Edit: Crap I am so so so sorry but at least I know that people are actually reading this. This is what happens when my finals is only two weeks away. Again, really, really sorry for posting the same thing twice. Thanks for the heads up.
The synonym of puberty is awkward.
The Oxford Dictionary doesn't state this. None of the academic dictionaries that have ever been written has stated this, and yet Greg Lestrade thinks that they should because it is the word that comes into his mind whenever someone even mentions puberty. Everyone at this stage is awkward. Pimples and growth spurts and hair sprouting in odd places, not to mention the scents. Greg wonders if this is God's punishment for people. He wonders at the capability of people to be attracted to each other at this stage because in his opinion, everyone looks horrible, even the more good-looking ones.
Puberty crawls into his life slowly, unlike with Luke and Mycroft, both of whom are suddenly a head taller than him, making Greg feel rather small and bug-like in their presence. It's nice, though, that he doesn't look as awkward as the others. His scent gets stronger and with that comes Luke and Mycroft's overprotectiveness. This, of course, leads to the two of them fighting even more than usual. It makes his parents even more annoying than usual, not to mention their newfound level of embarrassing as they now have the tendency to watch over him whenever Mycroft visits. Greg knows why and it's ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous because he's not going to do that. Mycroft seems like he isn't even capable of doing that. Doing anything beyond shaking Greg's hand makes him tense up already.
Greg hates his parents so much right now. It is normal for every child to feel hatred towards their parents at one point in their lives. Parents are strange creatures. They know things and every child has a tendency to out-know them at such things because—according to Luke—there is a rebellious bug in every teenager's brain that may or may not fall out, depending on whether or not your perception of your parents will change for the better. Greg thinks this is bull. Well, the bug part anyway. He loves them, true, but he also hates them because they have made it their life goal to embarrass him as much as possible. This is rather far-fetched, and he's aware of this. But he's also quite aware of the pain in his lower jaw and of the knowledge that everything will go downhill from here.
"Don't be silly, honey," his mother scolds. To his horror, she actually grabs his hands and tries to wrench them away from his mouth. "They look wonderful."
"I look stupid!" he yells through his fingers. If he can find a way to glue his hands to his mouth permanently, then maybe he can escape this whole fiasco. Then again, he wouldn't be able to eat, and he does get hungry easily.
But still, that's better than facing ridicule.
"No you don't. Look." She grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to look at himself in the rear view mirror. Greg looks at his reflection, horrified. His height makes him feel awkward already. Even if he doesn't look awkward he feels it, like knowing you have an aneurism in your brain and you're just waiting for Death to make you keel over. The stupid railway attached to his teeth will surely kill him. Not to mention the nicknames Luke will come up with once he sees. And Mycroft. Oh crap Mycroft. He'll give Greg that smug you-look-ridiculous look that he gives Luke on a daily basis, the one that makes Greg feel like he has the IQ of a centipede compared to Mycroft.
"I look stupid," Greg repeats, confirming it. "I'm never getting out of this car. Ever."
"Oh, Greg, don't be so melodramatic. You'll only have them for a year, anyway. Your teeth aren't that bad."
"Then I shouldn't have gotten these in the first place!" he yells.
"Honey," she says and Greg immediately swallows the next stream of complaints threatening to come out of his mouth. He scowls but relaxes his body to show his compliancy. Nothing good comes out of arguing with his parents. If he shouts too much his mother will burst into tears and his father, well, his father won't like that. It's not like they whip him or anything whenever he acts out, but washing the car and cleaning the gutters aren't chores Greg likes to do.
"This doesn't mean I like them." He shuts his eyes. He's not vain, damn it, he's a guy. Being an Omega doesn't turn him into a pansy, no matter how much the other boys tell him it does. He won't even look in a mirror until he has to or until Luke's taped something to his back or until Mycroft tells him that Luke's taped something to his back. But he really, really did not want to go through with this. "I'll hate them forever."
"Give it time." She kisses the top of his head and Greg quickly looks to see if anyone has seen before remembering that the car windows are tinted. "I love you, be good, and don't let Luke get himself into trouble."
"Okay," he mutters as he opens the car door and steps out. He watches the car speed down the street before he wraps his scarf around his mouth and heads off to the school building.
Luke's reaction is quite Luke-ian, meaning he's a flurry of movement. Greg tenses. "What's that?" he asks as soon as he sees Greg, bounding up to him like a puppy on drugs. "Why are you covering your mouth? Why do you have a scarf? It's hot. Are you hiding candy in there? Give me some!"
