Chapter Text
Joe makes the decision to entrust one captive to each of them, but does not decide which of the hostages leaves with which Herald. He thinks it’s better that the family come to an agreement that works for everyone.
The three hostages from the Sheriff’s office are hogtied on the floor, mouths taped shut and eyes blindfolded. They’re conscious, though the little omega male deputy just barely. The female beta has plenty of fight in her and the alpha marshal’s entire body is drawn tight, waiting for any opportunity to strike. He’s sneering around his gag.
Jacob doesn’t care for how any of them smell. Well, the beta is innocuous, and if he didn’t have his siblings to consider, he’d just as soon take her as to not have to deal with the chemical stench of the other two.
The omega is on suppressors, probably has been since he was a teenager. The marshal is on inhibitors that block out his scent almost entirely, except for an acerbic tang in the air. Normal for the outside but not inside Eden’s Gate. Save for the members meant to infiltrate into broader society, suppressors and inhibitors aren’t allowed. Joe tells the faithful that god has a plan for all of them, and while moderation is encouraged, canceling out their “true selves,” is not.
It’s never much mattered to Jacob. He can control himself just fine. Being able to throw his scent and have Joe’s faithful respond positively to his commands has made keeping them corralled easier. There’s a practical advantage to encouraging dynamics.
But still hopped up on drugs, the omega and the marshal could smell like anything underneath. And Jacob finds the faux-beta neutrality of their scents off-putting, like shitty fake vanilla extract.
Faith kneels down next to the marshal, taking his chin between her delicate fingers to turn his head. The marshal suddenly complies, the fight draining out of him. And Jacob wishes Faith’s throw wasn’t so strong. It has its place, her powdery-soft scent mixing in with the Bliss to lull the angels into gentle submission. But in the closed confines of the room, Jacob nearly chokes on it. And though they are not blood relations, he’s been thinking of the girl as his sister for long enough that he doesn’t find the scent seductive, just overwhelming, verging on cloying.
“I want this one,” Faith says, dancing her fingers down the center of the marshal’s chest.
Jacob lets himself exhale with relief. He would have intervened and insisted he take the alpha marshal himself, if John had attempted to choose him. John and Faith might both be unbonded omegas, but Jacob has no doubts Faith can control virtually any alpha kept under her sway. John...John is rash, susceptible, weak. Right now, he wants to please Joe as the alpha of their family. But Jacob worries that temptation might still get the best of his youngest brother.
He assumes from there that John will take the omega. Right now, the little one is covered in grime and blood, but he might be pretty underneath. John likes ruining pretty things.
But instead, John moves in on the beta, grabbing her by the hair and twisting until she screams into the gag. John likes it best when pretty things try fighting back.
That leaves Jacob with the omega. Other than the smell, that’s fine. The crisis Jacob worried over is already averted by Faith choosing the marshal instead of John. He won’t try to upset the balance.
—
The omega is quiet at first, still tied up in the back of the truck cab. Halfway to the bunker, he starts sobbing, meek, hopeless sounds of fear around the gag. Jacob tells him to be quiet, and for awhile, the omega listens.
Jacob pulled the omega’s wallet from his pocket before leaving for the mountains. The deputy’s name is Staci Pratt, twenty-six years old. In his driver’s licence photo he looks good, handsome, clean shaven with a nice smile. A real charmer. Jacob could already tell, even though Pratt is broken and bloody in the back, stubble growing in thickly on his cheeks and chin.
He’s not supposed to smoke. Joe says it sets a bad example for the faithful. Jacob ‘quit’ long ago, smoked from thirteen until twenty-three. Didn’t pick it up again until Hope County. Too much stress, his nerves too fried. Needs something to cover up the shaking. Better than drugs. Sure as hell better than the Bliss.
Popping open the glove compartment, he takes out the pack he’s been working on for the last month. Only needs it occasionally. Joe doesn’t have to know.
Rolling down the window, Jacob burns through a single cigarette as he drives. Pratt starts whimpering again, but with the nicotine, the edge of Jacob’s anger is somewhat dulled. He just wants to get back to the hospital.
He doesn’t bother telling Pratt to keep his mouth shut about the smoking. That will only give him ammunition against Jacob in the long run. He pulls open the rear cab door to pull the omega out, shoving him towards the grand hospital doors.
Already bone tired, Jacob just wants to lay down. He won’t be able to sleep. Can’t sleep, really. But can rest. He can figure out what to do with Pratt in the morning. For the time being, he just tosses him into an empty cage and removes the gag before heading to bed. A quick word with the guards to keep an eye on the new prisoner. He’s valuable to the Father’s plans.
