Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I startle awake as low voices echo from the hallway into the mostly empty room. A glimpse of a dark shadow flickers past the cloudy window on my door. My breath comes in quick, shallow puffs. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to disappear, curling tighter into the corner of my cell. The cold concrete bites through my thin clothes, and the quiet clink of the chain around my ankle seems deafening in the silence.

It’s just loud enough.

I freeze. Every instinct tells me to stay still, to keep my presence hidden, to hold my scent close, contained, trying to stay hidden away. But it’s already too late.

A sharp bang rocks the door, then another, metal screaming against metal. The sound reverberates through the cell, until I’m shaking uncontrollably. Panic blooms in my chest. I can’t help it, my scent turns thick with fear, and my breath turns ragged, hitching into quiet, desperate sobs.

The door crashes open.

Four men burst in, clad in heavy tactical gear. Their eyes sweep the cell, then land on me.

“Jesus. Look at the state of her.”

One of them takes a cautious step forward and a man with a cap talks. His voice is accented, softer than I expect.

“Geez, love… what did they do to you?”

I flinch hard, pressing further into the wall, folding into myself. A whimper catches in my throat, dry and aching. I don’t dare look up. I know better. Eye contact could mean everything. Eye contact could mean pain. I could smell he was a beta. His scent brushes against mine now, the faintest thread of calm pressed beneath the stale concrete stench of the cell. It's not meant to dominate, just soothe. Still I recoil holding back another whine. They could be dangerous. Trying to trick me. My omega didn't trust it either.

So I stay small. Silent. Waiting.
The man’s thick boots take a couple more steps towards me.

“My name's Kyle alright love, We’re here to get you out, alright? You’re safe now.”

Safe.

The word feels foreign, unreal, like a joke that hasn’t landed. I shake my head in tiny, frantic movements, not trusting it. Not them. Not anything.
One of the others murmurs something. I catch a few clipped words: victim. Breathing, weak. Trauma response. Requesting immediate medevac, copy.
A moment later, another man walks over to me and crouches down, still careful to keep his movements slow. His gloved hands stay visible, palms out, like he’s trying not to spook a cornered animal. That’s all I am to them. Something broken. Fragile. I continue to steal glances at them, never meeting their eyes.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” the second man says, more gently this time. the first man moving to stand behind him. “My name’s John. Can you tell me your name?”

I could immediately smell his scent of pine and iron, heavy with restraint. I can tell he's holding himself back with effort, reining in his natural instinct to protect, to assert. Around me, the air is thick with the clashing scents of Three Alphas and beta all doing the same. He must be the pack alpha, his voice gentle but still authoritarian, his scent sends my head reeling.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs quickly, “Not here to push you. Just need to get this chain off, alright?” I finally meet his eyes mine wide sill shaking from shock and nod quickly wishing nothing more than to get the metal off my leg.

Another alpha steps in with a cutter, avoiding eye contact. That's for my sake, not his. I can only imagine what I look like right now. Alphas don’t drop their eyes unless they’re trying not to provoke a traumatized Omega.

The shackle snaps. The weight is gone. But I stay still.

“She’s an Omega,” the Alpha still near the door states a weird mask covering his face “Poor thing must’ve been in heat when they took her. No suppressant scent left on her.”

I flinch hard, my breath catching in my throat. My body remembers too much. The smell of suppressants, long since worn off. The forced isolation. The brutal denial of choice.
The Alpha, somehow broader than the other two, says his voice gentler. “We’ll take you back to base. You don’t have to talk. Just let us carry you out of here, okay?”

I say nothing. I can’t. But my body tilts slightly into the warmth of the pack alpha, no john? without permission. My Omega side is weak from suppression and fear, but still wired for comfort, safety… Alpha. I hate that I respond. I hate that it feels good. Hate that part of me aches for them like something starved. The years in this cell have chipped me down to nothing but instinct and survival. A shell of an Omega.

The beta Kyle lifts me carefully away from john. His scent is strong now, wrapping around me like a blanket calming. I shudder and whine but don’t pull away. He murmurs something low grounding. Not a command. A promise.

“Shh now it’ll be ok”

Outside, the rotors of a chopper thunder across the compound. The wind carries their scent away and spreads mine. The team fans out, shielding me. One of them throws a jacket over me, not out of modesty, but to mask my scent from others that might still be near.
Inside the chopper, a Beta medic waits. Efficient, calm. She doesn't react to the cuts and scars that cover my body, the way I tremble under the blanket. She just works, hands steady as she hooks in fluids and pushes a tranquilizer. It hits fast. The sharp edge of fear dulls. I drift, caught between instinct and exhaustion. I hear them talking as I fade out of consciousness.

