Chapter Text
The Haywood siblings find him face down in the dirt, dangling on the edge of consciousness. His head is pounding and the litany of cuts across his arms, legs, and chest sting so bad that his limbs are starting to go numb. His scent speaks for itself, quickly filling their living room with distressed pheromones once Em and OJ manage to drag him inside.
Even in his delirious state, Angel makes an effort to apologize, slurring out broken apologies as the alpha and beta start attending to his wounds. They don’t tell him if the authorities—hell, the government— are looking for them or if Holst’s footage had somehow been salvaged. It's then that he remembers being sucked into Jean Jacket’s mouth, nearly eaten alive if it weren’t for his quick thinking. The thought makes him even more distressed, whimpering pitifully when Em pours rubbing alcohol over his shredded palm.
“I know, baby,” she says, running her free hand over his hair. Angel fights the urge to preen, desperate for comfort. He’s only known the Haywoods for a few days but the thought of leaving the ranch— of being without them— makes him want to hurl.
Em gestures to OJ, who’d been carefully cleaning the cuts across Angel’s upper arms, pointing to the kitchen. He finishes bandaging the section before reluctantly stepping away. Angel unconsciously calls out to the alpha with his scent, whining high in his throat when he notices the older man’s swollen ankle.
“Jus’ getting you some meds, Angel-cakes. Look, he's comin’ back right now,” Em explains gently, desperate to keep him from fidgeting and re-opening his wounds. She turns his head to the side so that she can work on the larger gash across his temple, flesh torn in a v-formation from where the barbed wire had been caught in his skin.
Sure enough, OJ is already making his way back to them. He hands his sister a water bottle and some Tylenol, helping Angel sit up so that he can swallow the pill. The alpha’s touch instantly calms his nerves, a purr catching in his throat when OJ places a hand on his back.
By the time Em finishes addressing the wound, Angel is just about ready to pass out. He barely registers the alpha leaving the room to drag a mattress onto the couch or Em helping him out of his torn clothes. The next time Angel manages to fully open his eyes, he’s clad in one of OJ’s old shirts and shorts.
The alpha is sitting beside him, watching him with dark eyes. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Like shit,” Angel slurs, preening when the man hesitantly runs a hand through his hair. His eyes travel down to OJ’s legs and he sighs in relief when he sees his ankle wrapped in ice.
“Can I?” OJ’s face is still, furrowed slightly in something Angel can’t place. If the alpha is irritated by his scent, he does a damn good job at hiding it. Unsure of what exactly OJ is asking, Angel nods anyway. And that’s how he finds himself wrapped in the older man’s broad arms, back against the alpha’s front. He doesn’t have time to process the new position before Em is climbing onto the mattress, sandwiching him fully between the two siblings.
“This okay, Angel?” Em asks, throwing a worn comforter over the three of them. It’s soft and warm, the combined Haywood scent making him feel safe and secure. He purrs, too content to say anything.
Em tucks her head under his chin, wrapping her arms loosely around his side. Angel’s mind goes to Rebecca, who’d never enjoyed physical contact— not with how strong his scent was. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be left alone while she crashed on the couch, sometimes even leaving his apartment altogether. There was only so much an open window could do and Angel learned not to be offended whenever she decided not to stay the night. He wonders why Em and OJ haven't complained yet.
“Hush, Angel. I can practically hear that pretty head of yours workin’ overtime,” Em grumbles into his chest, pressing closer. He feels OJ snort into his hair, the alpha’s scent trickling pleasantly into his nose.
Angel is out cold quicker than he ever has in years.
Angel blinks awake, groaning as he tries to stretch his arms over his head. Em is still pressed against his chest, snoring quietly into his shirt. He looks around frantically for OJ, panic rising when he can’t even smell him nearby. Angel whines before he can stop himself, his scent breaking out into anxious and upset. Em stirs and grumbles something unintelligible into his chest.
He hears the front door open, OJ’s scent flooding into the living room. Angel whines again, tossing in Em’s embrace to face him. The alpha crouches beside the mattress, hesitating before brushing the hair out of his face. “Hey, hey— just went to feed the horses, A,” he says quietly, the corner of his lip twitching upward when the omega subconsciously leans into his touch. OJ’s eyes dart to his neck where he’s covered in bandages and gauze, expression hardening and concern seeping through his scent.
“They don’t hurt as much,” Angel lies, a flush dusting his cheeks when the alpha arches an eyebrow at him. Honestly, he had forgotten about the stinging. OJ’s alpha pheromones had lulled him into such a deep sleep that his encounter with their barbed fence had felt like a fever dream. His mouth runs before he can stop himself from saying so.
The alpha just stares at him, expression unreadable. Angel’s about to yell just kidding, scent souring when OJ suddenly starts pulling his sweatshirt over his head.
“Here,” he says, as he hands Angel the hoodie. The omega doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that the alpha was wearing a shirt underneath. “Slept in it last. Should help.”
OJ’s face remains inscrutable except for the red hue across his cheeks. Angel quickly presses the hoodie to his chest, in awe that the alpha would actually want to— inadvertently— scent him. Rebecca had hated wearing anything of his, much less sharing her own clothes. The combination wasn’t flattering, she’d say, and maybe that was why he’d only ever been to her apartment on their first date. His pheromones had always overpowered hers.
