Chapter Text
Moscow, 2007.
Ilya had been treated his entire life like it was a guarantee he was an Alpha, even him presenting as a Beta was out of the question, but him presenting as an Omega was seen as impossible.
Life, in all its cruelty, could not be that simple for Ilya. He was an Omega, an outcome so shocking even his doctor thought something was wrong, that there had to have been a mistake somewhere.
Then came the humiliating act of begging his doctor not to tell his father, offering him anything, everything, to keep quiet just for now. In Russia, presenting as an omega is an immediate call to your guardian and any delay can cause your medical license to be suspended.
Ilya spent the cab ride home shaking. All he had was the pamphlet the doctor handed him before he left. He had been so confident that he tuned out the omega section in health class the semester prior, and now he was out of school it wasn’t like he could get a refresher.
Ilya hadn’t felt true fear in his home since he was 12, even then it failed in comparison to this ache in his bones. There was a permanent chill racing up and down his spine, a constant shaking in his hands, and if Ilya looked over his shoulder once more he was sure to pull something in his neck. Fear. Strakh.
According to the pamphlet, his first heat would be approaching, where he’d part with his testicles and welcome his new sex. He’d be able to carry a child, another human being that would depend on him and his body and—
Ilya barely made it to the bathroom before he was retching into the toilet, the same bathroom where not too long ago he and Alexei’s—
“Oh Ilyusha?! Where are you, little bear?” It made sense for their father to have informed Alexei, though to save himself the embarrassment, it’s unlikely for Grigori to tell anyone outside the family Ilya’s status. Strong Alpha’s like Grigori have strong Alpha sons, Alexei was an alpha, although weak and unmotivated, he was still an alpha.
Ilya was strong, agile, and promising, if Grigori ever felt like throwing him a bone he could simply lie about his status to people and Ilya would never be questioned, he could even pay for his status to be falsified. He could also take Ilya out to the wilderness and shoot him dead, a possibility that once again had Ilya emptying his stomach into the ceramic bowl.
Alexei snickered behind him, “This better revenge than anything I could think of, baby brother.”
“Is father here?” Ilya asked quietly, already moving to distance himself from Alexei’s form, if their dad was also home his chance of even making it to his room was greatly diminished, much less making it out of the house. Would he even be allowed to leave the house now? Would father force Alexei to be his chaperone?
“Nope, he’s still at work.” Alexei rubbed at his nose and the idea of being home alone with a coked out Alexei the same day everything he thought about the world and himself was turned on its head, fuck.
But Alexei seemed content in basking in his established fear, rather than creating more, which was a small mercy Ilya hadn’t known him capable of but accepted it nonetheless. So they sat in silence on the bathroom floor, overhearing Polina beginning on lunch but otherwise ignoring her. Polina was used to being ignored.
After a while, Alexei left him, Polina stopped by with a glass of water, and Ilya was left mostly alone in his fear. His stifling, immobilizing, fear.
Ilya woke before he realized he had even fallen asleep to the sounds of doors slamming and the unmistakable voice of his father.
“Where is he?! Where the fuck is he, Polina!” Ilya barely had time to think before he was kicking the bathroom door closed and locking it. A poor plan was still thought about in hindsight. The bathroom had no window, there was no chance for further escape, and the door’s defense was already being tested by his father’s heavy fist.
Ilya was going to die in this bathroom. Whatever his father was yelling was mixing together until it was nothing more than loud, threatening noises trying to be placated by Polina and… Alexei?
More yelling, more doors slamming, then abrupt silence, “Ilyusha? Can you open the door, please?” Polina asked softly, her scent seeping through the door and for once allowing Ilya to feel some kind of comfort.
“Ilya please! I promise you it is safe, Alexei is calming your father.” She continued hastily and Ilya finally opened the door.
Polina as a person was somewhat foreign to Ilya, she came too soon after his mama that it couldn’t be coincidence, with a youth to her that it was uncomfortable to think about longer than simple acknowledgement. Papa was 68 now, and Polina was 26 now. Their three-year wedding anniversary was a month and a half ago.
