Chapter Text
Holland March gets a call at the ass-crack of dawn.
And usually, he doesn't get up at the ass-crack of dawn. He's not the early bird type, typically rousing himself awake when it's closer to 10 in the morning. But regardless, the call comes at the ass-crack of dawn, which is the worst time to be getting the most life-changing call.
It's not his fault, is it, that he almost hangs up out of sheer disbelief, because the call was just absolutely too out of pocket to think about.
“Mr. March?”
Holland snaps back to attention. He must've zoned out. “Uh, yeah, I'm still here. Sorry, could you repeat that again?”
The lady on the other end – an omega if the titter in her voice was anything to go by – doesn't seem too mad that Holland hadn't been listening. “Of course, Mr. March. I'm calling on behalf of Child Protection Services. You are the emergency contact and only available family member of Helen March, yes?”
Holland swallows thickly at his sister's name. He hasn't thought about Helen in so long.
“Yeah, that's me.”
“Mr. March, I regret to inform you that something has happened that your presence is required.”
And the way Holland's heart dropped low in his stomach, it was a miracle he hadn't dropped his phone with the way he was trembling. He didn't like the sound of that; didn't like the implications that had.
But as much as he'd love to sit here and tremble, he knows he has to answer.
“Okay. Where do I need to be?”
Holland doesn't need to be anywhere because apparently, CPS was already well on their way to his house.
The call had been nothing short of stressful; with more revelations than Holland wanted to know in one singular night. Holland had to set down the phone for a bit and stop his hands from shaking so much. It was hard and he knows for a fact that if Jackson or Holly had been home, they would've been distressed at his sour scent.
But it was hard not to be distressed.
Holland had lost contact with his sister years ago. She had been such a fragile yet spunky girl, with more fire and recklessness than she should have. Things had changed when she got mated and the last Holland heard of Helen was the birth of her pup, Courtland. Holland knew he should've reached out; knew he should've tried harder to contact her. Now, he can't do that, because she was dead.
Her mate had killed her, a bottle to the head and the impact had been too much for her fragile body, still weak from the last time she had given birth to a pup. It was a classic case of abuse, another one for the books in the precinct, the kind that Holland used to bust when he was still on the force. But he'd never thought that his own sister would end up as one of those cases.
Holland regretted deeply on letting Jackson leave for the night. The man was going to be gone for today and for tomorrow, working on one of their bigger cases. And Holly wasn't there either because she had left for college months ago.
So Holland is alone, clearly an omega in distress, with four children coming his way.
He's so not prepared for this.
While waiting, Holland checks over the house for the nth time.
Holly's room had turned bare once the girl took most of her essentials with her to college, moving into her own dorm, but Holland hopes that his daughter won't mind that it'll house someone else for the time being. He isn't sure if the pups are comfortable with it either, so he sets up the guest room, just in case. Holland isn't the best when it comes to nesting, but he tries his best anyways with a makeshift nest, hoping that it'll bring enough comfort for the pups.
The pantries are adequately stocked, but that was because Jackson and Holland usually ordered takeout for dinner. There was a significant lack of snacks, because again, Holly had moved out and there was no reason to keep track of that. So grocery shopping was definitely on his list.
It's a very short check across the house, so Holland resorts to pacing around the living room, fidgeting nervously. What he would kill to have a drink right now, but that was a big no-no.
Holland deliberates on lighting a cigarette when there's a knock at the door and he predictably jolts at the noise.
Quickly, he steps over and opens the door, greeted with the sight of a social worker and four pups on his doorstep.
Courtland looks the same from when Holland last saw him. But the last time he had seen him, the boy had barely been a year old and now Courtland was just about Holly's height when she was 13. The kid looks weathered, for a better lack of term, his hair shaggy, skin pale and bags under his eyes. His posture was straight and guarded. He's holding a pup, one arm curled protectively around him, and the other hand is holding onto two other pups who look up at Holland with wary eyes.
“Mr. March, I assume?” The social worker asks.
“Yep,” he says, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants. “That's me.”
The pups are ushered inside and urged to sit on the couch. They don't sit separately, instead huddling on Courtland and piling on the boy. The smallest pup, which Holland has to guess is the youngest, is curled up on the boy's lap, face pressed against his chest. The two other pups are huddled close against his sides, tucking their faces against his neck.
Holland chews on the inside of his cheek nervously and steps into the kitchen with the social worker.
“Thank you for responding so quickly. I'm aware this is rather on short notice.”
“Oh, no, it's fine. It's an emergency, so I get it.”
“Very well. My name is Ms. Olivia and I'm their social worker. I just need to get a few things straight before I can leave the pups in your care, if that's alright with you, Mr. March?”
“Yeah, no, it's fine. And, please, just call me Holland.”
'A few things' turns into a rather hefty list that Holland needs to keep track of. Mainly things concerning the pups, like hospital check-ins and school enrollments. Ms. Olivia assured him that the state would send him the kid's hospital records and everything he needed, but it didn't exactly stop the worry gnawing at his chest.
At some point, she had to stop because apparently, his distress was pretty obvious through his scent. She didn't continue, but did tell Holland that she would come by every week to check up on the pups before bidding them farewell.
Now alone, Holland spares a glance at the living room, startling a little when he finds four pairs of eyes trained on him.
