated, and Keys cast his mind around to figure out why and even how he was here. But all he could remember was that damned hospital room. 

Softly a sentence slipped out, “Am I dying?”

Antwan jumped and the car swerved slightly before correcting itself. Through clenched teeth Antwan forced out. “No. It's just when you take a restricted medicine with no oversight for over fifteen years, some funky stuff starts happening.” His voice went a little higher, “You’re lucky you're not dead though.”

Keys hoped the cool glass would sooth his aching head and mumbled, “Yeah, super lucky.”

He thought he caught Antwan shooting a glare in his direction but when he turned his head he was focusing on the road. 

“How am I out?”

Oh that was a good question to ask. Antwan’s grip got impossibly tighter on the wheel and he was visibly upset, “They were treating you like an animal. You passed out because they gave you basically a tranquilizer when you were getting upset. They ...let me leave with you after saying that I’d take care of you.”

Keys focused on Antwan’s defensiveness and his wordplay as dawning horror stole over him, there were only a few ways someone's medical rights could be overruled by an outside party. “ Antwan . Did you claim me?!” He frantically pulled at the buttons of the shirt he was wearing to paw at his neck. His panic dampened somewhat when he found no bite marks, vaguely registering Antwan’s rushed comment,

“Only legally!”

The rest of the car ride passed in a strained silence as Keys chewed over what a nightmare the day had been. 

He had managed to pass as an alpha for years , he had studied how they walked, talked, fought. No one had ever questioned him on the assumed fact. And he was very safe in his designation. The worst part of a bond was the power it gave someone over you and he had vowed long ago to never give in. 

It only ended badly.

And he didn’t ‘give in’. The choice was taken from him.

 Even if not chemically bonded, a legal bond still gave Antwan so much power. He was now the primary decision maker. Anything Keys did would now need an additional signature of approval. The laws would say it was to ensure that every bonded pair was in agreement, but the alpha didn’t need approval from their bonded. 

A thought he had been trying to avoid wriggled its way forward, We’re not even courting . With a bond on record if Antwan didn’t cosign his lease he would be forced to move in with his boss, a person he barely knew. 

And why?

Because Antwan made an impulsive decision and lied to medical professionals? So Keys had to suffer for it?

To say that Keys was annoyed or that his blood was boiling would be an understatement. His lip was bleeding from the force of biting down to hold his tongue while in the car and if he thought of the man next to him for too long he swore his heart would burst from his chest in righteous indignation. 

The silence broke as Keys was opening his apartment, with Antwan behind him holding bags of who knows what. 

With his back to the other man, Keys dug through his fridge and tossed, “So what now” over his shoulder. 

Rustling of plastic paused for a second and the reply, “Well, we set you up for your next heat. It's going to be a hard one. The doctor said it’ll probably last a little longer than usual so be prepared for that. I… can help if you want. You know I’ve been interested for a while” Keys turned to see Antwan's cocky smirk back, “And I’m pretty good at heat helping.”

Ignoring the man’s statement entirely, he pointed to the bags taking up his couch, “What’s those?”

Antwan proudly showed off his purchases. “I know you guys like nesting so I got a ton of really soft blankets and pillows and stuff!”

The only extra blanket Keys had was a quilt thrown over the back of his sofa that Millie’s mother had made for him years ago. 

His eyes traveled from the quilt, to the pile of things he never asked for, to the alpha intruding in on his space and “get out.”

Antwan rubbed the back of his head, “I’m sorry?”

Keys narrowed his eyes, “get out of my house.” For however much longer it was his. 

His hand inched toward a miniature potted cactus, but Antwan was already heading out the door. 

Leaving Keys alone. 

Finally.

The lock barely clicked into place before Keys felt the first tear run down.

When Keys was fourteen and one day, the social worker asked him his designation for foster care grouping. He looked her direct in the eye, straightened his spine, and with a baring of his teeth declared, “Alpha.”

Chapter Text

If anxiety had any upsides, it was that Keys had already thought through every terrible possibility of his first heat. If he enjoyed it, if he hated it, if he was indifferent. Every scenario worked to death and analyzed and at least somewhat familiar from how often his brain ran over the possible paths, smoothing out his fear of the unknown one unrealistic simulation at a time. 

