Prodigal | J2 AU NC-17 | Chapter 2

[fufaraw]

Chapter Two

Jensen didn't want to meet with Dr. Ferris. He had met quite enough new people in the last two days, and he was still jumpy and nervous from trying to figure out how to behave. His mom's etiquette training since his childhood somehow didn't seem equal to meeting unfamiliar werewolves. There were nuances he felt, was aware of, could smell—and how weird was that?—that he had no idea either what they meant or how he was supposed to behave in response. He was exhausted, and his deepest desire at the moment was to curl up in his comfy bed with the smooth clean sheets and the ceiling fan turning lazily overhead, and just be.

But Dad was insisting, and Jensen knew Mayor Rhodes and Tim—and probably Alpha Morgan, too—were pressuring him, and Jensen had caused Dad enough problems already. So he dressed—he was still getting used to wearing clothes again, and they itched—and tried to put on his game face, and walked the few blocks to the psychiatrist's office, accompanied by Hugo Ateo, an alpha Omundson had assigned to the Ackles as another guard. Hugo was slightly shorter than Lee, with dark hair cut close on the sides, dark brown eyes, and a well-groomed mustache and goatee. Jensen felt...safe with both of their guards.

Dr. Ferris was his mom's age, attractive, confident, and assured. She crossed the room to meet him when he knocked at the open door, smiled in welcome and reached to shake his hand. He fumbled it, no one had offered to shake his hand in a very long time. But her grip was warm and sure, his hand in both of hers for just a moment and his apprehension about this appointment eased, just a little.

"Welcome, Jensen. I've heard a bit about you, and I'm looking forward to us getting to know each other better."

He didn't answer, and she gestured to a sitting area to one side of her desk. "Sit anywhere you like. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water?" He chose a chair where he could see both door and window, and felt a little less anxious for that.

She handed him a bottle from the minifridge, and took the chair opposite his.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," she began. "And I hope you'll be honest with me. If you feel you can't—or really don't want to—answer a question, please just tell me that, rather than lie, or making something up." She sought his eyes with her gaze, insistent. "Can you do that?"

His words caught in his throat and he took a sip of water. "I'll try," he told her.

"Good." She had a very pretty smile, and Jensen relaxed a bit more, somehow happy he could earn her smile.

The conversation was a minefield, she knew, and she trod very lightly. There were things they needed to know, to help the hunt for the Fenris pack alphas, and things they needed to know if they were going to help Jensen as best they could. But the kid had been through a lot, and getting those things out in the open was a delicate job, and it wasn't all going to happen today. Samantha was gentle and firm as required to get the boy to open up.

"Why don't we start with the day you were taken," she suggested. "Can you tell me what you remember about that?"

There was a long hesitation, and Sam almost repeated the question when Jensen spoke. "It was pizza night," he began. His eyes were aimed at the wall below the window, but lost focus as he remembered. "And it was my turn to pick the toppings. Dad always called Mom and told her what toppings to get, and she'd bring the pizza on her way home from work. It was Mack's turn the week before, so I got to pick this time. Mack had gone to a friend's house after school, so I was walking home by myself, thinking about what I wanted on the pizza when I got grabbed from behind. I yelled, and tried to struggle, but they put a bag over my head and I heard a door roll back. They threw me belly down on the floor of a van, yanked my hands behind me and tied them together. I was rolling and kicking, and they tied my ankles, too. I kept yelling, and somebody grabbed the edge of the bag, pulled it up enough to cram a rag in my mouth. And then they left me like that, rolled the door shut. I heard doors slam, and the van took off."

Samantha said nothing, just waiting for him to go on.

"I kind of wiggled around, yanking at the zip tie on my wrists, but I couldn't get enough leverage to break it. I tried to listen to them talking up front, but I couldn't make out the words over the road noise and the engine."

He stopped, staring into the past. "I was so scared," he whispered.

"Of course," Sam said, sympathetic, but encouraging him to go on.

They had driven for a while, Jensen said. It probably wasn't as long as it felt, but it had seemed like hours. And then the van pulled over and stopped, and the door rolled open. Both men had gotten in and closed the door again. "All right now, pretty," one of them had said, and then they started pulling Jensen's clothes off. He yelled into his gag and struggled as hard as he could, but tied the way he was, and against two of them, he had no chance.

They pulled his jeans down, and his briefs, leaving them tangled around his ankles, and suddenly there was a hot, wet mouth licking at his dick. He had wondered and imagined what blow jobs would feel like, but he didn't want to find out here, not this way, not with a couple of crazy strangers. He kept trying to wriggle away, but the second man pinned his shoulders and growled at him to be still, while the first licked and sucked at his dick and his balls—and his hole.

