Chapter Text
Happily ever after, all the stories had ended when Aziraphale was a pup. The Alpha wooed the Omega, they fell desperately in love, maybe were met with challenge or adversity along the way, but eventually love prevailed: they got married, and settled down to have litters of pups of their own. And Aziraphale’s clan was wealthy, so he was close enough to being a prince, and that just meant that someday he’d have his own Alpha prince to run away with, or maybe a noble shepherd or a strapping blacksmith or dashing pirate, but happily ever after was the key part. It was the promise at the end, the reward for whatever hardships the heroes had to go through. And they lived happily ever after.
Thirty years later, Aziraphale knows that happily ever after is just a faerie story told to pups when they’re afraid of the dark. A story to keep the Omegas in line, when they start to realize how unfair their lot in life really is. Happily ever after is a lie.
***
Aziraphale’s marriage to Gabriel was arranged before either of them would have even been old enough to remember, uniting two powerful clans and other political details Aziraphale never paid much attention to, or was even told about. It wasn’t his responsibility, after all; his job was to produce pups: offspring to carry on the clan name and inherit the assets, and extras to be married off into similar arrangements like his own with Gabriel. Otherwise he would lead a life of leisure; their clans and families were wealthy enough that he wouldn’t be expected to participate in raising any of pups he produced (though a not insignificant part of him wanted to), and he wouldn’t have to worry his “silly little Omega head” about finances or politics or anything beyond the hope that he could at least bring some of his favorite books with him when he finally married Gabriel and moved into the massive mansion his future Alpha would one day inherit. That their relationship might be cordial, if not one day become love.
Aziraphale knew that some engaged couples spent lots of time together, had to be chaperoned so they didn’t “get themselves into trouble”, and that idea excited him at first, but Gabriel was very obviously uninterested. They formally “met” only twice before they were married: once when the betrothal was arranged when they were both young children, and a second time when Gabriel had reached sexual maturity, when he scarred a mating bite into Aziraphale’s shoulder to indicate his intention to go through with the match, briefly surrounding Aziraphale with his scent. Mating bites had always seemed exciting and romantic in Aziraphale’s stories, often given in a moment of passion, when the Alpha could barely restrain himself long enough for the Omega to consent, but Gabriel’s bite seemed almost perfunctory -- barely touching him, just deep enough to leave a scar, but no more. Aziraphale’s Omega father had even encouraged him to apply a special cream to make sure that the scar would heal properly, raised and visible to anyone who might see, a sign that he belonged to someone, and was not to be trifled with.
Gabriel generally ignored him when they wound up at the same social events, which wasn’t even very frequent. Aziraphale avoided those kinds of formal parties as much as he could, always preferring the company of his books to his supposed social cohort, but when he had no choice but to attend, Gabriel would avoid him almost entirely, pausing only to greet him as his future mate, and then was forever engaged in conversation with others the few times Aziraphale did seek him out. Their eyes and their scents always made him feel like he was intruding, so he gave up, and since no one was actually pushing them to spend time together, they didn’t.
Aziraphale’s heats began late, late enough that his fathers had considered taking him to a healer to make sure nothing was wrong, but begin they eventually did, so a wedding was hastily arranged. The less said about the wedding night, the better, and Aziraphale was moved into his own wing of Gabriel’s family home, left almost completely alone except when Gabriel somehow found out he was in heat (Aziraphale suspected the Beta servants of spying on him), and came to make Aziraphale “take care of his responsibilities”…
Whether he wanted to or not seemed immaterial.
Aziraphale’s heats were irregular, at best, sometimes not appearing at all in a given year, and none of his cycles resulted in pups, despite Gabriel’s efforts. After almost a decade of failures, a healer was summoned, a series of invasive and humiliating tests were done, and a conclusion was reached…
Aziraphale, who had been told his entire life that his only value was in his ability to breed, was sterile.
***
Gabriel wanted the marriage annulled as quickly as possible, and since Aziraphale’s obligation to produce pups had been key to the original agreement, his own clan had very little ability to argue. They lost all of the connections and wealth that came with being associated with Gabriel’s clan, and had themselves fallen on somewhat hard times after Aziraphale’s marriage, so in what seemed like no time at all, Aziraphale went from the pampered husband of the lead Alpha of a powerful clan to all but living on the street. Even his own parents refused to take him back, since his sterility meant he couldn’t be married to another for any kind of advantage; he had no marketable skills, since all his life he’d been told he had only one responsibility, one he could not perform. He had no friends to rely on, having spent his whole life isolating himself with his books. He was alone.
He could read and write and do basic sums, but few shopkeepers would hire Omegas; besides, an adult, mature Omega without an Alpha to belong to was an oddity most people chose to steer clear of, out of a combination of social prejudice and superstition. There was, a particularly cruel Alpha pointed out, one skill he did have, and Aziraphale had been so flustered, he’d had no idea how to respond.
