Chapter Text
JEAN IS AN IDIOT.
He knows he's in trouble, bare-feet pounding against the ground, long sticks scratching across his flushed, cold cheeks; weaving through branches and overgrown dead flowers. Jean's breaths are coming out in short, raspy pants. Brown, wild eyes darting around the quiet, misty woods, the chirps and crooning of wildlife around him sets his teeth on edge.
He shouldn't have stolen that fucking muffin, but he's goddamn hungry. Being an Omega while on the run is difficult, especially trying to fend for yourself. Everyone turns a blind eye to male Omegas.
They're considered useless. Pointless. Barren.
Unnecessary.
If you can't reproduce in this society, then what's the point of living? Jean endured too much of that bullshit living in his village, and even now, living on the streets, barely having enough clothing, hopping on trains, and sleeping in cardboard boxes; it's still the same treatment as before.
However, it's significantly worse than before, and Jean doesn't know how to handle it. Shutting down his emotions and repressing them seems to do the trick, but he's bound to blow up, right?
His mind is swirling with endless possibilities, imagining every worst-case scenario there is. Would he be put to death? Would they force him into a jail cell for the rest of his life? Would Jean have to find a mate to survive? He shuddered, he couldn't fucking imagine having one.
He's not suited to be mated to someone, especially an Alpha. The thought of giving up any semblance of control to submit to someone else makes his nose curl up, and forced his legs to propel forward, blood rushing through his veins, in his ears, as the wind whips around Jean's messy, ash-brown hair.
His lungs are screaming at him to stop, but he can't, Jean knows this. His body aches from overuse, and he's weak, stumbling forward as he narrowly dodged a branch, ducking as Jean sucked in a sharp breath. Fuck, if he didn't move fast enough, he was going to get himself killed.
Or worse.
Being fucking mated.
Jean's eyes are watery as he continued to sprint, holding his tattered denim jacket closer to his gaunt frame, ripped jeans hanging from the brown-haired boy's waist, his grey hoodie smudged in the dirt. He had shoes at some point until the asshole decided to steal them when he was sleeping once, forcing Jean to be barefoot.
He felt his chest seize with pain, grappling onto him as Jean lost his footing, letting out a strangled cry as he tumbled downward, feeling sticks and rocks prob into his pale flesh as Jean continued to roll further down. His head spun with dizziness as he slammed against a tree, his back erupting into hot-white agony.
“Fuck!” Jean shouted, gasping as his breath is knocked from his chest, rolling onto his side as he heaved, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the onslaught of tears. Jean is quivering, the wispy air of autumn leaves his teeth chattering.
He's exhausted, struggling to stand up. Pain radiates from his head to his back, and Jean knows it's going to be sore and bruised for a couple of weeks. His body is too fragile, and he loathes that word, but it's the truth. Jean can't recover or heal himself that well anymore.
Embarrassingly so, he can't shift into his wolf, and he feels the disconnect; he can feel his Omega weakening each day, and with Jean not being able to feed himself properly, their connection is sparse.
After a few minutes passed, Jean forced himself onto his knees, ignoring the wave of nausea and dizziness that wracked a shudder down his frame, before standing up on wobbly knees. He needs to go— before they catch him.
Fuck, Jean thinks, as he grasped onto a tree, eyes unclear, his head throbbed and ached; a trickle of blood rolled down Jean's temple, and he cursed. He reached up to wipe away the blood with his sleeve, coughing as Jean continued to trudge through the thick branches and leaves.
Why did Jean have to be an idiot? He struggled to walk, tripping a couple of times, coughing and heaving as he attempted to not puke his guts out. He's shivering, teeth chattering, and his feet are bruised and bloodied from stepping onto too many sharp rocks and branches.
Jean doesn't know if he'll make it, but as he weakly pushed a branch away, the brown-haired male noticed an opening. It's small but big enough for Jean to slip through.
As he walked closer, he noticed it was a cave; a small space with a huge tree branch hanging over the opening, with flowers spurting from the ground and inside. The scent is earthy and misty, the downpour from the rain earlier still lingering near. Jean twisted his head, gnawing on his bottom lip.
Fuck it.
He carefully slipped down into the tight opening, wiggling himself around until he found a comfortable spot. Pulling his knees to his chest, Jean wrapped his arms around them, pressing his face against the rough fabric of his jeans, chin propped onto his knees.
