Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony was going to kill me. 

That's the thought that bounced around Way’s head as Babe dropped down beside him, the worn leather of the couch flaking off. Alan had put the two of them through the ringer for practice, leaving Way grimey with sweat, but had clapped them both on the shoulder with a huge smile that left him feeling warm inside. 

“That was awesome,” Babe was always wound up, a person held together by spite and anger, except after racing where he actually seemed like the approximation of a  person, “soon will be the ones dominating the circuit if we stay on like this.”

Way couldn't build up the same enthusiasm. When he’d joined X-Hunter he hadn’t thought much about racing, now it was willingly becoming a core part of his identity. He wanted to get pumped up, but not with the fresh bruises still aching on his back. 

It had been almost a year since Tony had sent Way on this mission to bring Babe back. A year of Way being split between worlds. The world of Tony where pain came often, threats came easy, and reminders of his failures were constant. Where Way was a pawn in a game that he'd never wanted to be a part of, but had no choice to play.

The other world was this one, the world of racing, with X-Hunter run by Alan who looked at Way like he was something more than some useless waste of space. Alan who welcomed Way in and treated him like a person. And Babe, Babe who was his best friend and Way didn't know how long he could keep the charade up but part of him hoped he could go forever. If he could keep stalling with Tony and lying to Babe and Alan.

What would it matter if he kept up the charade, he was doomed to die anyway. At least if he'd get a few more moments of this. A few more moments where he was maybe a person.

“Here we go,” Alan appeared with bags of takeout, “eat up, you've both earned it.”

“Oh Lhung, if this is how you treat us for practice, wait till we start winning races,” joked Babe as he ripped into the closest bag. 

“It's called incentive,” Alan dropped into the seat across from them, “the more races you win the better food you'll both get.”

Babe laughed, easily beginning to eat. It was mouth watering, the smell of the food, but Way couldn’t reach for it. Every muscle in him was locked up, his stomach twisting beyond pain. 

“Way,” he jerked his head up at Alan's voice. The older man was looking at him with such open concern it made the pain worse. Would Alan look at him like that if he knew the truth of Way's motivations? 

A boney elbow nudged his ribs, “Way?”

Way looked over at the one person this whole charade hinged on. Even if the command wouldn't last long, he could easily place his hand on Babe's shoulder and get him to follow. Once in Tony's clutches, it would be up to Tony to keep Babe trapped. 

But Way couldn't bring himself to give the command. Not when Babe was so free with his affection and not for the first time Way wondered if he was more than what Tony decided. If he was worth more than useless. 

“Sorry, I'm not hungry,” the truth burned his tongue, “I think I'll just call it tonight.”

“Oh,” Alan looked genuinely worried about him, “why didn't you say anything sooner?”

He shrugged, “It just started.”

“Try and eat something at least,” Alan insisted, gesturing towards the plain rice. 

“Yeah,” Babe had a smile that said he was about to tease their team leader, “P’Alan won't be able to sleep unless he knows everyone is tucked into bed with-”

Alan swatted at Babe but they both were smiling because Alan didn't hurt them. Alan had never raised a hand against either of them that wasn't in jest. 

“I think I just need some sleep,” if he ate now he'd probably throw it all up, no use wasting the food on him, “I'll head out first.”

“Do you need a lift?” Babe easily offered because Babe thought Way was his best friend and Way wasn't a traitor. 

He shook his head, “No, I'll see uou both tomorrow.” Tendrils were starting to crawl up him, in moments he would be bent over trying to stifle his tears as he realized how hopeless this all was. 

He was stopped by Alan who insisted on him taking some food that would inevitably rot in Way’s fridge because Way could barely stomach anything anymore. Babe patted him on the shoulder and told him to call if he needed anything. It nearly took Way out because all he wanted was to stay in that bubble of warmth, to pretend that all of this was real. 

In his car his hands shook as he drove home. Everything was twisting itself inside of him and he wasn't sure how long he could do this. 

The apartment he lived in was nice, nicer than what he could reasonably afford on his meager earnings from X-Hunter. Babe had only just got his own place, after living at Alan's, and had offered Way a place. But Way had a place. 

Well he had keys to a place. 

As he opened his door, he was reminded why he called it the apartment instead of his apartment. 

“Way,” Tony sat at his kitchen table, Kenta and another guard stationed behind him, “there you are.”

His mind scrambled to try and remember if he forgot a meeting, which didn't make sense. He'd met with Tony two nights ago. Usually Tony wanted weekly updates, it was too soon for Tony to need anything from him.

His eyes darted to Kenta, the other had yet to perfect the stoicism that Tony required of the man. It was getting harder with each meeting to read Kenta's state, but Way had known Kenta for long enough that he wasn't a complete mystery. Kenta looked worried, for himself or Way, Way didn't know. The other guard was less help, but that was expected, Tony only kept those who were good at their job. 

“Daddy, what-”

“Sit,” Tony rarely raised his voice, he commanded everything with soft words and violent threats. It was worse, and Way was helpless but to sit down at the table he did not own. 

“You know,” Tony did not look at him as he spoke, “when I gave you this assignment I thought it would be easy for you. Babe is not that smart, and with your abilities I figured a few weeks at most.” He turned his gaze on Way and he felt like a trapped animal. 

“I need Babe to trust me, my powers won't work that long,” it was the truth, if mildly stretched, Way could only hypnotize one person at a time and not for an extended period. He could give commands that could influence past the hypnosis period, like with Alan letting him onto the team, but even that had limits. If Way commanded Babe to return to Tony right now, the second it wore off Babe would bolt. Way had explained it when Tony first told him of the mission, the more the command went against someone's actions and beliefs, the less effective it would be.

And the last thing Babe was going to do was willingly walk into Tony's embrace. 

Tony huffed, “I thought you were making Babe fall for you.”

Way grimaced, that's what had been suggested but Way didn't think he could make it happen. Babe wasn't interested in him, and Way didn't know how to change that. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to, it would ruin their friendship and Way honestly didn't want that. 

Babe was fun to be around and a great friend, but he was also…a lot. Way had learned Babe's preference in partners and he knew the two of them were incompatible, among other things. Even with his powers Way didn't really know how to go about making Babe fall for him, it's not like Way had any real insight into the phenomenon. 

“Babe is…resistant.” He settled on, because what else was there to say? It's not like Way was some great catch either, maybe in a different timeline but not this one. “I'm trying.”

“You're lying to me, Way.” 

Was he? Way had no idea in all honesty. He didn't know what he was doing other than he really wanted it to all stop. Maybe that's why he couldn't eat unless forced or could only sleep a handful of hours, his body was trying to make that decision for him. 

The slap sent him reeling, toppling from the chair and onto the floor that was not his. Tangy iron filled his mouth —he must have bitten his tongue— he belatedly thought. A foot pressed against his back, his jaw bounced against the tile, his lungs unable to fully expand. 

“I gave you one mission Way; bring Babe back to me. And somehow you're too stupid to even do that.” The pressure got worse, crushing the air out of him, “Are you even trying or do you think I'm some kind of fool?” The pressure disappeared and then Way was being dragged to his knees with a hand in his hair. His cry went ignored. 

Tony's face filled his view, fingers digging into his cheeks ensuring he couldn't turn away, “I own you, if you can't do this simple thing then what use are you?” He shoved Way's face away, as if touching him was disgusting, “I raise you and this is how you repay me?”

Tears stung his eyes, the tips of his fingers began to tingle and Way knew he was falling towards a panic attack. He dug his fingers into the palm of his hand, desperate to stop it, if only to not give Tony another excuse to hurt him. 

“Get me results, Way, or else.” A chill raced down his spine, but it was Kenta's open eye stare that made the fear real.

Tony left him slumped on the floor, alone and shaking. There was no energy in him to stay upright, the cool tile pressing against his face was the only thing that felt real. 

He was all alone. 

In his pocket his phone buzzed. 

X-Hunter Chat (3 members)

Alan

Both of you let me know when you're home.

Babe

You're too much of a worry wart phi

Alan

Are you home?

Babe

Yes, Lhung

Alan

Way did you make it home?

It was such an innocuous text, Alan had sent similar ones a hundred times. Way couldn't stop the tears as he hugged his phone to his chest, he wanted Alan to actually care about him and not the face Way put on. He wanted to actually be friends with Babe, have Babe accept him despite being Tony's-

Babe was also Tony's son. Way knew that, had known it since before the two had met, but it was as if Way had just realized. Maybe he could tell Babe. If Babe had escaped, and had made a new life for himself, maybe he would understand Way’s predicament. 

Or maybe Way told him the truth and Babe threw him away as well.

But Tony was going to get rid of him anyway, what more did he have to lose?

His brain just stopped recording, he didn't remember getting up from the floor or leaving the apartment or calling a Grab. He does remember throwing his phone against a wall, realizing that if he goes through with this, he won't have anything. Tony will use whatever he's given Way against him, and Way won't let that happen. 

“Way?” Babe opened the door with a frown. Way knew he looked like a mess, his face was still swollen from the tears and his scent blocker had worn off, leaving his ozone scent sour with fear. 

“I'm sorry,” the tears crawled up his throat, “Babe, I'm sorry, you need to know that.” He began to shake and Babe's own musky scent began to shift with the distress, “Please, I'm sorry.”

“Way,” Babe's hands grabbed his arms in a grip that was so unlike the way Tony touched him that Way can't stop himself from sinking to the floor, “what's going on phi? What happened?”

Way can only get one word out between the panic and tears, “Tony.”

Chapter Text

Alan prided himself on being level headed when it came to problems. He wouldn’t have been the king of the circuit without being able to stay calm during disaster.

While being a captain was a new set of challenges, he was able to get on his racers level in ways his previous couldn’t. He knew what Babe and Way were thinking, their insecurities and fears, he knew how to help them grow into the best racers they could be. And they were already great racers.

So when Babe had texted him asking him to come over ASAP he figured it would be something benign. It happened from time to time, Alan didn't know the specifics of Babe's experience growing up, other than his adoptive father hadn't been a nice man and Babe had left. Alan often found himself filling a role he was not totally equipped to fill, but he did it without complaint.

It was fine, for the most part. Even at his worst Alan knew that Babe had a good heart, he was just hot headed and had been treated poorly over the years. It had taken a while to earn Alan’s trust and know that he had it, he wasn’t planning on losing it.

When he knocked on Babe's door he was expecting a lot of things. He was not expecting Babe's fury when he wrenched the door open or the way Way was hunched over on the beat up sofa, looking like he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice. He looked between the two.

“Babe. Way. What's going on?” Since the two racers had met, Alan knew the two would become great friends. Way was reserved but he got Babe's quirks better than anyone, and in return Babe accepted Way without question. Alan could see the All Star team developing right in front of his eyes.

“This fucking traitor,” Babe spat. Alan had to resist letting his eyes bug out of his head at the vitriol.

Way flinched, and he stared dumbfounded, Way never flinched.

“Babe,” he got between the two boys, using his body to shield Way from Babe's fiery gaze, “what's going on?”

“What's going on is Way has been lying to us the whole time!”

Alan's confusion grew, “What are you talking about? What did Way lie about?”

There was a hitch in breathing and Alan could only imagine Way, who while usually calm and collected, Alan knew he suffered from serious anxiety issues. With Babe's fury directed at him, Alan was surprised that Way wasn't having a panic attack.

Or maybe he was. Sometimes they were silent, like Way expected to be attacked if he thought he was being threatened.

“He's here to try and drag me back to Tony! He fucking lied about everything!”

“Babe please,” Way begged, Alan saw him get up out of the corner of his eye, “Please, I'm sorry. I swear I wasn't-”

“Shut up!”

It was Alan's quick reflexes from years of racing that allowed him to swat away the mug Babe had thrown at Way. The porcelain shattered against the floor, shards scattering across the floor.

Silence rang through the apartment, punctuated by heavy breathing. Babe looked stuck between his fury and the shock at his own actions. Alan stared wide eyed, not at Babe but at Way who had dropped to his knees, his arms covering his head.

Way was not a small person and Alan had seen him get into a few scraps with Babe, the kid could fight, and take a hit if needed. Way was shaking, his ozone scent overpowering all other smells with nothing but fear, a horrible addition to Babe’s burnt smell.

Way wasn't just scared. He was terrified.

“I-’

Alan went to Babe first, pushing him towards his bedroom, “Go, take five minutes to cool down-”

“P'Alan,” Closer Alan could properly read Babe's scent, it wasn't anger overpowering it, it was something else, hurt and betrayal mixed underneath, an almost wet smell. Whatever was going on; it was beyond Alan's comprehension, but that didn't mean Alan was going to back down.

“Go, before you do something you regret.” He was sure Babe was going to continue arguing but for once the younger alpha actually listened to him, turning to his room with a huff and wet eyes.

Pivoting to the couch, Way shrunk back, his entire body poised to move at a moment's notice. Alan had no clue what was going on, but he didn’t care. Not at this second, he had bigger problems.

“Way,” Alan dropped to his knees, “hey, you’re okay.”

There was a faraway look in Way’s eyes that told Alan Way wasn’t actually present in the room. It had only happened a few times since meeting the younger; Way retreated into some faraway place in his mind that no one could access. Not without being able to read minds.

Alan rubbed his hands on Way’s legs, trying to stimulate any sensation. Way was not a touchy person, maybe this would annoy Way back into reality.

“P’Alan…” If Alan hadn’t been desperately listening for it, he would have missed the tiny voice.

“Way?”

Twin tracks traced down Way’s face with no other expression. “P’Alan,” whispered Way, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for, huh?” he kept his tone light, knowing Way would be hyper sensitive in this state, “You’re okay.”

Way shook his head, “I lied. I lied to Babe about everything. And once Tony finds out-” Way’s breathing went shallow again and Alan gave into his instincts, pulling Way close. That name again, he didn’t understand the link but clearly whoever this person was, they played a role between both his racers.

“He’s going to kill me.”

Alan frowned, “Babe?”

Way didn’t respond and Alan had a horrible feeling that Way wasn’t being dramatic. They sat like that for a while, longer than Alan had told Babe to calm down. Eventually Way’s scent settled —it wasn’t normal by any means— but it no longer smelled of terror.

“P’Alan.” Way sounded wrecked but blessedly alert.

“You’re okay,” he assured, “you’re safe.”

“No I’m not but thanks for lying.”

Alan was not lying, he didn't have a goddamn clue what was happening but he wasn't going to let anything happen to Way or Babe. Whatever was happening they would figure a way out.

“Do you think I can let Babe back in?”