Jensen stopped, overwhelmed by sense memories. He took a gulp of water and dashed the tears he'd not noticed until now off his face, gusting out a sigh that edged on a sob. He shook his head.

Samantha's voice, when she spoke, was quiet, and surprising. Because there was no overt sympathy, only acceptance. And an instruction to continue, which Jensen was able to obey.

"He—he swallowed my dick. And stuck two fingers up my ass at the same time. I—didn't know what I was feeling, but he kept moving those fingers while he sucked at me, and it started not to hurt so much. And then he hit something inside me that—well, it felt weird, but not bad. Kind of good. And he kept on sucking until I was ready to blow, but then he pulled off before I could, and then he bit me, on the thigh, right up near my groin. It hurt like hell, and scared me again, but then he hit that spot inside again with his fingers before he yanked them out, cut the tie off my ankles, pushed my legs up against my chest and stuck his dick in me."

He took another gulp of water. "It hurt. It hurt a lot. But I was right on the edge, and he grabbed my dick and jerked it, and I came all over the place. And a minute later, his dick started swelling up about three times its size—and that hurt. He kept fucking me though, for what felt like an hour, and then his body jerked, and I felt warm inside, and I knew he was coming. He collapsed on top of me. He was so heavy I couldn't breathe, but he just laid there, and I thought I was dying. I—wanted to die."

He glanced up at her for the first time, quick contact and away again. "I was fourteen years old. I'd never even made out with anybody, never even been kissed. And I had a bag over my head, a gag in my mouth, lying on my tied hands on the bare metal floor of some van, and I had some stranger's dick shoved in my ass. I hadn't even seen his face." He sat forward in his chair, elbows propped on his knees, water bottle dangling from one hand. "I wanted to die. I wanted to die a lot, the next few years."

He wiped a hand across his face, and took a slow, deep breath. When he continued, his voice was almost a monotone. "He stayed in me, his huge dick pouring come into my ass while he laid on top of me like he was dead, or unconscious. I wished I could be either one, right then. The other guy got up, got out and closed the door, got into the driver's seat, cranked the engine, and pulled back on the road. We drove for...I don't know how long: half-hour, hour? No way of knowing. But the guy on top of me eventually woke up, and started petting me, calling me pretty, and saying how happy I'd made him, how happy we all were going to be. I'm busy wondering who "all" of them were when he pulls out, and, god, it hurt. Come just gushed out of me, it made a puddle under my ass. It slowed, after that first gush, but it kept trickling and sliding, and I couldn't get up. I wanted to get clean, it was all I was feeling right then, I needed a shower. And a good case of amnesia. This hadn't happened, not to me. I was just an ordinary kid, how did stuff like this happen?"

He blew out a gusty sigh and took another gulp of water. "The van slowed, and pulled over again. The door rolled open and the second guy climbed in. He didn't say a word, just grabbed me by the hips and flipped me over where I laid, pulling me up on my knees with my face in the bag on the metal floor. And then he just rammed into me, and fucked like a jackhammer. I guess I passed out and when I came to I was on my side, the guy spooned up behind me, his dick still up my ass, still pulsing come into me.

The motor started. The first guy had left while I'd been out, and we were moving again. The guy behind me started petting me, stroking his hand along my arm, my back. He was...crooning about how pretty I was, about pups and pack and I would have passed out again, but he twisted my nipple, pulled at it, and then reached over and did the other one. It hurt, and I tried to pull away from him, and he said, 'That's okay, pretty. You'll get to like it when you have pups tugging on them all the time.' Like that didn't sound ominous at all. He ran his palm down my belly past my dick, and fingered the bite. 'Not long now,' he said. 'And you'll be ours. Our pretty omega. Forever.'"

Jensen stopped talking, and Samantha looked at the clock. They'd gone over the time she allotted her patients, but she believed Jensen had needed to tell his story. She let the silence be while she made a few notes, and then spoke.

"What were their names, Jensen?"

"The alphas were Ed and Roy," he told her. "There were three betas, Nicole, Rachelle, and Gary." He paused a bit. "I never learned anybody else's name."

"Last names?"

He shook his head. "I never heard any, if they had one."

"This is good," she told him. "This gives us a place to start, tracking these weres down. Thank you." She made a couple of notes before turning back to Jensen. "Now. I need to ask a couple of physical questions, and then I think we're done for the day, okay?"

He looked tired, but he nodded.

"When was your last heat?"

He slanted a quick glance at her under his brows, but replied. "Just before I ran. Ended...three or four days ago."

"How many times were you bred this heat?"

His lips firmed in a grim straight line. "None." He didn't elaborate, and she was aware there was a story there.