Polina made him breakfast most mornings, but since finishing school it had become less frequent, she cleaned after Alexei’s parties, and took whatever their father threw at her, sometimes literally, without complaint. A good, submissive, and quiet omega. Ilya would let his father kill him before he could ever imagine himself resembling Polina in any way.
Their relationship would have to change, Ilya would be expected to learn from her and her demeanor. He knew the basics in terms of cooking from when mama was too sad to leave her bed, his room was tidy in comparison to Alexei’s but not necessarily clean, and any respected Alpha in all of Russia would have to cut his tongue out in order for him to be quiet. He didn’t want to think about what would need to be done to turn him submissive.
Polina was gentle in her explanation of what was going to happen in his body, what to expect from his first heat –Alien ‘79 level body horror– told him apparently his balls weren’t going to disappear and were just going to shrink, he was going to gain weight in the first year and his heats were going to be irregular, and that he should forget about hockey. No Alpha in their right mind would allow him or even want him if he continued to play hockey, no matter how good he was at it.
There was no easy way to tell him that his father was likely to marry him off to one of his equally old friends, he was to be a housewife and a mother by his 18th birthday. Any sense of freedom he had was now gone and it was to be replaced with hips and hormones, but at least Polina said his scent was pleasant. His curls were cute and endearingly boyish, as were his moles, he just needed to lose his muscle mass. Alphas don’t like omegas that look like they could out lift them, and it was no question that Ilya could.
Shortly after Polina brought up what kind of suppressants were allowed in the country, Ilya fell asleep.
Nine days after receiving his status, Ilya woke up dazed and sweaty to the point he thought he pissed himself. The second he moved he was made aware of a dull, persistent ache just below his belly button that was so painful it had him questioning whether his legs were working.
An uncharacteristically high pitched whine forced its way out of his mouth and everything was suddenly dialled up to 11. He could feel every layer of skin, every mole that decorated his body, the growing wetness beneath him.
“Christ Alive, you fucking reek Ilyusha,” Alexei commented with no real malice from his doorway, a frown stretched across his lips, “You smell like mama’s vatrushka, it’s weird.” Of course there was nothing helpful he wanted to add, why would he?
Polina quickly pushed past him, chastising him as sternly as Ilya had ever seen, “Leave him alone, he is already hurting enough.” A damp towel is placed on his forehead, which offered instant relief that had another whine leaving his lips.
He was given tea to combat the aches and Alexei was sent to pick up his first ever round of suppressants. They worked fine, if anything they just knocked him out, which was welcomed. Sleep was always welcomed.
His dreams were odd on his suppressants, his mama was almost always there and smiling brightly at him with the most encouraging words leaving her full lips. Then he would wake up to his father glowering at him from his doorway, unable to mask his hatred for the teen.
On the third day of his heat, the other shoe dropped from what felt like a twenty story height. The man was twenty-four years his senior, widowed, and like Polina predicted, a colleague of his father’s.
“You will not embarrass me, is that understood?” His father explained in a manner that made it abundantly clear that Ilya did not have a choice, “Hockey is a thing of the past, not that you ever showed any promise, you will listen and you will obey. Yes?”
“Yes, papa.”
Another suppressant induced nap followed and melted days together until he no longer felt the pressing need to shove one of his bed knobs up his ass. His skin was no longer constantly wet and according to Alexei he stopped smelling like a whore house, which he then had to explain to Polina why he would even know what one smelled like and Ilya enjoyed how red his cheeks got.
Isaak Danilovich came a week later over dinner, June rolling into July, and he was terrifying. He was tall, easily towering over the young omega, and he looked like the type to work someone over in a back alley in full view of the public and no one would say a thing.
His father spoke of him warmly, which did nothing to put Ilya’s nerves at ease, and he was quick to confirm Grigori’s words. No more hockey, it was no sport for an omega.