So when he felt his temperature rise and everything was just slightly too not right, Keys locked  his door and with just a bit of fear, decided to see where this would take him. 

In the early morning light Keys snapped his eyes open and furrowed his brow. He was studying the ceiling, trying to ignore the crawling under his skin and now… now he was lying in his bed. Did he pass out? This… was not one of his prepared scenarios. But he felt fine. Maybe tired for having just woken up. Does passing out cause his heat to end prematurely? 

Maybe he’ll just give Millie a big stick for next time. 

He shifted in bed and slowly started gathering his senses. Starting with how cold he was when he threw the blanket aside. …because he wasn’t wearing anything. 

Okay, no need to panic. Maybe I just was overheated among other things.

He inhaled deeply to calm his suddenly racing heart and it stuck halfway from the wrong of the smells in his normally familiar room. It was coated with someone else's scent. 

Feeling a million shades of blonde girl in a horror movie, Keys turned his head oh so slowly to the other side of the bed, swearing he could hear the sound of an orchestra accompaniment. 

He made out a tanned arm laying limp against his stark white comforter before bolting towards the bathroom and slid against the closed door, hand muffling his quickening breaths. 

What would Millie do?

Step one. Kick his boss out of his apartment. Step two, open all of his windows and dig into his meager savings to hire a cleaning crew. He jutted sharp elbows against his knees. …step 3, find some clothes? Better make that step 0.5. 

Plan made up and a shade calmer, Keys gathered himself off the floor, looked into the mirror, and screamed. 

“ Why would that even occur to you?! That that was okay!” A ragged edge cut his voice from how long he had been screaming at the stupid impulsive temperamental childish alpha. He gathered his overly large hoodie a bit closer to him and continued edging impossibly deeper into his corner, where he felt safe . 

The stupid man let the thrown pillow hit him and Key’s didn’t even feel any satisfaction from how it popped him right between the eyes. The alpha pointed helplessly at his own neck, as if it would make anything better , and countered weakly, “You bit me too!” while endlessly drawing attention to their matching marks. 

Keys hissed and the man recoiled, a wounded look flashing across his face. “Seriously Antwan! When I told you to get out, I meant it! Just leave! You never make anything better!”

Now with no outlet for his seething bubbling rage, Keys stood alone, barefoot in the middle of his apartment, clenching shaking hands. The sting of the healing mark only serving to fuel his offense whenever it had started to dwindle with what ifs and it was legal anyways . 

He considered calling Mouser, but they were really mostly work friends. There to make hell bearable. 

He considered calling Millie.. But. What kind of friend would he be if he only called when he needed help? 

And that was… his list of friends.

Chapter Text

He didn’t think much would come of guarding the door of the apartment. But in a rare happenstance, he wasn’t doing it to gain anything. It would just… make him feel better if he knew that Walter was safe during this incredibly vulnerable time. That no wandering alpha would come upon the incredibly alluring scent permating the hallway and attempt to break down the door or that Walter would call them in or that he would end up gone . Antwan knew that he was incredibly selfish. And while he wouldn’t go as far as to say that if he couldn’t have him, no one could, he toed that line quite dangerously every day. 

As he slid to a pile on the threadbare carpet he wondered if it was quite possible that Walter showing up with a mating mark might break him. 

And on a dank grim Sunday morning Keys pulled himself off the couch, the only soft surface that didn't reek, and did what any self respecting millennial with bills to pay would do, go to work.

Carefully selecting each layer like a knight donning armor, Keys locked his shoulders and braced to face the world, like he had every single day before. 

No matter what had happened, he was in a better place than before. He didn’t have to fight for scraps or sleep in bus stations anymore. He had a place that was all his, and was waiting for him at the end of the day. For now. 

Keys smiled ruefully at the cupcake decorated with the holy cross that was placed directly on his workstation, swiping a finger through the dripping frosting. 

Mouser clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by, “Welcome back from the dead, Keys! How was hell?”

He mumbled, “Are you sure I’m not still there?”

Mouser took a quick glance out the windows that dominated Soonami, at the blustery wet conditions, several brittle leaves plastering against the glass, and the general gloom and fog overtaking the city. 