His fancy clothes had been sold first, traded for clothing that at least allowed him to fit in somewhat in the flop house he’d secured a room, one that was smaller than the closet he’d had at Gabriel’s home and shared with another, a Beta fallen on hard times, too. The few trinkets and jewelry he’d managed to keep had gone next, sold to an Alpha who’d implied he’d stolen them, but Aziraphale didn’t care; all he cared about was keeping his clan signet ring, now hidden on a leather thong tied around his neck. He didn’t know why he kept it, to be honest; it was clear how little they had cared about him, but keep it, he did.
That money was spent all too quickly, and his one attempt at begging on the street had gotten him nothing but kicks in the shins and an Alpha attempting to drag him into an alley before three others pulled the brute off him and one dismissively told him to go home. When he got back to the flop house, bruised and battered but what virtue he had left intact, his Beta roommate had stared at him for a long time, and then made a suggestion.
Aziraphale was appalled at first, but the more he thought about what Tracy had said, the more it made sense. And she knew a little about the business, having been in and out of it herself before her last pimp had declared her too old for this kind of work, love, and kicked her out for good. She told Aziraphale that his appearance and background would be an asset, and directed him to one of the better-run establishments, one where he was less likely to be beaten just for being present, and where he’d probably have to pay slightly less of a fee for the room and pleasure of the madam looking out for him and all the rest.
***
The madam, Michael, liked to call him her “pedigree whore”, since the shape and details of his body revealed his upbringing as soon as he walked into a room, before he even opened his mouth, and she could smell how it upset him every time. His round features and chubby body were a sign of a childhood with easy access to food. The shape of his ears and snout said quite a bit about his breeding. And the fact that his tail was docked – a practice that had been popular among the wealthy families when he was a child, but had since fallen out of style – made it impossible for him to pretend to be anything other than what he was: abandoned, lost to the wealth and privilege he once had, fallen from grace.
His sterility was even a kind of twisted positive here; she could charge more for him when he was in heat, without running the risk of pups coming from the encounter. It made him very popular with a certain kind of Alpha, and it made him feel positively filthy every time, but it wasn't like he had a choice. As she liked to point out, her protection was all that stood between him and much worse things that could happen to an unattached Omega, and did he really want to risk going it on his own?
She provided him with a room that was decorated the way a poor person might think a rich person would live: florid and overcrowded, but shabby at the edges. Still, he was allowed to live there, too, and it didn’t have the problems with rats or roaches that the flop house had done, and he was even allowed to keep his books, half-hidden on a shelf behind one of the curtains disguising the walls as more than just simple wood.
At first, she had him serve the normal customers, but he became almost popular, so reserved him for a certain set of clientele: nouveau riche Alphas who wanted to feel like Old Money by fucking an Omega that was so clearly from that sort of stock; Alphas who could afford to take advantage of his higher rates when he was in heat, who either didn’t have Omegas of their own, or especially got off on the lack of control Aziraphale had over his own body when the heat took him over; and angry Alphas who hated the moneyed class, but who had enough money of their own afford to take it out on Aziraphale’s body rather than try to make any real changes in the world.
Raphael, the brothel’s healer, generally had to visit Aziraphale after that third kind of client, his magic soothing at it repaired the damage, his expression both sad and furious. Aziraphale sometimes wondered what blackmail or other power Michael had over Raphael, that he stayed and cleaned up her messes, but he never felt it would be alright to ask.
***
It was just another normal day – or, rather, night – at the brothel, when a rowdy group came in, loud enough that Aziraphale snuck out of his room to see what all the commotion was about. It seemed like a group of about half a dozen had come in together: sailors, from their clothes, and from the southern continent, from their horns and scales, and their scents, no doubt, though Aziraphale was too far away to tell, and the overwhelming scent of lust that permeated the main room would have washed them out anyway. Despite the commotion, though, they seemed remarkably respectful of the Omegas and Betas scattered around the main room, both those serving food and drink, and the ones on display, whose time could be bought. Aziraphale had been taught all kinds of horrible things about “those barbarians from the South”, but he’d learned that those were lies long before he’d learned certain other facts about the world he lived in, and he’d found that the occasional Southern Alpha who bought his time were no worse than most of the Northern ones were, and better than many.
The one who seemed to be the leader observed the group as they settled in, and when he seemed pleased that his crew were occupied, he headed over to the bar, where Camael poured drinks and Uriel sat in an obvious spot, ready to make arrangements and take payment. Aziraphale was just barely able to hear as the leader tossed a small heavy, leather bag onto the bartop in front of Uriel, who picked it up and weighed it in their hand.
“Consider that a down payment,” the man said, and Uriel smiled that slim smile of theirs, “and keep your usual record of whatever else we owe. I’ll pay up at the end of the night.”
“And for yourself, sir?” they asked, reaching behind the bar for their ledger and opening it to jot some notes.
“I’m looking for something…particular,” he said, and Aziraphale sighed, going back into his room to get ready before Sandalphon would inevitably be sent to collect him.