Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sleep hums in the back of Vessel’s mind, the same way He has been for the past week, a dark crimson sound that also came with II’s arrival. It’s different though, ruched like a constricted velvet and drawn tight, starkly opposed to II’s rougher, almost abrasive sound. He mulls over it, dragging a pen in soft loops instead of words, lost in the idea of having their fourth, their final missing piece. 

He wonders what they’ll be like; will they share the blue eyes that Sleep adores, or will He choose someone different? His mind keeps falling back to the same worry, of their alignment, how they present. He knows that II is okay with his role, as someone between beta and omega, but he toys so joyously with the idea of having a full omega being in their lives. 

III is a wild mix of alpha and omega, a heat one season and a rut the next, so he isn’t starved for an omega, or someone to be with, but some part of him, the possessive, dark and greedy side of his brain, wants to have an omega to himself. He wants to be able to have the traditional courtship, the feeling of being wanted while tending to his omega, of being so desperately needed. He loves to give gifts and to curl around II when he’s feeling needier, to sniff and growl and give into that more feral, domestic side of himself. It sends some unimaginable sense of glory through his veins, and he can’t wait for his next claim. 

Sleep’s hum turns into a growl, and Vessel sits up abruptly. II whines, having laid himself happily on Vessel’s chest, only to be half-forgotten in Vessel’s haze. He doesn’t even remember getting into his bed, let alone laying down. 

“Fuck, sorry, love.” He says, running his hand down II’s bicep. 

“‘S okay, you seem pretty focused. What’s up?”

“Sleep’s talking to me again,”

“About our fourth?”

“Mm,”

“What’s He saying?”

“It’s not… it’s not words. Just humming, growling. Same as you.”

“Same as me?”

“When you arrived. It’s the same type of sound.”

“What’s it like?”

“Red, like blood, but softer. More blue.” He says, and II visibly struggles to understand his words.

“I don’t… think I get what that looks like.” He murmurs, and Vessel laughs softly. The growl is growing louder, and II watches his eyes flicker. “That seems important, love.” He cups Vessel’s jaw in his fingertips, and Vessel nods. He slips out from under II’s back, and he lets himself follow the feelings. He wanders down to the front landing of the manor, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. It’s frigid outside, ice and snow pelting the windows, but he needs to be outside; and against his better judgement, he cracks open the front door. 

The scene is gory, and his body is flailing before his eyes have time to transfer the information to his brain.

The freshly fallen snow is streaked with blood, wavering footsteps careening off the path and halfway into the woods. There was an obvious stumble and struggling, and his eyes fall on the body collapsed against the massive elm tree they adore in the spring. Her bark has caught his shirt and jacket, and Vessel runs into the snow to grab the man, Sleep purring and circling the two of them. He’s frightful, pacing them like a dog. 

The man fights his grasp, struggling against him and trying to shove him off, but he’s weak. He’s dying. His hands are frozen, and Vessel hauls him onto his shoulder, the snow soaking his socks finally registering in his mind. He dashes back inside, kicking the door closed behind him and II and III come to the sound. 

The man writhes again, pushing at his collarbone, but his hand slips and his chest hits Vessel’s shoulder, and he gives up. III hustles them into the bathroom, tearing the rag of a shirt off the man’s shivering chest and pulling the soaked garments off. II brings a blanket over, but has to stop to take in the scene. 

The man’s eyes, a soft, baby blue, are foggy and exhausted, hollowed and sunken with an endless fatigue. His ribs are a blooming rose of bruises, and there are deep cuts across his chest. There’s a jagged scar low on his torso, and Vessel’s stomach churns. His smell, though mixed with the miasma of death and stained with terror, is an omega’s scent. 

He’s heard horror stories of botched, awful practices that shady places do to omegas, forcibly sterilizing them in order to turn a better, easier profit. It makes him furious to see it realized. He growls, and II shrinks back from the sound, eyes wide. III makes a similar sound and bumps his shoulder against Vessel’s, pressing forward. 

“Vess, back off.” III says, putting a hand between him and the omega. He blinks, and his growl ceases. He backs down, watching from a few paces away while III helps II coax the man back to life. He stirs slowly, and Sleep crushes down on them like a worried parent. He curls around the omega’s shoulders, shimmering shadows crossing his chest, exploring for the injuries.

The flesh edges of the gashes on his chest magnetise to each other, the skin pulling tight and stitching itself back together. III goes a bit pale, backing up to take his eyes off the rapid healing. He isn’t used to it, despite the dozens, if not nearly hundred times he’s seen it similarly on himself. Sleep stores their devoted energy, uses it to give back to them, to heal them.

The cracking of bones makes all of their stomachs turn, and the omega whimpers, jaw clenching in a tight grimace as Sleep rights his ribs, pulling them back into their original position. He warbles, a soft sound meant to soothe all of them, but it ends up as a weird tone in everyone’s ears except Vessel’s, and it makes the omega nervous. 

Sleep shoos them, a soft, gentle growl to tell them all to back off.

It takes them all a moment, leaving someone already so delicate with a deity who can be quite rough sometimes, but with some soft coaxing from Vessel, they all vacate the bathroom. II lingers in the doorway, making eye contact with Sleep’s phantom form. It’s a silent exchange, but Sleep assures him that the omega will not be without care.

They all settle in the kitchen, sitting around the island in a mockery of the breakfast none of them have eaten.

“Fuck,” III says, and II laughs humourlessly.

“You can say that again.”

“Christ, I’m never gonna unhear that.” He groans, cradling his own ribs gently. “I know He’s a God and all, but…” he shudders. “Gross.” II nods, and Vessel sits, his eyes absent and flicking around the marble countertop.

“Vess?” II asks, reaching a hand out to him.

“Hey, I– sorry.” He shakes his head. “‘S a lot to take in. He’s… uh, updating me on stuff.” He says, and the fog in his eyes returns again. II and III wait patiently as Sleep feeds him information, his body twitching when the connection detaches again. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. “Wow.”

“Presumin’ that’s not a good wow.” III murmurs.

“Not at all.” Vessel says. “Fuck. Okay. Shit.”

“Are you gonna tell us what He said or are you gonna keep swearing at us?”

“Yeah, that’s my job.” III elbows him, but his eyes are caring.

“It’s just… a lot. He’s not… II, he’s gonna need your help. He won’t accept help from me or III.” He says.

“What happened?”

“He… he was used. Sold for…” he waves his hand in the air, green at the gills. “You know what I’m… implying.”