“She’s in bad shape,” the medic says. “Scent profile’s erratic. She needs stabilizers, proper nesting space, hell, probably an Alpha just to ground her again.”

“No rush,” John growls quietly. “She’s not a mission. She’s a person.”

That shouldn’t matter. But something in the way he says it sinks into my bones. Not a mission. But a person? It’s the last thing i hear before it all fades to black.

Chapter Text

The hum of the helicopter fades into a dull throb against my skull. I float somewhere between awareness and sedation, caught in the thick haze of tranquilizers and exhaustion.
My limbs are heavy. The sterile scent of antiseptic coats my throat.

Voices murmur above me, too many, too close. The faint rumble of an Alpha. The sharper, steadier notes of Betas. No threat in the sounds, but I still flinch, curling inward under the blanket someone tucked around me mid-flight.

Movement jolts me as the helicopter hits uneven ground. I try to sit up, scratching at my now bandaged body panic edging back in but gentle hands press to my shoulders, easing me down again.

“You’re okay, love. Just the tarmac. We’re here.” Kyle.

I try to move, but my limbs are heavy. Useless.

“Easy,” a voice murmurs again. John. Closer now. “We’ve got you.”

My fingers curl into the edge of the blanket. I don’t speak. Can’t. Words are still locked behind the wall of too much silence. The scent of reinforced steel and fresh pine hits my nose, the kind of clean only found in mountain bases or deep forest outposts. A hidden military base. The air is thick with Alpha energy and protective wards.

I shouldn’t be here.

My instincts scream to run, to hide. But my body… my body sinks deeper into the stretcher, torn between fear and safety. The doors open with a hiss. It's warm. Dim. Not cold fluorescent lighting or blaring alarms like the cells and labs. This place smells like leather and wood smoke and freshly brewed tea. Like a pack. It makes me ache.

The medic pushes me through wide corridors, past people who lower their gazes when they see me. No questions. No probing. Just silent acknowledgment. One Beta woman offers a nod of respect and steps aside.

“She needs an isolation room,” someone ahead. “Not medical. We don’t want to overwhelm her with scent.”

Their voices melt into one. I don't listen, can’t the ringing in my ears mixed with the fast beat of my heart is enough for me to zone out shaking once again.

“Already prepped one,” the medic replies. “Far corner of your personal barracks. Low stimulation. No one in or out without clearance.”

I expect sterile walls, cold cots, metal restraints.

Instead, the room they wheel me into is soft. It’s… a nesting room. Low lighting. Soft bed filled with layers of warm, neutral-colored blankets and pillows piled high. No cold corners. No cameras. Just warmth. Safety. Someone thought about this. Someone planned this.

I start shaking. Eye’s watering. They wanted me here. They knew I'd come back here.

Kyle crouches beside me again, voice softer than ever. “We had it set up for you. Didn’t know what you'd want, but… figured this was better than med bay lights and tile floors.”

He’s right. I couldn’t handle a medical wing. Not yet. I try to speak. Nothing comes out. Just a rasping breath and a helpless whimper. I hate the sound. Hate how small I feel. But Kyle picks me up and settles me into the bed. Letting me have my space as he just brushes my hair back gently and smiles like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest.”

He stands and steps away as the medic hooks me up to a quieter IV unit. There’s no beeping. No machines screaming vitals or threatening injections. Just a warm drip and soft hands checking my pulse. She leaves silently after, nodding to John at the door.

He’s watching.

Not in a predatory way. Not even protective, exactly. Just… present. His arms are folded across his chest, but not in challenge. His scent is held tight, neutralized by practice, but I still feel the thrum of his presence. And something deeper (bone-deep and terrifying) knows I’m safe because he’s here.
That scares me more than anything. He doesn’t step too close. Not yet. Just speaks, low and even.

“We’ll keep the room quiet. Kyle can stay by if you need anything. No one will touch you without permission.”

My eyes snap to him. I don’t mean to. I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it. He sees it. That flicker of fight, of raw fear. His voice softens.

“We’ll earn your trust. However long it takes.”

Kyle and John head towards the door intending to leave me alone when they step out. I finally see the two other alpha’s standing there hovering just outside the door. One tall and wide with a.. mohawk? and the other just as wide and somehow even taller standing close to the other’s side with that black mask.