"Okay, I'm going to send you to the clinic for a full exam—"

"I just had a checkup," he started to complain.

"I'm aware. That was just a cursory check for any major injuries or problems. I need you to have a full physical to assess your complete health. Then we'll get you on heat suppressants, if you want them—"

"There are drugs that can prevent heats?" He grasped at the idea like it was completely new to him.

"Yes, of course," she told him. "Most omegas use them. You have to go off them and allow yourself a heat every once in a while—after three suppressed heats, usually—in order to stay healthy. But it's much easier to get on with life without the bother of heats, especially if you're not mated, or if you're not ready for children."

"Yes, please. I'd like that," his eagerness was apparent.

"And birth control, too?"

He nodded, even more eagerly. "Yes, please!"

"Then you need to have your physical done so we can write the appropriate prescriptions for you. Okay?" she held out the note with the date and time of the appointment, and he took it, willingly.

"Sure," he said. "Thanks."

"Okay, good. And I think we need to meet again next week."

He didn't look so enthusiastic about that, but they had a lot of work to do. She handed him another note, with their next scheduled appointment. He accepted it, and she stood, offered a handshake, which he took. "I'll see you next week, Jensen. And if anything comes up you need to talk about, my number is on the paper, there."

"Thanks, Dr. Ferris." He folded the papers together and tucked them into a jacket pocket before he turned and left her office.

She hoped they would get to the point where he could call her Sam.

*    *    *

While Jensen was with the psychiatrist, Alan took advantage of the opportunity to call home. It was really good to hear Donna's voice, he missed her and Mack after just these few days. He asked about her work, and spoke to Mack about school. He felt guilty for not sharing the good news that Jensen was found, that he was safe. But there was no way he could share that their son was now a werewolf, let alone the circumstances of his abduction and captivity, not over the phone. He made his excuses for his extended time away from home, and promised to call if he was going to be longer than another couple of days. He missed his girls. But Jensen needed him. Their son had been alone and without support long enough, and since he couldn't take him home, it was Alan's job to support him now, in finding his place in this new community and his new circumstances.

Alan had met with a realtor and viewed a couple of houses. He tried to imagine his family living here, being practically the only humans in a town populated by werewolves. Far from being the monsters the stories of his childhood told about, everyone he'd met here in Wolverton had been courteous and pleasant and helpful. He could forget from moment to moment that they weren't just ordinary people. But he still wasn't sure how he felt about Mack in a school with classmates that were all werewolves. And—what about dating? He was having difficulty with all of this, and he was not expecting Donna to have any easier a time adjusting to the situation. He expected her to be overjoyed that Jensen had been found, to be able to see him, hold him in her arms, and note how tall he had grown, how he had matured since he'd been gone. But moving to, living in a werewolf town? He had a distinct lack of positive expectation about how things were likely to go when she heard all the news.

He pulled away from that line of thought, searching for something less speculative, more factual—and more positive. He and Jensen had met briefly after dinner the other night with Jim Beaver, the principal of the local high school. He seemed very easygoing, affable. After a few minutes around Mr. Beaver Jensen had seemed more settled, and less nervous and on edge than he appeared to feel around Omundson and the other alphas they had met that night. Mr. Beaver had scheduled an appointment tomorrow at his home, to discuss Jensen's academic level. The school wanted Jensen to take some assessment tests to gauge what grade would be better for him to start back to school. Beaver was encouraging about Jensen moving up through the grades he had missed as he mastered the curriculum for each grade. There was nearly a month left in the present school year, and Jim had encouraged Jensen to work hard starting this week and through the summer. He felt sure Jensen would make up at least a grade or two before school started in the fall.

Beaver was a fatherly sort, in his fifties, with twinkling blue eyes, a dry sense of humor and a welcome warmth. Behind it all, though, Alan sensed a great deal of strength. Of course, anybody in charge of a school full of teenagers would have to have a backbone. Unlike with Morgan and Omundson, who Jensen could hardly look at, he seemed a lot more comfortable with Beaver, and Alan felt good about that. It was disturbing to see his once bright, confident boy refusing to look anybody in the eye, or engage in conversation. Alan hoped Beaver could help with that.

And the psychiatrist, too. Dr. Ferris had a no nonsense manner, but Alan could sense a core of genuine care for the welfare of her patients, and a special interest in Jensen. Those two on his side would go a long way toward helping Jensen find his confidence again, Alan thought. Well, he hoped so, anyway.

*    *    *

Principal Beaver watched as five or six of his male alpha seniors crowded up on three beta girls, trying to impress them. The girls didn't look like they were very impressed, trying to ease away, but the alpha boys surrounded them, reaching to touch a strand of hair, a sleeve, trail a knuckle down a cheek. When a hand landed on the curve of a bottom and the girl turned, smacked the hand away and snarled at the alpha, Beaver was in motion toward them to prevent a possible escalation. He didn't condone this type of behavior in his school.