Jean trembled, bottom lip quivering as tremors wracked through his thin frame. The sun had set an hour ago, and the weather has dropped significantly, goosebumps rippling across the boy's skin. He hoped with the heavy rain from earlier, and his fading scent, nobody will be able to scout Jean out. With that thought, he closed his eyes, snuggling into his jacket for warmth.
When Jean awoke from his slumber, the barest of sunlight warmed his tired body. His mouth felt dry and empty, tongue heavy, sparks of pain emitting from his back and head; a familiar sensation builds up in the back of his throat, and Jean can't bring himself to keep it down as he rolled over and puked.
Heaving as spit dribbled from his tongue and onto the rock, solid ground, Jean spat as he shuddered, puking once again. His nose stung, muscles cramping as he vomited, squeezing his eyes shut with a quiet groan.
A few minutes pass as dizziness swarmed around him, forcing him to roll onto his other side, curling up as Jean wiped saliva and vomit from the corners of his mouth.
Jean inhaled shakily, burying his face into the crook of his arm, miserably failing to keep himself warm. Jean wanted to burst into tears, fucking wishing he could have a place to go back to, but he doesn't. The smell of puke is strong, and it almost triggers another surge of vomit to bubble up in his throat. Jean is praying in his mind to hold it down, and with enough resilience, he does.
His mind is rapidly spiraling, as horrid thoughts invade the space in Jean's head. The boy doesn't want to stay in this space forever, but he also doesn't want to be back on the street again.
He's torn. A war rages in his mind until he hears a voice. It's distant, and Jean has to strain his ears, barely catching onto what the person is saying.
“What do you...” and then, it's inaudible, forcing Jean to huff underneath his breath. He struggled to sit up, ignoring the immediate pain coursing through his veins as Jean shuffled on his ass, gnawing on his bottom lip because fucking hell, his head is pounding and so is his back.
He doesn't want to see how bad it is.
“Connie, are you sure?”
“Yes, Mikasa! I'm sure.”
”Then, what does it smell like, and where is it coming from?”
Jean freezes. His heart catches in his throat. Fuck, do they smell him? There's no way in hell they do. His scent is practically nonexistent.
Footsteps are approaching closer to where Jean is settled, and he internally cursed, pushing his small frame against the wall, carefully placing his hands underneath his bum.
Jean hears someone sniffing, and then, more steps. Even though Jean's smell isn't the best, he catches a whiff.
Two scents.
Alpha and something else, if Jean had to guess— it would be a Beta or a shape-shifter who could change their scent. From what Jean has gathered, the boy is the Alpha, and his name is Connie. The other one, she's a girl, and her name is Mikasa. However, Jean can't decipher if she's a Beta or a shape-shifter.
Either way, Jean is screwed.
“It smells like vomit,” Another sniff, “and fear, anxiety, and—”
“And what, Connie?”
“An Omega.”
He's fucking screwed. There's no way in hell Jean is going to make it out alive, and Jean holds his breath, heart ferociously pounding against his chest. He's desperately trying calm to himself down, but his insides are twisting, and his throat is tight and parch, forcing Jean to swallow any remaining spit in his mouth.
Soon enough, he can see two sets of shoes in front of the cave, and Jean scrambled back, brown eyes wide. He's fucking petrified, chest seizing with panic as his hand slipped on his vomit, making him grimace with disgust.
“Fucking disgusting,” Jean whispered, tearing his gaze away and wiping it on the cave's walls. There are murmurs, and the two sets of shoes don't leave. They're shifting, and Jean attempted to shrink back against the wall as much as he could. Why is his luck shit?
“We know that you're in there,” The shapeshifter— or Mikasa, speaks, her voice firm and emotionless, “We also know that you're an Omega, and you have walked into our territory. We'll give you two options—”
“Mikasa! You promised you would be nice,” Connie whines.
“He's walked into our territory— imagine how Eren will react to that,” Mikasa hissed, and they're quietly arguing back and forth before a sigh escaped Connie's lips.
“Listen— you have two options Mikasa stated. You can either come with us, and we'll escort you to our pack leader, Eren. Or—”
“Or we can get orders from Eren, and kill you.”
Jean tenses up fear pooling in his veins as he debated his choices. They're not amazing, and Jean doesn't know if they're being honest, either. Pack leader? And who the fuck is Eren, anyway? Shakily breaths escape the Omega's mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing to calm his frayed nerves. Anxiety blanketed him, drowning Jean in endless possibilities.
“You have three seconds, or we'll decide for you.”
