Chapter Text
March 2008
“Mom…it hurts.”
Shane was curled up tightly on his bed, his breaths coming in small, uneven pants whenever the pain eased enough to let him breathe. The cramps were hitting him in waves now, so strong that he felt like he was going to pass out. The air in his room felt wrong, too sharp and too heavy. He could even smell it.
His scent had always been warm, a soft vanilla mixed with clean cotton. Now it clung too heavily in the air, overly sweet, but jagged at the edges. Something metallic threaded through it, thin and wrong. It made his stomach twist harder, the scent of fear and pain bleeding into the air around him.
"Breathe, Shane, you have to breathe through them."
His mom leaned in closer as she spoke, and Shane could feel her cedar-dark scent wrapping around him instinctively, steady and grounding in a way that usually calmed him when he was overwhelmed or upset. He tried to focus on that instead. On her scent and on the low, even tone of her voice. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He counted to four, and started over.
He'd done this before. Countless times. In loud arenas, before games, when the hum and the press of people packed too close together started to get to him. It always helped to keep the panic at bay.
But every time he caught his breath, another wave of pain crashed through him and the rhythm broke apart.
No one warned him that presenting would feel like this. Sure, he’d had his share of sexual education classes. Omegas took separate classes altogether once they reached high school, so he knew of presentations and heats. Books said that they were different depending on the person, with some omegas just waking up with light cramping, blood on their sheets, and a brand new status, while others experienced more severe pain.
Shane had woken up that morning uncomfortable with his shorts tinged a watery pink. That part made sense, in terms of what was supposed to happen. His presentation was bound to come sooner or later. He just hadn’t expected it to continue into feeling like this, a crushing and relentless pain that he couldn’t quite categorize.
At first he’d tried to map it to something familiar. A pulled muscle or a bruised rib. He was only sixteen, but he had his fair share of those kinds of injuries. Hockey wasn’t for the weak. But he couldn’t fit this kind of pain into any of those categories.
And this pain didn’t stay put. It tightened. It built and released and then came back stronger.
Shane whined through it all, sweating so much that his clothes were soaked through, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Nothing he did helped, and Shane hated that he couldn't control it.
His mom moved in and out of his room with steady purpose, bringing water, little snacks that he didn’t really eat, and cool cloths for his forehead. They’d talked about this before. Presentation. What it might feel like, what was normal. She’d always said they would handle it together when the time came.
His dad lingered near the doorway, hovering just inside the room. He fetched whatever she asked for without question, and at one point came close enough to rest his hand briefly on Shane’s ankle through the blanket. Just for the moment, just enough to let him know he was there, offering quiet encouragement that drifted in and out of Shane’s awareness. His scent helped too, milder, but just as steady as his mom’s. It smelled like normalcy and made Shane think that eventually everything would be okay.
But five hours in, something changed.
His moans broke into full, raw cries as the waves hit him harder than anything before. His eyes flew open as he struggled to sit up, muscles locking as the pain shifted lower and heavier inside him. The pain felt more like a pressure, deep and wildly unsettling.
It didn’t help that he felt wet beneath his blankets. Not just sweat, something thicker, and warmer. He shoved the blanket away, shifting uncomfortably in his spot.
He could hear his mother’s sharp intake of air, the scent in the room changing as she took in what he hadn’t looked at yet. Even his dad looked alarmed, stepping closer to the bed.
Eventually Shane followed her gaze downward and saw the blood, more than he had expected, blooming dark against the loose fabric of his shorts. This was too much. This wasn’t what the books had described.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. “This…this can’t be right?”
For once, his mom didn’t argue or hesitate. She nodded and glanced toward his dad, meeting his eyes.
“We have to take him to the hospital.”
They worked as a team to get Shane to the car, stopping every few moments because Shane was stumbling.
“I- I can’t, I can’t,” he was whispering, but he did get into the car and his mom all but sped on the way to the nearest emergency room. Shane tried to focus on breathing, his eyes squeezed shut as he slumped in the car.
The hospital was worse than he could imagine. The lights were too bright and the smells were too strong, everything mixing together into an overwhelming mess that made Shane want to hide.
He was taken back almost immediately. Suddenly there were hands everywhere. A cuff squeezing his arm. Cold fingers pressing against his wrist. Questions directed at his parents, not him.
