Note: Cross-posted on Ao3 as iluvdanimal.
The trainers called him the Alpha.
It'd been an uphill battle to earn that Alpha designation, but it had been worth it. His litter was made up of two other males and one female who were strong and submissive; they recognized his authority from day one and were easy enough to keep in line. The other litters were more resistant, but he didn't relent, and once under his command the pack as a whole functioned beautifully. The runt from his own litter was another story, but there wasn't much anyone could do with a runt.
For one thing, his coloring was all wrong – none of the other litters wanted anything to do with him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, practically glowed in the dark, he was so light. His fur was thin to begin with and by the time he'd reached maturity, he'd lost so much of it he looked too human. That might've been nothing – might actually have been enough to move him into an alpha position among some packs, since looking like a human tended to be an advantage to some Splices – but he was smaller than anyone in the entire pack, and weaker as well. His speed was all right, but he had limited agility and wound up tripping over his own limbs half the time. The only thing the runt did better than anyone was try, and it would have been endearing if there was a use for mediocre soldiers. But there wasn't, and the Alpha had no place for him.
Among his pack were four other litters, with three or four pups each. A good, strong pack was at least fifteen; they had eighteen. Not only did they not need the runt, he'd be a liability.
On the evening before the pack left the splicing facility to join the Legion, the Alpha watched the runt as he sat off to the side with his bedding. It was almost time for lights out, and their littermates were all engaged in playful hand-to-hand combat, but they wouldn't engage the runt. He was of no use – he couldn't best anyone at anything, couldn't even land a punch on one of the Beta's noses, and aside from it being too easy a task to knock him out, no one wanted to hurt him. So the Alpha, while surveying the fighting, sat down next to him. He didn't meet the runt's hungry eyes, but he did speak gently.
"I don't know what's going to happen to you tomorrow."
It took a moment, but the runt replied. "Yes, you do."
He was smart, the Alpha would give him that. He nodded. "Okay." He paused while he watched his sister throw an Omega from one of the other litters across the room, and smiled a little. "Well. I've heard it doesn't hurt. That help?"
"I'm not afraid of pain."
The Alpha raised his eyebrows. "I know that's right, the way you put yourself in harm's way. But there's still a chance they might sell you to the Legion anyway."
"What's the Legion going to do with one Lycantant?"
"Don't know." He honestly thought it was distinctly unlikely they'd sell the little thing, but if they did, he'd probably be sold to the infantry, in which case he'd probably be dead within six months. "At least if they do, you'll have the chance to die fighting."
The runt was silent; the Alpha had no idea if he'd done any good. He chanced a glace to his right, where the runt sat, and immediately regretted it.
No one groomed him, so as clean as he was, he was shaggy. He didn't have a comb to speak of and his hair was too long. He'd filed his nails into rough points against the concrete floor. In addition to being much shorter than any of the others, he was much thinner, and he wasn't granted new clothes because he wasn't growing out of the old ones, so those were shaggy, too; the Alpha noted that he'd braided the frayed hems of his pants and tunic. None of that was unexpected.
It was the look in the runt's eyes that undid the Alpha. It wasn't fear like he'd have expected of someone who knew they'd be dead by noon the next day. It was despair. He wondered how long that had been there, whether he'd seen it before but had dismissed it because of the sickly green color of the runt's eyes, and whether he'd have been able to do anything about it if he'd acknowledged it sooner.
This little thing ought to have been culled a long time ago, he thought bitterly. The Alpha wasn't unfeeling, but he knew, even at his young age, that there were some things worse than death.
He let out a long, slow breath. The lights flickered in warning, and the pack slowly separated into litters again, to bed down for one last night.
"How 'bout this," said the Alpha. "How 'bout I give you a name? If they put you down tomorrow, you'll at least have that."
The runt kept his chin tucked to his chest, but was remarkably still. "You don't have to."
"You just let me decide what I'll do, all right?" said the Alpha, and he bumped the runt's knee with his own.
The runt looked away.
"Let's see. Who's your favorite trainer?"
"Miss Wise."
That didn't surprise the Alpha much; Miss Wise had a firm hand and tolerated very little, but wasn't stingy with praise when it was warranted. Whatever else the runt was, he was good at following orders. He nodded. "All right. You ever think about a name for yourself?"
"No," replied the runt.
The Alpha considered that it was kind of a ridiculous question. The runt knew he was a runt; he'd probably known he wouldn't be going with the pack to the Legion for a good year, or longer. Most of the trainers had sharp tongues and no tact.
"If you could pick, what would you want to be called?"
The runt went so far as to shift his eyes to the Alpha's knee. "Anything," he said. "Anything but runt."
"I don't blame you," said the Alpha, lifting an eyebrow as he watched their other littermates push bedding together in the corner of the den, where they'd sleep together one last time. The runt would sleep right where he sat, not too close, but not far, either. "You know what they call us? The pure humans?"
"Lots of things," said the runt. "None of them are nice."
The Alpha chuckled. "You're right about that. But what I mean is, they call us canines. Supposed to be a scientific word; it really just keeps us separate from them. And that's okay. I don't mind bein' a canine." He tossed an idea around in his head a moment. He'd heard the Legion would allow him to choose his own name, and it was a name he'd been considering for himself. But it wasn't his favorite, and he could choose anything.
"Look at me, runt." The runt's shoulders squared to face the Alpha, and sickly green eyes looked up to meet rich amber ones, set in a face framed with dappled black and brown fur. "There's nothing I can do for you. Miss Wise and the other trainers, they've already made up their minds about you. But for the little time you have left I think you should call yourself Caine Wise."
The runt drew in a deep breath. "Caine Wise."
"Right. For the love of Neptune, though, don't actually call yourself that. You know how the humans get."
He nodded once, sharply.
The Alpha nodded back. "All right. It's lights out now."
The runt nodded again, and gathered his blanket into a comfortable-enough nest on the floor. The Alpha rose to join the others not far away, and the runt watched him settle until the den was plunged into darkness. He closed his eyes.
A moment later he heard shuffling, and then felt a hand on his scruff. He yelped, terrified that he was already being retrieved to be put down, but the Alpha hushed him as he drug him across the floor, closer to his litter.
"Go to sleep," said the Alpha, who laid down once more.
The runt was sure this was all impossible, wasn't quite convinced that he hadn't already been put down. But as he was instructed, for the little time he had left, Caine Wise curled up and slept at his Alpha's feet.
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