“One, two, th—”
Jean quickly pushed himself forward, crawling out the cave as the two backed up to give him enough space to wiggle from the tight opening. Jean's legs are unsteady as he stands up, quivering as the breeze rushed past his thin frame. They're staring at him, now, making Jean narrow his chestnut eyes into slits.
The girl— Mikasa — has black, short locks, curtaining her sharp face; pale skin, and grey, stormy eyes that held no emotion. She's wearing a white blouse with a tan jacket, black jeans, and black shoes. A simple red scarf is securely wrapped over her neck, with gloves on her hands. Her cheeks and nose are tinged with red, indicating she's been out here for some time.
The boy— Connie — has a sharp jaw, with an outgrown buzz cut. He's of average build, wearing a black hoodie, a grey jacket, and black jeans. His shoes are black as well, and he's also wearing gloves, except they have weird designs on them. Connie's nose and cheeks are also red, but he's not wearing a scarf, and his eyes are wracking over Jean's trembling body.
The sight alone makes Jean step back, his foot catching onto a stick.
“Ow! Fuck!” Jean swore, quickly glancing down and removing his foot from the source of pain, shoulders raised as he noticed both of their gazes on his bare feet.
Jean knows he should keep his mouth shut, but his insecurities and his short-temper work against him.
“What the hell are you two dickheads looking at!?” Jean bites, eyes hardened and narrowed. Mikasa stepped forward, but Connie laid his hand on her shoulder, a frown plastered across his lips.
Mikasa frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, “We must escort you to our pack leader, Eren. You're an Omega—”
Anger flared in Jean's chest, fists balling up against his sides. With the way Mikasa is staring at him, although her eyes are blank, her face is screwed up in revulsion; and Connie, he's staring at Jean with an unreadable expression, but he's releasing comforting pheromones, and Jean hates the way it soothed some of his unreasonable anger.
“Don't call me that!” Jean shouted, stepping back further, rapidly glancing between Connie and Mikasa. They're staring at each other, seemingly communicating with their eyes, before Connie stepped forward, his hands held up in a placating manner.
It pisses Jean off even more.
“Hey, man, whatever you've been through or something, you're safe now. As long as you come with us dude, you'll be safe, alright?” Connie's mouth twisted upward, and it was a tight smile, but it was full of gentleness.
Mikasa nodded, “Yes, our pack leader Eren, he'll do something,” her tone isn't soft, but it isn't unkind, either.
Jean knows he can't be escorted to whoever the fuck Eren is— from the way Mikasa and Connie speak of him, he's an Alpha, and he's the one in charge, and Jean can't fucking allow himself to have someone control him.
He tried to control his scent, but it was spiraling, and Connie knows; he was releasing even more pheromones to soothe Jean, but the boy has made up his mind.
Jean bolts.
He doesn't know where the fuck he's going, but Jean is sprinting, propelling himself forward, his breaths coming out short and choked. He can hear Mikasa and Connie shouting, but he only pushed himself harder.
His legs ache and burn, his heart beating, and Jean can hear them catching up. Their feet are loud and hard against the soil, and Jean runs faster, lungs constricting with each breath that slips from Jean's lips. He noticed a river up ahead, and turned his head, cursing under his breath as he watched Connie and Mikasa emerge from the trees.
“Hey! Come back here, Omega!” Connie shouted, jumping over a branch as he and the girl approached closer.
Jean trudged through the murky water, huffing as he struggled, panting. Soon enough, Jean hears water splash behind him, trepidation rushing through his veins as Jean hauled himself over a branch.
His grip is weak though, and he groans as pain flashed through his body, almost forcing himself to let go of the branch. Jean panted as the brown-haired male pulled himself onto dry land, shuddering.
Adrenaline is pumping and working through Jean as he shakily pulled himself onto his knees, vomiting projectiles across the ground. He needs to get up and move, but he can't, as tremors wracked through Jean's exhausted body.
“Hey, Omega!” The shout is faint, and low in Jean's ears, as he tastes the all-familiar copper sensation in his mouth before spitting onto the ground, noticing the blood. Jean squeezed his eyes shut as dizziness and nausea rushed through Jean's body, forcing another wave of vomit from his mouth.
He needs to move— needs to get up and run, run, run.
Jean can't, though. He's too unsteady, wobbly, sluggish; no matter how hard Jean tries to move, he vomits, head pulsating with agony. His throat is dry, his mouth caked in dried blood, and he puked.
“Omega!”
Before Jean could hear the rest of Connie's voice over the thundering in the boy's ears, he succumbs to darkness, boundless and dreamless.