“Yeah that’s fair. But you chose Seattle my dude.”

Keys gave an exaggerated sigh and settled down to munch on the explosion of lemony sugar placed before him. Between bites he mumbled, "How bad is it?"

His desk partner shoved a foot against the file cabinet and set his chair off into a spin, "Well the department didn't collapse without you, but you might want to close your eyes before looking at the complaint backlog. It's… a lot. Lots of whining nerds about how we nerfed their favorite weapon or somesuch." He gave a put upon world weary sigh, "But that is the cross we carry, to part the endless sea of bitching to find the game breaking issues underneath" 

Keys chuckled, mood several variables lighter than for several days, and carefully eased himself back into the familiar and monotonous routine of maintenance. 

A ban there, a sharply worded email here, and a few quick memos to programming and Keys was in a happy place. This is why he didn’t mind complaints as much as everyone thought he should. He liked keeping things running smoothly, catching problems before they broke, and occasionally, receiving feedback about how he improved someone's experience lit a happy spark beneath his ribcage. It was all he needed to have satisfaction. 

In the midst of rolling his neck to pop a crick he couldn’t quite reach, pressure ran through his messy hair, pulling it out of his face with a gentle tug and he hummed happily. 

He didn’t pull himself out of his zone until a WhatsApp notification chimed in his headphones and he looked up to see Mouser waiting for a lunch order.

He bit his lip, feeling how ragged the edges were, damn he needed to drink more , “Oh um, ham sandwich and iced coffee from downstairs? I’ll venmo you.”

Mouser nodded confidently, “Can do, be back in a few!” 

Despite it now being break time, Keys was eyeing his next email, thinking that it couldn't hurt to at least see what was inside when a takeout bag was dropped on his desk. His eyes tracked the quickly retreating tail of an obnoxiously stupid coat and his lip twisted unconsciously. 

He waited until Antwan glanced over his shoulder, caught the man’s eye, and dropped the bag in his wastebin. 

He hated this . Something was wrong with his senses. Usually, even in the depths of working on his projects, he would still be able to log movements and scents in his hindbrain so that he was never surprised. But now, Antwan kept sneaking into his space and he wouldn’t even realize that the man was there. 

Just in the past two weeks he had trashed four bags of food, two umbrellas, and on one memorable occasion, dropped a particularly soft sweater into a puddle with an “ oops ”. This is something that he knew about from plenty of shows and every shitty romance pulp fiction stacked in the check out lane, omega courting tactics . 

Antwan was trying to show that he could provide for him, and if he didn’t stop, Keys was going to provide a fist in his face. People enjoyed this? Having a partner assume that they couldn’t take care of themself? He felt infantilized. 

Keys arrived home, soaking wet from avoiding the door of an uber that Antwan had held open, conveniently leaving him in the open to be drenched by a speeding delivery truck hitting a puddle, and felt that his teeth were going to crack off any minute now from all the grinding he had put them through lately. 

Feeling his soaked through clothes to shove his key in his lock, Keys could practically feel the steam from his future shower to melt all the stress of the day away. His squelching shoes crossed over the entryway and a suspicious crumple met his ears. Squinting through the rivulets running down the hair plastered to his forehead, he picked up the waterlogged envelope that must have been shoved through his mail slot. 

Something only used by his landlord. 

Yanking his filthy glasses off and peering closely at the running print, he swore he could make out something something cosign or leave . 

A guttural scream escaped him, wounded and furious, cut off as rapidly as it came on by the banging of the upstairs neighbor.

Chapter Text

Whines left his lips unbidden as he twisted in the light sheets, hands not his own scorching trails down his body and still crying for more. Fire licked his veins and it wasn't enough. He wanted to burn, to be turned to cinders by the flame. 

Gasping for air, Keys’ eyes shot open, his sheets twisted around his ankles like shackles and his one pillow thrown to the floor. Bent in half, his forehead nearly touching his knees, he attempted to slow his ragged breath, the phantom hands evaporating, abandoning an embarrassed, overheating, man to his misery.

The dream went up in smoke, leaving behind only the warmth of molten eyes staring into his soul, and liking what they saw. 