Way snorted, the sound cut through Alan because it was a sound of pure defeat. Whatever Way expected to happen it wasn't good, but they couldn't just sit here forever. Mainly because Alan's neck was starting to hurt and he’d like to get off his knees.

Getting Babe into the same room was…difficult. The time apart had got him calm enough to not immediately jump Way, but just barely. Babe sat at the table while Way stayed folded on the couch, Alan between them like a referee of a poorly managed boxing match.

“Okay,” he took a slow breath, “what happened?”

“He lied that's what-”

“Babe!” Alan didn't like snapping at the boys but Way was seconds from bolting, with a high probability that if Way left they weren’t getting him back. And they were going to get nowhere with Babe throwing accusations around, “One of you explain to me what's going on.”

The silence stretched on, turning tight until Alan almost lost his patience. A rare feat, if anyone bothered to ask him.

“He approached me because of Tony.”

Alan didn't sigh but it was close, “Okay, you both have said that name. Let’s start by telling me who's Tony?”

Babe's jaw locked with a click, looking away from whatever disaster was unfolding.

“Look you can't call me over and then not explain what's going on,” he looked between the two of them, “now one of you talk. Who's Tony?”

Again a stretch of silence. Babe broke first, “He's the one who adopted me.”

Never did Babe talk about the actual man who adopted him, the most Alan had ever got was a vague, “He was a bad person.” There were many things Alan could make from that statement and Babe’s insecurities but it didn’t actually tell him anything.

“Why would your adoptive father know Way?”

“Because he raised me as well,” Way’s voice was barely above a whisper, “he actually raised a lot of kids.”

Alan turned between the two of them, feeling a bear trap close around his ankle and doing nothing to stop it, “I want the full story. Now.”

And that's how Alan learned what exactly had happened before he met the boys. The abuse, the isolation, the pressure, the brutal training of their abilities.

Alan looked down at Way, “You have an ability?”

“I-” Way swallowed, took a deep breath, and nodded before mumbling something.

“You motherfu-”

Alan grabbed Babe around the middle before he could attack Way.

“Babe!”

“Did you fucking hypnotize me?”

“No!”

“You asshole-”

“Enough!” He didn't miss the way both boys flinched, his tone bordering on the alpha tone he swore never to use, “Babe you need to calm-”

“He fucking hypnotized us! I bet he made you let him in the team!”

“No,” Way was frantically shaking his head, “no, they don't work like that, Tony-”

“He told you to approach me, how am I supposed to believe you?”

“I-” Way dropped his head, “I don't know.”

There was something about Way’s defeat that stopped Babe, or at least stopped him from actively trying to attack Way.

Way continued, “I just- I don't know what you want me to say.”

Alan hesitantly let Babe go, turning to Way, “You said you were working for Tony, why are you telling us now?”

“He’s mad I haven't been making progress, and I-” he swallowed, “I couldn't, I can't. But you don't just walk away from Tony. He owns me.”

Alan, unable to stop the instinct to comfort, dropped to his knees again in front of Way despite the protest in them, “What do you mean he owns you?”

“Everything, my apartment, my phone, the clothes I wear. He bought them, I have nothing. And if I fail him again-”

He's going to kill me. That's what Way had said and Alan hadn't understood, not really but now he got it.

“No one is going to hurt you Way,” he promised.

Way shook his head, “He'll come for me, he'll send Kenta to do it. I should have just run, I should have k-”

“No,” it wasn't Alan who spoke, but Babe. Alan turned to see the young alpha's face set in determination, “you're staying.”

Chapter Text

There were many things Babe had prepared for in his life, many of them resulting in the end of his life, but he’d prepared for them nonetheless. There was a time when Babe thought maybe he could escape Tony, escape the hell he’d known all his life. He’d found freedom in racing, in the protection Alan regularly gave him without question. He thought, for a moment, that maybe he could be free. As he stood there acidic ozone burning his nostrils watching Way as he shook so violently Babe wondered if the strings that held him together would snap, Babe knew he would never escape.

Way wasn't supposed to know who Tony was because Way was supposed to be Babe's friend —his best friend— who was someone that existed away from Tony. Babe was just supposed to be Babe and nothing more, and Way was supposed to be Way.

But Way had come to him because of Tony.

Everything always came back to fucking Tony.

Even through his anger and betrayal, that tore at his insides demanding to smash everything and curl into a ball in the farthest corner he could find, Babe couldn't help but notice Way. It was impossible not to, Babe’s world revolved around only two people, it’d be like ignoring the moon. Way shrunk back, curled into himself preparing his body for something, it was nothing Babe had ever seen.

He's going to kill me.

Babe's sense meant he could hear their conversation even after Alan banished him from the room and it had wedged itself into the cracks of his anger. Tony was an evil man but would he actually kill Way?

The truth of the matter was Babe didn't know, not really, and that made him uneasy. Even if he didn’t know, Way sure thought so.

“...Babe?” Way was looking at him with a terrified expression, like he couldn't understand what Babe was saying and in some ways, yeah, Babe couldn’t believe he just said that.

“Tony won't come for you here.”

Way actually scoffed, “Babe he came for you. He sent me.” As if Babe needed a reminder of the betrayal only moments after the reveal, “What's to stop him from doing it again?”

“We don't let anyone in who seems friendly.”

“Then he'll send guards to drag us back-”

“No he won't.” Babe wasn't sure why he was so confident about that but he was. He'd paced his room at Alan's in the beginning, positive that Tony's men were going to break down the door and drag him back, but it never happened. Maybe it was because he'd sent Way but hadn’t appeared until almost three years after he escaped.

Babe thought it was more Tony wanted him to return willingly. To crawl back into his arms and admit he was wrong to run and that he’d never leave Tony again.

Babe would die before that happened.

“You're not going back to Tony,” he repeated.

Way looked away, “I don't have anywhere to go.”

Alan sighed, “You have a space at mine, Way.” Babe was thankful for Alan because in honesty he didn't want Way staying with him. Way's fear was not faked, you couldn’t fake changes in your scent, but Babe worried this was some long-con. Even if he didn't think Way was that smart, he didn’t care. Betrayal tasted sour on his tongue.

“We can go back to your place and get-”

Way frantically shook his head, cutting Alan’s words off, “I can't go back there. Tony will know already I left.”

That probably wasn't true, depending on how this charade was set up Tony may not know for a couple days at least, long enough for Way to go back and get his things, but Babe understood. Anything associated with Tony had to go.

As Way got to his feet with assistance from Alan, looking considerably paler, Babe stared down at the grain of his coffee table. He wasn't there, in his home. He was miles away in a small white room shaking in fear.

There had been other children raised in the foundation, Babe wasn't naive, but he assumed all —or most— had been sold off to the highest bidder long before they’d grown up. How many times had Tony told Babe that he was special, that he was different.

That's why Tony had kept him close and watched him grow, had trained him into something…worse.

When the door clicked shut, Babe could still hear Way and Alan's footsteps as they trailed towards Alan's car. His senses were fine tuned to pick up even the most subtle of noises, it made him a great soldier, and impossible to function as a person.

In his home, an abandoned industrial complex he had been able to buy dirt cheap, Babe felt like the walls were closing in on him. The one person he thought he had in his corner, was only there because of Tony.

He could feel fire licking at his senses, the need to move and burn taking over him. Grabbing his keys off the table, Babe ignored the thought that the motion was more familiar than sleep had ever been.

***

The club was packed with bodies, a nauseating mixture of sweat and an assortment of scents. His brain pulsed behind his eyes, as he pushed through the crowd. People pressed against him, some by accident, others with a purpose. Too bad for everyone Babe had preferences.

He chugged his beer, loosening his tight control enough that whatever person he picked wouldn't make him gag. If getting alphas to put on a condom was hard, getting them to put scent blockers on was impossible. He had long learned to pick his battles.

It didn't take him long to find someone, Babe knew he was good looking, and wanting to be on the receiving end made things easier. The alpha’s scent wasn't horrible, it was still too strong for Babe’s liking, but he was quiet and efficient.

“You want to come back to my place,” the guy panted, his breath wafting over Babe's scent gland, “keep the fun going?”

The guy was sweating, looking like he might pass out, and Babe could only evaluate the overall performance as fine. Enough to scratch the itch but Babe not enough to have Babe looking for a round two. At least he'd agreed to the condom, meaning Babe just had to tug his pants back up without worrying about the mess.

He swept his eyes and down the alpha, “I think you should find someone more your speed.”

With that Babe disappeared out a side door into the cool night air. The bar was definitely more bottom of the crop when it came to patrons, but the great thing about it, the reason Babe kept coming, was the long stretch of abandoned road out back. It had been a dead end street before someone had placed concrete barriers at the entrance, turning it into a perfect spot for races and other street activities.

Outside was less saturated with smells, and the noise wasn't bouncing off walls turning into a deafening noise, easing the strain on his mind. Babe walked through the crowds that were watching the show. Normally Babe would be in the center of the action with Way-

He shook his head clear, too much happened and now his system was begging to crash.

“...alone.”

“Come on baby-”

“I said get lost.”

Babe turned. Sitting on one of the concrete dividers was a smaller guy leaning away from the clearly overly pushy alpha that was grinning down at him with a shark-like smile. The kid barely looked old enough to be there and the guy looked old enough to be his father.

“Come on a cute thing like you,” the guy placed his hand on the kid's arm, the grip tight enough that the kid winced, “I can show an omega-”

Babe socked the guy in the face. “Fuck off, asshole, or did you not hear him.”

The alpha tripped over his feet, holding his jaw with a burning expression. One thing Babe had learned about guys like this was they were easy to scare off; they didn't want a fight, they wanted to feel powerful. Babe could fight and with his scent sharpened from the adrenaline and anger, he wasn't an easy target.

“Come on,” Babe sneered down at the alpha, “I thought you wanted a go.” His fingers itched for a fight. Only seconds before he was ready for sleep -while the fuck had helped- this was what he really needed. An excuse, even just one to get it all out. This guy wasn't Way or Tony but he'd do.

Unfortunately the alpha had some brain cells bouncing around because he got to his feet and spit at their feet. “He's not even that cute, you can have him.”

The kid rolled his eyes and swung his leg over the other, pouting, “I think I look amazing.”

Babe turned to him, taking the kid in. He was definitely young, dressed in a garishly coloured tank top with a fish net crop top. Babe raised a brow, “Are you even old enough to be here?”

“I'm nineteen phi,” the kid nodded towards the track, “and my friend is racing, I wasn't going to just leave him.”

“Whatever.” He muttered, clearly the kid thought he was invincible, “just get yourself better scent blockers.”

The kid's hand snapped up to his neck with a blush. Scent blockers were not super common for regular day to day use but it wasn't strange for someone to be wearing them, the issue was that this kid was practically drowning in his own scent and the scent of someone else. Something fruity and sweet, clearly two distinct scents so thoroughly layered over each other that most people wouldn't be able to tell it was two scents.

“A’Nic!”

The kid turned to the person running up to him and Babe almost chuckled at how stupid that alpha had been. While the kid -Nic- looked soft, with the styled look and long hair that framed his features, there had been some kind of edge to it. The other boy running up was bulkier, a slight sharpness to his face, but looked like he only knew how to smile. Also the second the newcomer was close enough Babe could smell the same citrusy sweet scent that clung to Nic.

The newcomer looked between them, “Who's your new friend?”

“Just watching the race,” Nic looked relieved that Babe didn't say anything about the pushy alpha. He turned to leave, “have a good one.”

“Ao,” the racer pouted, “phi, you're not going to stay for the rest?”

Babe shook his head, he wasn't looking for new friends today.

The kid smiled, easily leaning into Nic’s space and being welcomed as Nic threw his arm around his friend's shoulder, “That's too bad. Well, have a good one, phi.”

Babe would never understand people that could just look at other people and want to be their friends. But as he left the track behind he didn't feel as tense. Tomorrow was a rest day so he planned on avoiding the track, and then…

Babe didn't know.

He really didn't know.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Way had last seen Babe. At first it had been fine, and expected. Alan had given them both the day off to rest (and allow Way to move into one of the spare bedrooms). Way had spent a majority of that first day hidden, positive that Tony's men were going to break down the door and drag him away at any second. The second day Babe had called Alan while they were driving to the garage, saying he wasn't feeling well and would be skipping practice.

When Alan's phone had rang seconds after they had stepped into the garage on the third day, Way knew he wasn't seeing Babe again. He didn't blame Babe for not wanting to see him, but the least he could do was come up with a better excuse. They’d been friends for long enough that Way knew when Babe was faking it.

After practicing in the simulator, he hid himself in the corner. It wasn't hard, Alan was busy keeping everything afloat and none of the mechanics liked to socialize with him. Usually this was about the time that Babe would goad him onto the track or start whining about whatever alpha he’d been with.

Time stretched like taffy, his mind turning over and over until it became nothing but white noise. How many more days would he have before Tony contacted him? What would he do at Way's silence?

Would anyone miss him when Tony eventually got rid of him?

“Way?”

His head snapped to see Alan looking down at him with that warm concerned look he had. It always made Way’s insides twist, knowing he didn't deserve that soft kindness the alpha easily gave. Maybe now he could pretend he deserved it.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

A wrinkle formed between Alan's brows, “I asked if you're okay? You've been just staring into space for over an hour.”

“Oh,” he hadn’t realised how much time passed, “just got caught up in my thoughts.”

Alan sighed, taking the seat beside him. Early on, Way had taken to wearing scent blockers at the garage, he knew many people couldn't stand his scent when it was normal but for a long time it had hints of the sour distress that made even his own stomach churn. Alan almost never wore scent blockers, the adhesive of the cheaper ones irritated his skin, and he always said there were better things he could spend his money on. It wasn't like Alan needed to cover his scent, it was almost stereotypical in how good it was; warm and rich, earthy in part but with that alpha spice that could sharpen in heated moments.

Being engulfed in that scent made Way’s mind feel slippery in a different way. As an enigma he was supposed to not have the same desire to seek out scents like other designations or even be affected by scents, but Way had always been different. Maybe because Tony deprived him of proper development within a pack, but Way constantly wanted to bury himself in the comforting scents of others. Alan was no exception, and he had to grip his arms to prevent him from leaning over.

“I'm going to Babe's tonight,” Alan said, “drag him back if I need to.”

His insides curdled, “He just needs time.”

Alan huffed, “Well he can have time while practising, he's not going to get better sulking.”

The urge to defend Babe crawled up his throat, in part because of their friendship but also because he understood. If their roles were reversed, Way would probably react worse.

“Tell me about it.”

He looked over at the alpha, “About what?”

Alan shrugged, a look in his eye, “Any of it, you both mentioned only parts of it that night.”