Before he could reach the group, though, a couple more boys walked up, Chad Michael Murray, another alpha, and the Padalecki boy. Jared was a big kid, bigger than a lot of alphas, even though he was a beta, and though Jim knew he'd rather talk his way out of an unpleasant situation, Jim had seen him hold his own in a few scuffles. He stopped and waited to see how this would play out.

Chad and Jared eased in between the alphas and the girls, talking animatedly about sports, arguing with each other whose team was best, mock sparring when they disagreed. After a minute or two, the other boys joined in, and then Jared and Chad started walking toward the lap lanes around the football field, and the rest of the boys followed. Jared cast a quick look and a nod over his shoulder at the girls, and kept walking away.

The girls quickly moved in the other direction, and Jim smiled to himself and made a note to speak to Jared when he got a chance.

*    *    *

At least Dr. Speight wasn't an alpha. Jensen had been scared of having an alpha's hands on him, of being alone in the exam room with an alpha. He had no defense against alphas, no way to say no, or stop, or just—wait a minute, please. But Dr. Speight was a beta, straightforward and no-nonsense. He was solidly built, but short, and Jensen supposed his bossy attitude was an attempt to compensate for the lack of height. At the doctor's instruction, Jensen stripped and climbed up on the exam table. Dr. Speight checked his mouth, his ears, shone the penlight in each eye for a second or two, felt his neck, chest, pressed the bell of the stethoscope to his back and had him take a couple of deep breaths and hold it. The nurse had taken his height, weight and blood pressure, and made notes in his file—the one begun, Jensen guessed, by the med tech Paul at Jensen's quick checkup at the motel. Speight added notes as he moved from checkpoint to checkpoint.

"Lie back." Jensen didn't want to, but he did, and the doctor pressed with his fingertips across his chest, feeling around his nipples, down along his ribs to his abdomen, pressing harder there, and down to his groin, where he examined Jensen's penis, rolling the foreskin back, and rolling each testicle, feeling its contours with his fingertips.

"Slide down to the edge of the table." It took a minute for Jensen to follow the instruction, and the doctor pulled the retractable stirrups from the end of the table, raised Jensen's legs one after the other and settled his feet in the cups.

Jensen had had medical exams before—his last to make sure he was fit for school sports. But he had never been in this exposed, embarrassing, and vulnerable position before. Jensen watched as the doctor pulled on surgical gloves. The sudden but gentle intrusion of fingers made him gasp and flinch, and the doctor said, "Relax," as the fingers probed and stroked inside him. He tried to follow that instruction, but when he heard a metallic ratchet before the cold metal instrument touched his perineum, Jensen jerked at the sensation, and Speight put a palm on his belly.

"Hold on, partner. This might be a little uncomfortable but it shouldn’t hurt. Take some deep breaths for me, in through the nose, out through the mouth." Jensen tried to breathe, and the doc nodded approval. "Yeah, like that. Easy now, we’ll have this done in a jiffy." Speight took another look at his patient. He was pale, he could feel the boy quivering. He laid the speculum down, and patted the kid's leg. "Do you need another minute?”

"Ye-esss! Please!" Jensen's body began to shake in fear as memory and sensation began to take over. He was using every bit of strength to hold himself still and in place, but he couldn't control the shaking, and Speight hesitated. He stripped off the gloves, removed Jensen's feet from the stirrups and pulled an extension from the end of the table to rest them on. He moved up beside Jensen and cupped a hand under the boy's nape.

"Sit up for me a minute," he said, and Jensen did.

Dr. Speight reached for a folded sheet, partially unfolded it and draped it around Jensen's shoulders. "Better?"

Jensen nodded, trying to get his breathing under control. "Easy," Speight said. "Want some water?"

He nodded again, and the doctor filled a paper cup with water from the cooler and handed it to him, making sure he had hold of it. Jensen sipped at it, it didn't take him long to finish it, and Speight took the empty cup and tossed it in the trash.

"What's up, kiddo?" he wanted to know.

"What—" Jensen swallowed, took a breath. "What were you going to do—with that?" he cut his eyes to where the metal instrument lay on the side table, and understanding began to dawn for the doctor.

"Jensen, have you ever had a physical exam before?"

"Yeah," Jensen said. "But, not since—"

"Not since you were turned? Is that it? You've never had an omecology exam?"

When Jensen shook his head no, Speight said, "Well, let's do this: what if I talk you through the exam now, before I actually examine you, tell you everything I'm going to do. Will that help?"