“Oh, God.” III groans. “He’s not gonna trust us.”

“No, that’s what I’m worried about. He came from a group. I don’t… I don’t know how he’s gonna feel about having two alphas.”

“Or not being the only omega.” II says. “What are– what should I do?”

“Just be there for him. Keep him away from us, unless he wants to meet. Our scents are just going to be way too much. He needs to know he’s going to be safe here.”

“Okay. I can do that.” II reaches across the counter to hold Vessel’s hand, and he smiles softly. He raises II’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

“Thank you, baby.”

“We should get breakfast started, huh? Now that we’ve got another mouth to feed.” III says, antsy for something to do. He hates waiting around, hates discussions like this even more.

“More like you’ve got another mouth to feed.” Vessel jokes.

“Says the guy who isn’t allowed to use the fuckin’ kettle.” III shoots back at him, and II snorts. Vessel rolls his eyes.

“It was one time!”

He’s bringing dinner to IV when he first speaks, though it isn’t much of a word at all. His hand lingers on II’s wrist, and information trickles slowly through his bond with Sleep. The flashes of pain are almost too much for him to bear, the mingled traumas of barely sedated surgeries, of agony, betrayal, and terror. IV shakes, and II presses a little closer, setting the plate on the bedside table and opening his arms to ask if he wants a hug. 

He doesn’t need to speak, IV launches himself into II’s arms, sobbing into his neck. He strokes IV’s hair, though it’s greasy and his curls are matted and he probably is aching for a shower. He tries to help IV calm down, murmuring softly to him. 

“You’re safe, baby. It’s okay. He’s gone. They’re gone.” He says, and IV buries his face in II’s throat, inhaling his scent, and the residues of Vessel and III. “Do you wanna get cleaned up?” He asks, and IV stills against him. He feels him blink, wet lashes dragging across his skin, and IV sniffles. 

“Please,” his voice is so tight, like he’s being choked and it’s the only word he can get out. 

“Okay,” he says, pulling IV slowly from the grave he’s made of his bed. For a healthier omega, it would be a nest, but II isn’t sure if IV was ever allowed to build a nest of his own. He holds him gently before taking a step back, and they move like dancers across the creaking floorboards. II pauses at the door. “I have a bathroom in my room, is that gonna be okay?” IV just nods. It’s better than nothing. 

He brings IV into his room, and he pulls back in an action that actually seems to be of his own volition, marveling at II’s room. He’s a little self-conscious of his posters, and the slight mess of his room, the lighting soft and the bed unmade. His blanket, a gift from III, is laid half off the bed, and IV takes in the sight of it all. 

“There’s… stuff.”

“Mhm?”

“You’re allowed to have things?”

“Yeah. We all live here, of course we are.” He says, and IV furrows his brow. He brings IV to his bathroom as IV seems to mill over his words, fascinated by them.

“We?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Does… does that mean there’s other omegas here?”

“I mean, III’s kind of an omega. But not like– it’s not–” he sighs. “We’re not being sold here.” He says, and IV pales. “Fuck,” he holds IV’s back, guiding him down to the floor. “You don’t remember Vess and III, then.” He murmurs, and IV shakes his head, slowly, loosely. “Okay. Okay. That’s alright.” He brushes IV’s hair back, and sits with him on the tile.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I forgot…”

“You were dying.” II says, and IV relents. His eyes fall to the floor, and II holds his hand. “I’m gonna draw you a bath, is that alright?” He asks, and IV looks up at him. He swallows, considering it. He’s never had a choice in the matter, never had someone care enough about him to want to help him wash. He nods, feeling some sort of desperation take hold of him. 

II smiles, pulling IV to his feet. 

“You know you’re gonna have to undress, right?”

“Mhm,” it’s soft, and IV is slow to pull at his shirt. “You’re not gonna–”

“No, darling. I won’t touch you unless you tell me it’s okay. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, please stay.”

“Okay, I will. I promise.”

“Can… can you help me?”

“Help you undress?” He asks. IV nods. “Yeah, if you’re alright with it.”

“Please,” he murmurs, and II steps forward, curling his fingers under the hem of IV’s shirt, which he’s pretty sure is actually Vessel’s, unsure of how it found its way onto IV’s body instead of his. He pulls it up and over IV’s head, his shoulders cracking softly. 

Something concerned takes him by the throat, probably Sleep, who seems to care more about IV than He ever has for anyone else, and II moves closer. He takes IV’s shoulders in his hands and holds his arms up, and IV squeaks, scared. 

“Fuck– not gonna hurt you, promise. I’m sorry– I just wanna check your mobility range here,” he says, and IV nods, his eyes still wary. “Does any of this hurt?”

“No, just tight.”

“Okay. That’s good,” he says, letting go of IV’s shoulders. He wants to kiss IV’s jaw, to give him some sort of comfort, but he opts to just rub his wrist gently. IV lowers his arms down to his sides, pushing his joggers down. “I’m sorry for not saying something,” II murmurs, and IV seems to understand. It sends a deep sense of relief down his spine, that IV trusts him enough to separate a mistake from meaning genuine harm.

He doesn’t need to know exactly what happened to be able to see the effects of it, they’re written all over IV’s body. His flinches, the way he carries himself, everything about him screams that he’s terrified of the world, and II knows that it definitely didn’t help him before Sleep found him. Shitty alphas will take advantage of any omega they know won’t give much fight, or won’t fight back at all, and II has to bite back a growl. 

He may not be the same as IV, his and III’s biology’s are both out of whack, and he’s even starting to suspect that Vessel’s is as well, but he knows damn well to be angry about someone being abused. He opens his arms again, asking silently if he can pull IV into a hug. 

He falls into II’s arms, cuddling into his neck. Calm washes over him, and he floods with euphoria when he realizes it’s IV who feels so calm. He rubs at IV’s hair until he pulls back, seeming eager to get cleaned up. He still smells like another alpha, multiple other alphas, actually, and II sympathises with how excited he is to get them off of him.

“Shower or bath?”

“Bath?” IV asks, curious. II smiles, nodding. He plugs the drain and starts to fill the tub with water, fumbling in a drawer for something to add to the water.

“Do you have any scents you don’t like?” He asks.

“No mint, a-and nothing like…” his voice quiets, nauseous, “like cigarettes.”

“I have lavender or a citrus mix?”

“Lavender, please.” II stands, holding a lavender bath bomb that he’s pretty sure III got him a little bit ago, he gets showered in gifts so often that it’s hard to keep track of who gives what. He offers it up to IV to smell, and a soft bit of bliss flutters in both of their chests. He sets it into the tub, and IV watches it fizz.

