Chapter Text
Jonathan Byers is used to pain, the type that radiates through his body as Lonnie Byers stomped on his ribs whenever he was too slow with a fresh can of beer. Pain as he shielded Will from the onslaught of their drunken Alpha father. Words that cut deeper than any wound could ever reach, tore a bit of his soul, nicked at his spine like a dull knife with every syllable.
Jonathan had spent nights locked in the trunk in the middle of November, holding tightly onto Will to keep him warm with nothing but their pyjamas, listening as Joyce begged and cried for Lonnie to let them out. Walked the school hallways, beaten black and blue. Where teachers whispered among themselves, but none of them ever truly helped.
'Cripple!' the kids would sneer as he walked awkwardly, his right leg slightly stiff - a remnant from the time Lonnie broke his hip back in 9th grade, when his father had caught the first whiffs of Jonathan's scent during one of his drunken rages.
A fucking omega.
Joyce had been out of the house with Will when Jonathan had presented as an omega, left alone to fend against his father. Lonnie Byers had no omega sons - and never would. Jonathan learned that the hard way.
Joyce had found Jonathan in the hospital, and despite her asking him, 'just... what happened?' Jonathan never told a soul that he had presented as omega. Along with the pain medication, Lonnie had gotten Jonathan a prescription for suppressants without Joyce ever finding out.
And so Jonathan healed as best as he could physically, but the mental scar stayed, festered. He remained on the suppressants and presented as Beta, even after Lonnie packed up his bags and fucked out of Hawkins not long after the incident. With Lonnie gone, Jonathan would be the man of the house. And the man of the house could not be an omega.
Never.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
"Come on, Nancy, let's just leave." Jonathan grasps Nancy's wrist, pulling her away from Steve 'The Hair' Harrington and his entourage. He can't do this now, not with Steve's intoxicating scent blooming with bitter notes of anger in the narrow alleyway, where he has no way to escape. For once, Jonathan is thankful for the suppressants. Without them, the alpha scent clawing at his lungs would have driven him to his knees.
"You know what, Byers? I'm actually kinda impressed. I always took you for a quiet reclusive, but I guess you are just a fuck-up like your daddy," Jonathan stumbles as Steve shoves him from behind. Tommy H and Carol stand just behind Steve, sneering at the scene unfolding.
”Did your daddy also snap pics of naked omegas when he wasn't drunk off his ass? Huh?"
"Steve-" Nancy warns, her fingers around Jonathan's wrist tightening. The soft scent of citrus and Jasmine is wafting from Nancy, but it does nothing against an Alpha's scent.
"Yeah, the Byers are a bunch of screw-ups- like your mom?" Steve snorts, the scent of cedarwood growing increasingly bitter, almost debilitating.
Jonathan couldn't breathe-
"I shouldn't be surprised about what happened to your brother. What? Did you follow in the footsteps of your daddy? Beat little brother to death?"
Steve grins as Jonathan falters, finally getting some reaction out of the freak.
Jonathan’s spine stiffens. He has survived and endured so much pain, so why, why couldn't he endure this?
"Did you dump his body in the woods-"
"Steve, shut up!" Nancy snaps- too late.
Jonathan swings. His fist slams into the soft flesh of Steve's cheek with a satisfying thud. Steve falters, and something in Jonathan breaks. All the anger courses through his veins like a tidal wave. All the shame-
Jonathan swings again. Knuckles dig into Steve's eye socket.
He hates Steve 'the Hair' Harrington with every fibre of his body.
Steve tries to scramble up. His raised fist collides with Jonathan's lip, cracking it open. Fresh blood spills over Jonathan's chin, hot and coppery. But he doesn't feel the wetness, the pain as he climbs over Steve and keeps punching. His knuckles split open - blood swirls and mixes, his with Steve's.
He fucking hates Steve for breaking the secondhand camera he had saved months of salary to buy.
Hated that scent ever since he caught it in the 9th-grade. How it haunted his fucking dreams ever since. How he woke up hot and squirming for a relief he knew he could never get. All the nights he spent crying himself to sleep from shame. Hates how Steve looks down on him and his family. His mate, his alpha, the one who is supposed to understand, love and protect him, treats him like dog shit stuck to the crevices of his expensive sneakers.
"Jonathan, STOP!"
If Steve could only die, disappear - Jonathan's eyes redden with tears, his fist numb from pain. But he can't stop, won't stop.
He hits Steve again.
And again.
And again.
The cedarwood and the hint of tangy hairspray grow faint. Steve groans weakly, sprawled out, barely hanging onto consciousness.
Maybe Jonathan can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Be free from being the only one aware of this connection. The only one suffering. Sever it for good-
"Get off him, man!"
"Seriously!"
Sirens blare in the distance, cutting through Jonathan's hazy mind. His hand finally falters - and Tommy is on him, pushing him off Steve.
Jonathan falls on his ass, his gaze glimmering with tears as he finally looks at Steve.
Blood flows down Steve's nose, mixing with the crimson from his cracked lips. His left eye is swollen shut and turning painfully purple. The crack on his forehead will need stitches.
Jonathan's stomach knots at the sight - and then he is pushed down to the wet ground, face scraping along the dirt and grime, a knee pressing down on his spine.
The sour scent of trash and sewage fills his lungs, replacing the addicting cedarwood. Steve is gone, hauled away by Tommy. Jonathan doesn't fight back as the policeman drags him up and shoves him in the backseat, where Nancy is already handcuffed.
"What got into you?" Nancy asks with a hint of fear and awe in her lowered voice.
Jonathan doesn't answer as he looks out the window, the scenery blurring by. He should be happy that Steve's scent is no longer lingering around him like a cage, yet his stomach twists, his heart trembling as it aches for what it can't have.
Steve 'the Hair' Harrington would never be his.