Jensen nodded, relief mingling with reluctance now. "I think so. Thanks."

"Okay, then."

Fifteen minutes later the doctor said, "Okay, we're done. Good job, kiddo. You can sit up." He made a few more notes in the file, and smiled at Jensen. "Get dressed, and I'll meet you in my office. Turn left and go down to the end of the hall, okay?"

Jensen nodded, and Dr. Speight patted him on the shoulder and left the room.

Jensen dressed, and found Speight's office. The doctor waved him to a chair, and asked him to close the door. He leaned back in his chair, easing his back, his arms up, hands linked behind his head. "Well, kiddo, you're healthy as a horse. You've gained a little weight since your last weight check, that's good. And all things considered, I don't think there are any problems for you to worry about. Did you have any questions?"

This was the whole point of this visit. Jensen asked, "Dr. Ferris said you could prescribe heat suppressants for me," he said. "And, birth control?"

Speight brought his arms down and leaned forward to glance at Jensen's file again. "We can do that, for sure. But before I write your scrips, can I ask you a couple of questions?" Jensen agreed, a little apprehensive.

"You told Dr. Ferris you'd had four heats in the three years since you were turned?" Jensen nodded. "And you had a litter for every one of those heats, except the last one?"

"That's right."

"No problems with any of the births?"

A negative headshake.

"Did you have any problems feeding the pups?"

An odd expression crossed the boy's features, but it was gone as soon as it was seen. He shook his head again. "No."

"Did you go into heat immediately after you were bitten?"

"I didn't know what it was," Jensen said. "I just thought it was reaction to being bitten."

"You weren't mated."

He shook his head. "I didn't know that." His voice hitched, almost a half-sob. "I didn't know anything."

Speight's face twisted in sympathy, but he quickly schooled his features back to reserved interest.

"And your last heat ended...?"

"Just over a week ago."

Speight made another note, and laid the pen down. "Okay, then. I don't see any reason why we can't get you started on suppressants." He noted the quick expression of relief and the kid's body relaxing as he took a deep breath. "We do need to go over some things about the suppressants. They're in pill form, you take them every day. If you decide to give yourself a heat, you'll be able to stop the pills and your heat will start within a week."

Speight continued. "As for birth control, there are pills for that, too, and there's also the implant. It's a time-release capsule, lasts for six months. We usually implant it under the skin of the left forearm" he indicated on his own arm. "Doesn't get in the way there." Jensen was listening closely. "The implant is designed to work for six months. It needs to be removed if you decide you want pups, and the implant is more systemic than the pills. It takes weeks, sometimes, for the contraceptive to clear your system."

"No pups," Jensen was adamant, speaking before Speight had finished his sentence.

"Well, you have to allow yourself a heat for about every three or four blocked heats, but the implant will prevent pregnancy, even if you go into heat."

If Speight interpreted that expression correctly, Jensen had never found his heats pleasant at all, but the doctor continued without comment. "So, we plan ahead and give you a heat when you can schedule some time for it out of your job, or school, or whatever. So, do you want to go with pills for both, or do you think you want the implant?"

The kid nodded, decisively. "Yeah, the implant. Yes, please."

"Okay, then." The doctor pulled some sort of list from a desk drawer. "I'm going to order an implant for you. It should be in early next week. Let's make an appointment for...Tuesday?" He checked with a glance for confirmation, and when Jensen agreed, he scribbled on an appointment pad. "Two o'clock okay?" At Jensen's nod, he added the time, pulled the sheet from the pad and held it out. "We'll inject the implant, and I'll have a script for the suppressants for you then."

Jensen took the paper, and the doctor saw the quick inhale and the exhale of relief when he had it in his hand. His lips relaxed, almost into a smile, as he thanked the doctor, and left the office.

Jensen couldn't remember feeling this...positive, almost happy, in a very long time. He didn't dare quite believe in it, he wouldn't, until he had the implant and the pills were in his hands. But for the first time in years, his life seemed to have some hope in it, and even though he was still filled with caution and doubt, he wanted to believe in that hope.

Outside, Hugo was waiting, and Jensen was suddenly aware he was relieved and glad to see him, rather than hesitant and reluctant. It's not that Hugo was a friend—well, he was coming to seem that way, as much time as he and Lee spent with Jensen and his dad. Jensen had gotten used to them being around, and he realized he felt—safe, protected, with them near. He greeted Hugo with his hand in his pocket, still touching the paper Speight had given him, and nearly smiled. Life was suddenly less threatening and horrible than it had been a mere week ago.

He fell into step with Hugo as they headed to the B&B to meet up with Jensen's dad.

