The basic Alpha/Omega elements in this story are: there are no non-consensual sexual scenarios, no rutting/ heat, no knotting, and their physical form is that of their primary gender. The only unusual physical biology is that Omega males can be impregnated and bear children, which I only did because this story kind of required that set up. Alphas and Omegas have instincts that motivate them to behave in certain ways but they are not animals, they are humans and can have control over their behavior if they chose to.

Primary gender pairings: In this AU the same primary gender pairings (male/male or female/female) are accepted but not particularly common, just as same gender pairings are a lower percentage in the real world. However, there is a societal expectation to produce heirs, so in that case same-sex pairings are frowned upon unless it's a male with an Omega male who can be impregnated.

ONTENT WARNING: The end to this chapter, after Crowley leaves the Pulcifiers has references of child abuse, and describes abuse of an adult..

Crowley trudged back to the well to obtain a fresh bucket of water for cleaning. He had finally finished scrubbing the stove which was blackened from frequent use and he looked down at his hands with a grimace, knowing from experience that the ashes would be embedded in his cuticles and crevices of his hands for days or more. The lines on his palms shook out in stark contrast against his pale skin. It made him think of the traveling fortune teller he watched in town from a distance one day as she plied her trade by reading palms for a few coins. He wondered what she would make of his palm. Would she make up some fantastically improbable story of him being swept off his feet by a handsome prince, or would she hunch muttering over his hand, then look up at him sadly, the truth of his future written in the regret shining from her dark eyes?

He shook his head sharply to try to banish such morose thoughts and rubbed his hand ineffectually against his trousers to try to wipe more of the grime off. At least the dark clothing he wore was practical; his black trousers and dark gray shirt reasonably hid the grime that his daily chores created.

He had a dim memory of loving bright colors when he was younger, wearing a bright blue shirt that clashed with the sage green waistcoat and orange cravat he would put on when he was— maybe four? He remembered his father chuckling fondly at him as he proudly announced that he had gotten dressed all by himself that day. The small smile at the memory faded as he recalled that his bright colors were quickly banished when his father married his stepmother. She sternly insisted that any children under her roof would be dressed as appropriate to their station, rather than such apparently offensive garish colors. His Beta father had tried, suggesting that letting Crowley indulge was harmless fun, but his new Alpha wife had persuaded him with honeyed words and firm steel underneath that surface charm, and eventually in his affable way his father had acquiesced, saying that perhaps as a woman she knew best.

He sighed. He had never understood how his father couldn't see past his stepmother's traditional beauty and flawless pedigree to the cold calculating person underneath. Perhaps he would have, with time, but his father's fatal fall from his horse when he was six prevented that possibility as the whole household was plunged into chaos. Suddenly his stepmother transformed from someone who had appeared to be aloof but politely pleasant to him, who he wanted desperately to please as his new mother, to someone who regarded him with undisguised disgust whenever she laid eyes on him. The sudden change was bewildering and made him cry even more, his little heart already hurting at the loss of his papa.

It wasn't until he was much older that he realized she had likely just pretended to have affection for him when his papa was alive and when he died she had no reason to hide her true feelings. His relationship with his step brother and sister, already not close, deteriorated as they emulated their mother's example. Ligur as a young Alpha boy was already prone to aggressive behavior, and with his mother's unspoken permission he gleefully made Crowley's life miserable at frequent intervals. Ligur's twin sister Hester was a Beta who was prone to tantrums but at least didn't go out of her way to antagonize Crowley, mostly confining herself to boss him around when she noticed him at all.

Still, it was bearable for a little while after his Papa's death because he had his nanny Tracy, who had been a constant fixture in his life ever since his mother died from a fever when he was a baby. She was full of hugs, kind words and smiles for him, quick with a bandage for all hurts real or imagined, and games of all sorts. His favorite memories were of the many walks they took in the woods and meadows, where she pointed out all manner of plants and creatures in answer to his endless stream of questions about what was in the world all around them.

But all too soon, even that was taken from him. One afternoon as he was being comforted by Tracy for crying about Ligur hitting him over touching one of his toys his stepmother swept abruptly into the nursery. Perhaps because he was an Omega he cried too easily in those days, but he had still missed his papa desperately. His papa had been a little distant, but kind, and with his death Crowley's world as he knew it was turned upside down to something bewilderingly darker, as if the bright colors denied in his clothing were somehow also banished from the world.

As his stepmother swept into the room he tried his best to become invisible by hiding his tear streaked face into Tracy's side and shrinking as far into the side of the couch as he could manage as his stepmother snapped at them furiously.