“There is nothing good there, phi.”

“From what you both said, I didn’t think there was. Tell me anything.”

Way sighed, trying to find anything to satisfy the alpha that wouldn't also involve more questions. “Tony liked to keep us all separated. If Babe and I had met by chance, instead of like this way, neither of us would have known. I only know a couple of others that Tony raised and that's because Tony kept them instead of selling them off.”

“Like who?”

Way thought of soft eyes that couldn't hide emotions, of the desperation to be loved weaponized against him. There was no love lost between him and Kenta, but even still Way couldn't stop the discomfort that curled inside him. It wasn't like there was much separating them in the way Tony saw them.

“Others,” he lamely replied, “it doesn't matter. How are things going with the garage?”

Alan groaned, “They'd be better if we could get more racers.”

As much as Way didn't want the competition, in case Alan realized just how useless he was, he also knew they were working on bare bones. Under that in complete honesty, they only had two racers and most teams had three. If either Babe or him were out of commission they would be crushed.

But it was hard for Alan to draw in racers, despite his reputation, X-Hunter was not a flashy team. Babe was good at drawing attention, but they weren't pulling what they needed. While Way was loathed to admit it they needed either a big brand sponsor or a social media manager. Probably both. Alan was a great team captain but he was also horrible with technology.

Alan ran a hand over his face, at just over thirty Alan sometimes looked way older. Like life had decided to repeatedly smack him and yet despite the hardships, Alan was still a kind and patient man. It always unsettled Way, people weren't supposed to be like that.

It made the guilt worse.

“Alan,” he waited until the alpha looked over, “about everything-”

“I'll be honest, I don’t fully get it. Mainly because the two of you refuse to talk about it,” Way tried not to shrink in on himself, “but I know what it's like to be in a desperate situation. What happened is between you and Babe, as long as you aren't trying to destroy my team-”

“No,” Way could feel his fingers beginning to shake as he shook his head, “nothing like that, and I promise I didn't force you to-”

“Way, Way, it's okay,” Alan's scent rolled over him, warm with comfort and relaxing him. Way knew whenever Alan decided to actually form his own pack he would make an excellent pack alpha, for now Way would take whatever scraps he was given. “I didn’t even think you did. Sorry,” the alpha genuinely looked remorseful, “I’m just worried about the team.”

“I’m sure you'll figure something out,” he muttered.

“Yeah well,” Alan sighed, glancing down at his watch, “will you be okay getting home? I can drive you home before-”

“I'll be fine, I'll order a Grab.” Alan gave him a long look, like he knew something was up.

Way still had access to the bank account Tony had set up but he was too scared to use it. Along with the car he'd been given, and virtually everything else. He was borrowing Alan's clothes, and basically living off of Alan's kindness, while he tried to figure out what exactly he was doing (and how long he had left to live). He didn't know how long it would last but he didn't want to give Alan any additional reasons to get rid of him.

It was later -much later- Alan had long since left to track down Babe and Way was just starting to think he should head back to Alan's place. His stomach grumbled uncomfortably. Breakfast had been some plain rice, it was still the only thing he could reasonably eat without being sick, and he’d skipped lunch. It was a vicious cycle, the lack of food made him nauseous, but eating also made him sick.

The Grab dropped him off in front of Alan's dark house. Way had no idea why Alan had purchased such a big place, it wasn't in the best shape which explained the cheap price tag, but still the thing could easily fit like ten other people. While in need of repairs, he wasn't going about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Consumed with the swirl of thoughts, he didn't notice anything amiss as he pulled his key from his pocket.

“Way.”

His blood ran ice cold, his heart rate skyrocketing. Clenching his fingers together to try and stop the shaking, he turned to see Kenta emerge from the shadows.

He swallowed the bitter taste of fear, “Kenta.” He stared the other down in a way he hoped was intimidating, “What do you want?”

Kenta took a few steps towards him. The two of them had never been close, far from it, but Way was surprised by how rough Kenta looked. There were deep bags under his eyes, a paleness to his skin that looked ghastly, and a strange acidic smoke smell that clung to the air. Tony often made Kenta wear scent blockers, his scent wasn't that of a typical alpha and Tony wanted to hide that defect from others. Way had been fortunate, enigma scents were similar enough to alphas that after Tony had given him his mission he didn't have to cover his scent. Not that the sickly scent of ozone was anyone's preference.

“You left.”

Way knew it had only been a matter of time but he foolishly thought he'd have a week at least. What message had Tony sent that Way hadn't responded too? Something important enough if the dog had immediately come to him.

He didn't answer, there was nothing to say that could potentially save him.

“Why?”

Way frowned, “Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”

It was almost a stupid question and Way wanted to say that. Why did he leave? Why had he stayed for so long? Sure the ever present threat of Tony looked over him like an ax waiting to fall, but at least Way didn't have to worry about Alan killing him or having to use his powers to the point of illness or lie to everyone around him. Sure it all still sucked but already there was a marked improvement.

“Because I could,” he settled on, “because Tony is going to kill me either way, at least this way I'm not shackled to the ground like a fucking dog..”

Kenta shook his head, “He's our father, he gave us everything.”

“On the basis that we hand our lives over to him. He didn't raise us out of the goodness of his heart,” He thought of Alan's gentle acceptance of all that Way was, of how after all that Way told him, he let Way stay just because he cared about Way, “Tony doesn't care about us Kenta.”

“You're wrong.”

Way scoffed because he didn’t understand Kenta. Yes, Way had followed Tony’s orders but ultimately it was out of a need to survive that drove him without a way out. And then he’d been given slivers of kindness and the idea of staying under Tony had threatened to undo him, “Let me ask you something Kenta, why does Tony keep you around? You don't have powers, he should have thrown you away like all the other powerless ones.”

“But he didn't.”

“Why?” Way snapped back, his anger reeling its head, “because there's no way he actually cares about you. You're not special enough.”

If Kenta were someone else, Way was sure he would have swung at him. But Kenta was still too soft, it was so obvious that Kenta never actually wanted to hurt people. He had to follow Tony's orders and every time he came back from a mission another part of him had been lost.

Instead Kenta glared at him, a hard set to his shoulders and jaw that Way knew wasn't in Kenta's nature. Or it hadn't been before Tony.

“Are you going to drag me back to Tony?” He could probably use his powers to prevent it, but he'd have to run, find somewhere to hide so Tony couldn't get to him. His heart pounded as he waited for the response.

“No,” Kenta said, his tone flat, “but he will come for you. There's no escaping him.”

“How would you know? You haven't even tried.”

Kenta did not reply, not that Way was expecting him too. He was honestly expecting a fight, for Kenta to forcibly drag him back, but instead Kenta turned on his heel and walked away.

Way couldn't remember moving, his heart was trying to beat through his chest as the relief crashed straight into the terror. It's like he blinked and he was curled into a ball in Alan's foyer, trying to figure out if he was even alive.

There was a lock clicking and Way needed to move, in case Kenta had come back or someone else to drag him away, he wasn't safe here and he wasn't the best fighter and he couldn't-

“Way!”

He slammed back into his body at Alan's shout.

“Way,” Alan asked, trying to pull him up, “what's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

But Way wasn't there, he was somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't kind or safe.

“Please phi, please, I'm sorry, please.” He begged, clinging onto Alan in a way that would embarrass him later.

He completely missed the smell of gas.

Chapter Text

Each step weighed the weight of the world, as if he could somehow hold off the inevitable return. The mission had been an easy success, he did not fear punishment for that but it was still hours after he was ordered to return. He hadn't meant to deviate but he couldn't help himself.

Way had left.

Just like Babe.

Just like Pete.

The foundation was a sprawling building, meant to house more than just the children. Entrances were well guarded, for the most part, but there was one used by kitchen staff that the guards tended to look over. He stopped in the hollow of the entrance, it was late and most of the place was empty but a handful of guards that had paid him little mind. Protocol dictated that he head straight for Daddy’s office, if he was even still up. His feet were glued to the polished wood, mind tumbling over itself.

“...no way he actually cares about you. You're not special enough.”

Kenta had no powers, he was taken in under the assumption that he would eventually develop something. But he never did. Or if he did have a power it was so weak that no amount of tests could detect it. The tests were littered across his skin, his nightmares haunted by the trials, and after Babe had left, his days filled with endless work. Work that made his stomach roll but he did because Daddy had asked. Kenta could be useful if he only forced himself to stomach to hold.

Daddy was the only person who looked at Kenta. Kenta was a useless alpha with no powers and no prospects. A weak scented and weak willed alpha wasn't wanted by others. He was not Babe or Pete or even Way who could make something for themselves. He was simply Kenta.

A creak of the floorboards had his head snapping up. Instinctively from his belt he pulled his knife, sinking into the shadows of the alcove. Whoever was walking towards him was trying to be sneaky; the guards stomped around, the children didn't move without permission, and Daddy would always make his presence known.

His stomach rolled at the thought of using his knife against the intruder but he swallowed the bile back down. It could be a spy coming for one of the children, and if Kenta allowed them to leave Daddy would make him suffer the punishment. Tightening his grip on the leather wrapped hilt, he took deep breaths. Each breath slowed his heart rate, sinking into the head space for his missions.

“Hurry.” The whisper was just loud enough for Kenta to detect but not discern the voice.

A step towards the exit and he sprung into action, swinging his knife out at the person. His blade came to rest on the throat of not an intruder but a lanky teen.

“Phi!” Behind the teen was a younger kid, gripping the other's sweater.

Kenta recognized both of them. “Charlie,” he addressed the older one, “what are you doing out of your room,” he looked to the kid, “with Jeff?”

Charlie was a lot like him, no powers and no prospect. Jeff wasn't, his powers were useful but unpredictable. Kenta had seen the trials the younger was subjected to, and the ways his vision left him on the ground begging for help. It was part of the reason Tony had yet to auction him off.

While Jeff cowered, Charlie’s eyes were sharp as he glared at Kenta. It was almost admirable that Charlie hadn’t lost that stubborn streak, and not for lack of trying on Daddy’s part. Daddy would whip him across the head for his disobedience, Kenta knew it was only a matter of time before the kid broke. It was inevitable.

“We're leaving phi.” Charlie declared.

Kenta cocked his head to the side, waiting for more or a better explanation. Charlie's jaw was clenched, the kid had no training but Kenta knew he was preparing for a fight. There was no warning in his scent -Charlie didn't have a scent- but Kenta could see it in the lines of his muscles.

“P’Kenta,” Jeff was small but he'd always seemed older, now he looked like a child, the way he clung to Charlie’s sweater, “please. We need to leave.”

“You're not allowed to leave.”

“It doesn't matter, we're leaving.” Charlie said, defiant even with Kenta's knife still pressed against his neck. Not his jugular, because Kenta didn't want to accidentally kill him. “He's killing us.”

His knife retracted barely a millimetre as Kenta opened his mouth to object, but no words came out. In his mind he could hear Way, his hands shaking as he stared Kenta down telling him the same thing. He looked at them both again.

Charlie was practically bones, his cheeks were hollow and eyes sunken into his head. He knew Daddy had taken less time to try and learn Charlie's powers, but Kenta had assumed that Charlie was still being treated. Clearly not as the wildness in his eyes spoke of a desperate animal, a look he'd once seen in Babe's eyes, right before the alpha had sprinted away. The clothes he wore barely clung to him, oversized and slightly dirty.

Jeff's clothes fit him better and there was a roundness to his cheeks that spoke of regular food but he looked somehow worse. The bruising under his eyes looked almost inflicted, and swollen like he'd just been crying. A thin long scratch travelled the length of his right cheek. There was terror in Jeff's eyes, and Kenta didn’t know if the boy was suffering from the aftereffects of a vision or something else.

They had all been abandoned by their families, left to rot.

So then why did so many want to leave the man that had taken them in?

Silence stretched between them, broken up by Jeff's strained pants.

“Tony doesn't care about us.”

His eyes skittered between the two boys. He dropped the knife. “Go.”

Charlie stared at him, “What?”

“Go,” he stepped aside, “I can't promise that Tony won't come after you, but I won't stop you.”

Charlie stared for another tense silence, before his shoulders fell. He didn't say anything but nodded his head. With a twist of his wrist he grabbed onto Jeff's arm, tugging the younger forward. He watched them both, and just as Charlie grabbed the door knob, Jeff turned back to him.

“Thank you phi.” Jeff's gaze felt like being stared at by the centre of the universe, it was a deep well that dragged Kenta down. He'd never heard about Jeff's visions, and now he wondered what role he'd played in them. If the younger had ever seen his own ending.

He stared at the door long after they both disappeared through it.

“Kenta.” He snapped his head towards the hallway. He was supposed to report to Daddy after each mission, whether success or or failure, and now Daddy stood at the end of the hallway. His face was unreadable as he moved towards Kenta, “You're late.”

Bowing his head in practised movements he lied, “There was a complication, I-”

A crack as his head jerked to the side from the force of the slap, a stinging line on his cheek that would mirror Jeff's injury. Pain was a constant background noise to the life he had. Was he even alive if he wasn't in pain?

“Useless,” spat Daddy, “can't you do anything right?”

It was on the tip of tongue to rat Way out, he could make Daddy happy and see use in him. Bring the traitor home and then Daddy would drag Babe back and maybe-

“...doesn't care about us.”

Iron coated his tongue as he kept his lips pressed together, eyes downcast in perfect submission. There was nothing he could say.

“Was the mission a success?”

Slowly he nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.

He flinched when Daddy's hand cupped his cheek, the loving gesture making Kenta's stomach churn. “Next time be quicker, for Daddy?”

Suddenly Kenta felt like he was going to sick, twisting his fingers into tight fists he fought the urge to break. It was only fitting that he could taste blood, with how much coated his hands.

A gentle pat and eyes that held no love in them, “Go to bed, we have much to do tomorrow.”

Kenta nodded, the dismissal giving him just enough room to breathe without breaking. He kept the perfect soldier facade up until the door of his room clicked shut. The room he occupied was in a far corner of the foundation, barren of everything but a bed and dresser. He didn't need more, that's what Daddy had said.

Way was gone. Babe was gone. Pete was gone.

Now so were Charlie and Jeff.

And Kenta was all alone, realizing for the first time how trapped he was. How alone he was. He'd seen Way with Babe and that older racer, how they had built something away from Daddy and the Foundation.

Way had Babe to lean on.

Charlie and Jeff were a unit.

And Kenta had no one. If he left he'd have nothing, no one would care about him.

“...at least this way I'm not shackled to the ground.” Like an animal Babe had once spat at him.