*    *     *

Jensen and Alan had finished lunch at Ms. Abbott's table, and were on their way out to meet Principal Beaver at his house. They were met on the front steps by Mayor Rhodes, tall and slim in her business clothes, some grey in her short, no-nonsense brown hair, and bright brown eyes. A man in sheriff's uniform was with her. She smiled and put a hand out to Alan. "Hi, Mr. Ackles, Jensen, good to see you both again. Let me introduce you to our town sheriff, Ty Olsson."

Alpha, Jensen recognized, tensing in reaction. But the sheriff touched the brim of his hat and smiled at Jensen and his dad, blue eyes friendly, a smile on his face.

"Pleased to meet you," Olsson said, shaking hands with Alan. He included Jensen with a nod. "I hope you're enjoying our town, and we'd be glad to welcome you as permanent residents, if you decide to stay."

"That's still up for debate," Alan said. "But we do like it here."

"Well, I'm on call anytime, if I can be of help." He turned to the Mayor. "I need to get over to the courthouse," he said, before turning back to the Ackles. "Glad to meet you both," and a nod, and he was headed down the sidewalk.

"Ty's a good man," Mayor Rhodes said. "We're lucky to have him." She smiled, and changed the subject. "I understand you and your family are planning to settle here in Wolverton?"

Alan returned the smile. "Yes. Alpha Morgan and Tim Omundson think it will be good for Jensen here. Good school, nice people. And, safe, you know."

She nodded. "Yes, I do know." She gave Jensen a direct look, but didn't hold it long. She could feel his unease. "I'm sorry for your trouble, Jensen. Hopefully we can make it up to you here." Jensen's glance flickered up before it fell again, and he gave a slight nod at her words.

She turned back to Alan. "If there's anything I or my office can do to help you and your family settle in, please let us know." Alan thanked her, and she asked, "Are you house hunting right now?"

Alan brightened at the subject. "Yes, I've seen some nice places. I'm going to have to wait to make a definite decision until my wife and daughter get here—they'll have a lot to say about the house we choose." His smile broadened, and she returned it with a chuckle.

"I understand. Wise man. Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to welcome you and offer help if there's anything we can do to help you settle in."

"Thank you, Mayor Rhodes. We appreciate it." She nodded, and left. Alan turned to put an arm around Jensen's shoulders. "Nice people here, huh, kid?"

Jensen allowed a small smile to touch his face.

"Okay, on to the principal's house," Alan said, sweeping Jensen along. "You ready to go back to school?"

Jensen didn't answer yes or no, but he did say, "I've missed it." Alan took that as a yes.

Principal Beaver had suggested meeting at his house, rather than at school. He suspected Jensen wasn't yet ready for crowds, let alone a high-energy mass of teenaged wolves and the noise they generated as they moved through the halls. So Alan and Jensen were ushered into an older two-story house, painted white, with a wide front porch that wrapped around one side, with a porch swing hung where the porch curved, and rocking chairs grouped along its length for comfortable conversation.

Inside were off-white walls with family photos and a few landscape oils on the walls, a framed poster of Ansel Adams' Half Dome on the stairwell wall, polished wood floors cushioned here and there with rugs in warm, deep colors. Couches and chairs were comfortably upholstered and again, arranged in comfortable conversation groups. Table surfaces gleamed under lamps, with short stacks of books and a few magazines. The coffee table held a large blown glass bowl, and oversized books on art, sculpture, and sports.

Simple curtains hung at the open windows, stirring in the slight breeze. Both Alan and Jensen felt immediately at home.

"Come this way," Beaver said, leading the way into his office. Jensen's gaze followed the floor to ceiling bookshelves across the width of the whole wall, before he settled in one of the armchairs at the principal's gesture. Alan took the other, and Beaver the end of the leather couch with the worn cushion. Someone obviously sat there frequently, and there were a couple of books with bookmarks sticking from between their pages under the lamp on the end table.

"Thank you for coming," Beaver said. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink? I think I've got some snickerdoodles in the kitchen. My housekeeper Mara spoils me," he grinned. "But I'll share."

Alan smiled, but shook his head. Beaver turned to the boy. "Jensen?"

The kid looked surprised to be asked, and cleared his throat before speaking. "Maybe later," he said, with a faint smile.

Beaver nodded, and launched into discussing Jensen's last grade level, what his interests were, his strong subjects, the ones he enjoyed—not necessarily the same—his weak ones and the ones he disliked. He asked what sports and activities Jensen had been involved in at his last school. He listened as Jensen opened up a little to talk about himself, and reached for a pad and pen to jot down a few notes. Looking at him now, Jim had trouble picturing Jensen as aggressive enough to have played football. Omegas usually weren't welcome in team sports—too much rough contact, though this kid looked pretty tough. Still, team coaches saw omegas as a liability on the field or basketball court. But there were other events where individuals competed alone, and those might appeal to the boy.

