Through Hell [AOB/LGBT+/mpreg]

8

Her name is Maddie, or so she says.

Oliver isn't sure he believes her.  There's no doubt in his mind she has a strong bond with whoever Maddie actually is, but it's blatantly clear she is not her. 

"How'd you get here?" She asks, hands rubbing together for warmth.

He raises a brow as he catches the tail end of what she said, "bus."

He needs to stop spacing out, but something is not right.  His omega feels off, as if he's missing something and he won't feel right (safe) until he has him.

"So, you have a license and claim to know how to drive but don't have a car?"

Oliver shrugs, "too expensive to buy one and I wouldn't have gas for it anyway."

She looks at him with a sad sort of smile, "yeah."

"You?" He can't help but ask because they're loitering, like she has no place (or car) to retreat to.

It's confirmed seconds later, "License got suspended, was speeding on my way home at night and got pulled over."

Silence stretches between them.

"We could take the bus to Niagara," he offers at last.

"And what the hell would we do with the package?"

Package... right, Oliver sighs, "Nevermind."

Maddie looks constipated as she thinks about how they're going to pull this off.  He watches her eyes light up the longer she thinks about whatever is going on there.

"I have an idea," she finally says, "just... just give me like two days."

Oliver bites his lip.  Two days?

Would that be enough time?

Are they even on a limit?

Before he can voice his concerns, she's already rambling on, "I'll pick you up at the Starbucks around the corner at noon, sound good?"

It's clear that she needs this to work.  They both do.

He nods, this may be their only shot, he's just not sure he can trust her, "yeah, capeesh."

She offers him that tight lipped smile again, the one full of pity and a smidge self-deprecation.

"Good," she nods, tucking unruly hair behind an ear.  She turns on her heel and walks away with a plan in mind, a plan he's not entirely privy to.  Her steps echo until they finally fade and Oliver is left to drown in his thoughts.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

He stands in the middle of the lot a little lost, a little stupid.

On occasion he glances at the eerie building behind him, hoping for what?  He's not really sure.

Eventually, though, he takes his leave when his legs start to feel numb and sore. Part of his hesitation is the fact that he's not quite sure where he's going.  He checked out of the motel indefinitely hours ago and he's once again unemployed, has been for several days after not calling out for his stupid heat drop.

He has no where to go, not really.

It's like a bucket of ice has pelted down on him followed by the shower of water a little too late.

He walks and walks, wondering around until his feet somehow carry him toward his old apartment complex.  Something familiar, someplace he's grown to call home. 

He steps through the main entrance and he wonders if he should talk to his land-lord.  He's been gone for over a month, he's overdue on rent and bills that's for sure.  What are the odds that he still has an apartment to come home to?

The lights overhead flicker and he sighs heavily, well that's one thing that hasn't changed.

The familiarity, though annoying, is welcoming.

He finally reaches his apartment and with no expectations, tries his key in the doorknob.  To his surprise the lock clicks and the door opens rather easily.

Everything is exactly as is.  A mess from his first brush with death.  The scent of alpha is faded to the point that he wouldn't know there was ever an intruder had he not been there to experience the fear and wrath that is the devil incarnate, Oro.

But he knows and the shiver that causes goosebumps on his arms is enough of a trigger.

Sluggishly, he starts picking up strewn clothing, books, and turned over chairs, one of which is unsalvageable with a broken leg splintered inward.

The rest is easy.

His omega takes over and he cleans until the last thing he has to worry about is his nest.

The whine that crawls up his throat at the sight of his destroyed nest is one of pure devastation.  His nest is completely undone and though he knows the scent from those strangers is practically nonexistent now, the fact that he knows they were among his most intimate belongings causes him distress.  He wants to burn everything.  His omega is urging him to destroy and rebuild. 

New, he needs new bedding, new blankets and, albeit embarrassing, new stuffies.  He needs a new nest, needs to make the best nest.

He bites his lip.

"We can't," he whispers to himself, willing his omega to comprehend.

With a put upon sigh he gathers his nesting materials and puts them in a hamper.

"We don't have a job now, we don't have money to spend like that."

He carries the load down to the laundry room where he shoves everything inside the shitty coin-operated washing machine, thankful he didn't bump into anyone.

His omega whines pathetically.

"For now this will have to do," he sighs, "just until we find something and figure the rest out.  One day at a time."

His omega recedes into the back of his mind, but the lingering distress and anguish is ever present.

It remains long after his things are in the dryer and lingers even more when he finds himself back in his room rearranging his pathetic nest.

Even when he's done and there's not much left to do he can't help but curl up in the middle of his bed.

There's this screaming feeling that just suffocates him with wrong.  Everything feels wrong.  Just... wrong, wrong, wrong.

It doesn't feel safe anymore.

And that is so very terrifying.

The one place he's associated with safety was broken into and destroyed.  He was forced to leave it all behind only to come back.

A tear trickles down his cheek followed by another and another in frustration.

He rests his forehead on his arms as he tries to fight the painfully growing exasperation, but it doesn't work.

He needs air, he needs to breathe something that isn't knock-off Downey.

Eventually he crawls out of his nest and the comfort of his bed.  He exchanges it for the hard seat of the chair out in the makeshift dining room.  He should have realized it was the same one his alpha occupied before giving the command to trash his home.  He doesn't notice, but his omega calms just a bit.

His attention is immediately drawn to an envelop sitting on the table among others he plucked from the overstuffed mailbox downstairs.

The only reason it caught his attention is because it's a mustard yellow, different from the others.

He reaches for it first and opens it just as hastily.

Inside lays an eviction notice.

He has less than thirty days to move out or come up with two month's worth of rent and overcharge fees.

Something heavy immediately sinks to the pit of his stomach.  He thinks he's going to throw up.

Fuck.