His mom answered everything efficiently, keeping one hand on Shane’s shoulder as she spoke. She went into detail about how she assumed this was his presentation that started early this morning, but it had been hours and the pain had escalated past a threshold that they could no longer treat at home.
Shane was trying his best to listen, the pain hadn’t exactly stopped now that they were there. He was barely holding on, grabbing blindly at the railing of the bed he had been placed in.
It truly felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. Maybe this was the worst case scenario. Maybe something so terribly wrong had happened inside him that no one would be able to fix. That the pain would just keep building and building until there was nothing left of him.
The nurse checking his vitals exchanged a look with another nurse who was trying to place an IV in his arm.
“Is he sexually active?”
The question cut through the noise in his head, and his eyes flickered open, but he didn’t dare look up at his mother. He could feel her reaction, regardless, with the way her posture stiffened, and her grip unintentionally tightened on Shane’s shoulder.
“No,” she replied immediately. “Of course not. He’s sixteen.”
The nurse’s eyes flicked down to Shane. He managed to glance up, mouth parting to speak, but another wave of pain seized him, stealing his breath and stopping whatever he was going to say.
He doubled forward as much as the bed allowed, fingers tightening around the railing as he groaned.
A doctor stepped into the space then, snapping gloves into place as he approached. Shane felt the air shift with his arrival, but there was no distinct scent change. That made sense since hospital staff were all required to wear medical-grade scent suppression patches.
“Shane?” the doctor said, moving closer to the bed. “Where is the pain centered? Can you tell me?”
“My stomach,” he gasped, and the doctor nodded, reaching for the blanket.
“I’m going to need to look, okay?” Shane managed a small nod and the doctor swept the blanket away. His shirt was lifted, the air against his damp skin feeling too cold and leaving him feeling too exposed. The doctor’s fingers pressed carefully into his abdomen. The skin felt tight beneath his touch, muscles tensing automatically as he fought the instinct to curl inward again.
The doctor’s hand paused for a second.
“Is there any chance you could be pregnant, Shane?”
It took him a long moment to process the question, just barely registering what was being asked of him.
Pregnant? Him?
“They already asked if he was sexually active, so there’s no chance—” His mom cut in quickly from beside the bed.
The doctor didn’t look at her immediately. He was still focused on Shane, watching the way his brow furrowed, hesitation clear as day.
“Mrs. Hollander,” the doctor said calmly, finally glancing towards her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Shane privately.” Shane could feel the shift in his mother, the wave of protectiveness obvious without even having to look up at her. She was his mother. His alpha. She wasn’t going to leave without it being absolutely necessary. She stepped closer to the bed.
“It will only be a moment,” one of the nurses said gently, clearly attempting to ease the tension. “There are still some forms we need you to complete. We won’t be far. He’ll be in good hands.”
His mom hesitated, looking between her and Shane. Eventually she reached to brush her hand against Shane’s shoulder. “I’ll be right outside,” she said, and then slipped away with the nurse. His dad followed her, giving the doctor the privacy he needed.
“Shane,” the doctor said as soon as his parents were gone, directing the remaining nurse to get blood from him. “I need to know if you’ve been sexually active. You aren’t in trouble. This is important.”
Shane breathed in and out quickly, sniffling and looking down at his still bare stomach.
“Just…Just once.” His voice was quiet, but the doctor nodded in understanding.
“And you haven’t had a heat cycle before? Your mom is saying this is your presentation?”
“That’s what she’s been saying. That’s what I thought it was. Is that not what this is?”
The remaining nurse finished taking Shane’s blood and slipped out of the area. “That’s what we’re going to figure out. Is the pain coming and going? You seem to be able to breathe a little better right now.”
“Yeah,” Shane managed to say, “It still hurts, but right now isn’t as bad-” He cut off with a whimper as another wave rolled through him.
The doctor placed his hand on Shane’s abdomen again, watching his face as the pain crested. At the same time the curtain to his area rustled and the nurse stepped back in, his mom following immediately behind her. She went right back to his side, reaching to take one of his hands.
The nurse silently handed the doctor a paper, sharing a knowing look with him after he scanned the paper quickly. “I’ll need an ultrasound, quickly.” The nurse left immediately.
“Ultrasound?! Why would he need an ultrasound?” His mom was stiff at Shane’s side, looking in between Shane and the doctor.
“I’d just like to take a look at what is going on. His blood tests were showing that certain levels were particularly high, and I think the ultrasound could confirm or deny certain diagnoses immediately.”