Mycroft's reaction is to look at Greg, do this lip-twitch thing that tells Greg he's amused, then promptly tells Luke to keep quiet as he's attracting too much attention. "Clenching your jaw will only make it hurt more," Mycroft tells him as he unwinds the scarf and hands it to Luke. "Let me see."
Greg considers gluing his mouth shut but discards it as soon as he sees Mycroft's face. He hesitates for a moment before he opens his mouth, enough for the two of them to see the disaster that has happened to his teeth.
"You got braces? Shit, you look stupid!" Luke gapes. "Well, more than usual."
"Shut up!" Greg hits him with his bag but Luke dodges so he ends up hitting Mycroft on the chest instead. "Sorry, My. Why are you two together, anyway? You should be killing each other right now."
"I'm serving as a guide," Mycroft explains. Behind him, Luke rolls his eyes and makes a rude gesture at Mycroft which, of course, Mycroft ignores. "Since you two will go to school in separate buildings next year, you have to attend guidance counselling. There will be a speaker and after that, you'll watch a film—the same thing my class watched last year."
"Oh," Greg says. Right, he forgot that Mycroft won't be in the same building with them anymore. He looks past Mycroft, at the dark grey building where the older Alphas and Betas are. Across this, a short distance away, is the B building where the older Omegas and a few Betas go. Mycroft's absence doesn't bother Greg as he hardly ever even sees Mycroft as he's a year older than them. Separating from Luke, however, is a foreign concept that Greg just can't wrap his mind around. Who'll make sure he doesn't get himself killed next year? Not Mycroft, that's for sure.
Luke scrunches up his face. "Why do we even need a guide?" he asks, his voice challenging. "We know where the theatre is. We can find it on our own."
"It's an…interesting film." Mycroft shifts his weight from one foot to the other, obviously nervous despite the neutral expression on his face. Greg thinks that it must be an interesting film to make Mycroft Holmes nervous. How it is interesting, Greg is not sure if he wants to find out, not when it can unnerve Mycroft like that. Finally, Mycroft clears his throat, fiddles with the cuff of his shirtsleeve, then says, "I'm going to check whether or not Sherlock's in class. You know how he is. You two stay put. Someone will be here to collect you, shortly."
Luke yells after him but Mycroft hurries on and doesn't look back. "Git," Luke growls. He tosses the scarf back at Greg then hefts his bag over his shoulders. "I'm not going to wait for some stupid guide. Let's go ahead and get the best seats."
"I think it's alphabetised."
"Screw that. I'm not sitting next to Gloria Rutherford again. Come on, Metal Mouth." He flashes Greg a mocking smile. Greg considers the weight of the punishment they'll get if they're caught. It won't be much, he thinks as he runs after his cousin.
The theatre is half-full of nervous twelve-year-olds, looking a lot like pigs being led into a slaughterhouse in Greg's opinion. But as nobody asks and Luke will only cause trouble if he shares this thought, he keeps it to himself. Instead, Greg forces Luke to duck as they make their way to the back of the room. "I smell gum," Luke whispers. He presses his nose into the dirty carpet flooring. "Yup. Watermelon."
"All I can smell is your butt." Greg pokes the bony arse in front of his face, urging Luke to crawl faster. "Quickly. If Bartleby sees us, we're dead."
"I'm dead," Luke corrects. "He loves you since you're married to Mycroft and everything."
"I'm not married to Mycroft!" Greg hisses. Alright, he is. Sort of. Slightly. But that doesn't mean it's official. It's not permanent and—and—Marriage is just weird, alright? He's not even attracted to Mycroft and Mycroft doesn't like him in that way and Greg is certain that he never will because, well, because he's Mycroft. He doesn't do that. All he cares about are studying and Sherlock.
"He wants to murder me, you know? Bartleby, I mean," Luke says casually as he takes a seat in a darkened corner which Greg is sure houses the rumoured ghost of the main theatre. There's no such thing as ghosts, he thinks as takes a seat next to Luke. The only thing he has to fear is Luke's tendency to forgo subtlety and give their position away. Bartleby, their perfectionist troll of a headmaster, certainly won't let them get away with it. He hates children, Luke especially, though Greg is certain that if he somehow becomes a headmaster when he grows up, he'll hate children with Luke's attitude, as well.
"I know it, Greg," Luke continues, dropping his voice to a whisper as the noise in the room slowly gives way to silence, "even though he doesn't say it. He just looks at me like he wants to see me choking on my own spit or something. It's like that thing with the eye and the old man."
"I think you're talking about Poe's "Tell-tale Heart"," Greg says. "That was Sherlock's bedtime story when he was a baby."
