Chapter Text
The stifling heat of late summer already filled the tiny room when Dean woke up. Ignoring the sweat that clung to his t-shirt, he rushed straight to his old computer. The fan sounded like a tired tractor, and he had to bite his nails for an interminable thirty minutes until the system finally loaded. With his heart pounding in his throat and his fingers trembling, he accessed the Harvard University website to check the list of those accepted into his long-dreamed-of Mechanical Engineering course.
He hadn't expected to pass. He'd never been the family prodigy; that title always belonged to Sam. From a very young age, Dean had traded notebooks for grease and double shifts to help Bobby pay for his brother's housing, which was absurdly expensive at Yale. He even considered trying the same university, but the idea of becoming a burden on Sam was out of the question. He chose one in Boston. Unfortunately for him, it was the best institution in the country, so he kept his expectations low.
Dean spent the last few months devouring books and study guides in the short breaks between his work shifts. He thought it was too late to go back to school at 25, but, as his uncle always said: in four years, you'll be 29 anyway, idiot.
With the hard-earned money he had saved, he had managed to rent that dark apartment with its persistent musty smell. Bobby kept calling him back home, but Dean felt terrible for causing so much trouble and expense to the man who, at that point in his life, should already be retired and resting.
He bit his lower lip hard and closed his eyes before giving the final click to open the list of those who passed. When he opened his eyelids, his breath caught in his throat. His name was there. At the top of the list.
He blinked, thinking the old screen was malfunctioning, but the letters didn't change. Air escaped his lungs in a sob mixed with laughter. Dean began to cry, hopping around the small, barely spacious room. Sam, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo would be so proud of him!
But the euphoria was short-lived. Reality weighed on his shoulders suddenly, cold and suffocating, and he stopped jumping, staring at the wall full of damp patches.
He was an omega. And, in that world, omegas were seen as little more than sex objects, incubators for producing babies, and submissive househusbands. What would society say about an omega studying Mechanical Engineering at Harvard? With a defeated sigh that made his chest ache, he closed the laptop.
He had thought about it before, of course, but dreaming was free. He never imagined that the approval would become a concrete reality. At that moment, he didn't even know how he would pay for a bus ticket to Boston.
Convinced he was dreaming too big for his reality, he shuffled his feet to the small kitchen. When he opened the refrigerator, the yellow light illuminated the almost complete emptiness; there was practically nothing to eat. His stomach growled in protest, painful and sharp. He closed the door and went straight to the bathroom.
When the icy water hit his body, he shivered violently, but forced his muscles to relax until the temperature became bearable. Looking down, he saw his ribs digging into his pale skin. He was much thinner than he should be for his height and age, but he couldn't afford more than two meager meals a day. When Sam called asking for financial help, Dean would simply cut his own food. He was too ashamed to ask his uncles for groceries, so he pretended everything was fine. He always pretended.
He put on his usual ripped jeans, an old flannel shirt over a worn-out shirt, and set off for his first job of the day.
As soon as he stepped onto the streets of Lawrence, the usual mix of smells hit him. Aromas of alphas, omegas, and betas mingled in the morning air. As he passed the bakery, the fragrance of sweet pies fresh from the oven filled his nostrils, instantly making his mouth water. He slowed his pace, admiring the fresh bread and cherry pies in the window. He hadn't eaten pie in years. He could barely remember the taste anymore.
He walked to the bus stop and didn't have to wait long. When he got on, the usual routine repeated itself: no one looked at his face, but some alpha males in the back devoured him with their eyes, focused on his body. He simply ignored them and looked out the window. He was more than used to that kind of silent harassment.
He got off at his usual stop and walked to Bobby's workshop. In the makeshift changing room, he put on his mechanic's overalls, laced up his boots, and began gathering the tools needed to repair the engine block of an old Chevy.
"Did you eat, idjit?" Bobby asked as soon as he entered the workshop, wearing his old, grease-stained clothes, adjusting his hole-ridden cap.
"Of course, don't worry, Uncle Bobby," Dean replied automatically, without lifting his eyes from the carburetor he was examining.
“You're getting thinner every day, kid! Don't lie to me.”
"It's because I walk a lot," Dean said, changing the subject, picking up a wrench and testing a part that probably needed replacing. "You know that test I took?"
"The one from Harvard?" Bobby stopped wiping his hands, his attention completely focused on his nephew.
"Yeah," Dean sighed, his tone dejected. "I passed."
Bobby flashed a wide, proud smile, crossed the distance between them in two steps, and hugged Winchester tightly. Dean closed his eyes, noticing the old alpha's natural scent—a warm mixture of strong coffee and sawdust—becoming subtly sweeter, denoting genuine happiness. Dean relaxed his shoulders. That scent made him feel at home; Bobby was the father he never had.