“You feel ready to get in?” He asks, and IV pauses. He tugs softly at his boxers, and II understands the gesture. “I can turn around if you want,” he offers, knowing that IV wouldn’t ask him to on his own. He nods, and II turns his back to IV, covering his closed eyes so IV feels extra safe. He feels silly, but he’ll deal with looking silly if it helps IV feel better.

The water splashes, but II only removes his hands from his eyes when IV tugs at his shorts. He washes his hair slowly, working the dirt, sweat and leftover scents from his skin and his scalp. IV adores the attention, stretching out in the tub and wiggling enough that II doesn’t have to worry too much about the rest of his body getting clean.

He’s completely blissed out when II finishes cleaning his hair, his eyes heavy and soft. He’s relaxed, and II has never felt more honored in his entire goddamn life. He gives IV’s hair one last quick rinse, reaching for a towel and laying it on top of his head. He scrunches the towel softly, familiar enough with caring for differently textured hair to know that IV’s hair shouldn’t just be scrubbed dry.

He coaxes him out of the tub, and IV is so calm . He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of the day, or the lightness of freedom, but he doesn’t flinch, or whine, or even squirm when II starts to dry him off. He’s careful, moving slow around more tender areas, wrapping the towel around his thighs to give a barrier between his hands and IV’s skin.

He gives IV some clothes of his own, they’re practically the same size, so his spare sleep shirt becomes IV’s for the night. They wind down from the day together, and after digging in his cabinets for a bit, brush their teeth together. IV uses up the last bit of a flavoured toothpaste he has, and II uses his typical one, making a note to buy a different flavour soon. IV nestles into his side like he’s always belonged there, purring happily. He can’t tell what brought on the change, whether it was the bath or just being treated like a person for once, but II would be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

He’s used to Vessel and III getting like this when they get sleepy, but to have someone closer to his size be cuddly and want to snuggle up to him, it makes him soar. When they've finished in the bathroom, he brings IV back to his room while he changes, and IV explores his bed quietly, his scent intermixed with Vessel and III’s. They make a gorgeous cocktail of scents together, and IV adores it.

They settle into II’s bed next to each other, and II lets IV take the lead on how he wants to be cuddled. It seems to fascinate him, and II begins to get a deep sense that he's never had a choice in how he wanted to be loved. They try a few things, make a few mistakes, but end up curled chest to chest, their legs interlaced. He likes having II’s hand on his back, but he does warn IV that he usually always ends up on his stomach. It gets a soft giggle out of him, and II swears his heart is going to explode with how sweet he sounds.

IV falls asleep quickly afterwards, and II watches him sleep for a few minutes before his body gives in as well, yawning before he falls asleep as well.

A soft knock wakes the two of them up, and II props himself up on his elbows, pulling his face from his pillow. IV stirs to life next to him, and II focuses on the shape of Vessel in the doorway. IV shrinks back behind II’s back, whimpering loudly. 

“Hey, hey. Sorry to barge in,” Vessel says, slowly padding into the room. IV whines and shakes, and Vessel lowers himself to the floor, kneeling next to II’s bed. His scent mellows out in II’s room, and IV peers nervously over his back. “Hi there,” he murmurs and II reaches out to rub at his jaw. Vessel presses into his hand, and IV marvels at the connection. 

“Y– you…”

“I’m his as much as he’s mine.” Vessel says, and IV nuzzles into II’s shoulder. “I hate to break this up, but…”

“What’s up, love?”

“III’s rut started last night,” he rubs II’s hand, and IV hides away again.

“Fuck, seriously? How did I forget that?” He says, straining to glance at his calendar. It’s written plainly on there, in red marker over the entire week: III’s rut, and he wishes he could smack some sense into himself. 

“He needs you, hun.” Vessel says.

“I can’t– no, please,” IV sobs, and Vessel jolts, jumping up. IV flinches even harder, and Vessel backs down. 

“No, no, darling…” he murmurs, and II turns over, catching IV’s jaw. 

“He’s not talking to you, IV. You don’t have to do anything, I promise.” He says, and IV tucks himself into II’s chest. “I don’t think I can leave him, Vess.” He looks up at him, and Vessel crouches next to the bed. He walks his fingertips across II’s chest, towards IV slowly. He picks up his head, and blinks at Vessel, distrustful. 

“Hi,” he says. “Do you feel comfortable being without II?” He asks, and IV nestles into II’s skin. “It’s okay if you’re not sure,” he assures, and IV looks hopeful. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. III’s tough, but I don’t know how safe you’ll feel with his scent all through the house.” IV makes a wounded noise, hiding away again. 

II runs his fingers through IV’s hair, scratching his neck softly. 

“He’s not going to do anything to you. I promise. He’s not stupid and he’s not a prick.”

“Not about this, anyway,” Vessel jokes, and II snorts, batting at him.

“Yeah, but you’re still the stupid one,” he snarks, and Vessel laughs, louder than he intends to. IV shrinks. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he opens his palm to him, and IV reaches up to touch him. Vessel stays stock-still as IV’s fingertip brushes his palm, and he nods when IV pauses, encouraging. 

“You’re…” he trails off and Vessel tilts his head. IV doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening, but he’s interrupted by a soft groan from outside the room. III’s scent, full of cinnamon and drenched in need, floods the room and IV whimpers.

“Fuck,” Vessel bolts up, and he makes himself a barrier between them and III on the other side of the door. “III,” he growls, warning.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and IV starts trembling. 

“I know, I know it’s hard,” he says, and III snickers, still lucid despite the hormones coursing through him. “But you’re not being safe, darling.” He says, and III presses against him, groaning. “You need to go back upstairs,” Vessel growls, and II picks his head up, putting himself between IV and Vessel. III doesn’t move, and Vessel puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back slowly. “You need to go back upstairs, III. I told you I’d ask. You need to wait.” He says, and III grunts, giving up. 

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs, and Vessel thanks him, sending him back upstairs. He watches him go before he turns back to II’s room, his eyes soft.

“I’m sorry, fuck, IV, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d come down. He’s not dangerous,” he says, directly to IV. “He’s just not used to having another omega here,”

“He’s not used to waiting,” II says, and Vessel nods. He sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, IV.” He says, approaching slowly. IV shrinks back and he stops in his tracks, backing up. II shifts, sitting back against his headboard.

“I can go up and take care of him,” II offers, looking between Vessel and IV. 

