Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

"You will pay for this," Dean hissed through his teeth.

Arion’s expression did not change.

That, more than if he had looked guilty, made Dean want to commit something small and administratively annoying.

"Later," Arion said.

Minerva closed her eyes briefly, as if filing that exchange under reasons her life had become more difficult than necessary.

Otto, apparently deciding the room had reached sufficient density for one morning, said, "Good. Then we are all aligned on the fact that this will be unpleasant."

Dean looked at him. "I object to how often that sentence is being framed as wisdom instead of prophecy."

"It can be both," Minerva said.

That was deeply unhelpful.

The meeting ended soon after, not because Dean had exhausted his ability to make it worse, but because there were limits even to imperial patience, and all of them had apparently decided he should face the next part without an audience.

Which was how, less than an hour later, Dean found himself alone in a private receiving room two floors below the medical suite, with no Arion, no Seven, no Minerva, no Otto, and therefore no remaining buffers between himself and what Otto had described with criminal calm as parental concern.

The room itself was offensively nice.

Warm wood.

A low table.

Two long windows looking out over the summer gardens of the Alaminan Palace, with all pale light flowers and clipped geometry.

Tea was already waiting, which meant someone had decided this should begin like civility and then undoubtedly degenerate.

Dean distrusted the setup immediately.

He remained standing for a little too long, as if perhaps refusal to sit could alter time.

It could not.

The door opened.

Trevor came in first.

Lucas followed.

Dean had always thought his parents carried power differently. Trevor wore his like something old, expensive, and perfectly fitted - so controlled it could be mistaken for ease until someone made the mistake of testing it. Lucas was sharper. More visible in it. Not louder, exactly, but brighter, the kind of presence that made rooms rearrange themselves before he said a word.

Right now both of them looked worried enough to be furious and furious enough to remain composed only through active effort.

Dean, who had survived a bond disruption, Arion’s knee, Seven’s medical ethics, and imperial administration, realized immediately that this was still somehow worse.

"Hello," he said.

It was, even by his standards, a very bad opening.

Neither parent answered at once.

Trevor looked at him like a man performing triage on ten overlapping emotional injuries and resenting the patient for being ambulatory enough to talk.

Lucas looked at him like he was trying to decide whether to hug him first or verbally dismantle him from the throat outward.

Dean had not known until that exact moment how terrifying it was to be loved by competent people.

Lucas spoke first.

"No."

Dean blinked. "That feels like an aggressive use of one syllable."

"No," Lucas repeated, stepping farther into the room. "You do not get to greet us like this is mildly awkward and then expect me to participate in whatever tone-management strategy you were about to attempt."

Dean opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

That was fair, which was a hateful way for a conversation to begin.

Trevor shut the door behind them with careful quiet, the kind that always felt more dangerous than noise. "Sit."

Dean sat.

His parents did not.

That, in Dean’s opinion, made the power dynamics offensively clear.

Lucas stopped a few feet in front of him, arms folded now, anger held in that very specific way people only managed when they were terrified underneath it and hated being seen in the wrong order.

"How long," Lucas asked, "did you know?"

Dean actually thought about it. Not because he was trying to lie, but because the answer was annoyingly imprecise. "A few months after I presented as a dominant omega," he said at last. "So... around a year and a half ago." His mouth twisted. "But in my defense, I didn’t understand at first that it was a separate ability."

Lucas stared at him, real disappointment arriving in full and refusing to soften itself for comfort.

Trevor, seated across from them, did not move at all.

Dean saw both reactions and, for one brief irrational second, thought that a fractured rib had in fact been easier than this.

"A year and a half," Lucas repeated.

Dean nodded once. "Approximately."

"That," Lucas said, "is not helping."

"It is the honest version."

Lucas let out a breath through his nose. "I am aware."

Trevor finally spoke. "You did not understand it was separate?"

Dean looked at him. "No."

Trevor held his gaze. "Explain."

There was no edge in the word. No visible temper. Just the clean request for structure from a man who had long since learned that people trying to defend themselves often hid inside vagueness if they were not forced into clarity.

Dean looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up. "When I first noticed it, it didn’t feel distinct. I had just presented as a dominant omega; everything biological was changing, everything pheromonal was changing, and a lot of it felt... louder than before." He frowned slightly. "I knew I could interrupt things at close range sometimes. But I thought it was part of the general shift. A side effect. Not a separate thing with its own design.

Lucas’s arms stayed folded. "And that explanation satisfied you?"

Dean gave a small, helpless shrug. "At the time, apparently yes." His mouth twisted. "It didn’t feel distinct. It came with the rest of it - with the presentation, with the projectile ability, with everything getting louder all at once - and I thought it belonged to the same category." He looked down briefly at his hands. "Later I got angry about constantly losing training to Nero and used it to shut down his pheromones at close range. I know how bad that sounds. Arion already gave me the lecture." He exhaled once. "And then I made it worse by trying to target his scent gland during the fight."

Lucas stared at him.

Trevor’s expression did not move, but Dean knew that look too. It was the one Trevor wore when he was forcing himself to stay in analysis rather than become purely parental about a problem, and that meant the problem was now bad enough to be measured on multiple levels at once.

Lucas unfolded his arms only to brace both hands on the table between them. "You used it on Nero first."

Dean nodded. "Yes."

"How long ago?"

Dean grimaced faintly. "A year."

Lucas shut his eyes for a second. "Dean."

"I know."

"No," Lucas said, opening his eyes again. "You keep saying that as if it reduces the damage. It doesn’t. It just confirms you are fully capable of hearing yourself."

Trevor said, very evenly, "When you used it on Nero, did you understand then that it was separate from the projectile ability?"

Dean looked at him. "Not completely. I understood it was doing something different. I didn’t yet understand how different."

"And you still didn’t tell us."

"No."

Trevor held his gaze. "Why?"