"Crazy family," yawns Luke. He throws his arms over his head and stretches, his back arching until his arse is at least an inch off the leather seat. "Crazy, crazy family. Telling creepy stories to little kids. That's not normal."
As if you would know the definition of normal. "Eating chewed gum off the floor is normal, then?"
"That was one time."
"It wasn't your gum," Greg reasons but Luke's no longer listening. He's already got his eyes on the stage which has been lit at some point during their mindless conversation and has, at some point, welcomed a skinny Chinese woman wearing the largest eyeglasses Greg has ever seen. "Buzz, buzz," Luke whispers. Greg quickly pinches one of his ears between his thumb and forefinger, smiling to himself when he feels Luke relax in the chair beside his. It's an old trick Naomi taught him, something he's learned calms most Alphas down. He's never tried it on Mycroft, though, and Greg's not sure if it will even work on him.
"Good morning, children," the woman says shakily, the microphone distorting her voice so that it sounds tinny and slightly alien-like. This will be boring, Greg thinks. He puts his feet over the back of the chair in front of his, keeping it there when he receives no complaint from the person in front. Luke slumps in his seat, pulls off his sentinel ring, and pops it in his mouth.
"Gross," Greg remarks. "You've got no breeding whatsoever."
Luke traps the ring between his teeth and makes a face at him.
"I'm Dr. Chung," the woman continues in the same tiny voice, " and I'm here to talk about the wonders of P-U-B-E-R-T-Y. Say it with me now, puberty."
Luke spits the ring in his palm and sits up so fast Greg fears he may have snapped his spinal cord. "Wait. What did she say?" he asks as an uncomfortable murmuring breaks over the audience.
"I think this is what Mycroft means by 'interesting'," Greg whispers as the lights go out. For a moment they're flooded in darkness. But time passes and slowly, slowly, a large square of light appears in front of the room. The projector first shows a blank screen but letters drop until they form the words that Greg is certain will haunt everyone's dreams tonight.
"'The Joy of Puberty' by Matilda Neville," Dr. Chung squeaks in a cheerful voice. "Chapter One…"
It's not that bad. It's not good either, but there are parts that they can laugh at, like the wet dreams and mammary glands and hormones and things like that. Some jokes are started, and of course, Greg's name is mentioned several times when they get to the topic of pre-bonds. He slumps further down his seat when he hears Dr. Chung talking about it, tuning her out immediately once she mentions 'falling in love' because that's not something he wants to think about now. Or ever, possibly. Next to him, Luke makes vomiting noises but turns quiet when Chapter 8 is finished and a new slide appears.
"Understanding Birth," Dr. Chung reads, still in that cheerful voice that makes Greg think of the witch who tried to eat Hansel and Gretel. He closes his eyes and is about to drift off to sleep, when all of a sudden, Luke grabs his hand in a harsh grip, startling him awake.
He deeply regrets it.
There's screaming from a few of them but mostly there's just this awestruck silence as they watch the baby slowly slide out from between the Omega's legs. There's blood and screaming and what looks to be a miniature demon threatening to tear their eardrums as the doctor on screen pats its back. Greg's stomach churns. I came out like that. Is that supposed to happen? That's not normal, that's not, it just can't be normal. It looks like 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'. I don't want that to happen to me! He clamps a hand over his mouth and forces himself to think of something else, something nice, something that will keep the bile from spilling out of his throat.
"Oh god…" Luke moans miserably. Greg sneaks a glance at him and sees that he's a bit green. His eyes widen at Greg. Let's make a run for it!
Greg swallows. Screw Bartleby, he thinks. He grabs Luke and together, they run out through the fire exit.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" Luke yells, his eyes looking like they're about to pop from his head. He points an accusing finger at the direction of the theatre. "That was not—that was sick! That was immoral! I'm not going to sleep for weeks because of that!"
"Sick?" Greg shrieks. He can't help it. He knows he's acting ridiculous but that was the most terrifying thing he's ever seen. He knows about birth, alright. He knows about blood and pain but he's never seen it. His heart is racing and there's cold sweat sliding down his face. He's in hysterics and Luke knows it and he knows it but damn it, there is absolutely no way to get rid of it quickly. "You're an Alpha! You're never going to have to—to do that!"
Luke's mouth opens. He closes it then grabs Greg by the shoulders and shakes him firmly. "Don't get pregnant, Greg," he tells him, gripping him even harder to emphasize the weight of their conversation. "Ever. Don't even touch Mycroft or—or—You are not going to go through that!"
"I'm only twelve! Don't tell me things like that!"
"So you want to do that then?"
"NO!"