“Do you feel okay with that, IV?” Vessel asks, and IV whimpers. “I’m sure you might want to see a bit more of the house,” he says, and IV perks up, curious.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good pastime,” II smiles, and IV nods. II gets up from his bed, not even bothering to dress before he leaves the room. His footsteps hop up the stairs, and IV looks at Vessel from on the bed. Vessel sits far back on the rug, keeping himself lower than IV, to give him a sense of consistent authority and ample distance. He peers down at him like a cat on a perch, and Vessel fights a smile.

“Hi, again.” He says, and IV waves to him softly. “I’m Vessel, sorry I had to meet you so suddenly. I wanted to give you more time to get used to us,” he admits, and IV hums. 

“You guys are… so…”

“Different?” Vessel offers gently. 

“Yeah,” IV agrees, “I… I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“How– why aren’t you jumping me right now?” Vessel’s face falls. “Every other alpha would.” He states it like it’s a rule, like it’s something he’s come to expect.

“I… don’t think I’m every other alpha,” he says, delicate. “I really hope that I’m not,” he looks up at him, and IV shrinks.

“You stopped him,” he murmurs.

“III?” IV nods. “Of course I did. I told him that he had to wait, and it’s overwhelming for an omega to be with an alpha in rut. Especially when you’re not mated.” He says.

“Are you… master?”

“I– that’s not the word I’d use,” he sighs, anger churning in his stomach. Master is a term he isn’t used to. He knows where it comes from, and it makes his blood boil. It gives a window into IV’s deep history, and suddenly more of what II explained to him makes sense. “I’m the head of the household, but I don’t have any more authority than anyone else. III only listened to me because I told him to stay upstairs earlier. He knew that he was wrong, so he listened.” He explains.

“So… there…” IV whimpers, confused. “There’s multiple alphas… now multiple omegas… but you’re… not our– you’re not my master?”

“No.” He says it perhaps too sternly, watches IV’s resolve flicker. “I’m… our little triad is weird,” he admits with a soft smile, “II and III are both… not fully alpha or omega. I’m technically the only full alpha in the house. But I don’t… I’m not more important, or more powerful than either of them. We make decisions as a household, we do things as a group.” 

“You don’t own them?” Vessel misses the questioning tone.

“Exactly. I’m theirs as much as they’re mine. Does that make sense?”

“No,” IV admits, bowing his head. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you all so nice? Why do you care about me?” Vessel’s heart shatters . “I can’t–” IV chokes on a sob, “I can’t even give you pups. I’m worthless. I’m nothing.” He cries, and Vessel stands, slowly stepping towards him. He sits on the bed, opening his arms, and IV hesitates, just briefly, before tucking himself into Vessel’s neck, bawling. 

“You’re not worthless.” He says, rubbing the back of IV’s neck. “None of us can have pups, and I don’t think any of us are worthless.”

“What?” IV sounds horrified, pulling back. He looks just as terrified as he sounds, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

“II’s more beta than he is omega, and he had his tubes tied a few years back.” IV shivers. “He wanted it,” he clarifies, and IV shakes his head.

“Why? ” He sobs, choking on the sound. “Pups are everything,” he says, “they’re,” he hiccups, "they're my only purpose."

“Oh, God, that’s not true,” Vessel says, keeping his voice gentle. “Darling, please, please, believe me. There’s so much more to life that you don’t know about.” IV drops back into his arms, pausing to take in his scent. 

He smells like a forest, like campfire smoke and the soft wind in the pines. He smells like musk, like an alpha does, but his scent isn’t overwhelming. It doesn’t make IV want to run for the hills like most alphas do, like he thought every alpha would. 

“I haven’t been kissed,” he murmurs.

“Ever?” Vessel asks.

“Never,” he says, and Vessel plants a kiss firmly on his hairline. It feels like love, even though he isn’t sure what that is anymore. He’s seen it in movies and shows, displays of forced kisses and scenting, people being shoved into relationships they aren’t ready for. He felt what he thought was supposed to be love, until he felt a hand around his throat and a needle in his arm, multiple people pinning him down and suffocating him while he begged for his life. He barely remembers it all, but it comes back to him in chunks. 

They took his personhood from him, just so he could be sold in cheaper bars, get used more often, spend his days with his legs in frames and nothing to cover himself with, forced to feel the spend of other alphas dripping out of his body. They wanted to make sure he would never be taken out of the lineup, that his body would always be available.

He nuzzles Vessel’s neck again. He smells so nice that it makes the pain ebb. He cradles him gently, and he doesn’t worry about falling asleep in his arms; finally safe.

Chapter Text

IV is slow to wake, curling into the warm body and arms that surround him. The scents around him are unfamiliar, but he doesn’t feel endangered by them. He wriggles, getting comfortable, and Vessel shifts like a mountain around him, pulling him even closer than he thought he was. His body is a looming, massive shadow of safety, and IV sneaks an arm around his waist, not wanting there to be any more space between them.

He fades in and out of sleep until Vessel moves again, pulling away to roll onto his back. It startles IV fully awake, and he whimpers out of pure desperation, immediately embarrassed. Vessel stretches, his arms bent to accommodate II’s smaller bed, and IV hears a few of his joints crack. He nestles into his side, and Vessel rubs his head.

“G’morning,” he murmurs, and his voice rumbles against IV’s nose. “You hungry?” He asks. IV perks up, sitting up on his knees. He is hungry– which is a whole other thing for him to wonder about– but II has been the only one bringing him meals thus far. He only ever got meals from the other omegas, who all received them from the generous alphas. He’s never dared to ask an alpha for food.

At his silence, Vessel sits up as well, tilting his head. His eyes are soft and caring, and IV can’t understand how, despite every other aspect of him screaming alpha– his height, his hands, his overall imposition on every room he steps into– the gentleness in his eyes is an entirely new image to IV. Every alpha he ever saw the face of had no scrap of kindness left in their eyes, fury and misery in every eye of the hands pinning him to walls.

Something in Vessel’s mind seems to click, and his eyes go wide for just a second.

“I’ll make you breakfast– well–” he cuts himself off instantly, a soft, bashful smile across his face, “to my ability. I’m not great.” Vessel laughs at himself, and IV wants to dedicate half of his hearing just to that sound alone. Vessel is so unfathomable to him, every aspect of him soft and gentle. For such a tall man, he expected something so much worse. He expected to be overpowered, to be thrown around and treated just the same way he always has been, backed into corners and forced to be small, but he just hasn’t been .