“I knew it! You're very smart, Dean! You'll be an excellent Mechanical Engineer!”
“I'm not going to enroll.”
Bobby stepped back, the smile fading from his face.
"Why the hell not?" he asked in shock.
"Student loans are way too expensive, I'm an omega and I don't have a penny to my name, not even for a plane ticket," Dean slammed the tool down on the workbench, frustrated. "I dreamed too big, man. I have to face reality. The world isn't a fairy tale."
“Nonsense! You'll definitely be able to pay off the loan as soon as you start working as an engineer. And the fact that you're an omega doesn't change your potential at all. Times are still tough, I know, but the union didn't fight for nothing to get you into universities. And about the ticket... I can buy it for you.”
“Bobby… no. I've already cost you too much your whole life…”
"You'll pay me back when you graduate and are making real money," the alpha retorted firmly. "I'll call your mother."
"Why?" Dean frowned, confused and immediately on the defensive.
“She lives in Boston. She can help you with housing while you get settled in.”
Dean blinked, surprised. He hadn't seen his mother in so long that he'd even forgotten she worked in Boston.
"She's too busy to worry about that." He reminded him of the fact that Mary was employed on the estate of an extremely wealthy and influential family.
"She works for an alpha now, takes care of things around the house." Bobby wiped his hands on a grimy rag. "Mary always asks about you, Dean. She says you never answer her calls."
“I don't need her. I don't need anyone.”
"Who taught you to be so stubborn, kid? Don't throw this chance away because of your fear and pride."
Dean took a deep breath, running a hand through his short hair. He hated when Bobby used that sensible tone, because it almost always meant the old man was right.
“I'll think about it.”
***
At the RoadHouse, the scent of unknown alphas had always been a problem for Dean. It was dense, invasive, almost like spoiled milk and sour food left in the sun. The first time he went into heat and smelled it, it was so overwhelming that he vomited until his stomach hurt.
His entire family swore he would present himself as an alpha, or at least a beta, given his size, broad shoulders, and posture. But fate had a sadistic sense of humor, and he became an omega. With time and the routine of the bar, he learned to partially block the scents, but deep down, it was always bad anyway.
The night was busy. He approached the bar to serve a robust alpha who was ordering a drink, but as soon as the man turned around, the smell hit him like a punch to the gut. The rancid stench churned his insides instantly. Dean dropped the dishcloth, turned his back, and ran toward the staff bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet and vomiting up the little acid he had in his stomach.
When the spasms finally stopped, he rested his forehead against the cold tile, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and wondered what the hell was happening to his body. It was getting worse. Maybe he should make a doctor's appointment. He had no insurance and no money, but when it came to health issues, he knew he could borrow some from Bobby and pay it back by doubling his hours in the garage on weekends.
"Dean, are you okay? I saw you running this way, pale as a ghost," Jo said, slowly opening the door and kneeling beside him.
"I just had a sudden bout of nausea," he scratched his nose, feeling another phantom reflux just remembering the man's smell outside. "I'm fine, relax."
"You're not... expecting a baby, are you?" she asked, her blue eyes wide with concern.
"That's physically impossible," Dean rolled his eyes, leaning on the sink to stand up. "I've never slept with anyone."
"Ah." Jo blinked, surprised, processing the information, and shook her head quickly. "Look, go home. I can cover for you at the bar today."
"No, I'm going to work. The house is packed today and I don't want any jerk trying to hit on you." He splashed water on his face, dried himself off, and forced a smug smile. "Let's go."
The discomfort eased somewhat after he rubbed a drop of rubbing alcohol on his wrist, holding it close to his nose to mask the ambient odors. He served several tables, carried crates of beer, and, as usual, positioned himself as a physical shield whenever an alpha looked at Jo for too long.
Around midnight, an alpha with breath reeking of cheap whiskey began staring intently at Dean. Winchester tried to ignore him, clearing tables across the room, but the man stood up, staggered over to him, and grabbed his arm.
“How much do you charge for a quickie in the back bathroom, cutie?”
"I don't do that sort of thing, and I'm working. Let me go, sir." Dean tried to pull his arm away, but the natural strength of an alpha was overwhelming. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.
Before the situation escalated, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed loudly over the noise of the bar.
"Let him go now." Ellen pointed the shotgun barrel directly at the man's face, her eyes flashing with maternal fury. "And don't make me waste a good bullet on trash like you."
The man's eyes widened, he let go of Dean's arm as if it were burning, and stumbled out the bar doors without looking back.
"Are you alright, son? Jo told me you weren't feeling well earlier. Do you want to go home?" Ellen lowered her weapon, inspecting him from head to toe.
