Through Hell [AOB/LGBT+/mpreg]

13

Oliver can't align his priorities.

As far as he knows, no one from his building has stepped out and encountered the streaks of blood leading to his apartment.  He's sure that the moment someone does, he will have an army of officers at his door which is less than ideal when harboring a fugitive.  He fears that if he takes even an hour to clean up the mess, though, the kid in his bed will die without medical intervention.

Even if he manages to get the alpha to a hospital first, if officers sniff in his direction and so much as give him a command, he knows he will spill everything and there goes his al- no there goes his own freedom.  He's sure the alpha will drag him down.

So, with those thoughts, Oliver makes the selfish decision to clean the blood first.  He grabs an old towel he tears into pieces and soaks them in diluted bleach.  He scrubs at the flecks already drying and snorts in derisive amusement when he reaches his foot print where he slipped.  God he's so fucking stupid.

With the ever-present urge to gag, he cleans until the water has turned pink like Starbursts and he knows he can't salvage the rags, cleans until all the prints (even those on the doors) are gone.

His nest is a whole other matter, it's unsalvageable.  No amount of cold water and hydrogen peroxide can get those stains out so he debates on burning them like his omega wanted to do weeks ago. But right now he needs to move the alpha, needs to get him to a hospital.

With bated breath he watches the young alpha intently, only relaxing when he sees the tell-tale signs of the man's chest rising and falling with each drag of air into his lungs.  The bed dips with his weight as he checks him over, frowning when he sees sweat collect on the alpha's brow and shivers wracking his body.

"You're burning up," he whispers mostly to himself in worry.

Carefully, he unravels the makeshift bandage, drawing a hiss from dry lips and causing red eyes to immediately flutter open, sharpened teeth snap his way in defense, but Oliver doesn't flinch.

He lowers his voice and calmly orders, "Stay."

It's not a command, but the alpha obeys nonetheless as he relaxes which surprises the omega.

He re-wraps the makeshift bandage, a whine of hurt falling from the kid pathetically and unbidden.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, the omega in him cooing in comfort, "We need to get you to the hospital."

The alpha licks his lips then, a protest on his tongue, "they're looking for me."

"They'll find you," Oliver agrees, "but dead or alive is up to you."

The alpha blinks at him blearily, weighing his options before nodding.

Getting the alpha up from the bed is a struggle, the first few steps that follow even harder as they stumble.

Oliver checks his phone for directions, cursing when the nearest hospital is close to forty minutes away walking.

They make it work.

The omega guides the agonizing alpha, stopping multiple times on the way for him to catch his breath and simply breathe through the pulsing hot pain radiating from the gunshot.  It's in a moment like this, that the omega finds himself bearing more and more of the alpha's weight, and makes Oliver think they won't make it.

He glances at the alpha's abdomen covered by a black shirt.  The clothes already fit tight on the alpha due to their obvious differences, but it's starting to cling to him in a way that Oliver just knows means he's bleeding again.

Oliver almost sobs in relief when the hospital parking lot comes into view. The alpha carefully pushes the omega away, no longer using him as a crutch but wraps his hand around a small wrist tightly and Oliver stops at the sticky wet feeling. Oliver knows what it is. Blood. He can sniff it in the air like a hound with how pungent it's become.

"You smell like him," the young alpha says and he's looking at him so intently that it draws a shiver from the omega.

Oliver hadn't thought anything about it the first few times the alpha had mentioned it because it's not possible. The alpha's scent should have faded from his skin weeks ago.  He tells him as such, but that only garners a grunt of disbelief.

"Whatever omega," and he rolls his eyes just to spite him.

Oliver would have expected the alpha to, at the very least, be grateful. Instead he's then shoved away with a menacing growl.

"I got it from here.   You can leave now."

Oliver hovers, but it's the alpha now who gives the command, "Leave."

He tries to ignore the command, tries to fight his baser instincts which urge him to obey.  But he stands his ground, hoping that if he doesn't move, then his body won't follow the order. The alpha is impressed before another growl slips by in irritation. 

"You need help," Oliver begins softly.

"You've helped enough."

The alpha's canines are elongated and Oliver feels a tremor of fear.

"Omega."

"Oliver," he pauses, "my name is Oliver."

"I don't give a fuck," the alpha falters and Oliver wants to reach out to steady him, but the Alpha hasn't released the command which is starting to make Oliver feel lightheaded.

The alpha takes a step closer and reaches out to brush his thumb just under Oliver's nose, pulling away at the smear of blood.  The repercussions of an omega attempting to disobey a direct order.

"Go home and don't look back."

This time Oliver takes a staggering step back before his omega forces him to leave, heart hammering in his chest when several feet away he hears someone scream for help.

He doesn't look back.