He doesn’t understand it.

He follows Vessel anyway.

Vessel gestures toward the kitchen island, offering him a seat. He takes the one furthest from the stove and the doorway, keeping himself pressed against the wall. He can smell III through the house, pepper and cinnamon burning his eyes, and he’s afraid. All that courses through his body is fear, the memories of rutting alphas in the past shake him to his core.

He feels Vessel’s eyes on him, scanning him with a worry that he can practically taste from across the room. He doesn’t say anything about it, turning to the stove and starting to set up to make breakfast.

Vessel’s cooking ability is… really not good. 

For a man so composed with his words, he is a wreck at the stovetop. Watching him is beyond what IV thought possible for an alpha, he’s never met an alpha who couldn’t cook, or didn’t claim that the food they provided was theirs. 

The counter is covered in more flour than IV could’ve sworn was in the bag, and there seem to be far too many ingredients in front of him. IV watches him silently, amused by the soft swearing and endless giggles that come out of him. His shirt is no longer the plain black that it was, his hips marked by lines of flour where he’s bumped into the counter’s edge.

The first four pancakes that Vessel produces are burnt to a crisp, somehow refusing to be cooked, more egg than flour, and something out of a primary school science experiment. Bested by the griddle and his own incompetence, he sits across IV at the island, laughing again at himself, his head in his hands. 

His forehead comes up covered in flour, dark hair streaked with white.

“I told you I’m not a good cook.” He admits, and IV fights a smile. He doesn’t want to insult the poor man, the effort was valiant, but he has proven that the kitchen is not where his strengths lie. “III usually makes our meals, but,” he gestures vaguely out of the kitchen. “I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to be around him for the moment.” IV digresses, nodding softly. “I can go wake him up if you’d want to wait in your room?” He offers.

“Okay,” he murmurs, and Vessel smiles. He reaches across the counter, and IV touches his palm gently. He stands, and IV follows, bringing IV back to his room. He can see Vessel fighting himself when he has to say goodbye, even though it’s going to be brief. He knows Vessel wants to hug him, but he settles for a quick nod and a smile.

“I’ll come get you when everything’s ready, okay?” He says, and IV nods. Vessel pauses, his lips tight. “If… if you feel up to coming up before I come back, don’t be afraid to.” His hands fidget, aching to touch, but he keeps back like IV is a museum sculpture. “III won’t touch you, but I know that being around an alpha in rut can be… a lot.” IV nods, pressing his lips together. “Okay, I’ll– I’ll be back, but you knew that already,” he smiles, and IV giggles.

The door closes between them, and Vessel feels like a teenager again. He scrambles up the stairs, ecstatic at the idea of IV meeting III. II has told them that he didn’t remember much of what happened when he first came to the manor, so they have no idea if he knows III at all beyond his name.

He knocks gently, hearing the two inside groan loudly at being woken up. He cracks open the door, and III’s scent hits him like a brick. II’s scent is completely overpowered, though Vessel’s own is as well. He’s curled around II’s side, mouthing at his neck. A soft growl rumbles from his throat as Vessel approaches.

“I’m not gonna take him from ya, love.” He murmurs, kneeling next to the bed, careful to not knock anything off of the nightstand. II seems to come to life when he smells IV on Vessel’s shirt, ignoring the flour stains.

“Is IV okay?” He asks, turning onto his side.

“He’s fine, dove.” II preens. “He hasn’t eaten in a bit. I, uh, tried to make breakfast.”

“‘N how’d that work out for y’?” III snickers, his voice muffled in II’s skin.

“Badly.” Vessel crosses his arms on the bed. “Can you help?” He brushes III’s hair back, and he groans. “Please, baby?”

“Mm, but I’m comfy,”

“So you’re gonna let the entire house starve?” II asks.

“I never said that,” III laughs, nuzzling his neck again.

“Okay, you bastard, you got me last night, stop rubbing it in. It hurts.” II swats at him, and III rolls his eyes as he pulls away from II’s neck. Vessel sneaks a kiss out of III, beaming, before he helps II out of bed. His legs shake softly, and he winces when he puts his weight on one of his feet. Vessel holds him gently. “It’s just my hip. Slept wrong.” II says, and Vessel picks him up, carting him to the bathroom. 

III cackles, and II smiles, shaking his head. He lets Vessel set him on the counter, and III finally take in Vessel’s state as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Jesus– did you fuckin’ fight the flour?”

“I–” Vessel pouts, “I was trying to help. I can say for certain that it did not work.” He laughs, and III swipes at his side, smearing the flour across his shirt. “You suck.” III smiles, shrugging as he pads out of the bathroom. Vessel shakes his head, turning his attention to II.

His neck is angry, marred with a bite mark from III, and Vessel feels an odd bit of jealousy twist in his stomach. They had never made a rule against biting, even with mating bites, but he still wanted to be the one to mark II first. He can’t complain, he never told anyone about the desire, but he fusses over it anyway.

“I wanted him to do it, Vess.” He assures, and Vessel rubs against his neck, where the skin is unbroken. He feels off, and he knows that it definitely has to do with IV’s arrival, spurred along by III’s rut. The scents in the house are all different, and he can feel Sleep stirring constantly, tagging along with IV and keeping with him.

They haven’t been a traditional pack since they became a pack, and while the three of them despise the norms that are pushed on packs, Vessel would be the biggest liar in the world if he touted that he didn’t want to give into some of his instincts. He keeps them carefully guarded, only acts on them if II or III give him permission to, but it’s a headrush to let go.

He kisses II’s neck, teasing his teeth across the soft skin. He moans softly, pressing at Vessel’s arm.

“Later?” He asks, and Vessel nods. “We should go get IV.”

II goes down to IV’s room, both to grab a new change of clothes and to fetch him for breakfast, and he’s a bit freer than the last time he saw him. Something familiar purrs behind his ribs, and he aches at how similar he has felt to IV.

“I’m gonna grab a jumper– head upstairs, okay? They’re in the kitchen making breakfast.” He says to IV, who nods. He disappears into his room, and he almost dislikes the way that Vessel and IV’s scents sit on his sheets. He fixes the bed, then throws the sheet back, and then pulls it back over the bed. He can’t get it to seem right, and he sits down against his bed, staring up at the ceiling, speckled with glowing stars that Vessel put up.

He aches at the way that IV is getting better so quickly, and whether it’s just surface level healing or if the scars beneath are sewing themselves up, he can’t tell. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. He still feels like broken glass some nights, begging his body to just stay how it was when he was younger, before he presented as an omega, before his life fell apart.