“Does he normally eat this much, Grisha?” Was asked with so much judgement that it actually brought color to Ilya’s cheeks and had him lowering his fork in shame.
A month ago Isaak wouldn’t have made that comment, maybe about Polina, but never in a million years would it have been about Ilya. Even Alexei seemed to be shocked by it, his eyes flitting over to see if their father would come to Ilya’s defense. He did not.
“You were right about his curls,” Isaak began over his vodka in the parlor Ilya was no longer allowed in, a parlor was no space for an omega. Luckily for Ilya, they had left the doors open and he could easily listen in on the private conversation, “They’d look beautiful on our children.”
“How many were you thinking?” Grigori asked after a laugh, the casualness had Ilya’s stomach rolling again.
“Four, maybe five if we started soon.” Soon. Soon had Ilya rushing to his bedroom and dialling a number he knew by heart.
“Ilyusha?” Svetlana’s voice brought a wave of relief over the teen, while also pushing him completely over the edge.
“Ilyusha, you are not making sense,” of course he wasn’t, he was blubbering like a child and breathing through shallow breaths, “Breathe, my love, you are scaring me.”
“Please come get me, Svetulya, I’m so fucking scared and I do not know what else to do.” Were the words that finally came out, whether Svetlana could understand them through his sobs was another thing entirely.
Svetlana, to the surprise of no one, had presented as an alpha just some months prior. Her father had been so thrilled he threw her a party, as well as buying her a car far too expensive for someone who wasn’t old enough to drive yet.
“I will be there soon, Ilyusha, I promise.”
By the grace of some higher power, his father and Isaak did not seem to notice his breakdown or his retreat to his room and he was able to pack everything that was important to him in his hockey duffle.
“Are you leaving?” Ilya’s heart dropped to his toes as her turned to see Polina frowning at him, his nightly tea in her hand, “I know it seems scary, Ilyusha, but Mr. Danilovich would be a perfect Alpha for you.” Ilya fell further into his hysteria as he shook his head.
“I do not want an Alpha, I do not want to be a bride, and I do not want to be a mother. I would not be good at either, you must see this!” Ilya pleaded, mindful to keep his voice down to avoid alerting his father.
“What else could you be?” Oh. Polina asked it so earnestly that it broke Ilya’s heart even more, because she was right. Ilya wouldn’t even be allowed after 8pm without an Alpha’s escort, much less be able to buy and board a plane out of Moscow, much more the fucking country.
“I am not sure, but I know I would rather be anything else, Polina.”
Ilya watched Danilovich’s car pull away, a lurking promise of return that Ilya knew he couldn’t be around for, “I know I am good at hockey, just last month everyone thought I could be something, someone, I think I will die if I do not explore that.”
Polina still seemed to not understand what he was saying, any hopes of having anything as little as a simple dream been squandered. Omegas dreamed of good husbands and healthy babies, what good would it do to yearn for something as futile and fleeting as more?
“So you are leaving?” She asked again and Ilya could barely bring himself to nod, they had become close in the past weeks with Ilya being forced to see the similarities she held to his own mother, and handle them in his own ways. Polina was not someone who deserved to be left behind in his search for more, but she was also not someone he could bring along.
“I have to at least try, no?” He heard his father call his name, heard Alexei question if he actually intended to marry Ilya off to Isaak, and finally, he heard Svetlana’s car pull up.
“If it was to be anyone, Ilyusha, it would be you.” Polina’s voice was soft, like it usually was, and flooded with a sense of pride Ilya had never heard from her before.
Climbing out of his window and running on the shakiest of legs to Svetlana’s car was the hardest thing Ilya had done in his sixteen years, but he knew it would only get harder from there on. And he would endure, for himself, for Polina, and for his mama.
“You smell so sweet, Ilyusha,” Sveta begins and stops soon after, her eyes widening in horror, “oh my sweet boy, what has happened?” And Ilya told her, like it was anything else, he told his Svetulya everything.