Harsh bathroom lights blinded him as he stumbled and collided with the sharp edge of the counter. His lungs wouldn't inflate, constricted as he heaved for breath. Splashing water did nothing more than bring it all into sharper focus. Daddy only cared about Babe, and Kenta was the poor substitute, so useless that the leash he was on was suffocating him.

It was like waking up from a dream, and seeing how trapped he truly was. The chain that kept him at heel was thick iron, and even if he escaped where was he supposed to go?

Blood marred porcelain white as he spat, trying to clear the iron from his mouth. He was trapped with nowhere to go.

“How would you know? You haven't even tried.”

Something hot flared alive, something real. It mixed with the terror and Kenta knew he needed to follow it before it fizzled out. Wiping the water from his face, he stumbled back into his room. There was almost nothing of his own, but he still dragged out a worn out backpack, shoving a few sets of clothes into it. Between the mattress and metal frame he pulled out a small wad of cash and a little notebook where the cover creased. He didn't look inside it as he shoved it to the bottom of the bag.

One shot was all he had as he slipped out the window. He didn't know where he was going other than away.

As he took a deep breath of the night air, for the first time it felt like he could actually breathe.

Chapter Text

“You have to talk to him,” Alan argued. 

 Babe walked past him with a glass of amber liquid, “Like hell I do.” The place stunk of the stuff, Alan had no idea how Babe could handle it given his heightened scenes, it was making his own stomach roll. 

“How do you expect to be on a team together if you won't talk to each other?”

Babe shrugged, dropping down onto his couch with an air of false neutrality, “We'll figure it out when the time comes.”

There was no way around it, Alan was ready to rip his hair out at the roots. Frustration bubbled under the surface of his skin giving his scent a dark tinge to it, once that he knew neither of his racers liked, but couldn’t be helped at that moment. At least Way had tried to be mature about the whole thing, Babe had been a stubborn kid incapable of even the most basic of thoughts right now. Racers needed to trust their team and how were they supposed to trust each other if Babe wouldn’t talk to Way. 

Watching Babe stare intently at the concrete wall, Alan couldn’t help but worry about Way. Despite what the younger was telling him it was painfully obvious he wasn't eating or sleeping well. Each day he grew paler and gaunt. If it kept up any longer Alan would be forced to get a new driver not because he wanted to but because Way was going to land himself in the hospital.

Or worse. 

Not that Babe was doing any better. Evaluating his second racer, Babe’s complexion was clammy and the bruising under his eyes was getting cartoonish. Strings pulled at his posture, prepared for the next attack.  

“Look I know that I don't understand everything that's happened between the two of you, but I know you can't ignore it,” he grabbed Babe by the shoulder, “it isn't good for either of you.”

“You're right phi,” Babe shrugged him off, “you don't know anything.”

It stung deep, but he tried not to let it show. This was normal, Babe lashing out when in distress, he’d learned that within months of meeting him. If Babe wasn't going to trust him as a phi then he needed to trust him as his team leader. 

Sighing and knowing this would be an under-handed tactic he said, “Babe if you're not going to at least try and talk with Way, I'll have no choice but to bench you.”

Babe whirled on him, his face flicking between a mixture of emotions, his gas like scent sharpening in betrayal, “Phi, you can't do that!”

He shrugged trying to keep his heartbeat down, “If you're not going to talk with Way, I can't trust either of you on the track. I need to know you're both in the right head space. I’m not risking you or other racers if something goes wrong,” He met Babe’s gaze head on, “The choice is yours.”

A vein appeared at the corner of his neck and his fingers tightening into fists, Alan braced for a possible attack. Babe had never been the best at handling his anger and this was probably one of the things that could result in Babe finally taking a swing at him. Silence stretched between them until Babe lowered his head and barked out a heated, “Fine.”

“Great,” he pulled his keys from his pocket, not letting the moment slip away,  “let's go.”

“What? Like right now?”

“No time like the present.” He forced some cheer into his voice, just enough to try and break the heavy tension that felt beyond foreign, “Way's probably already back at my place.”

Babe grumbled protests that Alan ignored, he was going to have his team in working order come hell or high water. 

***

All the lights were off when he pulled into his driveway. 

“I thought you said Way was here?” Babe said as he stepped out of the car. Alan didn’t reply, but concern knotted in his stomach. The house was dark and a week ago he wouldn’t even have noticed, but Way’s paranoia was starting to rub off on him.

“He may not have shown up,” he said with delusional hope, “come on,” he started leading Babe towards the entrance, at least in the interim he could get some proper food into Babe. He’d seen the way that Babe ate and knew if he didn’t do something soon his racer was going to keel over from scurvy. 

Turning the key in the lock, sharp sour ozone assaulted him as he pushed open the door. Babe backed away, throwing a hand over his nose as he gagged, but Alan couldn’t focus on that as Alan’s eyes quickly scanned the entryway. Way was curled up on the ground.

“Way!” He dropped to his knees, shouting, trying to get through to him, “Way!”

Way’s head snapped to him and the shaking increased, he started begging for Alan not to abandon him, to let him stay, to not take him back. The door snapped shut and a quick glance told him that Babe had left. Alan tried not to sigh, he had been so close, but Way took priority right now. 

“Come on,” he started to haul him upwards, “whatever happened, it’ll be okay.”

“He’s going to come for me. He’ll kill me.” Alan wasn’t sure if Way was aware that he was even talking. There was a glass to his eyes that Alan suspected Way wasn’t present at the moment. Not with the way he was clinging to Alan, Way didn’t cling, Way rarely touched him.

It took slow manoeuvring but he got Way to the couch, a blanket quickly thrown around Way’s shoulders. It was saturated in Alan’s scent, hopefully Way didn’t mind but it was the only thing Alan could think of. Babe often rejected his strong scent. 

He grabbed Way’s hands, forcing him to make eye contact. It seemed to bring him somewhat to the present, but his scent kept souring, “It’s okay. You’re safe. Tell me what happened.”

Way shook his head, the look in his eyes near frantic, technically an improvement from glassy indifference. Distantly Alan made a mental note to try and get Way into some kind of therapy. Even something basic so he could try medication, maybe that could help more than Alan’s fumbling.

“Okay,” he rubbed Way’s arm, desperately trying to figure out a way to help, “you don’t need to tell me, but are you okay?”

Before Way could open his mouth to answer, the front door opened. Way violently flinched, his eyes flying to the sliding door that let out to the back yard. If Alan wasn’t kneeling directly in front of him, Alan thought for sure that Way would try and bolt. 

Babe stormed into the main area, “Kenta was here?”

That name meant nothing to him, but it was clearly important as Way shrank away. 

“What was he doing here? Did you meet with him?” His gas scent was almost burning now, overpowering Way’s ozone and Alan’s earthy one, “I swear if you-”

The end of his rope had finally been reached, “Enough!” Deja-vu made his head spin, “Babe knock it off! Whatever happened isn’t going to be resolved by yelling at everyone. I told you that you both need to talk, but that can’t happen if you’re always on the offensive. Let Way explain himself before you think the worst of him. All you know is that someone was here, you don’t even know what actually happened.”

“Kenta is Tony’s lap dog, if he was here then he was here on Tony’s order-”

“He wasn’t,” Way’s voice was rough, but stable. Maybe Babe’s shouting had shocked him back into his body or maybe he too was simply done with it all, “He wanted to know why I left. That’s all.”

“There’s no way Kenta was just here.”

Way sighed, getting to his feet, allowing the blanket to pool on the couch, “I don’t know what you want me to say. If Kenta was here on Tony’s orders then he sure didn’t act like it. And if he was here on Tony’s order, then I need to run.”

Alan could almost see the record scratch that happened in Babe’s head when he blinked, “What? Run where?”

Way shrugged and Alan wanted to protest and tell Way that he wasn't going anywhere, but Babe beat him to the punch. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Way's ozone scent sharpened but Alan couldn’t tell if in annoyance or distress, “I'm talking about staying alive, if Tony knows I've left, he is going to kill me.”

“No he isn't.” 

Way faltered at Babe's tone and so did Alan. It was sharp, clear, and left no room for argument. 

“Babe you haven't spoken to me in three days,” Way rightfully pointed out, “why do you suddenly care what happens to me? We both know you don’t.”

That statement probably wasn’t fair, but Alan would also like to know why the sudden change in attitude considering he had to force Babe to even come here. Babe's mood swings could be such a headache at times. 

“I'm fucking furious with you,” Babe spat, “but that doesn't mean I want Tony to get you. Tony can rot in hell, but you're not going with him.”

Somehow that was the sweetest thing Babe had said to anyone, or at least the sweetest thing Alan had ever heard him say. Way seemed to agree with the statement as he looked away, a fresh spike in the ozone. 

“Well,” Alan sighed, “Lets hope this Kenta hasn't said anything to Tony yet.”

Way dropped back onto the couch, a puppet with his strings cut, “It didn't sound like he was going to. I don't really know what his plan was.”

Babe ran a hand through his hair, “We can only hope.”

Alan looked between his two racers, the tension that had been brewing for days, breaking down the middle. He wanted to cry and wrap them into a big hug but they would both hate that so he settled for moving towards the kitchen to start preparing an incredibly late dinner. 

The kitchen was just separated enough from the main living space that Alan couldn't quite catch the words being exchanged. He knew they were talking, and he could only hope it all went over smoothly. The rhythmic chopping of the vegetables and boiling water helped ease the panic that had been brewing. Babe and Way were talking, Way didn’t seem like he was going to run at a moment's notice, things were at least somewhat on the right track.

Buzz. Buzz.

Wiping his hands on the tea towel, he pulled his phone from his pocket to see a new email. His eyes swept over the conversation.

We’re sorry but we shall pass on sponsoring…

He sighed, tucking the device away. The reality of the situation, and one he had been hiding from everyone was that they were running out of money. Each race Babe won brought interest but their finances were still running low. On their current trajectory they could make it this season, maybe the next one if nothing changed and he tightened the budget to shoestring tight, but there were so many variables. They needed an extra driver, they needed better mechanics, they needed a media presence beyond what primarily Babe posted. Fuck they needed a sponsor that could give them the money they needed to get all those improvements.

He didn’t know where they were going to get all of that, but he knew it wasn’t worth it to put on Babe or Way. Their job was to win, Alan’s was to worry about the logistics. He just needed to ensure they got through this season. Right now his main priority was making sure they were all fed and then from there figure the rest out.

What he wouldn’t give to know if they would come out of this alright.

Chapter Text

Two weeks since he’d fled under the cover of darkness. Two weeks of stress, two weeks of not knowing where his next meal was coming from or where he was going to sleep.

Two weeks where fear wasn’t his closest companion.

Kenta had no way to describe it but strange. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs, his stomach complained at all hours, and he felt close to collapsing each day, but for the first time in his life Kenta wasn’t afraid. Without documents, he wasn’t able to escape the country keeping him on alert. Tony would have known by the morning of his escape that he’d left. Was he looking for him? Did he even care that Kenta had left or did he see it as the removal of dead weight?

Those thoughts plagued Kenta as he wandered. The little money he’d had dwindled, but Kenta had been able to find the odd job where an elderly aunty would press a few bills into his hand, even after he initially refused it. Mostly he occupied his days by wandering, seeing more than he’d ever while with Tony. Occasionally he’d find quiet places to sit and pull out his little notebook, not opening it but thumbing at the pages, desperate to do something but no power to do it.

Night was now approaching quickly, muggy air cooling off slightly. He’d yet to find a place to spend the night. When he’d left he’d been following instinct instead of any logical plan, and no plan had materialised. He’d wanted to find Charlie and Jeff but the two had disappeared faster than Kenta thought possible. Worry scratched at the back of his mind that Tony had already captured them, but if that were the case there was little he could do about it. Kenta was probably more valuable to Tony than Charlie or Jeff and no one had come for him yet.

Well he thought that anyway.

He hadn’t been lying to Way when he’d warned him, Tony didn’t let people walk away. Even the most useless weren’t allowed to just walk away from it. There were two ways you were allowed to leave: sold off or in a body bag.

Or, he’d found the third way. Maybe.

“Are you okay?” Kenta startled when a hand waved in front of his face. Blinking down at the short aunty in front of him, he tried not to grimace at how long he must have been lost in thought that someone was able to get this close to him. If it had been Tony’s men he would be long dead.

“I’m fine aunty,” he waiied, “just thinking.” Even if he was on the run it wouldn’t do him any good to be rude to those around him. This aunty wasn’t a threat to him.

She sighed, gesturing to one of the empty seats that spotted around her stall, “Sit down, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Ah, I’m not-”

“Sit.”

Kenta sat.

The aunty kept an eye on him as she prepared a bowl, Kenta itching to flee. Maybe she was dangerous. As the aunty approached with a bowl, he tried again to escape, “I don’t have enough-”

“Hush and eat,” she pointed at the meal, “You can help afterwards with moving some of my stuff. That’s why you have muscles, right?”

Not really but it made the vice around his lungs ease just enough that he didn’t feel like he was about to pass out. Living on the streets had stripped him of his muscular tone but he’d still retained the bulk of them.

Slowly, and under the watchful gaze of the stall aunty, he tentatively took a bit.e It was warm, more spice than he was used to, but it didn’t bother him. The aunty had put him in a spot where his back was to the building, his eyeline able to take in the full street. Each passerby he subtly watched, preparing to run, but no one paid him mind.

He was invisible in a way that didn’t sting.

Once the food was done he silently went up to the aunty.

She waved at a pile of boxes, “That all needs to be taken down to P’Rat’s store. Bastard left it all to me to do, who does he think I am? I told him if it got stolen then that was his problem, granted who would steal a bunch of mouldy old books. Maybe for kindling.”

He blinked several times, she spoke like he understood, “Uh where is Khun Rat’s store?”

She gestured to the alleyway just a few paces down, “End of that alley, I’d say forget it, but then Rat would complain and that’s worse than a pile of books cluttering up my space. That man could win an award for complaining and laziness.”

Kenta wasn’t sure what was happening but he was thankful that he could at least repay the aunty for the meal. There weren’t even that many boxes, it would only take Kenta three or four trips to move them all, hardly seemed fair in payment.

Aunty disagreed and kept waving him away. “Just get that done, I don’t need anything else done right now. If you want something else then you can wait around till tomorrow. Always chores that need to be done.”

Not wanting another scolding, Kenta did as he was told. Hauling the boxes down the narrow alleyway wasn’t a difficult task. Rat’s store was barely five feet wide with the gate half up and a weather worn piece of paper that said to slide deliveries under the door. Kenta vaguely worried about theft, but the space seemed almost abandoned and overcrowded with weather worn books that he wondered how literal the name was.