Shane was whimpering from the bed again, his hand squeezing his mother’s tightly enough that she looked down at him instead of staring down the doctor, going soft at the edges at the sight of her son. “They’re going to figure it out, Shane.”
The ultrasound machine was brought in quickly, wheeled beside the bed. The nurse adjusted Shane’s bed and then helped lift Shane’s shirt, spreading cool gel across his abdomen that made Shane flinch. The probe was placed down gently, and then it was quickly sweeping over the skin.
The doctor was staring at the screen, and Shane couldn’t see the monitor, but he watched the doctor’s face for any reaction. The doctor reached to flip a switch and a loud whooshing sound filled the area. It sounded like static-y noise at first, but soon it became obvious that there was a rhythm to it. A whoosh-whoosh-whoosh that sounded suspiciously like…a heartbeat. It was turned off a moment later, but the probe stayed on his stomach while the doctor adjusted it, his eyes on the monitor.
He then looked down at Shane, voice just as calm as it had been when he walked in. “You’re pregnant, Shane. And based on your symptoms, you’re in labor.”
“What?” They both said at once, voices mingling in disbelief. Before anything else could be said, Shane was crying out again as another cramp hit him, harder than before, his body trying to curl inward. “I…I can’t!” he sobbed.
“Call OB,” the doctor said firmly to the nurse, who rushed to the phone. “We need labor and delivery immediately.”
“Okay, Shane, what you’re experiencing are contractions, not cramps, and from what I’ve noticed, they’re not that far apart. That sound you heard? That was your baby’s heartbeat.”
A few nurses came rushing into the room and prepared to move Shane, unlocking the bed and adjusting the rails. “It was strong. That means the baby is tolerating the contractions well. Our priority and main focus would be on you now and delivering safely.”
His mom seemed to snap out of whatever daze she was in the moment the nurses started to push Shane’s bed out of the area, following as they moved through the ER and headed presumably for the elevator that would take him to labor and delivery.
Shane was shaking in fear now, overstimulated from the pain and the activity around him. He didn’t understand what was happening. He didn't understand how. He couldn’t be in labor, with a baby? An entire baby? He didn’t realize he was sobbing until he felt his mother’s fingers on his cheek, brushing the tears away.
“Shh,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “They’re going to take care of you. You’re okay, baby, I’m right here.”
Shane searched her face, terrified.
He couldn’t tell if she was angry.
Or worse, disappointed in him.
Everything was a rush after that. He arrived in the labor and delivery department and there was a new doctor, an alpha woman that had a certain sternness in her voice. She softened her speech when referring to Shane, however, and he couldn’t tell if he hated or appreciated it. He was sensitive, between the pain of what was happening and also learning that he was actually pregnant.
They hooked him up to monitors and an IV, wrapping a special band around his stomach that monitored the baby's heart rate. It also seemed to track his contractions. It was quickly confirmed that they were actually 5 minutes apart, which meant a lot, but it meant more that he was apparently 6 cm dilated. The check for that made Shane physically feel sick.
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” she said, smiling at Shane and his mother before she left. They’d been informed that all he had to do was wait.
His dad also got to come into this room and Shane felt some of the tension ease out of him at the sight of him, gratefully accepting the hug and the kiss to his forehead. “You’re alright,” he told him, brushing back his hair. Shane wanted to believe him, truly, but he knew this wasn’t just a bad hit or a broken bone. It wasn’t something that would heal with ice, rest, and time. This was a baby, an entire human life that had somehow been growing inside of him – inside of his very flat stomach.
“How did this happen, Shane?” His mother’s words were quiet, but no less powerful. “Who did this to you?”
Shane had been waiting for those words. His mother had probably been waiting to ask, waiting until he wasn’t writhing in pain before she actually asked. “Mom, I…”
“Shane. This is—”
She didn’t finish her words because she could see when Shane’s face started to scrunch up, and a quick glance at the monitor showed he was experiencing another contraction.
The rest of the experience was a blur of time.
Shane existed.
He cried, he whined, he pushed. He screamed. He’d later realize he dissociated in order to cope with the circumstances. Eventually he heard a baby cry, and a wet, wriggly human was placed on his bare chest.