"Well," he peered at Jensen over the reading glasses he'd put on to write. "We have a good school, in my opinion, with a fairly advanced and broad curriculum. I think you'll fit right in," he smiled. "We have our troublemakers—can't have a bunch of teenagers all in one place without a little trouble now and then." He smiled, and Alan did, too.

"What we need to do, first of all, is have you fill out a couple of tests, academic placement, logic, math, science, etc., and also a survey on your interests, your strengths, and areas where you might need extra work, or a little help." He glanced at Alan and then at Jensen. "Sound good?"

Father and son nodded, and Beaver stood and crossed to his desk. "I have some time on Thursday," he told them, and turned to Jensen. "Are you doing anything about two o'clock this Thursday?"

Jensen shrugged, and exchanged a look with his dad. "Um. Not that I know of?"

Beaver nodded. "Okay then, we'll need about two hours of your time, and I'll go ahead and set up your testing for then. Once we know where you are in your subjects, I can assign some course work so you can start to make up some of the classes you've missed. You're welcome to work here in the evenings, or stop by with any questions you have on your subjects. You think that's going to work?"

"That's more than generous of you," Alan said.

"Teaching's my job. Well, I don't do a lot of direct teaching any more," Beaver told them. "It might be fun to get my hand in, again. Jensen?"

Jensen managed to meet the principal's gaze. "Yes sir. Thank you."

Beaver smiled, and asked again if anybody wanted snickerdoodles. When nobody took him up on his offer, he walked them to the door. "See you Thursday, Jensen."

"Thanks, Mr. Beaver. See you Thursday," Jensen mustered a smile before he and his dad left.

*    *    *

Alan and Jensen were still staying at Ms. Abbott's bed and boarding house. It was clean, and though there were a few other guests, it was quiet, and the food was very good. Either Lee or Hugo was always around, and went along with them whenever they went out.

The Ackles looked at several houses, though none of them seemed quite right for their family. Spending time with Hugo and Lee, they learned more about the town and its history. The alphas were friendly and easy going, ready to answer questions and volunteer information about the town and the local customs. It was easy to talk them into telling stories about some of the local eccentrics. Wolverton was beginning to seem like any other small town. It took Alan by surprise, sometimes, when he remembered that the town was almost exclusively inhabited by werewolves.

*    *    *

Having spent the morning looking at three of the houses for sale in the area, Alan and Jensen both had the afternoon free and were strolling down Wolverton’s main street, comparing the pros and cons of each home. Alan asked him which one he could most easily see himself living in and had to laugh when Jensen pointed out that he’d have to wait and see, that Mack would want first dibs on which bedroom was hers.Then Jensen could settle in.

A small gaggle of four or five teenaged girls passed them on the sidewalk, going the opposite direction. A couple of them eyed Jensen critically and then giggled once they had walked past. Jensen blushed, unsure what that was about, but Alan was suddenly conscious of the boy's thrift store attire. Jensen looked ruefully down at his worn thin Metallica t-shirt as he chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

Alan’s face took on a look of determined resolve as he watched his son. “Hmm…Maybe the ladies have a point. We need to up your game, son.”

“It’s okay dad. Seriously.”

“No, it’s really not. And here’s words I’d never thought I’d hear coming out of my mouth, but let’s go shopping."

Jensen was hesitant about trying on clothes, so Alan joined him in shopping. A surprisingly fun couple of hours later Alan and Jensen were making their way back to Ms. Abbott's with several bags of new clothing.

“I think you should have got that flamingo t-shirt, Pop.” Jensen laughed as they entered the front door of the house.

“Don't be ridiculous son, that was a completely different pink than the shorts I was trying on. I have my standards.” Alan huffed dramatically. “And besides, what about you? You left a perfectly good polka dot polo on the shelf.” Jensen snorted. The whole outing had been absurdly fun with his dad in fine form, trying on outrageous fashion choices before they both settled on some great finds. It gave Jensen a warm, confident feeling wearing clothes he felt comfortable in again. And most of them didn’t even itch. "Give me those," Alan reached for Jensen's bags. "I'm going to see if I can borrow Ms. Abbott's washer and run these things through before we wear them." Jensen looked a question at his dad.

"Remember the great jeans debacle?" Oh, yes. A brand new pair of board-stiff indigo jeans had left Jensen chafed in tender places and breaking out from the indigo dye and fabric sizing. He handed the bags over to his dad without another word.