That being said, Angel has to physically restrain himself from baring his neck in gratitude. He’d only ever dated other omegas and the occasional beta but he knew a strong, capable alpha when he saw one.
“I can scent it again later. If you want,” OJ adds, voice dropping to a hum. He averts his eyes, expression more sheepish now that the other man’s satisfied omega pheromones are spreading throughout the room.
Angel grins, wide enough that the gash across his face starts to itch.
Once all three of them have eaten breakfast—- coffee and toast, courtesy of the oldest Haywood— Em had offered to take Angel back to his place. They’re kicking you out, was the omega’s first thought. Disappointed and only slightly surprised, Angel does his best to stop his scent from souring but he must fail miserably judging by the way Em quickly smothers him, cupping his face with both hands.
“You’re family now, Angel-cakes. We want you here. We need you here, got it?” Em starts, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “You wanna leave? We might put up a fight but we ain’t gonna stop you. I just thought you might wanna go back to your place to grab some of your shit. Make the ranch feel more homey.”
“But what about you guys?” Angel blurts, heart in his throat. If they wanted him to stay, he might as well address the elephant in the room. “I want you guys to be comfortable too and if that means wearing scent patches, I can totally do that.”
“Angel—"
“I can keep sleeping on the couch if the patches don’t work, and honestly they probably won’t but I could sleep with the windows open or—"
“Angel!”
When he focuses on Em’s face again, her expression is murderous— eyes ablaze with both horror and rage. Despite being a beta, the scent of her anger permeates throughout the room, quickly clashing with his own bitter scent of fear and shame. OJ says something to his sister that Angel is too distraught to make out and suddenly he’s being pulled into a tight hug, face smashed almost painfully against her shoulder.
“Honey, no— I’m not mad at ‘chu,” Em says, cuffing the back of his head. He instinctively buries his nose in her scent gland, eyes fluttering closed when she starts stroking his hair. “I’m mad at whoever made you feel like you have to wear that shit.”
Angel shakes his head, pulling away from her neck to answer. “No one did, not really. I— I wore them willingly? Just made things easier for me.”
“Whatchu mean?”
“Couldn’t keep a job,” he admits, leaning forward to press his forehead to the beta’s shoulder. The amount of complaints— mostly by omegas whose alpha partners couldn’t keep their knot in their pants—- had gotten him reported so many times that managers just found it easier to lay him off. Not to mention the harassment he’d had to endure from both coworkers and customers. Luckily, overdosing on scent patches had helped keep his job at Fry’s for a solid year now. “Couldn’t keep Rebecca either,” he adds pathetically.
“Are you wearing them right now?” OJ asks. His voice is so low that the omega almost misses it.
Angel nods, afraid he’ll start crying if he says yes. He knows they’re both looking at his neck, searching for a transparent patch. But the omega had become a pro at hiding them, placing patches discreetly along his collar bone. Pre-heats meant five or seven patches, with his actual heat occupying at least a dozen. He always stocked up at the local corner store because they were cheaper to buy in bulk.
Em cups his face again, gaze softened but still slightly twisted in anger. “How many, Angel?”
“Don’t be mad,” he whimpers, itching to tug at his hair. OJ must see his hands shake because he steps closer and hesitantly, as if afraid to spook him, brushes their fingers together.
“It’s okay, Angel. Promise you we won’t be mad,” Em assures, pulling back far enough to tuck a few loose curls behind his ears. The omega bites his lip but relents, using his hand to tug down the collar of his Metallica tee, revealing six patches running from shoulder to shoulder. “They don’t do much,” he says, desperate to fill in the silence.
“Shit, Angel.” Em pulls him back into her arms and kisses him more firmly on his cheek, avoiding the bandages across his temple. “Those bitches, I swear I’ll gut’m myself, bash their noses in for fucking witchu.”
Angel shakes his head again. “Just can’t wear them anymore,” he croaks, embarrassed but also relieved that they finally know. “They make me feel like I’ve got the flu or something. Started smoking to, you know, balance it all out. Rebecca kinda helped too, I guess? She kept me distracted enough that I kinda had to start tolerating all the side effects or—”
“A,” OJ says suddenly, reaching for his hands again. “We got you. You’re okay.”
“M’really not,” Angel replies, voice barely more than a whimper. Frustrated tears gather at the corners of his eyes— between Em rubbing his back and OJ intertwining their fingers together, he’s bound to start sobbing any second.
“Let’s get those things off of you, yeah?” Em says, sensing his distress. The omega suddenly tastes salt when he nods again, realizing he had started crying. OJ guides him to sit on the couch, rubbing comfortingly at his shoulder when he starts blubbering more intensely. Em comes back— When’d she leave?— with a small container and the hoodie the alpha had given him earlier tucked under her arm.
He manages to pull off his shirt before she can tell him to, humming gratefully through his tears when OJ stops it from dropping to the floor. The rest is a daze— Em slowly peeling off each patch and soothing the irritated skin with what smells like coconut oil before helping him pull on the alpha’s sweatshirt. Angel ends up surrounded by a mountain of blankets and pillows, tucked into the makeshift nest with the comforter from last night.
The alpha’s scent of amber and pine clouds his senses again, lulling him back to sleep.