John notices me looking at them.

“Oh sorry this is Johnny and Simon they were there when we saved you”

He notices me flinch back at the mention of being saved and decides it's time to take their leave. Kyle gives a tight lipped smile.

“Just call out if you need anything, I'll be back in a little”

Johnny waves at you with a reserved smile then turns to leave with john and kyle then simon with a nod pulls the door mostly closed, leaving it open just a crack. Just enough that I don’t feel trapped. It’s the first time I've slept without chains in years. I almost forgot the feeling of it, being free, though how free can i be in a military base, technically at the will of the people who said they saved me.

The thought sends a shiver through my body. Are they being genuine? Or is this all a big scheme. I wish they’d just cut to the chase, hurt me already. I learned long ago how to be good, quiet, still. I can do it for them, all of them, they don’t have to trick me and treat me like they care. This’ll be just like before, ending in me back in chains on that disgusting floor wishing I would just sink into the cold concrete and not exist.

I guess until then I can enjoy this, just for the night. Sinking into the layers of warm blankets and pillows, shutting my eyes I bury my face in the nearest blanket, inhaling. It smells of nothing. No one. Just clean linen. A blank slate.

They say I’m safe. I want to believe them. I want to rest. Just for tonight, maybe I can pretend that safety isn’t just another lie.

Outside in the main rec area of their barracks, the air is unusually still. Tension clings to the 141 like smoke, quiet, heavy, unspoken. Lily (the medic) stands at the edge of the table, her clipboard resting against one hip as she lays out the facts. Not the sugarcoated version. The real one.

“She can stay here until she’s strong enough to regulate,” she says, voice calm but edged with fatigue. “Try to have no contact until she initiates it. And for god’s sake, use scent patches. You don’t want to flood her with Alpha scent while she’s still crashing.”

Soap leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “We wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, but his voice is unusually flat. No teasing grin this time.

John keeps his gaze on the table. “I talked to Laswell on the way in. She says the Omega’s a ghost. No records. No ID. We’ll need to run DNA through the archives.” He looks up, jaw tight. “But she’s to stay here until they find something. We’re responsible for her now.”

Lily doesn’t look surprised. Just tired. “Look, I won’t sugarcoat it,” she says. “She’ll need a designated anchor eventually.” Her eyes sweep the team, then settle on John. “That level of trauma? She won’t stabilize alone.”

Ghost shifts in his chair. “What kind of shape’s she in?”

Lily exhales, looking at her notes. “Her arms and back have the worst cuts. Defensive wounds. I patched her up on the heli, but she’s covered in bruises, deep ones. Likely from restraints. She’s malnourished, dehydrated, and barely verbal. Her scent was so erratic I nearly missed she was distressing.”

Soap’s lips tighten, and even Gaz’s usual calm falters, brows drawing together.

“We can’t even begin to get a grasp on where she’s at mentally,” Lily continues. “She’ll be hard work. Real hard. Are you ready for something like this?”

Ghost’s eyes narrow behind the mask. His voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous. “Well, we saved her, didn’t we?” He doesn’t bother dressing it up with anything else. It lands like a challenge. Like a promise.

Lily doesn’t flinch. Just nods once and starts writing.

“You’ll need to change her bandages twice a day,” she says, scribbling quickly. “She’s on an IV for at least three. I’ve got her on fluids and a mild stabilizer to help buffer the crash. You’ll need to reintroduce food slowly, bland, soft, high in electrolytes and protein. Start with broth.”

She flips the page and glances at the team.
“And someone needs to sit outside her room, maybe Gaz since you're a beta. Not inside. Not too close. But she’ll need to know you’re there. Constant, gentle presence. She’ll react better to not being alone.”

Soap whistles under his breath. “This ain’t like any op we’ve pulled.”

“It’s not an op,” John mutters. “It’s a recovery.”

Lily sighs. “Just try to keep her calm, alright? I’ll check in once a day, maybe more if I can get the time. But what she needs most right now? Is to believe that she’s not back there. That she’s safe.”

They nod in unison, no words left between them. It’s not a job anymore. Not a mission. It’s something else. John looks toward the hallway that leads to the isolation room. He can smell her faintly from here, like ash and crushed violets, like something burned but still alive underneath.

She hasn’t said a word yet. But they all feel it, She’s watching. Waiting. Deciding if she can survive being saved. And John? He’s already decided. She will. Even if it kills him trying.