He shivered and tugged an overly large worn hoodie on, resolutely banishing the fever dream to the depths of his mind. So of course it resurfaced inconveniently throughout his morning. The remembrance of a soft breath panting into his ear warred with the look of adoration as he wore the corner down of the notice between his hands while propped on his kitchen counter. 

He should just get it over with. March right over to the stupid Alpha’s probably stupidly impressive apartment and tell him to sign it. Don’t let it drag on. 

But he didn't know where Antwan lived. And wasn’t that a kicker. This other man held so much control over Keys’ life, his mind, his days, and Keys didn’t even know where he lived . 

He knew where he worked. He knew Stanton’s number. And if Stanton was in a good mood he would do his job as a goddamn secretary and pass the message to Antwan. But.

They were bonded.

Whether he liked it or not. And definitely not. 

But they were. Not just legally, but apparently, in his heat haze, Keys saw something in that other man and, well. Claimed him for himself. 

What kind of Alpha just let himself wander off without a hint of contact. 

He pulled at his hair and resolutely disregarded all of the attempts of said contact. 

His finger tapped against the marble.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I didn’t want it to happen like this” He finally admitted quietly to himself. 

It wasn’t the alpha.

It was him.

Swaddled and buried six feet under his lowest rib was the tiny secret hope that never quite got snuffed out. 

He had built his tiny little fort to keep his dreams dry while shivering through another storm, the shoddy overhang of a Boston bus stop his only protection from the elements. Someone, maybe a classmate, a friend, someone on the street, would recognize his efforts, see that he was trying and fall immediately irrevocably in love with him. Decide to support him and shelter him. He didn’t need someone to take him out of the storm but he was so tired of being alone .

For the longest time that someone had dirty blonde hair and a laugh that could shatter glass. 

Keys hated wallowing. He hated stopping and thinking. He wanted to move, to move forward and never ever reflect. In the moments between exhaustion is where tacky red spread between his fingers and a cold glassy stare pinned him in place. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

He bit his lip and slid off of the counter. He couldn't stay here any longer with the walls pressing into him and the sleek modernism sucking the lingering warmth from his bones.

He just wanted to be warm again. 

Sometimes he would daydream about the grand fireplace in Millie’s childhood home. The Vermont chill was never allowed entry into the grand cabin and the two would often spend the afternoons of spring break huddled together, a game of blackjack spread between their socked feet. 

The off tune hum of Mariah that would escape Millie when deep in thought over her next move, often to badly hide her hand, filtered out into Keys even more off beat voice and he stumbled onto the street. 

“ Its just a sweet sweet fantasy”

Embers from the crackling fire danced before his eyes and he blindly followed them down the street, reaching out towards his past, heedless of his future. 

The streets blurred into warped oak paneling as he raced across the room towards his family, the slap of the rain against the ground a comforting din on the roof and the soft murmur of voices carrying from the candlelit kitchen as his mom and dad laughed quietly over the blackout. The slightest storm was often too much for their power grid, ensuring a steady supply of candles and monopoly around the coffee table. It was moments like this, in the soft darkness and comfort of home that Walter could close his eyes and believe that he was born into this. That Millie reaching up and tucking his hair behind his ear was a product of a lifetime together, from growing up side by side.  That his mom her mom his mom knitting a few extra throws to slide in his pathetically empty duffel was from fond exasperation at how bad her son was at packing and not concern at how little he had. That his dad was proud of him. 

Slowly the playfully sparking deep blue of Milie’s eyes as she tugged him deeper into their blanket pile deepened into the darkest brown, melting in concern as he looped arms around Keys’ shivering form, not protesting as Keys burrowed a frozen nose into the join of his neck. 

“I’ve got you” said his mom. No. He didn’t-. Not his mom. 

But he didn’t protest as his dad gathered him in his arms, just like when the treehouse was too  much for too grown college students and collapsed, leaving Walter in a cast. 

But his dad didn’t smell of this. A smoky cedarwood peppered with a sprig of mint. 

Dad was all evergreen. Mom and Dad were Christmas trees with a bite of leather, their scents so intertwined you never knew where one started and the other stopped. 

Feeling more the rumble of a chest being translated then hearing the words, Keys made out, “Let's go home” and sleepily agreed.

That's all he ever wanted. A home.