When he had arrived, he could barely stand being around Vessel. Every step he took sent him spiraling, even if II was on the edge of dying and Vessel was just trying to help him. Sleep cared for him when Vessel couldn’t, keeping him fed and clean. It’s one thing that never stuck around as a bad memory, II still adores being cared for. 

It took him weeks to muster up the courage to stay in the same room as Vessel for more than a few minutes. It was easier with Sleep. He was the courier between him and Vessel, a conduit for them to communicate through while II was getting better.

During his first heat in the house, Vessel was the one who found him, bawling his eyes out from the agony his body was in. He approached so slowly, so cautiously, that looking back, II feels fucking stupid for not seeing that he wasn’t trying to hurt him, but his mind was fractured. He couldn’t even be on the same floor as Vessel without starting to panic.

Sleep kept him safe and fed, but he hid away from Vessel’s scent, overwhelmed by the fact that he was in the presence of another alpha, that there was an alpha living with him . The months passed like decades, and II could barely shake the sheer terror he felt around Vessel. It didn’t help that he was so much taller than him.

Sleep was a comparable height to him, only a few inches taller, with a thin, wiry frame, not unlike III’s; but with Vessel standing a head taller than him, he cowered under every glance. He felt minuscule, like a mouse in a trap. He knew, no matter how many times Vessel told him that he wouldn’t, that Vessel could overpower him in an instant, shove him to the ground and take what he desired, and II cried through each of the endless nightmares.

It took months of work and agonizing setbacks for him to feel safe with Vessel touching him, and even more months for him to let him close enough to cuddle. III stumbled into their lives at the crossroads of healing and grieving, when II was letting go of his past to comfort Vessel through the loss of Sleep, and Vessel was the one who was terrified.

He didn’t want II to feel intimidated by another alpha, but III was so different to any other alpha that his presence sparked a deep curiosity in II. He was more submissive, listening to Vessel before himself, and II’s mind never registered him as a threat. It also helped that III lacks the overpowering strength that Vessel possesses, and he would rather let II pin him down than maintain that authority by reversing their roles.

III’s presence eased their tensions, and helped keep Sleep’s spirit around and strong.

His stomach still churns at the idea of sharing his past. When Sleep told him about His ability to share memories, he begged Him to not share his history. He still can’t bear it. His home was nothing, he had a family of faces he cannot remember. 

Knowing that IV came from a similar place makes him sick.

Group homes are the wretched joke of the industry, one that II can’t even repeat the true name of. Vessel came up with the alternative name when II threw up after listening to a discussion he was having with III. He grew up in one, the disastrous result of alphas failing the omegas that they had under their thumbs. They cared for him like he was their son, and he’s torn between missing their comfort and being so fucking happy that he isn’t stuck there anymore.

He grieved their autonomy with them, cried for them, brought them food and water, and stood up to the alphas for them. They loved him, and he loved them. But groups change the way that people think. It started with smaller tasks, every so often servicing an alpha who demanded that he had booked, and was furious that there was no one available. Then he became a novelty, a special treat for alphas at the end of their weeks, he still gets nauseous in restaurants on Fridays.

The other omegas with him held him when he shattered, when he started to give up on ever having a life outside of the darkness he lived in. It became nothing more than a pipe dream when he was forced to be a regular, and he lost himself. He stopped enjoying sex long before he even learned that it could be good, and it took Vessel countless attempts to make him feel comfortable, let alone make him feel good.

He yelps when someone knocks at his door, and III waves softly through the doorway. II wipes at his eyes– when the hell did he start crying? III comes in slowly, kneeling next to him. II shakes, and he pulls his knees tight to his chest. He still feels so fucking broken.

III inches closer and wraps his arms around him, and II unfolds to sob into his neck. III rubs his side, and II squeezes him until he stops crying.

“You’re safe, baby. It’s okay.” He murmurs, and II nestles into the crook of III’s shoulder, inhaling the ruddy scent there. He sobs against his skin and it makes an ugly sound that II wants to implode at, but III just holds him through it. He focuses on III beneath him, the texture of his shirt, and the zip-up he’s wearing over it.

He’s wearing a soft, heavily-worn heather shirt, and it’s almost heavenly to touch. The zip-up is his favourite one, a patchwork of reds and teals that II has definitely poked fun at for resembling some type of carpet before. It only made III love it even more. It’s the one bit of his history that remained with him, sewn up and patched by hand, painstakingly crafted.

II sniffles, rubbing his head against III’s neck, wanting his scent all over him.

“Hungry?” III asks. “Not to brag but…” and he totally means to brag, “I made some pretty damn good pancakes. Be a shame if they got cold,” he says, rubbing II’s side. He sniffs, nodding into III’s neck. “Okay,” he nods, “are you okay?”

“Will be.” He says. He can feel the way that III doesn’t really like the answer, but he knows it’s better than a no.

III brings him back upstairs, and II immediately feels Vessel’s attention fall on him, even if IV is curled up against his side, enjoying the comfort. II’s stomach twists and howls, and he has to force himself to eat the pancakes that III made. He knows they won’t stay down for very long, so he excuses himself again. 

Vessel’s eyes follow him as he leaves.

Chapter Text

III finds II an hour later; one meal lighter and still miserable, lost in his past. Every breath is lined with shaking, ending on broken sobs. He’s trying to keep them down, trying not to show just how sad he is, but III can see it clearly. He reaches out and sets his hand on II’s back, rubbing the soft dip of his spine. His rut is clawing at his insides, but he can’t bring himself to care when II is so despondent. 

He touches II’s hip and he flinches, III pulls away like he’s been burned. He puts his hand back on II’s spine, trying to comfort him through his jumper. He stays hidden in his bed, his arms curled tight around a pillow. He knows that distraction tends to help him, so he pulls his phone from his pocket, trying to find an album he’s familiar with.

He runs his fingers through II’s hair, turning the volume up to just the edge of noise. II is in such a delicate place, he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s ignoring him. He picks himself up from the bed at the familiar noises, resting heavily against III’s shoulder. They listen in silence, his jaw trembling every so often as the sobs come back.

He hasn’t seen II this upset in years, and it’s terrifying.

The last time he saw II break was when he was brand new to them, overhearing II sobbing from downstairs. He couldn’t keep himself away, he knew that Vessel wouldn’t hear them from the third floor. He cradled II and let him bawl his eyes out until he started pushing III away, closing himself off and putting up a front, keeping his feelings shoved down.