Shane stared at her (a girl, he’d given birth to a girl!), his eyes blurry enough that he had to blink a few times. “She’s beautiful,” he heard, but it sounded muffled to his ears as he carefully reached to touch her. She was still crying, but she calmed as Shane cupped under her bottom. She had turned her face instinctively into his chest, sniffling softly against his skin, and Shane realized with a quiet sort of wonder that underneath the metallic smell of blood, she smelled just like him. Maybe a little more vanilla than the clean cotton, but similar nonetheless. She made a little whining noise and then went completely quiet, obviously content.
Something twisted in Shane’s chest.
“Here, let me clean her up a little,” a nurse said quietly, breaking the moment by gently scooping his daughter up and carrying her over to a nearby area to clean and clothe her. Shane’s eyes followed her for a moment before the doctor pulled his attention back, pressing down on his stomach and making him groan weakly. “Afterbirth,” she said quietly, smiling gently up at Shane.
Shane had no idea what that was, but he felt the urge to push again so he did, gasping when a wet fleshy thing passed out of him.
“Good, good… okay. I think you’ll need a stitch or two,” she murmured, and it was a flurry of activity again, nurses cleaning in between his legs, and the doctor working quietly. Shane let his eyes find the baby in the crib nearby and just stayed there.
His mom and dad were cooing over her, clearly in awe, and Shane just wanted to feel her again.
“Mom,” he said weakly, and she glanced at him, smiling gently. “You did good, baby.”
Shane preened at the praise, even though he knew it wasn’t for long. “I want to see her.”
The doctor finished and finally, finally, they shifted and closed his legs and pulled the blanket back up his body. “You’re good, Shane. We’ll give you some time to rest now.” She patted his arm and then left.
The nurse who was bundling up his daughter reached to pick her up carefully, walking back over to Shane. “Here you are,” she said softly, leaning over to place her in Shane’s arm again. Like this he could see her face. She had a cute button nose, it kind of looked like Shane’s, but other than that she just looked like a baby. A freshly newborn baby. She seemed to be asleep, but she wiggled when placed in Shane’s arm, like she was trying to get comfortable.
“I’m here,” Shane murmured quietly, holding her up closer to his chest. She settled and Shane felt that feeling again, like his heart was clenching.
“She looks like Shane,” he heard his mom whisper to his dad. He nodded. “It’s uncanny.”
The room quieted eventually, the way Shane imagined the aftermath of a storm might. People still came and went. A lactation consultant who spoke gently and didn't make him feel stupid about knowing absolutely nothing about breastfeeding, a pediatrician who examined his daughter with careful hands and declared her healthy despite her surprise welcome, and a social worker who asked questions that his mom answered mostly on his behalf while Shane just held the baby and tried to stay present.
At some point someone brought him food and water and he ate it without really tasting anything.
And then, slowly, it was just the four of them.
His dad had pulled a chair close to the bed, his mom on the other side, both of them close enough that Shane could feel the steadiness of their combined scents anchoring him. He felt better. Exhausted and overwhelmed, but good. His mother was on her phone, probably ordering baby items to be shipped to their home while simultaneously planning out how childcare was going to work. Shane had tried to think of school and hockey, two of the most important things in his life, and he had to set them aside because he felt his anxiety building up.
He didn't know how having a baby would change all of this.
Speaking of his baby, she was awake, blinking up at him with dark unfocused eyes. She made a small sound, more a breath than an actual noise, and turned her face toward his chest.
Shane watched her for a long moment.
"Kiyomi," he said quietly. It came out softer than he intended, directed somewhere between his parents and the baby. "I want to call her Kiyomi." He swallowed, growing more confident as the moments passed. "Kiyomi Hana?"
The room was very still.
"That sounds lovely, Shane," his dad said first, leaning over to gently stroke his knuckles over his granddaughter's cheek. He looked over at his mother, who was still quiet, but the phone had gone dark in her hands.
Shane looked in her direction finally, searching her face the same way he had earlier when he couldn't tell if she was angry or disappointed. But what he found there was different. Her eyes were wet, her expression doing something complicated that Shane didn't have a name for.
Kiyomi was his grandmother's name. Her mother. She had passed about a year ago, and Shane knew how close they had been. It just made sense to honor her.
"Yeah," his mom finally said, her voice thick but clearly happy. And if Shane wasn't imagining it, he could smell the way her scent flared out — the one that got stronger when she was proud of something he had done. She reached to touch Kiyomi's cheek, but her eyes were on Shane, who forced himself to hold his mother's gaze.
"Yeah. That's her name."