Rat's shop was only two units away from the alternate opening to the alleyway. People walked past but it wasn't the busy part of town, mostly people down on their luck. Like him.

As he carried the last box down the alleyway, two men started approaching from the opposite direction. He slowed down, scanning them. They were stoic, gazes locked to the ground, partially obscured by the long shadows. Whatever they were talking about was important as they had their heads tilted towards each other.

A few steps separated them, the man closer flicked his eyes up.

Shit.

Kenta dumped the box and bolted back towards the exit of the alleyway. Behind him he heard the two guards curse and heavy footfalls giving chase.

“Stop!” One of the guards shouted as Kenta burst onto the street. The Aunty shrieked, pushing Kenta in the opposite direction. He could only hope the guards would be too focused on him to hurt anyone else.

Heart pounding and his breaths came out in short pants as he sprinted down the streets. A sharp crack broke the steady silence of night and Kenta jerked as the bullet ripped through the material of his jacket and a thin layer of skin. He stumbled, losing precious distance. Pain was a close friend, as his nerves yelled at him, he didn't slow down.

Ahead the quieter side street opened onto one of the larger arteries. Cars whizzed past as Kenta slid, making quick decisions on the direction to run. He had nowhere safe to go, other than away. Behind him he could still hear the guards' footfalls, their panting just as loud as their shouts. Tony may have prided himself on his workforce but few had such rigorous training as him. Right now it was the only reason he was ahead.

His lungs screamed, mixing with the screams of other pedestrians as one of the guards fired another shot. Nothing in him shouted in pain; he could only hope the bullet missed him and anyone else.

“Singh!” One of the guards screamed and Kenta cursed. Ahead another guard was sprinting towards him with a gun raised. In a moment of desperation Kenta took his only exit and darted into traffic. Horns filled the symphony of noise, tires squealing as drivers were forced to hit their breaks and jerk the wheels. Two more gun shots, the sound of metal on metal, and then a car stopped in front of him.

Desperate Kenta pulled his knife out. It wasn't useful in a gun fight, but it wasn't just for his advisors. Kenta was not going back.

He turned at the shout of the guards and then one word made his blood run cold.

“Kenta?”

Slowly, like reality had turned to glass, Kenta turned. The car that had blocked his exit, the driver now stood in front of him, a bit older than the last time Kenta had seen him but achingly familiar.

“Pete?”

Pete's eyes swept him over, like he couldn't possibly expect Kenta was alive. Or in front of him.

Or maybe he was confused on why Kenta was running from Tony's guards.

“Stop!” Kenta knew that voice, Singh was one of the newer and possibly the worst tempered guards that Tony had hired. If he took Kenta then he'd be returning to Tony with more than a few broken bones.

He didn’t know what Pete saw in his stance, what he could glean from the frozen five seconds but he grabbed Kenta -and it was a touch that wasn’t immediately followed by pain- and yanked him forward. Kenta was not weak by any stretch of the imagination but Pete hauled him into the back seat of his car as if he weighed no more than a small puppy. He tripped and ended up sprawled across the leather seats and there were two bangs, one of a door slamming shut and of a gun going off.

The car jerked forward, sending Kenta sprawling into the footwell, stuck between the seats.. Nothing computes beyond the way his lungs seize and the wrongness that rests into his bones. The car was filled with a rich musky leather scent that Kenta hadn't smelled in years and it hurts worse than the growing heat in his arm.

Maybe he dissociates because he blinks and the brakes were slowing the car down, but they couldn't have possibly been driving for that long. Tony’s guards should still be close by, and yet when he pulled himself up onto the seat, they were in a place Kenta didn’t recognize.

Without the engine running the silence suffocated him. He couldn’t look towards the front seat, if he did it would solidify the reality he found himself in, and Kenta wasn’t sure he could handle that. He stared at the door in front of him, calculating how far he could get, if his legs will support another mad-

“Kenta?”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the desperation in Pete's voice. It had been years since he’d last seen the enigma, years since Pete had left and never returned. The beginning of the end for Kenta. And now Pete was less than a foot from him.

There was the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and then the door in front of him was opened, bringing in clean night air not saturated in that achingly failure scent.

Slowly he opened his eyes to look at Pete properly. He was a bit taller, broader across the chest, but still retained a hint of that boyhood look that had once drawn Kenta in. He was in a dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, Kenta guessed that the suit jacket and tie were in the passenger seat or the trunk. Pete as a business man made Kenta’s head spin, he tried not to think of the other after he left but that was like telling a dog not to bark. All of Kenta’s good memories had Pete in them, and then Pete had left him.

And now Pete was here.

“Your arm.” He couldn’t register the tone in Pete’s voice, but he did register when suddenly he was being pulled towards the door, Pete having got out of the front seat and now forcing Kenta to move. Night had taken most of the warmth, and with the heat of Pete’s hand, Kenta found himself shivering, “Let me see.”

As Pete pulled at his jacket, Kenta’s brain scrambled back online. He smacked Pete’s hands away, “I’m fine, don’t touch me.”

There was blood soaking into the fabric of his jacket, the only jacket he had and he could only be thankful that Thailand didn’t get cold enough for him to worry about staying warm. The wound wasn't serious, he just needed to wrap it up, maybe pour some disinfectant over it. He's faced worse while under Tony, even the hunger pains were more familiar than not.

“Kenta,” Pete was looking at him like he couldn't believe Kenta was some kind of mirage. It made his skin crawl in a way that felt almost foreign. Pete had been his one happy spot at Tony's and had left him alone, and Kenta doesn't know what to do with all the tangled emotions. He needed to escape, “Thanks for the help,” he moved to get around Pete, “I'm leaving first.”

“Wait-” It was instinct mainly, that's what he'd blame it on, the second Kenta felt Pete's fingers close around his arm he lashed out. Knife to skin in the blink of an eye.

“Okay,” Pete's hands went up, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

His tone was like the one you used on a scared dog and it made Kenta bristle. It wasn't his fault that Pete had decided to grab him after he said not to. Pete knew what he'd been turned into. How could he not?

“Look, those were Tony's men, right?” Kenta didn't dignify it with an answer, it was obvious, “Kenta did you run from Tony?”

“You did.” He spat, as if he needed to justify his actions, “Babe did. Charlie and Jeff did. Way did.”

There was a hiss of air and Kenta didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know who Pete cared more about than him, who he wanted to see escape from Tony's clutches more than the person he’d grown up with.

“If you could all leave, why couldn't I?” He spat.

“That's not what I meant, I just wasn't expecting you too-,” Pete took a hesitant step towards him, like he was ready for Kenta to bolt. Which was fair, “Look, do you have somewhere to stay that's safe?”

He didn't even have anywhere to stay, period. He often found a hole to sleep in and considered it good enough. Comfort was not his priority right now.

“Come with me, just for the night.”

He stared at Pete, weighing the offer in his head. Pete wouldn't turn him into Tony, but that was a bar even Way could clear now.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you.” The words should have made his heart tick up, but instead they soured in his gut. As much as he wanted to believe those words, he couldn't but he was also too weak. Pete still held his heart in his hands.

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

It was strange how quickly his life could change. Tonight had been supposed to be a dinner with his mentor, the CEO of the company he worked for, where Pete was taking a more prominent role in the company as his mentor was beginning to toy with the idea of stepping down. It had been a good night and then Kenta had nearly crashed into his car. He hadn't seen the other in years, not since he'd left Tony and that hell behind. He figured the next time he'd seen his former brother would be on Tony's orders to finally end his life.

Instead Kenta had run from Tony.

As Pete drove them back to his place, his mind churned with thoughts as Kenta sat silently beside him. Way had escaped Tony. Was he safe? Did Tony know?

Pete didn’t think about Way everyday, that would be crazy, but the other enigma would often cross his mind. Tony had ensured they were all separated from each other, but Pete had still found out about the only other enigma Tony had bought. Quick glimpses around the foundation had entrapped Pete. Way was beautiful, soft like an omega but well trained in the way all of Tony's children were. He'd wanted to take Way with him when he left but he'd known it would be impossible, Pete couldn't offer the life that Way deserved.

And now Way was free. Pete could go see him at anytime.

Once he figured out where Way was.

He turned into the parking garage of the place his mentor had bought for him, it was nice enough for when Pete returned to Thailand for work. Silently Kenta followed him as they rode the elevator up to his floor, everything inside of him stretched thin. Of course all the lights were off when they entered, and Pete had to flick a few for either of them to take in the space.

Kenta stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, the designer of this place had been fond of open concept.

“There’s a spare bedroom with an adjoining bathroom,” he took stock of Kenta again, noticing that he didn’t have any kind of bag with him, “I’ll get you something to sleep in.”

“It’s fine.”

Pete raised a brow, Kenta was wearing tactical pants, a tight shirt and ripped jacket, and who knew when they’d last been washed. There was no way they could be comfortable, not when Pete had enough spare clothes, at least until they got Kenta new clothes to wear.

Ignoring Kenta’s protest he retrieved from his own room a set of sweatpants and looser shirt, luckily they were close enough in size that he didn’t worry about it when he shoved the stack into Kenta’s arms. Just as he pulled back, their hands brushed and Pete was hit with a wave of emotion. Flashes of emotions flashed through his mind, foreign objects that he'd learned under rigorous training to filter into his own thought pattern.

Warm thoughts collided with cold ones, he was used to the passing glances from people he didn’t know that he’d forgotten how violent it felt when he knew the person. Kenta jerked back with a glare, ripping Pete from the swirl before he could decipher any of it.

“Thanks.” The next second the bedroom door slammed shut and Pete stood there alone, his thoughts racing over each with the echo of those that weren’t his.

***

Morning light streamed in through the windows, bathing everything in a soft light. His sleep had been a mess of thoughts, leaving him feeling strung thin but he had to put that aside and get ready for work. Standing at the stove, his tangled thoughts unravelled in the only direction they could.

Way.

Way was free, he was somewhere in Thailand because there was no way that he could escape without Tony knowing. So he was somewhere, out there and Pete burned to find him. Last night his mentor had mentioned again that he could choose when to fully return to Thailand. He'd considered leaving again, until at least he could secure a higher status, but now his decision had been made. If there was a chance he could see Way again, he was staying. His mentor would be happy, his hints were not subtle.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Pete turned around and jumped. Kenta stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, already dressed for the day.

He tried not to let his startle show, “Good morning.”

Kenta's look was emotionless, taking in the surroundings with the same hesitancy from the night before.

“Would you like some breakfast?” He quickly made up a second bowl of breakfast, and set it down, gesturing for Kenta to take a seat. There was a bitterness to Kenta's mint scent that hung in the air that Pete didn't ask about, not when Kenta was barely making eye contact.

Slowly, Kenta inched his way towards the table, eyeing the food with open skepticism. Pete didn't take it hard, his cooking skills were not top tier, though he figured he was better than whatever scraps Kenta had been eating. And it wasn’t like Pete had poisoned it.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, part of him wanted to reach across the table to just get a glance at Kenta’s mind, but he didn’t want to scare Kenta. He wasn't concerned that Kenta would intentionally hurt him, but last night proved that Kenta acted on instinct.

Kenta dropped his utensils into the empty bowl, “Thank you for the food,” he stood up, “I'll be leaving.”

“Wait,” It took a second for the words to process, forcing Pete to hastily block Kenta's exit, “where are you going?”

He wouldn't meet Pete's eyes, it was one of the tells Pete remembered. If Kenta ran from Tony he wouldn't have any allies-

-did Way have somewhere to stay?-

-and could be attacked like how Pete had found him last night. There was no denying that Kenta was capable, Tony had made sure of that for all of them, but he was not immortal, and could still be hurt.

“Away.” Kenta flatly responded.

“Unless you plan on leaving the country, you won’t be safe.” And even then Pete had constantly looked over his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable. Safety had always been a foreign concept to him.

Kenta broke eye contact first, his jaw tense. Reaching out, Pete clasped Kenta's shoulder, aiming for casual, “You can stay with me, I have the space.”

Flashes of emotions flashed through Pete's mind, his mind working on overdrive to separate the strands and grasp the meanings they held. There was skepticism, anger, and buried deep hope.

Pete gripped tighter, “Kenta you're my brother-”

Kenta smacked his hand away, the flash of emotions was too violent and fast for Pete to be able to discern the individual strands. Kenta's expression was tight, Pete braced himself for a fight.

“I'm not just staying here. ”

“Of course,” Pete scrambled to think of a reason for Kenta to stay, “you could be my bodyguard?”

“What?” The look of disgust would have been enough to let Pete know, but the tone and volume were also good indicators of his thoughts. “Temporarily,” he soothed, “until we can get you something more permanent.”

Kenta stared and Pete was almost certain that he was going to walk right out of the room. His mind worked on overdrive to find other excuses, anything to keep Kenta there because-

“Fine.”

“What?”

“What,” Kenta sneered, “you didn't think I'd say yes?”

“No!” he corrected, and then before he could think more, he wrapped Kenta into a hug, ignoring the way Kenta froze, “I've missed you.”

These emotions were easier to read, warm, happy but there was something that curled under it that Pete opted to ignore. He was glad to see Kenta, glad that Kenta got out.

“I'll speak with my mentor,” he said, pulling back, “get you on the payroll. Do you have any of your documents?”

Kenta blinked, “I ran in the middle of the night.”

“Oh.” That would make things difficult, but Pete had been in a similar situation when he'd left-

-did Way need help?-

“How about today we get you some things,” Kenta hadn't even had a bag with him, just the clothes on his back, “and I'll make some calls okay.”

Five seconds of total silence, “Fine.”

Pete took it as a win, luckily Kenta was still an agreeable person.

***

Instead of going out, Pete had handed Kenta a tablet and told him to order what he needed while he got ready for work. He was incredibly busy, preparing to take the reins of Beyond and couldn’t take the full day off even for something like this.

Work was work, but he couldn’t keep his mind off of one singular thought.

Way. Way. Way.

Kenta had said Way had escaped, but he hadn’t mentioned where too. He hoped Way hadn’t run without a plan, that he was with someone who was helping him, that he was safe. Tapping his fingers against the wood of his desk, his own familiar thoughts tumbling over themselves soothed some age old anxieties. Hearing other people’s thoughts left him uncertain of his own mind at times, even when he wasn’t touching others he always worried that his thoughts were not his own. It was easier to parse out other people’s thoughts, his own often felt foreign to him, writing he could not read even though he had been the one to write them.

Unable to deal with the tumble any longer, he went to his computer, typing Way’s name. He expected nothing, maybe if he was lucky a hit or two. Instead the first thing that came up was a… racing profile?