“I'm fine, Ellen. Don't worry.”
“No problem. Anything you need, just call.”
When his shift finally ended, Dean was exhausted to the bone. He walked home through the dark streets with his guard up, the adrenaline of fear still coursing through his veins because of the incident at the bar. On the streets of Lawrence, he didn't have an Ellen with a rifle to protect him. He knew how to throw a punch and defend himself, but alphas, influenced by their territorial instincts, thought they could do whatever they wanted. And since justice was flawed for omegas, he could only feel fear and try to go unnoticed.
Back in his apartment, he locked the door, took off his dirty clothes from the bar, and remained only in his boxers. He lay down on the thin mattress and was about to close his eyes when his old cell phone vibrated on the wooden floor. He was surprised that someone was calling him so late.
"Hello?" he answered, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“It's me, Dean, your mother!”
"Ah... hello, Mom," he murmured, rubbing his tired eyes.
“Bobby just called me! He told me you got into Harvard! I'm so proud of my baby!”
“Thanks.”
“I spoke with my boss about you this afternoon, and he suggested you live here with us!”
Dean's body tensed instantly.
“Mom... that guy doesn't even know me. And he's an alpha. I don't pay rent with sexual favors.”
"Dean!" she scolded him, her voice sounding scandalized on the other end of the line. "Castiel would never think such a thing."
"And how can you be so sure? He's an alpha. And alphas, at the end of the day, just want a submissive hole to stick their knots in."
“Castiel is different. Just trust me, please.”
“I can't live and eat for free in a stranger's house, Mom. Even if the guy is filthy rich.”
“There's a lot to do here on the property. The land is huge, with stables, horses, and a beehive. There's no shortage of work.”
"Is it very far from the university?" he conceded slightly, considering the proposal.
“If you walk for about fifteen minutes, you'll arrive directly at a bus stop that drops you off near the campus.”
"Okay." Dean looked at the moldy ceiling of his room and thought that anything would be better than that. He didn't trust alphas, not at all, but he trusted his mother's word. "When can I move in?"
“Whenever you can come, Dean.”
“I have to sort some things out with Bobby here, quit my job at the bar, and go to the doctor to get some tests done. So I think I'll go to Boston next week.”
"Are you sick?" The mother's concern was immediate.
“No, it's just a routine exam for enrollment.”
“Okay. Let me know when you buy the ticket. See you later, my love.”
"See you later, Mom." He ended the call and dropped his phone on the floor, staring into the darkness.
***
Days later, the antiseptic smell of the hospital was making Dean's head throb. He had felt much worse in the last few days. Absolutely nothing stayed in his stomach, and the tremors in his hands had worsened.
When called by the panel, he shuffled to his feet and made his way to the doctor's office. He liked Dr. Smith. The doctor was a calm beta male who didn't smell of threat and didn't trigger his nausea. Dean even harbored a slight platonic crush on him, precisely because of the neutral sense of security he exuded.
"What are you feeling, Dean?" the doctor asked with a restrained smile, adjusting the blood pressure monitor on Winchester's left arm.
“I feel nauseous all the time. But I actually vomit when any unknown alpha gets too close or crosses my personal space. Their scent disgusts me.”
"Your blood pressure is low," Dr. Smith frowned, his professional expression turning concerned. "Please stand up. Go to the scale."
Dean did as he was asked. Seeing the digital display flashing, the doctor sighed. He had lost another ten pounds since the last appointment.
"You need to improve your diet urgently, Dean. You're on the verge of a nervous breakdown and severe malnutrition." Dr. Smith returned to his chair and began filling out a form in the patient's chart. "And about the nausea... considering your history of pheromone aversion, your case seems to be Missing Link Syndrome."
“A what?”
“It's an instinctive mechanism. Your body is asking for a mate it considers safe. Your inner wolf is rejecting any and all external scents as a form of protest and defense, demanding a fixed anchor. This usually appears more frequently in much older omegas who have spent their entire lives without forming a bond, but... there are rare cases in younger omegas who suffer from extreme stress.”
"I hate being an omega so much," Dean muttered, realizing he'd thought aloud when the doctor stopped writing.
"Don't be ashamed. This happens to alphas too, you know? Because, unlike us betas, you alphas and omegas still carry a strong primal instinct to build a pack and form bonds." He pulled out a prescription and handed it to Dean. "Take an anti-nausea pill once a day, along with vitamins. And try to eat."
Dean took the paper, crumpling it slightly between his fingers, thanked him quietly, and walked out of the hospital. He looked at the gray sky above Lawrence, thinking about how absurdly screwed he was. A sick omega, with his biology screaming for an alpha, just when he was about to move into a stranger's house.