--
“Wake up, Peaches,” Staci feels a kick to his side. Though he’s still tied and blindfolded, he can tell there’s daylight now, brightness behind the cloth over his eyes.
Jacob Seed unties his wrists, then the blindfold. He’s kneeling close enough that when Staci opens his eyes, he sees the bright blue of Jacob’s boring into his.
This is the worst case scenario. They should have never fucked with Eden’s Gate. Staci tried to warn them all, but that fucking Marshal kept pushing. And now Staci is fuck-knows where and at the mercy of some sociopath with pretty eyes. Some sociopath with pretty eyes who has the distinct smell of an un-inhibited Alpha and Staci hates how it blocks everything else out. Makes it harder to think than it should be. Fuck.
“We best get started,” Jacob grabs Staci under his armpits, hoisting him up to his feet.
Staci is still sore from the crash. Something is wrong with his leg and he’s too terrified to look down and see the damage. He can stand, but it feels like the skin is loose, wet paper wrapped around his bone. His head hurts and he knows his face is covered in blood. Not all of it is his own. The others were there last night, weren’t they? Hudson and the Marshal...but the Sheriff and the Rookie...are they dead?
Once Staci is on his feet, Jacob Seed pushes him out the cage and towards the door. Jacob doesn’t touch him after that, but stays in lock step behind Staci’s back, directing him somewhere.
His throat is so dry, he’s not sure he can even speak.
Jacob takes him to the bathroom, tells him to clean up, they’ll dress the wounds that need it. “You’re weak. And if you die, it will be on my head.”
Staci can tell Jacob is looming, doesn’t even leave the room as Staci strips down to step into the shower. Once the water starts running, Staci risks it, and drinks from the showerhead. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity.
He has to look at his leg to clean it, but the damage isn’t as bad as he had worried. The skin is cut through, and he’ll need stitches, but it’s not as floopy-loose as he had feared. He tries to get the dirt out of it, and in the process of scrubbing it starts to bleed again, the scabbing breaking off. Staci hisses in pain, but keeps going. If he gets infected, he’ll lose the leg. Fuck, it might already be too late.
Staci spends less time on his hair than he did his leg, washing it with the same hard soap he used on his body. Before he can properly finish, Jacob barks at him to get out of the shower. There’s a towel hanging on the rack for him, and some clothes that must have come from one of the peggies. They’re just about the right size.
Hunger claws at him now that thirst isn’t an immediate problem. But eating is still far from Staci’s first priority. “I…” Staci thinks maybe he should fight harder, but he’s too terrified. He’s heard stories of Jacob. They saw the bodies on pyres when flying in. “Suppressants.”
Jacob shakes his head, “You’re in no position to make demands.”
Staci opens and closes his mouth, but thinks better than to say anything at all.
“You’ll need to be stitched back together,” Jacob says, and the words that should be a relief sound more like a threat.
--
Staci Pratt will never be strong enough. Jacob already knows as much. And it has nothing to do with being an omega. There are plenty of strong omegas among the faithful. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Jacob counts some of them among his trusted lieutenants, executing his orders in the field. He’s already had children with three others, scattered across the outposts in the mountains. He believes in them and their strength. Being an omega has nothing to do with Staci Pratt’s weakness.
“Again,” Jacob repeats, starting the song over.
Staci cries out, “No,” falling to his hands and knees before covering sightless eyes. “I can’t. Just kill me.”
“Again,” Jacob turns the music box.
He wishes Joe would just let Pratt die. It would be easier for everyone.
--
Jacob trains Pratt to kill the Deputy. The one who got away. All of this, for the one who got away. Joe wants this loose end wrapped up as soon as possible. If Pratt can be properly trained, he can get close to the Deputy, find him at his weakest point.
Everything is by design.
He makes sure to cut Pratt’s rations. Not enough to actually cause his body to shut down, but enough that his excess weight will start dropping off. He’ll look thinner, more emaciated, fragile. Right now, Pratt has the build of someone whose greatest sin is vanity. Carefully carved out abdominals, defined obliques, attractive arms. None of it particularly practical, or gained through labor. Pratt wanted to look good and didn’t worry about function.
But by making him smaller, thinner, the Deputy will want to protect Pratt, shelter him. They know the Deputy is an alpha, and pulling Pratt off of suppressants will only help him to get close. Jacob’s plan is a good one. Smart. If Joe won’t let Jacob kill Pratt, he might as well make use of him.