Confusion rippled through him. He figured the profile was for someone else but curiosity had him clicking on the link.

Way’s photo showed up.

For a long moment he just sat and stared. It was the first time he’d even seen an image of Way in years, and now there he was. He’d been beautiful as a teen, but now his adult looks were taking shape. His face was losing the baby fat, turning slightly angular, the sculpt of his build stronger, the way he held himself, it spoke all to change.

The profile had a number of pictures linked. Pete couldn’t stop himself from clicking on each one, he needed to see more.

By the time he emerged from the rabbit hole that he had found himself in an hour had slipped by. Several new facts had revealed themselves.

Way was a race car driver for a team called X-Hunter.

X-Hunter was run by a former racer named Alan, who was pictured in a few of the shots Pete saw.

Way was quickly rising as one of the best racers but was outdone by his team mate: Babe.

Every shot of them, they were close. One of them would have an arm thrown around the other; embraces, happy smiles, sometimes in celebration but some of the shots were just them existing. Jealousy burned low in his gut but he had to let it go. Way didn’t know how much Pete cared about him, and it was that care that Pete clung too. If Way had run and found someone to protect him, then Pete couldn’t get upset.

He’d simply needed to find a way that he would be able to protect Way.

A knock at the door snapped his attention back to the present.

“Khun Pete,” his secretary popped her head through the door, “your two o’clock is here.”

“Ah thank you,” he quickly killed the page he was looking at, “Bring them in,” Unfortunately Way would have to wait.

***

That night Pete jumped when he returned home. He’d forgotten that he wouldn’t be coming home to an empty place, seeing someone sitting at his kitchen table was a shock. Kenta slammed the notebook shut when Pete stepped, jumping to his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologized, shrugging off his jacket, “Have you eaten yet?”

“You don’t have a lot of food,” There was no emotion in Kenta’s tone. It wasn’t even an accusation, just a bland statement of fact.

“Why didn’t you order anything to eat?”

Kenta slid the notebook off of the table, “With what?”

“The tablet I gave you.”

Kenta raised a brow, “Phi,” -when was the last time someone had actually called him that- “I don’t have money. I don’t even have an ID.”

Pete sighed, from his wallet he pulled out one of his credit cards and pressed it into Kenta’s available hand. Kenta almost looked disgusted by it, but Pete ignored it, “Just take the card, buy what you need until I can get everything sorted.”

Kenta’s lips curled into a grimace but his fingers closed around the plastic card. Pete didn’t sigh in relief, Kenta would have thrown the card away, but he could at least breathe a little easier, “I want to help you Kenta, anything you need, you can ask for.”

Kenta’s eyes flick one direction, then the next. Pete waited, knowing at least in this he had to wait.

“There is one thing,” Kenta didn’t meet his eyes, “I’m trying to find someone.”

“Okay,” Pete nodded, “let’s find them.”

Chapter Text

The world swam in front of him as he stumbled up the warped steps to their apartment. Though calling it an apartment was almost a hilarious misdirection. It was a room stripped down to the studs with no amenities, and helpfully dirt cheap.

Charlie was surprised they’d even managed to escape and find a place that kept most of the elements out. Even more surprised that they had been free for so long. He knew Tony had never cared much about him, but Jeff had powers that were useful and would fetch a good price. It had only been a matter of time before Charlie would lose the one person in the foundation that had kept him sane, and he wasn’t going to do anything to lose Charlie.

Gripping the railing, Charlie waited until the world stopped spinning before digging out his keys. He’d been at work since before sunrise, and now the sun was touching the horizon line. He hadn’t eaten anything more than a small bowl of rice hours ago and now his body screamed in agony. If he walked in like this Jeff would hit the roof. Despite his brother being younger, he sometimes acted like the older, constantly checking in on Charlie as if Charlie’s sole purpose right now wasn't keeping Jeff safe. Even if he wanted to collapse, he couldn’t.

At the foundation he'd been nothing more than the afterthought, brought in by the prospects of powers that had never manifested. At least according to the tests Tony had performed, Charlie knew better. He knew what he could do.

Taking a steadying breath, hoisting his bag up higher, he slipped the key into the lock.

Jeff was sitting at one of their only pieces of furniture, a rickety table and two chairs that groaned ominously with any weight put on them. In the corner was a flat mattress with a very sad looking nest. Charlie had done his best to get any soft materials that would allow Jeff to make at least the barest attempts of a nest, it wasn’t great but Jeff never complained.

Jeff’s eyes snapped up at the sound of the door opening, tension running through him until he saw it was him, “P’Charlie.”

“Hey,” he set down his bags on the counter, “how's school going?”

Jeff shrugged, he didn't complain about school. He didn’t complain about anything, Charlie almost wished he would just so there was some proof that Jeff could be a normal teenager and not forever altered by the foundation. Instead Jeff sat down with his course work, keeping himself focused until Charlie dragged himself home, and then his focus was fully on Charlie.

“I brought food.” He actually brought leftovers. One of the jobs he'd managed to get was as a dishwasher for some kind of bar-club thing. Even though he wasn't legally allowed to drink, the owner allowed Charlie to work in the back. It wasn't great work but one of the cooks would give him food when he left and there was a TV in the kitchen that was always on whatever sport was airing.

Jeff snapped his laptop shut and began clearing the table. Dishing out the food, Charlie took his seat, placing Jeff's bowl in front of him.

“Phi.” Jeff complained.

“What, it's just noodles.”

“That's not-” Jeff dug out the few bits of meat Charlie had been given..

He grabbed Jeff's hand before he could transfer the meat into his own bowl, “That's for you.”

“Phi-”

“I'm not that hungry, I already ate at work,” he lied.

His brother's eyes were always pits that held the expanse of the universe. It was nearly impossible for Charlie to lie to him, but he was getting better. Charlie didn't need his strength the same way that Jeff did. He loved his brother too much to allow him to waste away.

They ate in relative silence, the terror of their initial escape has left a hollowness to their daily lives. An unmarked future, at least for Charlie who couldn't see the future.

Later, after dishes were done and Charlie had taken a short shower, he dug out his phone and ear buds. Jeff didn't have strong nesting instincts at sixteen but the desire for comfort and stability was enough for him to arrange something for the two of them. Curled up around the one pillow Charlie had managed to smuggle with them, Jeff looked terribly young. Every night Jeff passed right out, but Charlie's instinct didn't allow him to as easily. He'd be up for a couple of hours before exhaustion overtook instinct.

One of the cooks was into racing and often played it on the TV. Charlie hadn't thought he would be interested in it, but it turned out it was fun to watch. While Jeff curled up in his lap, Charlie watched highlight videos from different divisions, but specifically from the Hollow.

Hours later his eyes grew too heavy and he dropped off.

***

A crash ripped him back to wakefulness. Without Jeff's warmth or weight next to him, Charlie scrambled out of the nest looking for his brother. Heart pounding he saw Jeff doubled over, the bowl he'd been holding shattered against the floor.

“Jeff? Jeff?” He knew before he saw Jeff's face what happened. Vacant eyes stared past him into the space that didn't exist. His fingers itched to grab Jeff, but too much stimulation when coming out of a vision could send Jeff right into a panic attack. Frustrated, he waited until Jeff took a gasping breath, his body slumping as if his strings were cut.

“Jeff?”

“I'm fine, phi,” Jeff pushed him away, wiping at his nose.

Charlie itched to hold his brother close, but Jeff hated it. The possibility of seeing Charlie's future was too much for the younger, the terror that he would see his end, would make him draw away in moments of distress. Charlie was forced to ignore all his instincts to protect Jeff and wrap him up in a hug.

“What did you see?”

Jeff shrugged. Charlie knew he could see the futures of people he didn't know, leaving him disoriented with no way to alleviate it. He never shared what he saw, keeping it hidden inside of him. Swallowing his frustration, Charlie led Jeff over to the chair. It was possible Jeff didn’t even understand what was happening in his visions, they didn’t even know what triggered them.

“Here,” he passed him a glass of water, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he set the half empty glass down, “just a bit woozy.”

He pushed the glass closer, “Keep drinking.” He turned away to give Jeff some space to collect himself. From the nest he grabbed his phone, turning on some simple music to fill the space as he made breakfast. Glancing at the time, he knew he didn't have long to wait around before he had to run off to work. He’ll wait though until he knows Jeff was okay, even if it meant getting in trouble.

“Phi,” Jeff broke the silence first, “I should get a job.”

“You need to focus on school." He replied, dropping in the seat beside him.

This was a familiar argument, Charlie was already a lost cause, but Jeff was smart. Jeff had potential, and Charlie will not be the person to weigh him down. Work was easy, it was simple, it wasn’t something that he needed to be perfect at. Luckily Jeff doesn’t push today.

Silence continued to fill the space alongside the music, mindlessly Charlie switched over to Instagram. He’d only downloaded it recently to follow some of the racers he enjoyed watching. With the millions of accounts out there he figured the chances of Tony finding him were low, but he still kept his profile blank. Never could be too safe.

“Who’s that?” Jeff asked, looking down at Charlie’s phone screen.

“One of the teams P’Ben follows, they’re really good.” He tilts the screen for Jeff to see better. His brother’s face morphs quickly, though smoothed out before Charlie can fully see the emotion. The picture isn’t anything serious, just the two racers and the team captain. Charlie isn’t even sure why he followed the team page, it rarely updated.

Jeff’s eyes flick to the time, “Phi you need to go.”

He wanted to groan, but didn’t. He couldn’t burden Jeff with his exhaustion. “Okay,” he pressed a kiss to his Jeff’s head, "remember-"

“Stay in here, don’t open the door to anyone, call you if someone comes. Phi I know.”

He laughed, feeling a bit lighter at hearing Jeff’s sass, “Alright. Study hard.”

***

Obviously the bar didn’t open early, meaning Charlie had to find work for the morning. He’d managed to get a job as a stocking boy for a distribution company, it was long and hard work, but his boss at least paid him fairly even though Charlie wasn’t a legal employee since all of his documents were with Tony.

“What the fuck!”

Charlie nearly dropped the sack he was moving at the shout. It was around the corner from the loading dock, loud and heated. Despite the work he needed to get done, curiosity won out. He crept to the corner and peeked around the corner just as someone took a swing.

Chapter Text

Babe was moments away from cracking. He hadn’t slept, he wasn’t doing well on the track, and everything was seconds from coming apart at the seams. Only the acknowledgement that Way wasn’t currently adding to his stress was keeping him sane. They’d mostly managed to figure their shit out.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Whatever.

Generally he only woke up early if Alan decided to punish him. Today he wasn’t due to be at the garage until noon, but the thought of lying in his bed any longer made his skin crawl. In a move he considered completely out of character, he tossed on whatever gym clothes were clean and dug out his long forgotten sneakers.

He’d been surprised when he first started racing how much working out was required. Half the time he was in the gym with Way and Alan getting his body in peak condition and the other half on the track. Running wasn’t his favourite way to workout but at least it was one he could do in solitude, and without the need to explain himself.

There was nothing but him and the pavement. He didn’t even bring his headphones, the noise did nothing for him. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to go out without his phone, but he needed to be away.

He didn’t have a route to take, and without realising he found himself in a more industrial section of town. It was already busy despite the early hour, workers loading and unloading as Babe ran by, they didn’t pay him any mind. For a few moments he was invisible. He was no one, with no background, no trauma, no-

He smacked into someone.

Pepper assaulted him, the need to sneeze made the nose itch.

“What the fuck!” Winner, the current King of the Hallows, toppled back. Every time they raced Babe inched a little closer to winning. He shaved another second off his best time, bringing him closer to the crown. Until recently Winner didn't notice him, but as Winner’s eyes focused on him, recognition sparked.

“The fuck is your problem,” Winner seethed, “you so blind Babe that you can’t see where you’re going?”

He pushed Winner away, his scent was overpoweringly pungent and burning his nostrils, “Maybe you shouldn't be standing in the fucking way.”

He expected the punch, Winner’s heart rate shot up and he could smell the sweat, and see the way he braced for a punch. Knowing and reacting were different, Tony had trained his reaction time but Babe hadn’t kept up that specific brand of training. Bone met his cheek and the two of them stumbled.

Babe regained his footing and swung back. It took seconds for them to end in a full out fist fight, biting words meeting bloodied fists.

“Hey!”

Hands yanked him backwards and there were workers pulling them apart. A burly man got between them, “If y’all want to fight, do it somewhere else. I’m not having the police come down on me because you two decided to start a fight outside my business.”

Winner spit, and Babe was glad to see blood go with it.

Someone tugged on his shirt pulling back slightly, he turned to shove the person off and was met with wide soft eyes. The kid couldn’t be that old but Babe found himself entranced as he tugged Babe away from the fight.

“Fuck this,” Winner spat, turning away, “Watch yourself Babe.”

The threat was hollow because Babe was going to take the fucking crown from him. Need to deck him again, but the cute boy was still holding onto him. Something about him had rooted Babe to the ground, not wanting to break the tentative contact.

“Charlie.” The boy startled, looking up at the man that had broken up the fight. Something inside him wanted to step between the two, to keep the boy out of everyone else's gaze. The man’s eyes flicked to him and he sighed, “Get him an ice pack and then get back to work.”

“Yes khun.” The kid sounded young, and yet there was a deepness to it that was just breaking in. The boy —Charlie— dropped his hand down to Babe’s bare arm. When his fingers touched skin, Babe felt tingles of electricity. Callouses had formed over soft skin that now pressed into his own skin, he shivered as Charlie pulled him gently away from the direction Winner had gone.

He was led to the back of one of the warehouses, where Charlie pressed on his shoulders to get him sitting on the rough cement steps. His shorts were just short enough that he could feel the uneven texture against his skin. It chafed, making the back of his mind itch with irritation but he swallowed it down as Charlie started down at him. The glasses he wore didn’t suit his face, but they still made his eyes impossibly big, he felt like he was going to fall into them.

“Let me-” Charlie hesitated for a second before darting off to fetch whatever he needed to get. Warm blood trailed down his face, a bloody nose and a split lip. The sensation made his stomach roil, the harsh scent of metallic and the taste of iron overpowering the naturalness around them..

“Here,” Charlie reappeared with a wet cloth and a bag of ice wrapped in a paper towel. Winner must have jostled his brain since he couldn’t process the extended hand, like his brain was thinking through water.

Charlie shifted from foot to foot before stepping forward, gently pressing the cloth to Babe’s face. The cold made him jolt and Charlie flinched back. It was a familiar movement, making Babe’s head spin even as apologies flooded out of Charlie’s mouth.