"Really, cease your sniveling at once! You are far too old to be coddled like an infant, it's past time you start acting like a proper young man. Miss Tracy, I have decided we will no longer have need of your services. I have arranged for a tutor to start his schooling as is proper."

He felt Tracy stiffen beside him as she squeezed his arm reassuringly and slowly stood to face his stepmother. "He's only six years old, milady, and lost his father not long ago. Surely there's no harm in letting him have a nanny for a little longer to help him adjust?"

Duchess Lucia swept her with a disdainful glare, her Alpha scent suddenly spiking which made Crowley cower further into the couch. "I am now the head of this house, Miss Tracy," she said coldly. "If you wish to be provided with a good reference upon your departure you would do well to remember that."

Amazed that Tracy could manage to be able to stand uncowed before his stepmother's cold authoritative anger when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball of submission, Crowley peeked out from under his arm. He could see Tracy's fingers clench against her sides but her voice remained steady as she said, "Yes, milady, I do see what the current state of things are."

His stepmother's eyes narrowed, but as she couldn't find fault in Tracy's words, surveyed the nursery. "Your last duties as a nanny will be to throw away all of these toys. This room is quite large and far better suited for Ligur as the heir. Anthony will be moved to a more suitable room."

This caught Tracy off guard as she said in surprise, "Throw them away? Surely you don't mean all of them—"

His stepmother's glare silenced her. "I do not intend to repeat myself Miss Tracy."

"I— yes, of course milady."

His stepmother looked at her haughtily for a moment longer as if waiting to see if her authority would be challenged again, then without a glance at Crowley swept from the room. Tracy looked after her, her hand to her mouth as if physically keeping words from coming out. Then she looked at Crowley and flew to his side, gathering him tenderly in her arms as he started to cry again in earnest.

"There, there my love, I'm here for you. Oh, my sweet boy. I'm so sorry this is happening to you." She rocked him a while longer until his sobs subsided and then pulled his head up to look at him, wiping the tears away from his cheeks.

The tenderness on her face was tinged with a resolute fierceness. "My lamb, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to grow up a lot faster than you should have to. Things are going to be very different for you from now on and it will be so very, very hard for you but you will need to do your best and know that I will always love you with all of my heart."

Crowley looked up at her, his heart breaking. "But why? Why does she hate me?"

Tracy closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. "Some people have hate in their hearts all of the time that spills out and makes them mean and hurtful. When those people are in a position of power there's only so much people like us can do about it." She opened her eyes again to look into Crowley's golden ones. "But listen to me very carefully. It's very important to not take that hate into ourselves, to not become the very thing that hurts us."

Crowley didn't really understand what she was saying, but he nodded anyway.

Tracy sighed. "Help me pick out a few favorite things, I'll see if I can come up with a place to hide them for you."

Crowley nodded sadly and they started going through his things.

~*~O~*~

He wondered for years why his stepmother detested him. He remembered what Tracy had told him, that she just had hate in her heart, but when he was twelve he got some insight into her motivations. He had been assigned the yearly task of cleaning out the chimneys, and for the large one in the living room room that meant he had to wedge himself up in it as far as he could to push the cleaning brush up to clear it of the build up of soot. It was an absolutely filthy job, one that had him covered in black dust when he emerged, coughing. He grabbed one of the many rags he had brought with him and wiped his face and hands, which didn't do much more than smear it around, and started to gather up the cleaning supplies when his stepmother walked into the room. He worked more quickly, trying to leave her presence as soon as possible but as he stood up with the bundle of rags in his arms he saw to his unease that she had stepped close to him.

He looked anywhere but her nervously. It was never good when she actually paid attention to him and he tensed to brace himself for what was to come next. Surprisingly, her hand shot out and she grasped his chin in a bruising grip, turning his head from side to side as she stared at him. He flicked his eyes up briefly into her green ones, trying to interpret the look there before hastily looking back down to the floor in submission.

"You look a great deal like your mother."

Crowley blinked in astonishment. Of anything he could have imagined his stepmother saying that was certainly not it. She had never once mentioned his mother, and any paintings of his mother had been so long removed from the halls so he could barely remember what she looked like. She had died from a fever when he was just a baby, and all he remembered from the paintings was the rich strokes of dark scarlet paint that portrayed the likeness of her hair, the same color that greeted him whenever he caught his reflection.