He’s been that way ever since. 

Stoic and hidden, III’s never known a II who wasn’t more stubborn than an ox about expressing his feelings. Getting him to talk is an art form, one that III is really bad at. 

He doesn’t understand what’s causing his sudden break, if it’s because of IV or if it’s because of something else. He wonders if their attention shifting to IV has caused II to feel unloved, or if there’s a deeper agony coming to the surface. He knows bits of II’s history, but not enough to make any conclusions about how he’s feeling.

III glances away from his phone to where II’s hands are fidgeting, seeing him starting to claw at his skin. He pauses the song and sets his phone aside to take II’s hands, cradling them gently. His hands are tiny in III’s palms, and something in II’s mind gives way.

He twists, laying back and presenting himself in a way that unnerves III, his eyes distant and hazy. He’s gazing off to a place that III can’t follow, probably to a place that doesn’t exist. III knows he should be being more careful– something is wrong, and he needs to go get Vessel, but he wants II so badly.

“Babe,” he says, and II’s eyes give a half-hearted flick down towards him. “Is this okay? You seem pretty upset still.” II nods, and III sits back. He wants more than a nod. II grunts when he doesn’t do anything, and finally speaks.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I know you need it.” He says, and it’s almost robotic. There’s no thought behind the words, monotonous and practiced. III curls his hand around II’s hip, tilting his head. His cock is screaming for him to accept his words as consent, but this isn’t II. It tears him apart, but he stands up and walks out of II’s room.

He has to ignore the soft whimper, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He stands in the hallway and sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“Fuck.”

He finds Vessel chatting softly with IV on the couch, talking about the documentary they’re watching. It’s Vessel’s favourite, about sharks and marine life, and he’s the only person that III knows who can make a two-hour documentary into the equivalent of a six-hour college class. He pauses at the edge of the space, and Vessel looks over at him.

“He’s not doing better.” He says.

“Shit,” Vessel shifts, standing up. IV looks up at him, confused. “What happened?”

“He just… he laid down and–” he gestures Vessel to come closer, he doesn’t want IV to hear this. They don’t need two miserable omegas. He steps forward and III whispers, “he laid down and just presented himself to me, like… like it was a job. Fuck, Vess, I feel awful.” He nudges into Vessel’s space, and Vessel pulls him into a hug.

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m gonna go talk to him.” He kisses III’s neck, rubbing his side. “IV,” he turns back to him, “do you feel okay if III stays out here?” He asks, and III waves at him. IV nods, smiling. III walks over to him and Vessel pads down the stairs, knocking on II’s door.

A soft noise greets him, and he peeks into the room.

II is laying in his bed, curled away from the door. He’s shaking, but it isn’t cold in the room, and Vessel sits on the bed behind him, gently touching his ankle.

“Darling?” He asks, and II sobs. “What’s wrong, love?” He crawls across the bed, which is barely any distance, laying behind II, holding his stomach. II flips over and shoves his face into Vessel’s neck. “What’s wrong?” II shakes.

“I…” his throat is so tight that his words come out strangled. “I don’t get it,” he cries, and Sleep slips into the room. He sits in the space between their legs, and II feels a hand run softly down his calf. His voice hums, something that Vessel isn’t privy to. II nods, and Sleep connects with Vessel, slowly giving him information.

The missing pieces of II’s past come to him, and his heart breaks. Suddenly, III’s words make too much sense. It was a job. It didn’t pay his bills, it didn’t pay for his food, it didn’t give him anything, but he was labour. Sleep feeds him information until there’s an explanation for everything; from why he had to come up with the alias for group homes to why II was so far gone when he met him. He finally understands why II hates Fridays and reading menus, why he always prefers takeout to dining in. Every grimace and upset squirm when a waiter asks for their interest in the specials suddenly makes sense, and he gets why he always wants III to stay at home and cook.

He understands with a slowness that he despises, what II is asking. Why IV is getting better so quickly, when he is still a broken man. When he still falls so easily into his old patterns, when he spent so long trying to understand that there was more to his life than dying. Vessel curls his hand around the back of II’s head, pulling him closer.

“Everyone heals differently. You were so broken, II. I’m so sorry,” he says, and he barely knows why he’s apologizing. He feels horrible for not noticing that II stopped helping himself heal, and knowing that it’s been years isn’t making it better. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, and II pulls him close. He wants a hug, and Vessel is more than happy to deliver.

He cradles II like a doll, kissing his hair. He circles his fingers in the short strands, and II slowly unwinds. His shoulders relax, and he settles into the space that Vessel’s body makes for him. II snuggles even closer to him, pressing into his chest.

Vessel hums to him softly, and II makes a broken sound. He looks down at him, but II doesn’t seem any more distressed than he was. He turns onto his back and pulls II onto his chest, pressing kisses down his jaw. He nips softly at the skin, nuzzling beneath his ear.

II giggles, and Vessel teases his fingertips across his ribs. He kisses II’s neck again, rubbing his side softly. Vessel’s ears twitch at a sudden burst of noise from upstairs, and II perks up as well.

“Wanna go see what they’re up to?” Vessel asks, and II nods.

They both head upstairs, finding III and IV on the couch, still watching the documentary that Vessel left on. III is happily taking up a solid half of the sofa, his arms over the back and arm of it. IV is perched on the other side of the sofa, his hands in his lap. II settles on the sofa next to IV and he uncurls slowly, calmer with a barrier between him and III.

Vessel sits next to II, laying his arm over his back. He waggles his fingers at III, who waves him off with a smile. IV smells II’s sadness, and he inches closer until II feels comfortable enough to cuddle right up to him. He lets II lay on his chest, giving his knees a rest. His weight presses him down into the sofa, and IV rubs his back.

He can’t stop the purr that works its way out of his chest, rumbling through the soft leather of the sofa and through II’s body. II makes a soft noise, and Vessel looks over at him, worried. IV purrs again, and II chirps and chokes, nestling into his neck, embarrassed.

IV can tell that he’s trying to mimic the purr, but he doesn’t know how.

It shatters IV’s heart into a million pieces. 

Purring is a natural, though often learned behavior that every single person knows, or so IV thought. It’s a pack-calming sound, soothing distressed pups and relieving tension. To learn that II doesn’t know how to purr is devastating. He didn’t grow up in a place that allowed the sound to exist, didn’t learn it from his mother or from a sibling. 