—
Staci spends seven more days in the same cycle, a shower just long enough to get clean, though his leg is wrapped up tightly now, enough food that he doesn’t die, then hours under the sway of the music box. Kill. Kill. Run, survive. Weak, but weakness has its purpose.
Then on the eight day, nothing.
Jacob doesn’t come for him, leaving him alone in the cell. Hours churn by and he’s so thirsty that his throat aches. They haven’t put anyone else in his cell. But that’s the only mercy that he’s been afforded. But even if he’s locked up separately, Staci is afraid.
It’s been nine days since his last suppressant pill. The men and women in the other cages are mostly betas, but he can smell alphas too. And with each passing day, he knows they look at him differently. The guards look at him differently too, as his scent starts to change. He doesn’t feel any different. Not yet. But the eyes on him make him cringe.
—
On the fourteenth day, Jacob returns for him.
“Change of plans, Peaches,” he opens the door and pauses, staring down at where Staci is curled in the bundle of sheets that pass for his bed. “Follow.”
Even though Jacob says plans are changing, Staci expects to be led to the showers. It’s been...five or six days since he’s properly washed. He knows he smells of sweat and grime and…
Unmated, un-suppressed omega.
And all his thoughts condense around that single point, going haywire all at once with worst case scenarios that are worse than this current worst. Every nerve in his body says to flee. To run.
But Jacob is so much bigger than him. And stronger. And Staci hasn’t had a proper meal in two weeks. He’s exhausted. But maybe if he runs, Jacob will kill him. Maybe this will all be over.
That’s the only thought screaming in his head as he starts to run, pounding his bare feet against the hospital floor.
Jacob doesn’t even shout, or chase after him. He simply follows at the same pace he’s always kept. Steady and calm as Staci realizes he doesn’t know where to go. The peggies watch him with curious disdain until he finds the front doors, the metal gate in front of it shut and locked.
Staci throws himself against the bars. Over and over again until his shoulder and side ache. Until he can’t pick himself up again. He hears Jacob’s boots on the floor, steadily encroaching. Once the footsteps stop, Jacob crouches low, staring into Staci’s eyes.
“Do you feel better now?”Jacob asks.
Staci admits, “No.”
Jacob leaves him a heap on the floor and walks away, unconcerned with Staci’s tantrum. Not knowing what else to do, where else to go, Staci stays huddled by the door. Someone must come in, or out, eventually. But no one moves. It feels as if the whole hospital goes still.
When he wakes again, he’s not by the door, or in his cage, but in a makeshift bedroom, Jacob Seed working at his desk by lamplight.
“As I was saying, Peaches, there’s been a change of plans.”
—
The chemical smell of Pratt’s suppressors is completely gone after two weeks.
Jacob hadn’t intended to leave him alone for quite so long. But the escaped Deputy is raising hell in the Valley and John, for all his clever words and talented hands, can’t plot out troop movements for shit. Jacob’s expertise was needed to try and fortify their positions before they lose another outpost.
When Jacob returns to the hospital, he realizes his mistake.
The alphas he has penned in are scratching at the bars, reduced through training though their most primal needs. The guards are better off, using their faith to guard against the Lust that claws inside of them. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. There are plenty of omegas around the hospital. But Pratt has likely been suppressed for years and his hormones are going haywire, throwing further and stronger than they should.
Jacob had every intention of simply recloating Pratt to a private room where his scent won’t be such a nuisance when he decided to make a pathetic escape attempt. Better just to let Pratt tire himself out for the moment.
Jacob doesn’t really care to admit it, but as violently unpredictable as Pratt’s hormones are, the buttery, warm scent of him is making it hard for Jacob to put him down properly. It’s not so bad as to make Jacob lose his head, but enough that the idea of hurting him feels wrong inside his gut. It’ll pass. But right now, Jacob can wait.
Watching Staci Pratt wake up bleary eyed in his bed, hair rumpled and his dirty face still a mess, tugs at Jacob’s instincts. But it’s still manageable.
“You’re not strong enough to kill, to survive. You don’t have it in you,” Jacob taps his fingers against his desk. He wants a cigarette, but he can’t take the chance smoking inside the hospital. “But we find a use for the weak.”
Joe doesn’t want the Deputy dead. He wants the rouge alpha alive. When Jacob asked why Joe was so intent on keeping such a thorn around, Joe said that symbols are important. Prophecy is important. Jacob watched John smile.
Keeping the Deputy alive will doom them all. But it’s not Jacob’s decision to make. Joe’s affections for their younger brother are keeping him from thinking rationally. They can’t just give John every shiny toy he asks for. They can’t.
The most Jacob can hope for is heading off the disaster sure to come knocking at their door.