"She stole your father from me, did you know that? He was courting me, he was about to propose to me, when she came out of nowhere, a harlot little nobody that bewitched him from me. And then my parents forced me to marry a man thirty years my senior who pawed at me like a drooling rabid dog. The day that man died while rutting on my body was the day I went straight to the cathedral to thank our Lord Savior for finally freeing me."

She was looking through him now, her green eyes unfocused as she spoke of the past. "And then when she died I finally had my chance to take back what she stole from me."

Crowley's eyes had widened to the size of saucers, still carefully fixed firmly to the floor. This was certainly new information. His father had never said anything about courting his stepmother before he married his mother.

"And now in a cruel twist of fate, I'm stuck with you, the little brat that reminds me of her every single day."

Crowley had no idea if a response was expected of him so he remained silent. It certainly explained a few things but he was at a loss as to why she was so bitter about it. He knew his father had loved his mother; he had spoken to Crowley often of her and talked about the importance of keeping her memory alive.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed and focused on him again, her fingers tightening painfully around his jaw. She snapped out, "This is a better look for you, hides that repugnant color. I'd have you shave it every day if not for the fact that you would be more of an embarrassment than you already are. Get out of here and finish the laundry. I'll not have you lazing about when there's work to be done."

The force of the disapproving command from the Alpha pushed at Crowley, making his inner Omega want to duck his head in shame despite the very small voice at the back of his head insisting that he'd done nothing wrong.

After that, it didn't take a genius to figure out that his stepmother would assign him twice as many chores whenever he washed the soot from his hair, He took to keeping a stash of coals in his room that he would mix with water and comb through his hair so that it looked nearly black instead of red. He had learned not to care what he looked like anyway so it was a small concession to be given the gift of being left alone.

~*~O~*~

He wandered through the thicket, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. His stepmother and the twins were out in the city, which gave him the opportunity to leave the house for most of the day without getting into trouble for it. He hadn't been to the city since he was a child and wondered what kind of life people had there, full of the glittering soirees of the highborn he overheard his step family talk about. It seemed so much more exciting than his small world that was restricted to within walking distance of the manor, and the occasional trips into the small town nearby to buy supplies. But for a cruel twist of fate resulting in his father's fatal fall from a horse, he would likely be at those parties, out in Society in fine clothes and scintillating conversation… but no, a very different path lay stretched before him, one of endless drudgery and servitude.

His feet took him down the familiar path to the closest manor from his home, and as he turned around the curve of the long driveway he caught the welcome sight of the stable hand James, just shutting the gate to the paddock, who waved him over enthusiastically.

As Crowley came closer James greeted him with a grin. "Milady's had the baby!"

"Oh!" Crowley exclaimed, elated. He spun around and sprinted over to the manor.

It was a turning point in his young life when he met Lord and Lady Pulcifier when he was ten. He came across them on one of his walks, and wary at first, was instantly drawn to them when they responded to him with simple open friendliness. They were newlyweds who had recently moved into the manor a thirty minute walk from his house. Well, nowadays it was a twenty minute walk now that he was an adult and his long legs more easily ate up the distance. Upon meeting him, to his surprise and delight the Pulcifier's readily invited him over to their house any time he wished. He went over there every chance he could, which wasn't nearly as often as he would have liked, but enough to give him something to look forward to when he was at home.

He grew to adore Anathema fiercely and she treated him like a little brother, alternately fussing over and scolding him as she felt the need. Her husband Newton was a tall Beta that seemed to be all elbows and knees that was one step away from knocking something off of a surface but he had a calm personality that was soothing to be near at times when Crowley's instincts to follow his Alpha wife around like a puppy and try to please her became a little too hard to bear. Newton seemed to understand this and would invite Crowley into his study to show him the ledgers and accounting he worked on to keep their manor running. Once he discovered that Crowley no longer had a tutor he took it upon himself to give small lessons during his visits and quizzed him on what he remembered on future visits. Crowley tended to be a quick study and did everything within his means to keep the Pulcifer's approval, the nagging worry that he could lose this small slice of happiness at any moment never far from his mind.

When a maid brought him to the couple sitting in the family room Crowley eagerly peppered them with questions. "When did you have the baby? What is it? How are you? Can I see?" he asked excitedly, trying to peer at the bundle in Anathema's arms.

Anathema laughed. "He was born four days ago, he's a boy, his name is Owen, I'm fine, and yes. Come, sit next to me."

Crowley eagerly sat down next to Anathema on the couch and briefly glanced at Newton, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny sleeping face wrapped in soft cloth. "So Newton, was the birth horrifying as you thought it would be?"