“Sorry phi, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, taking the cloth and swiping away the blood. Charlie had been abused before, people didn’t move like that unless they had experience with being hit. Based on his skinny frame and sunken eyes, and the fact he should have been in school…

Something hot and foreign flared alive in his chest.

“You’re Pit Babe, right?”

He blinked a couple times, he’d only been recognized a few times since he began racing, and those were always at racing events. Out of all the places he could be recognized, the cute boy in a random warehouse was not where he expected to be recognized.

“Yeah,” he eyed Charlie, “are you a fan?”

Charlie fiddled with the paper towel but didn’t break eye contact, “I watch your highlights.”

It was cute.

Babe wanted to smack himself for that thought. Charlie was definitely a kid in a bad place; he didn't need Babe thinking such things about him. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologise, the man before called out, “Charlie get back to work!”

“Yes khun,” even while getting barked at Charlie sounded cheery. “Here,” Charlie handed him the ice, “hopefully this makes you feel better.” Charlie jogged a few steps away, but spun back around, “I’m rooting for you P’Babe!”

Babe was half way back to Alan’s when Babe realised that he should have got Charlie’s information. Just to make sure he was okay and thank him for the help. At least he had an idea on where Charlie worked, he could probably track the kid down again.

***

“What happened to your face?” Alan practically shouted when he saw Babe.

Babe sighed as Alan’s fingers tilted his head back and forth, he’d managed to clear most of the blood and the ice had helped before the contrasting temperature became too much, but he’d still been punched in the face. Not much could be done.

“I’m fine,” he shook the alpha off, “I ran into Winner.”

“And he punched you?” Way asked from just behind Alan.

“I also punched him.”

Way rolled his eyes, but Alan eyed him with concern. There were a lot of stories of minor head injuries killing people and all that, but Babe had taken harder hits and wasn’t concerned about some weak ass punch from Winner of all people. Luckily he was saved when Alan’s phone began to ring, and whatever name appeared caught the alpha’s attention.

“Ice that,” he demanded, holding the phone to his ear, “and take some pain killers.”

Babe tried not to roll his eyes as Way stepped forward, “I said I’m fine.”

Way squinted, “I’m surprised the damage isn’t more, I figured you and Winner would beat each other black and blue.”

“There was-” Babe thought of the big brown eyes and sweet expression. It shouldn’t matter but the desire to hide Charlie’s existence overpowered him, “someone broke us up before the fight could get under way.”

“Lucky you.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Lucky for Winner maybe.” If Way thought Winner was going to win against him, he better start looking for a new teammate. He shouldered past Way to the small kitchenette where Alan had stocked the freezer with more ice packs than needed. Pressing a fresh one back to his cheek, he glanced to where Alan was pacing, phone pressed to his ear, “What’s going on?”

Way leaned against the cabinet, arms crossed, "Sponsor I think. I don’t know what happened but he’s got a few calls today.”

Frowning Babe dug out his phone, notifications spilling into oblivion, followers, comments, likes. “What happened?”

“I dunno, the same thing happened to me.”

Scrolling down the endless list, it finally came to a halt on a tagged post. Clicking, landed him on a video. As the music started blaring, he realised that it was an edited clip of the last race he and Way had been in. While Winner had ultimately won, the video was about them.

He let out a low whistle as the video looped back, “Wow.”

Way nodded in agreement, “That would explain it.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alan coming out of his closet sized office, “Hey P’Alan did you see this video?”

As Alan leaned over to watch, Babe caught a sweetness of relief to Alan scent. Whatever call he’d got must have been good. “I saw it,” Alan leaned back, “I reached out to the poster.”

Way frowned, “Why? It’s just some fan video.”

“That got a quarter of a million views.” Alan leaned his weight against the counter, in a mirror image to Way. Fine lines were developing in the contours of his face, there was almost ten years between him and Alan, but Babe almost never noticed. Those lines had been getting deeper daily, and Babe did not like it. “We need a social media presence if we want any chance of attracting sponsors,” Alan continued, “I can’t hire a whole team, but someone with a phone…”

“Are you seriously basing this off of one video?” Way complained, “We don’t even know who they are? Do you know anything about them?”

“No, but they’re coming by soon, so don’t be an ass.”

Babe chuckled, turning his phone off and chucking the ice pack down, “Whatever, come on Way. We’ve got training.”

***

Driving the car back into the garage, Babe’s muscles twinged and his mind buzzed, but the itch had finally dissolved. Getting in the right mind space to race was tricky, his scenes entered overdrive before he even hit the track, a danger as it dragged his focus away from the thing that could easily kill him. Today he’d been lucky.

Pushing out of the car he could hear chatter coming from the common area.

“It’s really cool here phi.” Frowning he followed the voice, higher pitched and cheery.

Just as he turned the corner he got a whiff of something sweet and fruity, triggering a memory of a night where he’d been ready to burn everything down.

In the common room was the kid who’d been harassed by a douchebag alpha at the race. Babe hadn’t paid much attention to him, but he’d figured he’d been dressed up for the race. Clearly not, as the first thing he saw was the neon green rain jacket over top of a tight yellow top, and enough accessories that Babe wouldn’t need his enhanced senses to hear the way they clanked.

Beside him was the racer, the night of the race he’d been in gear more suited to be behind the wheel. Now he was dressed in a cheetah print jacket and ripped jeans that looked like he lost a fight with a paper shredder. Somehow a matched set.

“Oh Babe,” attention turned to him, “This is Sonic,” Alan pointed to the neon one, “And North.” the cheetah print one, “they’re going to be our new social media team.”

“Hi!” North’s smile was wide, his energy so loud that Babe almost backed away.

Sonic’s head cocked to the side, “Wait you’re the phi from the night of the race?”

He scoffed, “You edited a video of me and didn’t realise who I was?”

Sonic huffed, crossing his arms, “It was dark, and to be fair you look a lot more impressive when you're on the track.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m always impressive.”

Behind him Way snorted as he joined the group, “Keep telling yourself that. And you should play nice, they now hold your image in their hand. What if they post an embarrassing picture of you?”

“I don’t have embarrassing pictures.”

“Is that a challenge phi?” North asked with a grin, “because we’re up for it.”

“Okay, okay,” Alan intervened, “glad we’re all getting along here. Babe, let’s try and keep the peace for more than thirty seconds.”

“Whatever you say,” he saluted before walking away, letting the rest bicker as he went for another ice pack. His cheek was throbbing again, and the ice was blessedly cold against the heat of pain. Trying not to focus on the conversation happening, he tugged his phone out, scrolling through the list of new followers. An errant thought stuck in his mind, making him click on the search bar.

C-H-A-R-L-I-E

A handful of accounts showed up, but none that matched the boy he’d met. Disappointment turned sour in his stomach and he shoved his phone away. He didn’t need to be thinking about that, he had training to do.

Chapter Text

In no way was it ever possible that North was ever going to work with an actual race team. He watched from the sidelines as the super cars raced past, the teams looking sexy as hell in their uniforms. Desperately he wanted to be a part of it, but let know he never could and allowed himself to be satisfied with the street races he took part in.

And now he was working with one!

Sure it wasn't one of the flashiest and he was only there to run their (truly lacklustre) social media but he was working for an actual team! And he got to do it with Sonic. Honestly that was better than getting to race.

“They don't even have proper portraits.” Sonic moaned from where he was sitting at their rickety kitchen table, his laptop screen bright enough to blind him. He'd been combing through every piece of data Alan had provided them (which wasn’t a lot), and complaining the whole time.

“We'll have to take them ourselves then.” He replied, dishing out their noodles.

Sonic scrunched up his face, never taking his eyes off the screen, “With what camera?”

North shrugged, even though Sonic wasn't looking at him, “Our phones have great cameras. We’ll work with what we have until we can get better equipment.” He dropped the bowl in front of Sonic, “now put that away and eat.”

“Hm, fine,” The loss of the laptop light made the room seem way darker than it actually was. North had no idea how Sonic worked with such a brightness, as Sonic rubbed his eyes, smudging his eyeliner. “Ohh,” Sonic leaned over the bowl, “smells good.”

It wasn't anything fancy, they didn't have a lot of money to afford much more than the basics. Most of their money came from random odd jobs they found. Sonic found work as a model (because duh), and North made money when he placed high in his races. Together they got work for video editing and similar projects. It didn't give them much, but it was theirs.

After dinner Sonic offered to clean up which North gladly accepted, it gave him time to take a long hot shower. Peeling the scent blocked off his neck, it clung to the fibers of his neck hair after being on all day. Racing was slowly growing more accepting of omegas, but with new people and the promise of a pay check, North hadn’t wanted to risk it.

Unfortunately the only kind he could afford were horrible and left his skin feeling raw and itchy. In the mirror he caught a perfect red rectangle of inflamed skin. Hot water helped soothe the irritation, and slowly his mellow vanilla scent filled the washroom.

Opening the door let out a cloud of steam, “Your turn Sonic!”

While they could afford rent they had quickly realized that if they wanted to afford rent and groceries, they had to go for something small. Sonic had found them a nice little place, with the catch being there was only one bedroom.

As North threw himself down on the bed he recalled the fight that had arisen from it. Sonic had insisted that North take the bedroom and he'd sleep on whatever they could fit in the just as tiny communal space. He'd been so insulted and had said as much, North wasn't some dainty omega who needed to be protected from random alphas. And it wasn't even like Sonic was a random alpha, he was Sonic. His best friend.

“Ugh, your hair is getting the bed wet.” Sonic complained.

“It's my nest, I can do what I want.”

Technically that was true, North had built a nest on their joint bed. It was a monstrosity that North didn't like to think about how much Sonic must have spent on the pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets that made up the nest. North wasn’t stupid, he knew how much things cost.

His vision became filled with a bare faced Sonic. He'd dried his hair properly, the tips curling, making a halo against the soft light from their one lamp.

North could do nothing but stare.

Fingers pressed gently against the space below his scent gland, sending a shiver down his spine. Sonic made a little hiss noise, “That looks bad.”

“I'm fine.”

There was a little hum and then Sonic disappeared from his field of vision. Seconds later Sonic reappeared, and North easily tilted his head to allow Sonic access. Fingers pressed gently, spreading a cool lotion against the warmth of his skin. Mint slid around his vanilla and Sonic’s sharp citrus.

Fingers pressed against his cheek, tilting his head to the other side. More cream spread against the irritated skin and he couldn't stop the sigh. If he could have only this then he'd be content.

“You're purring.” Observed Sonic.

“Mmm,” he purred. The first time he'd apologized, embarrassed at having such a reaction. Now he knew better, Sonic liked his purring.

They made an odd pair, North wasn't stupid. They were too intimate to be friends, drowning in each other’s scents, sharing a nest each night, unable to spend more than a few moments not touching, but they’d never kissed or shared North’s heat or Sonic’s rut. Even though North ached to feel Sonic’s teeth dig into his scent gland, he’d never push for more. Where else was he supposed to find someone who knew him like his other half? He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardise it.

“You know P’Alan was talking about needing to find another driver-”

North snorted, “You’re funny ‘Nic.”

Sonic frowned, “Why? You don’t think you could do it?”

“Well for starters, I'm not old enough for the division.” If North were to race it would be in the junior division, not the one that Babe and Way raced in. “And X-Hunter is looking to win.”

“You’re a great driver.”

“During amateur races in shady parking lots.” North had definitely improved in the two years they’d known each other, the feeling of Sonic’s arms wrapped around him when he won was an excellent motivator, but he wasn’t professional.

“It'll be hard for them to find a racer, considering how desperate they were to hire us.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Sonic chuckled, “North I edited that video in like twenty minutes, it’s nowhere near my best.” Technically North couldn't argue, Sonic could, and would, spend all day on a thirty second video if he felt the need too. They'd been at the race and wanted to use their footage mixed with some of the promo stuff the Hollows put out.

“You're a great editor.”

“And you're a great racer, Alan will see it.”

North hummed, his mind thinking. It was true that X-Hunter were working under pressure with only two racers. They needed a third, and soon if they wanted a hope of taking titles.

“Wait, what about, oh,” North struggled to remember the guy's name. They'd met a couple times at the back races, he was friendly but also a great racer, “Dean!” He shouted, startling Sonic with his volume, “we should introduce him to Alan.”

“Really?”

North shrugged, a little awkward since he was basically lying in Sonic's lap at this point. “Why not?” Dean was desperate like them for work, even if he wasn't able to make a lot of money, it would be more stable then what he was currently dealing with. Plus he had a mechanical background.

Sonic sighed, his fingers now dragging through North’s dyed locks, “It's not the worst idea ever.”

“Are you saying my ideas are usually bad?”

Sonic tugged on his ear in reprimand, “We do have his contact.”

“Do we?”

“I do,” Sonic said, distracted as he reached for his phone. It was a good thing because otherwise he would have seen North's face screw up. It's not that Sonic couldn't have other people in his phone but the fact North hadn't known made his stomach churn.

He didn't even know what Sonic was looking for in a guy. It wasn't likely he was looking for a clingy omega that didn't even look like an omega.

Sighing, he let his eyes drop closed.

“Tired?” Sonic whispered.

“Yeah,” he wasn't lying, it'd been a long day.

There was shuffling, and North wanted to whine when Sonic slipped away but he knew what was going when the lights went out. Seconds later a body shuffled in behind him, warm and smelling of citrus and their cheap body wash.

It was more than enough to allow him to drift to sleep. At least he could have this.

***

“Just do what you'd normally do phi,” Sonic directed as North set up their tripod, “we’re just getting background footage.”

Babe scoffed, his scent was burning slightly at the edge. It had been weird to realize the gas scent that hung around the star racer was actually his scent. Luckily they usually were in the garage so it kind of faded into the background, but North pitied whoever would have to put up with it everyday.

“Don't be difficult Babe,” Alan chided, coming out of his office with a cup of coffee, “I told you this was happening.”

“I just didn't think it was going to be such a production.”

North wanted to laugh, he'd seen actual social media managers and PR teams in action. Their several model old phones on a tripod they'd picked up because it wouldn't lock properly hardly counted as a production.

“Babe.” Alan sighed. North knew the alpha wasn't that old but did often seem like an exacerbated parent.

“Whatever.” Clearly Babe was a bit of a drama queen, “Where's Way?”

“On his way, don't worry.”

Babe scoffed, “Who said I was worried?”

Sonic shot him a look, they'd only just met the guy and they both knew that Babe was always paying attention to Way in some weird way.

Alan rolled his eyes, “Just focus on training, we need to steal a win from Red Racing soon.”