*    *    *

On Tuesday, Jensen went by Dr. Speight's office to get his contraceptive implant, and to pick up his prescription for heat suppressants. The implant stung going in, and ached and itched a little for a few days under the skin of his forearm, several inches below his elbow. Rather than being a nuisance, it kept him aware of its presence and purpose, and made him smile to himself. After a few days, it didn't bother him any more. But he still, in odd moments, would stroke a thumb or a fingertip over the lump under his skin, and smile.

He started on the suppressants, with Dr. Speight's advice in mind. "If you have any weird symptoms, or even just feel a little 'off'," the doctor said. "Call me, or come by. Hormones can do strange and funky things to the body, sometimes. I can increase or lower the dosage on the pills, or even switch brands. Different brands sometimes cause different reactions for some people." At Jensen's expression of concern, Speight patted Jensen on the shoulder. "Chances are these are going to work just fine for you. I'm just saying, if they don't, we'll find something that does, okay?" He smiled reassuringly, and Jensen nodded in relief.

*    *    *

Jim was on his way home early on Thursday to meet Jensen. But Jared Padalecki stood in his office doorway, an expression of concern on his face, asking for a few minutes of his time.

"Come on in, boy," Jim said, waving Jared to a chair. He picked up his desk phone and speed dialed his house. When Mara answered, he reminded her that Jensen was due to come by at 2:00, probably accompanied either by his dad or an alpha guard. Jim was going to be a bit delayed, so would she ask them in, offer them refreshments along with his apologies, and tell them he'd be there as soon as he could? She said of course, and he hung up, sat down, and turned his attention to the Padalecki kid. "What's up?"

Alpha seniors were always pretty full of themselves, they didn't mind shoving each other, and younger betas around, bullying a little to get their way. They tended to group together, project a united front against younger students, especially betas and omegas. It's the way things had always been, and while the other students weren't especially pleased about the circumstance, they all knew the boundaries of teasing and harassment, and the seniors had always walked pretty close to that line.

"Sir," Padalecki wanted to know. "You know about the Fenris pack, right?" Of course, everybody knew about those primitive, narrow-minded, conservative jackasses. But Jim just nodded, and Jared went on. "I don't know if you were aware, but they have a youth group, the Sons of Fenris. They're organized, and the pack subsidizes and supports their actions." He glanced down, and back up at Beaver from under the shaggy forelock shading his brow. "Their whole purpose is to recruit members for Fenris pack," he said, with conviction. "And they're here on campus. They're making friends with the seniors, and pushing them to be nastier and meaner to the rest of the students." His voice held a note of frustration. "They make it sound exciting, like alphas are like...little kings, or something, like they have a right to anything they want, whether it belongs to somebody else...or, is somebody else." He looked at Jim with an expectation for a solution, a way to stop this behavior. Jim sighed.

"Are you sure, Jared? It's not just the seniors pushing their boundaries a little?"

"I've seen the symbols." Jared asked with a glance, and at Beaver's nod he took a pen and paper from the desk and sketched quick examples of some of the symbols, then pushed the paper toward the principal so he could see. "They draw them on lockers, walls, on notebooks—even in textbooks. Sharpied on skin, carved into desktops. They..." his gaze fell as he hesitated, and then rose to meet the principal's. "Those alphas scare me, and I'm a big guy. I'm no alpha, but I'm not a teeny beta girl, either. These guys are mean, and they're a bad influence on some of the alpha seniors—they're starting to act just like the Sons—they don't care who they hurt, they just take what they want."

"Have they approached you, Jared?"

The kid shook his head. "No, they're not interested in a beta. But my friend Chad Murray," he looked to the principal to make sure he knew Chad, and Beaver nodded. Oh yes, he knew Chad well. Jared went on. "He's an alpha, and he's had some interest from a couple of the Sons, promising him stuff, like, more prestige, girls and omegas at his beck and call, suggesting if he sees another kid with something he wants, maybe he should just take it as his alpha right."

He waited while Jim thought his words over, but finally, he asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm sure there is. Let me look into it, talk to the sheriff and Mayor Rhodes," he told the kid. "Maybe Alpha Omundson and some other people, and we'll decide how best to proceed." Jim stood, and Jared followed his prompt and stood, too. Jim clasped Jared's shoulder, looked him in the eye and told him, "Thanks, Jared, for coming in to talk to me about this. I appreciate the heads up. Now, I hate to run, but I really need to get to my appointment. You need an excuse for being late to your next period class?"

"Yes, sir." And as Jim scrawled a line or two on his notepad, Jared said, "Thanks for listening, Mr. Beaver. Let me know what the sheriff and the others have to say?"

Beaver said he would, and Jared looked a little relieved as he left for his last class, Principal Beaver's scrawled excuse in his hand.

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