"Absolutely." Newton said firmly. "Anathema is much better cut out to be able to handle this sort of thing than I am."

Anathema leaned towards Crowley and said conspiratorially, "He fainted and I had to banish him to outside of the birthing room."

"Anathema!" Newton said, a pained expression appearing on his face.

Crowley suppressed a laugh. For all of their teasing it was clear how much they loved each other and every time he saw the obvious signs of their happy marriage it warmed his heart.

Anathema lifted the bundle towards him. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Really? I'd love to." Crowley carefully took little Owen, nestling him into the crook of his arm like he'd watched mothers do. He looked down in awe at the perfect little face topped by a thick head of dark hair. He bent down to inhale the sweet baby scent but then caught the unmistakable scent of— he looked back up at Anathema in alarm.

"Oh. I'm so sorry." he said with regret.

Anathema looked startled. "Whatever for?"

"He's an Omega." Crowley said in sorrow.

A brief look of anger passed across Anathema's face before she took a breath to steady herself. "Crowley, that's nothing for him, or you, to be ashamed of. We will love him no matter what his secondary gender is." She paused, then said deliberately, "Just as we love you."

"I—" Crowley was stunned, at a loss of what to say. He ducked his head to hide the sting of tears that appeared in his eyes. He was acutely aware that in a world where Alphas males were considered the strongest and most desirable, the less populous Omegas were considered to be on the lowest of the social chain. And male Omegas even more so; as if it was somehow offensive that a feminine secondary gender was combined with a masculine body. Certainly his step family made it clear that he was a lesser person at least in part due to his Omega status.

When the Pulcifiers asked him years ago about where his parents were he could only manage to tell them about his life in bits and pieces, as it was difficult to shake the feeling that his situation in life was somehow his fault because he was an Omega and that he should feel ashamed of it.

But Anathema's fierce declaration in combination with the way they'd always treated him, with kindness and respect, continued to uproot just a little bit his own wavering conviction that his step family was right, that maybe not everyone believed that being an Omega was something to be ashamed of.

He still felt sorry for them; how could they possibly be as happy about their son being an Omega as they would have been if he was an Alpha or Beta? And there was the fact that as an Omega he couldn't inherit their estate, and they had tried for so many years to have a baby… But as he looked down at the sleeping infant in his arms, unknowing of his fate in the world, he felt a surge of protectiveness fill him and he promised the baby silently that he would be there for him to the best of his ability to let him know that he wouldn't be alone like he had been.

Enchanted by the baby, he left to walk back home later than he had intended, and saw to his chagrin that the carriage was in the driveway, which meant that his stepfamily was back early from whatever social event they had gone off to. He quickened his step, hoping to slip in from the back before his absence was noticed, but as he trotted from the kitchen into the hallway towards the stairs that led to his bedroom, Ligur suddenly appeared. Crowley cursed silently to himself. It never bode well when there were no witnesses around. For all that Crowley was no longer a boy his attainment of adulthood had made no difference to how his step family treated him, and Ligur's already nasty personality had gotten worse after he had been formally introduced into Society and cemented his already over inflated sense of superiority and entitlement.

"Look who's skulking in? Why, it's Crawley of course. Where have you been, Crawley?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into him. He had black hair and tanned complexion with a face that could have been handsome if it wasn't often twisted with the sneer of disdain marring it like it was now.

Crowley sighed inwardly. Calling him a bastardization of his name was something that hadn't changed from when they were children. If that was the worst Ligur could come up with his limited imagination Crowley wouldn't really care, but what his imagination lacked he made up for with his fists.

"Just out for a walk," he said as neutrally as he could manage. If Ligur had a good day he might just leave him be with a bit of name calling, but if something had frustrated him— a girl saying no to him perhaps; or a fancied slight— then he could be in some real trouble.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley kept his eyes glued respectfully down to the floor, hoping that a submissive posture would get Ligur to leave him alone. It seemed to work, as Ligur stepped to the side to let him pass and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, moving to walk past him, but then he saw out of the corner of his eye Ligur's hand reach out towards an expensive decorative vase set into an alcove of the hallway and with a flick of his wrist, the vase tipped over. Crowley lunged to try to catch it but he was too late. White and blue porcelain shattered with a loud crash, shards skittering on the marble floor.

Crowley fell to his knees in a panic, trying to gather their larger pieces, frantically trying to convince himself that maybe he could glue it back together, that maybe—

"What's going on here?" An imperious voice cut through his whirling thoughts, stopping them cold.