“Jesus-” he jolts, blinking rapidly. The four pairs didn't seem to flinch. “Uhm.”
Well fuck, what was he supposed to do now?
Holland is well-aware that he isn't the most ideal omega. He wasn't naturally nurturing and that only came well with Holly because, well, she was his pup. These four were practically strangers when it came down to it. But still, he had to try.
God, he wished Jackson was here.
“Are you boys hungry?”
They don't move an inch, but Holland catches the pup on Courtland's left glancing at him, as if clearly asking for permission. Courtland, in turn, shifts a little, spares a glance at all three pups, before nodding.
“Okay,” Holland says. “I'm gonna order takeout, if that's alright? Can't really cook and there's nothing in the pantry, so I hope pizza's alright.”
That gets both pups on Courtland's sides to perk up. So pizza was a safe option, great. Holland moves to the phone on the wall, dialing the number of the diner he always goes to.
All the meanwhile he's ordering, he can feel the pups staring at him and eventually, he can hear soft murmurings coming from them. They're whispers and a quick glance tells Holland that it's mainly coming from the two pups on Courtland's sides. They look identical, so he has to garner a guess that they're twins.
Holland hangs up once he's placed his order and decides to sit down in the living room. He's hyper-aware of his movements, just making sure to not startle the kids too much, and to not make them feel like he's boxing them in.
“So,” he starts because Holland isn't one for sitting in uncomfortable silence. “I don't know if Ms. Olivia told you who I am, but I'm Holland. I'm your uncle.”
He shifts his gaze towards Courtland. “You've gotten bigger, Court.”
The twins glance up at Court, who in turn shifts a little and adjusts his hold on the small pup.
“Hi uncle Holland,” he says, his voice quiet. And despite himself, Holland smiles just a bit.
“Hey, kiddo. Can you introduce me to your brothers?”
Holland hadn't known that Helen had given birth to three more pups. He was only ever aware of Court's existence and not of anyone else. Hell, he didn't even know their designations until those hospital papers came in!
Court glances around for a minute before answering. He looks down at the small pup in his lap and says, “this is Henry.”
Henry was objectively the smallest pup Holland had seen. Growing up, Holly had been a big pup, eating more than what he could put on the table. She was a fat baby too, so that explained that at the very least.
But Henry was small and the longer Holland looked at him, the more he resembled Helen. His eyes were the same gray-blue colour and his hair was a darker shade of blond compared to his brothers. But his skin was pale and he seemed a little too skinny. The pup was curled on Court's lap and eyeing Holland warily.
“This is Ryland,” Court continues, turning his head to the pup on his right. Then he turns his head to the other side. “And this is Colt. They're twins.”
Holland can assume that much because Ryland and Colt would look identical, if not for the glasses that sat crookedly on Ryland's face.
Both boys sported short haircuts, their golden blond hair sticking up in random directions, and stared at Holland with piercing sky-blue eyes. There were an assortment of kiddie bandages on their persons, but nothing for Holland to be worried about. They didn't look to be as skinny as Henry, but not enough for a healthy pup.
And then there was Courtland, who Holland was objectively more concerned with. The kid looked ragged and if Holland wasn't wrong to assume, he should be around 13 to 14 years old. His hair was long, but neatly combed, a more dirty blond compared to Ryland and Colt's golden blond. His eyes were a similar grey-blue like Henry's, but the dark circles underneath made them look darker than they actually were. And for a 13 year old, Courtland looked a little too skinny for Holland's liking.
“Nice to meet all of you,” Holland says softly. “I know it's really early in the morning, you guys probably had a long trip here.”
It was nearing 9 o'clock in the morning, the sun rising in the distance. Holland had gotten the call at around 6, but if he had to guess, the kids have probably been up since, at least, 4 in the morning.
“I'll show you where you'll be staying, okay?” He stands up and beckons them to follow him.
Ryland and Colt shuffle off of Court, fidgeting and standing close to each other. Each twin had a singular backpack, decorated differently according to the owner, and Court sported a simple drawstring bag which didn't seem like it held much. The social worker had dropped off a suitcase at the front doorstep, but told Holland that there was more stuff from the house that they just couldn't get.
All of the pups are quiet as they walk down the hall, but Holland can see Ryland and Colt curiously looking around and trying to peer through open doors. The house was still relatively new, even if it'd been a year or two since they had it rebuilt, so Holland is sure that the house probably still had that brand-new scent. But at least they weren't so wary – even Henry was glancing around!
“Here,” Holland opens the door to the bedroom, stepping in and making sure to give the kids a wide berth. He doesn't know what exactly they had went through, but it was safer to assume than to do something wrong and reap the consequences. “This is the guest room. I wasn't sure if you kids would rather sleep here or in Holly's old room, so I set up both just in case. Is this fine?”
The pups gave quick glances around the room and Holland saw Ryland and Colt zone in on the nest he had made. The twins spared each other looks before turning to Court, clearly asking something without verbalizing it. It's a quick moment because Court nods then and Holland watches as the twins shuffle over to the nest and set their backpacks down. A tight knot that had formed in Holland's chest loosens a little.
The doorbell rings then, so Holland takes this as a chance to step back.
“I'll go grab your suitcase. Make yourselves comfortable,” he says and waits for Court and the twins to nod before he walks out.
He really needs to call Jackson.