“Oh P’Alan,” North had no idea how they were supposed to bring up their idea for a new driver, but Sonic apparently had no such qualms, “I know you mentioned something about needing a new driver-”

“You're both way too young to compete.” Babe cut in.

“I wasn't talking about North,” Sonic had slapped them both with scent blockers before leaving the house making it hard for North to tell Sonic's mood but he figured the citrusy scent was tinged with sour under the medical patch, “we know someone from the races. He's good and he knows how to fix up cars. I just thought of it as an option.”

Alan tilted his head, “North you race?”

Blood rushed to his cheeks. It wasn't like he was embarrassed or anything he just knew what it looked like. Omega racers were rare and the ones that were known were top of their divisions. Unfortunately he needed to answer, forcing him to nod his head.

Alan hummed, “Give me your friend's contact.”

Babe scowled, “Seriously?”

“We need back up drivers, yes I'm serious.” Alan's tone made Babe blink and North had to agree. The alpha was obviously easy going, but maybe things weren't as smooth sailing as they'd thought. He met Sonic's eyes, a silent conversation happening between them. Whatever was happening here wasn't their place to interfere, they'd just been hired to take some pictures and videos, and that's what they were going to do.

Chapter Text

“I'm sorry Kenta.”

He swallowed the growl that threatened to come up, but just barely. He wanted to shout and curse at Pete, even if it was unfair to ask for the seemingly impossible. It had been the one thing he’d asked of Pete to stay.

The night he’d left Tony, he’d allowed Jeff and Charlie to escape before him. The two were barely more than pups but had shown more courage than Kenta ever had, needing no push to escape from the bloodied hands of their shared father. After slinking out the window, Kenta had tried to chase after the two, to make sure they’d survive, but they’d disappeared into the night

Now he wanted to find them and Pete was doing nothing!

“How do you have all this money and can’t find two kids?”

Pete sighed, “They must be off the grid, or not using their own names? How would I be able to find them? I’m trying everything I can without possibly tipping Tony off.”

Kenta growled, he wasn’t stupid, he knew Pete was distracted by something or someone. The enigma was about as subtle as a brick wall. It didn't mean he could shrink his responsibilities, Kenta had literally asked for one thing.

When Pete made no other excuse, or showed any other plan to find them, Kenta’s temper snapped. “Whatever.” He pushed past Pete, grabbing his leather jacket off of the couch where he'd thrown it after they got home.

“Where are you going?” Pete snatched his arm, “Kenta, what are you doing?”

“I'm going out,” he shoved Pete off of him, “what do you care?”

“Tony's men-”

“Yes, I'm aware.” He actually had to worry about Tony finding him. Pete had spent the majority of his time free not having to look over his shoulder and wonder if any second he was going to get dragged away by men who didn’t care, “I can look after myself.” Unlike Pete, Tony had trained Kenta to be a weapon, something the man would now surely regret. He left Pete standing in the foyer where their fight had begun, the door slamming shut behind him.

***

It was well into the night when Kenta slid into some random bar. The air was muggy with sweat and mingling scents. Music pumped, making the floor vibrate with the base. Drinks were passed around and Kenta hated all of it but needed something different.

Energy burned inside of him, a reckless sensation that felt akin to the night he'd run. Crowds and noise overwhelmed him, he hated every moment, but tonight it felt like the only remedy he could find

The alcohol burned as he downed the shots. Tony never allowed him to drink, and saw no point while living with Pete, he didn't even know what he was drinking other than he’d asked for strong.

Glasses clinked as another bartender came back out carrying a tray of clean glasses, “A’Mik,” he said to the man who had been serving him, “I'm going to send the kid home.”

“Really?” His bartender set a glass down in front of him while talking to the other, “everything all good?”

“The kid looks half dead, and he's got a little brother back home.”

“Sounds good, check to see if there is any food you can send with him. Kid's not getting enough food.”

Kenta lazily watched the other bartender disappear.

“You alright man?” The original bartender asked.

He silently nodded, just because he needed a distraction didn't mean he actually wanted to engage with someone chatty. The bartender shrugged and left him to drink.

Around him people came and went, and then Kenta couldn't stand sitting anymore. Tension bit at his muscles in a way that demanded movement, but there was no way to release it. It’d been useful at Tony’s, he could go to the gym or out back and run until the tension bled out, but there was no release here. It warred with the anger at every useless thing that had happened and the knowledge he couldn't even do anything about it. Alcohol hindered his movements, inevitably he ran into someone a little too harshly. The other man was taller and clearly not Thai, stinking of foul musk and cheap alcohol.

“Oi watch it!” He shouted in English.

Kenta could not find the energy to care and made to turn away. He needed to get outside before he screamed. Around him music still pumped and did nothing to alleviate the tension.

The man grabbed him, “Did you even fucking hear me?” His blood sang, and one thought snapped through his mind, if alcohol couldn't soothe the contrast itch, maybe a fight would.

Just as he prepared to swing, the man was shoved to the side. Clearly the tourist was drunker than he thought with the way he crashed into the nearby table. Drinks and food went everywhere, a few girls shouted in surprise.

Kenta stared at the new arrival, younger than him with a frown as he watched the man struggle to his feet.

“What's your fucking problem?” The drunkard slurred as he stumbled to his feet.

“I'm not the one starting fights with random strangers,” his English was clipped with accent but it wasn’t Thai, “how about you go.”

The drunkard sneered, and Kenta knew instantly what was about to happen when he saw the man shift his feet. When the swing came, Kenta grabbed the man's arm, twisting it hard enough that bone may have cracked.

Another arm came and clocked him in the face, sending him reeling. The younger guy jumped in, and seconds later an all out fight had broken out, with people who didn't even know what had originally happened jumping in.

Kenta's blood sang, he hadn't felt this alive possibly ever. Any person who got close enough to him ended up on the ground, his mind off as instinct propelled him forward.

“Hey!” Strong arms wrapped around him and hauled him away from his latest victim.

The security guard looked absolutely pissed as he tossed them all out onto the street with the threat of police if they didn't beat it. By that point the original guy had disappeared, leaving Kenta alone.

Well…not completely.

In the street lighting the younger boy’s features were clearer. Kenta knew he wasn't fully Thai, Tony had made it clear that he was a mutt, his features sharper than the average person, the shade of his skin not quite right. This kid had to be something like that, his features not distinctive enough to be a specific group other than from their side of the planet.

“Seriously, what was that guy's problem?” The kid grumbled before turning to him, “You okay?” Blood trailed down the kid's nose, stark against his skin.

“I had it handled.” Is how he replies.

If the kid was offended by Kenta's attitude he didn't show it. With a shrug of the shoulder, “There's a pharmacy ahead,” the kid started walking and for some reason Kenta followed. He should have turned around and walked back to Pete with his tail tucked between his legs like he’d done so many times before, but instead he watched the kid as he selected disinfectant and bandages from the shelves under harsh fluorescent lighting.

They found a bench outside, the night feeling less oppressive than when they'd first been thrown into it.

“Here,” the kid gestured for Kenta's hands. For a second he stared at the outstretched hands, unsure what the kid wanted. The kid rolled his eyes in a way that felt more found than annoyed, and grabbed Kenta’s battered fingers. It didn't make sense, it was Kenta, he was supposed to take care of himself. People didn't take care of him.

“I'm Kim Minsu,” the kid breaks the silence, speaking in fluent Thai, “though everyone here has decided to call me Kim.”

It took a second for Kenta to understand, “Don’t say your name backwards if you don’t want to be called wrong.”

Minsu’s lip twitched, “What about you? Do you have a name?”

“Kenta,” it came out before he’d meant to. This kid -Minsu- was a stranger, an unknown, and yet Kenta felt himself leaning in to him.

“Ken-ta.” He’d never thought much about his name but as Minsu’s lips formed the letters he realised he actually liked it. Maybe it was that he'd never heard his name with an emotion that wasn’t anger or indifference, it was nice.

The street lights threw Minsu’s face into sharp angles, he was young enough that the lines of life hadn’t hit him yet, but not in a way that spoke of lack of experience, the way his eyes flickered said more. A new feeling sparked inside of him as he watched the way Minsu dutifully cleaned the cuts that he barely felt. Kenta was human, with normal urges, but growing up under Tony had left him little room for experimentation. Just him and his hand in the late or early hours, behind a door with a sturdy lock.

Something must have changed in his scent, as Minsu’s head popped up with a raised brow. He opened his mouth to deny the shift -adrenaline can smell similar enough- but Minsu’s scent replied for him. A smokiness to a spice that made his mouth salivate.

“My hotel isn’t far.”

Kenta had been looking for a distraction, something to scratch an itch that had lodged itself deep inside of him the moment he’d run from Tony and certainly the moment he’d been reunited with Pete. Maybe a fight wasn’t what he’d been looking for.

“Let’s go.”

***

Minsu must have been making good money, the sheets under Kenta’s sweat soaked skin were nothing like he’d ever felt, buttery as he fanned his fingers across. The AC at some point had kicked on, a gentle breeze drifted across his naked chest. Everything ached but in a way that made his blood thrum in acceptance. Clearly Minsu was fit, but the second they’d got into his hotel room, he’d proven just how fit he was.

If sex was supposed to feel like this, Kenta understood why everyone was obsessed with it.

A door closed, turning his head to watch Minsu walk back to the bed with a cloth and water bottle. Their scents sat heavy in the air, his mint almost syrupy and mixing with the bite of Minsu’s spice.

The bed jostled, Minsu hadn’t put anything on except for his boxers, letting Kenta take in the miles of toned skin. He had to admit, he liked what he saw.

Minsu leaned down, capturing his lips. He tasted like the spice that now clung to Kenta’s skin, the spark that had burned low flaring back to life. He pushed slightly to force enough of a gap to get air into his lungs, “Have you not had your fill yet?”

“No,” Minsu moved to his neck, licking a stripe right over his scent gland that forced out a burst of bright mint, “Fuck that smells good.”

There was no way to stop the snort at that statement. Minsu leaned back with a frown, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, “You don’t believe me?”

Alphas were supposed to smell dominant; spice, smoke, earthy, warm. Familiar, safe, the grounding scents of their packs. Mint was not that scent, and yet that was what Kenta smelt like, somewhere between a beta and omega. He’d been told a million times by Tony and the guards how horrible he smelled, too bright and sweet for a true alpha.

When he didn’t immediately respond, Minsu leaned down again to bury his nose in Kenta’s neck gland. There were scent glands all over the body but the one in the neck was the strongest, it being the one where mates would bite each other. Kenta had never known anyone wanting to get close to his scent. Despite the foreignness, he didn't push Minsu away, allowing him to do as he pleased.

Lips trailed down, following the large arteries that led to his heart. For some reason Minsu had fixated on his chest nearly the entire time, doing what he could to get his mouth and hands on the flesh.

“It's just skin,” he said as Minsu mouthed at his pec, ignoring the way it sent little shocks through his body, “can't be that interesting.”

“Want me to stop?”

No, he in fact didn't want that, which was not a sensation he was particularly used to. His silence must have spoken for him as Minsu grinned, almost boyish but too confident to be naive, and shifted.

Weight settled on his hips as Minsu straddled him, automatically his own hands settled on Minsu’s thighs. The muscles pulled under his fingers, something Minsu must have worked hard for. An athlete, maybe?

“Do you feel good?”

What a weird question? Minsu had seemed to enjoy pushing his own name out of Kenta's mouth rather than getting himself off. Kenta thought the point of sex, especially hookups, were about getting each other off, not whatever Minsu seemed interested in.

A sharp pinch at his side earned an undignified yelp. Minsu’s gaze was sharp as he waited for a verbal response.

Something in Kenta wanted to deny this one thing. If the man wanted praise he was going to have to work harder than this, but Minsu had been attentive and Kenta didn't want to ruin the mood.

“Yes.” It was half bitten and filled with too much air to be believable but Minsu’s smile was worth it. The way Minsu grinded down, pushing a high pitched noise out of him clearly made the tiny admission worth it.

“You see,” Minsu kept up a steady pace, heat sparking, “I don't think it's worth it unless my partner is delirious,” he leaned forward to fondle Kenta's chest, “but I'll admit, I'm a sucker for a good pair of tits.”

He'd scoff if his brain wasn't literally melting out of his ear. Were bodies capable of feeling like this?

Minsu leaned down, “Got enough stamina for another round?”

Minsu was fit but Kenta was stronger, it took no effort to flip Minsu over. More than enough of an answer, as Minsu’s laugh was silenced with a hungry kiss.

***

“You do enjoy taking care of people.” Kenta complained as Minsu led him through the late night streets.

“Come on, we burned through enough calories.”

Kenta didn't flush, but it was a close thing. It'd been hours and the two had spent most of it wrapped up in Minsu's sheets. It wasn't like he was complaining but he hadn't expected to be rudely dragged out of the bed a couple hours before dawn for food.

“Here,” Minsu had no reservation about touching him as he grabbed Kenta's arm to lead him under the canopy of a small market stall.

Kenta was at a loss as Minsu ordered rapid fire in something that wasn't familiar.

They settled for a corner table, the smell making his stomach grumble.

“You're not Thai?”

Minsu shrugged, “Half, my mom is Thai, Dad's Korean. I grew up mostly in Korea but my mom insisted I know something about my other heritage.”

“I'm half Japanese.” Kenta didn't know why he was sharing that information. He'd never shared it with anyone.

“Really?” Minsu brightened, “Can you speak any Japanese?”

“No,” it came out sharp and then because he felt bad about snapping, “I was orphaned young.”

“Well,” Minsu moved past the awkward tension that Kenta had created, “If you ever get a chance to go, you should. I've been a couple times.”

“For what?”

“Work mainly.” Minsu dropped pieces of meat onto his plate, gesturing to him to eat, “It’s a good thing I like traveling or else I'd hate it. What about you, what do you like doing?”

There wasn’t a good answer to that question. He wasn't allowed to do a lot of things under Tony and since then he hasn't had time to explore things that could interest him.

Before the silence could stretch too long he says, “Working out,” it was mostly true. He does like working out and it's what occupied most of his time outside of working for Pete and trying to find Charlie and Jeff.

“Oh I could have told you that,” Minsu's gaze was heated, which should not make Kenta blush considering they just spent hours fucking.

“Tell me about Korea,” he redirects, hoping that they can keep the conversation off of him.

And also Kenta likes hearing Minsu talk. There's something about the alpha that relaxes Kenta. He expects nothing, but as they part for the night Minsu insists on trading numbers, Kenta's only contact beyond Pete.

It probably means nothing, Minsu is a nice guy. But as he unlocks the door to Pete's, he can't help hoping that he gets to see Minsu again.