"Oh, Crawley was throwing a tantrum, decided to throw the vase down because he didn't like me questioning him about where he was off to," Ligur said casually.

Crowley lifted his gaze to his stepmother's cold green eyes in astonishment, "No, he's lying, he knocked the vase over, I would never—"

"Silence!" her voice cracked across the air.

Crowley immediately cowered under the force of the Alpha's command, lowering his gaze and hunching his shoulders. From experience he knew that further protests would be futile; and it was likely he had just made it worse for himself by not claiming responsibility and begging for forgiveness right from the start.

"This is how you repay my generosity when you live like a beggar on my charity, you worthless miscreant? Obviously it's been far too long since you were reminded of your place. Outside— you are to stand until I give you leave to move."

Crowley nodded in resignation, standing to walk outside and catching a glimpse of Ligur's gloating face as he left. He walked to the middle of the courtyard to endure a favorite punishment of his stepmother's since he was a boy; standing still underneath the heat of the sun without moving a muscle for an unspecified amount of time. At least he consoled himself that although she did nothing to stop Ligur from hitting him, she herself hadn't laid an actual hand on him since he broke a teacup by accident in front of company while cleaning up after tea time when he was a boy. The guests took it with good humor and even congratulated him on doing so well in service so young, but his stepmother had been livid. As soon as the guests left she used a switch on him in a fury and then afterwards blamed him for making her sully herself by dispensing a punishment so beneath her station. The one good thing that came out of that was he was demoted to cleaning tasks rather than serving, which he actually preferred as it kept him more out of sight of his step family.

It was impossible to tell how much time was passing as he stood outside. He would see the occasional sympathetic look from a servant although of course none dared to interfere. He knew though from past experience there would be a tall cup of water and cool fruit waiting for him in the kitchen, just set to the side as if someone had forgotten it. None of the staff ever spoke to him about it, but he felt comforted that they tried to help in what limited way they could. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, trailed down to his jaw, then slid down to his neck. It itched maddeningly and his arms held straight by his lean frame trembled with the effort it took not to scratch at his neck. His entire world had narrowed down to the bright glare of the unrelenting sun above his head, the waves of heat pressing against from all directions, the increasing dampness of his clothing under his arms and chest as he sweated, and the drips of sweat gliding tortuously slowly down his sensitive skin.

Then a new itch came in the form of the sensation of a fly landing on his hand, a different kind of tickling itch arriving in the body of a tiny insect to torture him. But at least the fly was on the hand that was farthest from the house, so he surreptitiously moved his fingers a tiny amount, just enough to dislodge the fly, then held his breath, perfectly still, waiting to see if his transgression was seen.

When nothing happened a flood of relief hit him, the slight increase in adrenaline causing the itch on his neck to recede that had consumed his entire awareness for an unknown amount of time— minutes? hours? It was impossible to determine the passage of time, it was as if the world had ceased to move forward and he was frozen in a never ending bubble, a ceaseless punishment of not being allowed to move under the relentless heat of the summer sun until such time as his stepmother deemed he had been punished enough. Which felt as if it was just as likely to be never as it was any moment.

He surreptitiously shifted his weight from side to side as his legs trembled from holding him upright for so long without moving. Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall… he repeated the mantra to himself. He didn't know what would happen if his legs collapsed out from under him, but he could only imagine it would be something dire so he concentrated on staying upright, his eyes fixed to the ground.

Unexpectedly, Hester's voice cut into his misery. "Mother says you're to come in this instant and clean up the mess you made."

He raised his eyes to Hester who stood before him with a studied expression of bored aloofness. This was new; it was always a servant who was given permission to let him come inside. Her dark eyes looked past him as she said, "The mess in the hallway is appalling, I nearly slipped on a shard of porcelain. I told mother that it really must be cleaned straight away before I hurt myself." Her eyes flicked up to Crowley's briefly, then away again.

His brow furrowed, confused. Hester rarely spoke to him except for the occasional imperious order. Had she actually intervened to get him released from his punishment?

She lifted her chin, flicking a trailing curl of her blonde hair over her shoulder, her purple taffeta dress rustling as she turned and walked away. "Best get to it, before Mother changes her mind."

Crowley unlocked his legs and took a shaking step forward, nearly crumbling to the ground but managing to keep himself upright through sheer force of will. He reached down to squeeze some quick massages into his thighs and calves and then continued on with stiff steps into the house.