Vessel purrs at the two of them, his eyes soft, and III leans closer to them. He purrs the same way, more of a deep growl than a true purr, jagged and broken up by his breathing. Vessel purrs louder, and IV shivers at the otherworldly sound that rolls out of him. II makes another sound, a tiny snippet of it getting close to a purr, and he seems overjoyed. 

IV trills, purring more to encourage him. 

Documentary forgotten, IV and II exchange soft noises until II finally understands how, and he doesn’t stop. He purrs himself to sleep, and Vessel helps IV wriggle out from under him, laying II across III’s chest. His eyes are tired, and it isn’t long before he’s snoring. IV tucks himself under Vessel’s arm, and they chat through the end of the documentary. 

As the credits roll, Vessel pauses it and then turns the TV off, focusing back on IV. He rubs his back and IV presses against him, purring. 

“Are you up for anything else?” Vessel asks, keeping his voice low to not wake II and III.

“Can…” he presses up into Vessel’s arm, “can I see the rest of the house?”

“Of course. I could show you my room if you want. I’m up on the third floor,” he says, and IV nods. Vessel brings him upstairs, the floor much quieter than he expected. It feels like it’s blanketed in snow, the world muffled and tuned out. 

Vessel shows him the living room, the room lowly-lit with shades pulled over the few windows and skylights, and IV is immediately in love with it. There’s a small bay window beyond the edge of the sofa, the space obviously altered to accommodate the hearty amount of books stacked in it.

He wanders over to the window and Vessel follows, keeping an eye on him from a distance. He kneels on the cushion in front of the window, pulling the curtain back to peer out of it. The window looks simply out on the forest, but it doesn’t matter if the view is boring. 

IV can’t get over the nostalgic feeling, a new ball of emotion turning over in his chest.

His favourite comfort when he was younger was sleeping in the window nook in his room, listening to the rain patter against the windows. He hasn’t had a place where he could get that feeling in so long. His rooms in his previous homes were all closed off to the world, no windows to refresh the air and the roof too far away to hear the rain.

He presses himself into the nook, suddenly teary-eyed.

Vessel comes up behind him slowly. His fingertips meet IV’s shirt, slowly spreading out to press his palm into his shoulder, rubbing his back. IV’s jaw trembles and he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Y’alright?” Vessel asks, and IV marvels at the softness of his voice. He sniffles, nods.

“I’m okay. Just… haven’t, uhm… I haven’t seen a window like this in a while.”

“I’m… hoping that’s not bad?” He says, sitting next to IV at the window.

“I… had one when I was a kit. I loved it. I love these windows,” he runs his hand over the cushion’s edge, feeling the piped seam between his fingertips. “Think I used it more than my actual bed sometimes,” Vessel hums.

“I’ve been meaning to fix these for a while,” he runs his fingers over the cushions where the fabric is threadbare and splitting. His brow furrows just slightly, his lips pulling tight before relaxing. “I just… haven’t gotten around to it,” he murmurs. IV reaches out, taking his hand gently. Vessel looks up at him, smiling.

His eyes are still distant and sad, but it dissipates as IV reflects in his pupils.

“What was your window like?” He asks, and IV blinks at him.

“It was soft,” he says, looking back out the window. “I… I don’t remember what the cushions were made of. I covered them with blankets ‘cause I didn’t like the way they felt. I just liked being able to listen to the rain.”

Vessel hums again, and they both breathe in the quiet. The wind whispers softly against the glass, protecting them from the frigid fingers running down the panes. 

“Do you… read a lot?” IV asks, nodding to the books scattered around. 

“I write a lot,” he says, “but, um…” he trails off and the distance in his eyes returns, the pale blue blown out by the snowy reflection. He sighs. “Sleep was the avid reader of our pack,” he says, and there’s so much emotion in his voice that IV doesn’t know what to say. He worries he’s overstepped, but Vessel doesn’t seem too caged about the information. 

“He would spend hours up here. I didn’t know any of the titles He was reading. They’re all… beyond me, honestly.” IV tilts his head. Vessel seems like a well-read man, and while maybe not a bookworm, his vocabulary gives him away. He sees IV’s confusion and plucks a book from a pile, handing it to him. 

Scanning the cover, he instantly understands. 

The books around them are not written in English, not written in any language he’s ever seen before, though he doesn’t have a very large pool there. It’s runic, ancient and odd. 

“I think they have something to do with His ascension,” Vessel murmurs, and IV hands the book back to him. He sets it down with reverence, his fingertips lingering on the fraying spine. “He was always on another level, a different energy.” He muses, and Sleep wanders up the stairs, settling near them. He seems happy that Vessel is talking about Him with IV, and he gets the feeling that this runs deeper than he knows. 

“There’s a reason my room is up here,” he says. IV chirps, curious. “Someone’s room is up here as well,” he smiles, and Sleep sends them the equivalent of a bemused eye roll. He shimmers at Vessel, who makes a face and then relents. “We used to be mates. Well, ‘used to’ is a… strong word.” He says. “We still are, just… differently.”

Sleep hums, surging up toward Vessel to press a kiss to his hair before doing the same to IV. It’s odd, being kissed by a form he can barely see, someone who looks more like a ripple in space than a human, but Sleep is warm like one. His lips are gentle, and he swears he feels a hand on his shoulder. They all have the same weight that a physical being would, and IV is awestruck as Sleep slips out of the room again. 

“God, He loves you so much.” Vessel laughs, and IV looks at him with wide eyes. 

“He seems to love you as well,” IV says. Vessel nods.

“He does. We’re mates. I just… miss Him sometimes.” He murmurs. IV coos, slinking forward until Vessel pulls him into his arms. He snuggles right into them, purring softly. Vessel purrs back at him, the sound rumbling next to his ear, and IV feels at ease; safe. 

The wind howls again and IV shivers, and Vessel pulls him closer.

“C’mon, I’ll show you my room. It’s warmer there.”

Chapter Text

hi- thank you guys for sticking with me while i haven't updated in... so long. omg. i unfortunately have finally learned why english teachers force you to write outlines for stories. and i am REALLY regretting not doing that for this story!! so i'm rewriting it... from scratch... it'll be a bit different and stuff will definitely Change but i really want this to be. Good? LMAO

so, i'm gonna leave this version up as like... an abandoned? orphaned? work? whatever the ao3 term for it is. i know nothing. i just write. so that will come around... at some point. thjank you guys for all the love on this and i hope that you guys enjoy the rewritten version even more (ó﹏ò｡) THANK YOUUU i love you guys and appreciate every single comment and all the kind words