Chapter Text
It had all started with a missing cardigan.
Maryee rifled through her closet once more, searching for it. Then the laundry basket... then the washing machine. Her search turned up fourteen pence in change, an old hair clip, and one of Paul’s missing socks... but no cardigan.
Paul was out, thank heavens, or he surely would have asked her what she was doing nosing around the house all day instead of making dinner. And suddenly she realized that she had actually been searching for quite a while now, and oh... Paul would be home in an hour or so, wouldn’t he? She hadn’t defrosted any meat...
Mayree bit her lip. That cardigan was a present from her sister. Surely she had a little more time...?
She threw a package of frozen chicken into a bowl of cold water, and set it on the counter to thaw, before resuming her search. Behind the sofa... under the bed... the closet again? Surely it had to be somewhere...
Lint... dust... she made a note to do the hoovering the next day, while Paul was at work. The missing remote for the telly; Paul would be happy about that. Oh, one of Charles’ socks, and oh- that smelled awful. Her nose wrinkled. That would have to go straight into the wash. She loved her little alpha dearly, but sometimes his pheromones were—
Mayree stopped. She sniffed again. That wasn’t coming from the sock.
She turned toward the basement door, and furrowed her brow in concern. “Niaanaa?” She called softly, downstairs. She cracked open the door, and was hit with the stench of overwhelming despair. “Charles?” She called, in alarm. “Charles, baby, I’m coming down.” The only response she got was a small sob.
Mayree gathered her skirt in one hand, and quickly hopped down the steps to her son’s room, steeling herself for whatever she might find, but when she reached the bottom, she stopped in her tracks.
Charles’ bed was absolutely covered in blankets, and old clothes- stuffed animals she’d boxed up ages ago, and put away in the closet. A pillow from the sofa she hadn’t known was missing. And curled up in the center was her son, with her missing cardigan pressed up to his nose; body was wracked with sobs. He was shaking. He was—
“Niaanaa, are you nesting?” She asked, bewildered. The entire room pitched with new grief, and Charles sobbed harder. Mayree’s heart broke, and she sat down next to him, on the edge of the bed, rubbing little circles in his back. His skin was tacky and feverish, even through his vest, and his curls were damp with sweat. “Baby?”
Charles took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up at her, through watery eyes. His face was blotchy and red, and there were streaks of eyeliner running down his cheeks.
“M-mum?” He asked. “Mum, I’m in r-ut. You’re not supposed to be down here.”
Mayree frowned. Rut or no rut, her baby boy was suffering. “Charles, what is wrong? Are you in pain? And what is... all of this?” She asked, gesturing around them. Charles choked down another sob, and curled back in on himself.
“Mum, it hurts.”
“What hurts, Niaanaa? What hurts?”
He groaned, and cried harder. “It hurts!!” He sobbed. Mayree let out some soothing scent, and cupped his chin in her hand.
“Charles, please. Tell me what hurts.”
He hiccoughed. “Everything!!” Charles cried. “E-everything hurts, and I hate it!! I hate my stupid rut, and I just wish it was gone.” He collapsed in, on her chest, clinging to her like a monkey to a tree.
“Oh, Niaanaa...” Mayree held him tight, and withered as he sobbed against him. “Growing up... is hard. I know, but—”
“No!” He peeled his head back, staring up at her. “Mum, it hurts!! It-it’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be like this. It’s wrong!” He stammered. “It- rut hurts. And it’s gross. And I’m sweaty, and itchy, and—”
“Charles, all alphas your age go through the same thing. It’s perfectly natural to—”
“There’s nothing natural about this!!” Charles cried. “I’m in rut, and I just want to feel normal, but I’m hot, and sticky, and I stink. I can’t even fuc- can’t... I can’t nest right, even though, I want too, because everything I scent just smells ugly.”
He pressed his head back to her chest, and mumbled, “I wish I had just been born an omega, like you.”
Mayree froze. “You don’t mean that,” She said. “Charles, my love, you don’t mean that.” He could not mean that. Charles was young, and foolish, and in rut. Having a particularly bad rut, it seemed, but he was not stupid. He didn’t mean it.“You are not ugly. You are my handsome young alpha, and the hormones are making you speak nonsense. You-”
“It’s not the hormones! This is real!” He shouted, a sliver of alpha coming through in his voice, before he choked it back down with a sob. “I- I don’t-” He gasped, eyes wide, and flooding with fresh tears. “I don’t- It’s- It’s-” He stammered, breathing faster and faster.
Maryee grabbed her son tightly by the shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “Charles breathe,” she pleaded. “Breathe. You will be alright.”
“I don’t want to be an alpha!” Charles cried out, finally. He gasped for air. “I don’t want to go through rut! I don’t want stupid alpha musk! I don’t like growling, or posturing, or any of it! It’s too much.” He sobbed into her shirt, staining it with tears, and black makeup.
Mayree took a deep breath to stop herself from joining him. This was her fault. It must be. For not seeing things sooner. For not trying to intervene. “What is too much, Niaanaa?”
“Everything,” Said Charles. “It makes me feel sick. ” “I don’t want it. I don’t want it.Idon’twantitIdon’twantit I-”
“Charles!” He cut off sharply with another sob. “What is it that you want?” She asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer.
Charles sniffled.
“I want to be an omega.”
Mayree glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until Paul came home. He couldn’t find them like this. He couldn’t see her baby’s strange attempt at nesting, or find her down here with him, without dinner on the table.
“Charles, you cannot tell anyone about this.” Charles opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him. “Hush. Listen to me. In this room...” Good Lord forgive her, and forgive her boy. “In this room, you are omega.” She bit her lip. “Nowhere else.”
Charles sniffled. “You believe me?” He asked, hopeful.
Sixteen minutes until Paul came home. “Of course.” Mayree swallowed, back the lie. This was her own fault after all. Her burden to bear. “I- oomph!” Charles engulfed her in an enormous hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Just here. I promise. I’ll be good.” Fifteen.
She tapped him lightly. “Come, come! Go get clean. I have to finish dinner. before your father gets home.” Charles wiped the biggest tears from his face, and nodded, hopping out of bed, and up the stairs to get in the shower.
Mayree took a deep breath, before plodding behind him. This would pass. She had vegetables to chop.