"And you won't. You never have to, understand? I'll kill Mycroft before he can even think about it." He wraps his arms around Greg and squeezes hard. "You're squishy," he says, signalling the end to his momentary seriousness. His arms feel weightless when Luke finally releases him. "That won't end for another two hours. We should go somewhere."
"Food?" Greg asks. Another thing about this whole puberty thing is the constant hunger pangs. It's either hormones or it's because Luke keeps stealing his lunch. It's a combination of the two, he thinks.
Luke rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Mycroft's still in there, right?" he says after a moment of looking like he was trying to remove the skin from the lower half of his face. "Hmm...You know what I want? I'd loooove some ice cream right now."
Greg stuffs his hands in his pockets before realising that he left his bag in the theatre. "Damn," he murmurs. "Got any money on you?"
"Greg," Luke says, looking as if Greg has just insulted his mother, his father, and his future children. "When have I ever been allowed to handle money?"
Greg blinks and Luke smiles slowly, that annoying smile that says well, you're finally catching up with me! Greg hates that smile. It's the smile that tells him he'll get into a lot of trouble if he does what Luke wants. However, it seems that he's fallen a bit in love with getting into trouble. That's the only explanation for why he hardly ever resists when that smile appears.
Greg runs his tongue over the sharp metal brackets stuck to his teeth, thinking hard. Pros: 1) They never get caught and there's free ice cream. 2) It will keep Luke entertained. Cons: 1) Mycroft will kill them.
"Fine," Greg says and Luke whoops in delight.
"You look stupid. Your mouth, especially." Sherlock's uniform is too big for him. Greg takes note of a missing button and what looks to be a child's handprint made with neon blue paint set between his shoulder blades. There's a leaf stuck to his hair and his nose is nipped red with cold. He sniffs and rubs the snot away with the back of his hand. It should be disgusting. It is disgusting, actually, but it doesn't look like it is because Sherlock, despite the dirty clothes and his dirty face, still looks every bit like an angelic child. Something Greg knows all too well that he's not in terms of personality. "Mycroft won't like this. He'll get mad at you."
"You like making your brother angry," Luke reminds him, saving Greg from making a fool of himself in front of a six-year-old. "Think of it as an adventure. Besides, it's not like this is the first time we're going to do this. You lot are expected to be napping or shitting your pants, anyway." He lifts his arms, reaching for Sherlock but Sherlock doesn't budge.
"He doesn't like you, remember?" Greg whispers to Luke. To make a point, he mirrors Luke's move. Sherlock doesn't even hesitate. With alarming dexterity for such a small thing, he slides off the window sill and falls into Greg's arms. Greg huffs a bit under his weight but manages to keep his balance.
"You smell."
"Give me a break—your building's a lot farther than ours."
"What's in this for me?" Sherlock asks once Greg has set him down.
"Ice cream," Greg starts to say before he remembers that Sherlock's going to be the one doing all the work. He turns to Luke but only gets a shrug in response. Don't look at me, he seems to be saying, he doesn't like me and I don't like him much, either.
Greg scratches the side of his nose. Sneak in the science lab?
Luke's raises his eyebrows comically. Easy.
"A snake floating in formaldehyde," Greg tells him, saying it quickly in case sanity catches him. Damn, Mycroft really will murder him. And all for some ice cream. God, he should really think about where his priorities lie. "How about that?"
"Done." Sherlock walks ahead then stops and turns back to him. "Carry me."
"You're heavy."
"I'm not. I'll tell on you." He lifts his arms once more. "I'm tired," he adds with a whine that tells Greg his only choice is to do it if he doesn't want Sherlock to throw a tantrum. He scowls at Luke before he kneels and lets Sherlock clamber onto his back. Greg smells sweat and honey and the still slightly unfamiliar scent of John on Sherlock. It's only been three weeks since Sherlock's pre-bond with nine-year-old John Watson, and, well, it's something they don't talk about in Sherlock's presence. He hates the idea of having a partner. What's even more annoying for him is that Mycroft is his sentinel and has the ring to prove it. But really, Greg thinks, whom did Sherlock expect?
Then again, given the choice, he definitely would not have picked Luke for his sentinel.
"You have John to do that for you," Luke comments after a quick glance at the two of them. At the very mention of John, Sherlock snarls and tightens his grip on Greg, nearly choking him. He staggers a bit under Sherlock's weight.
"Don't," he hisses at Luke.
"But he does. Well, during the summer anyway. It's an advantage, you know," Luke says before Sherlock can protest. "Greg hardly ever gets into trouble thanks to Mycroft's being a teacher's pet. You can use John to your advantage. Experiment on him, maybe."
"Idiot," Greg snaps. He frees one hand to slap the back of Luke's head. "Don't tell him things like that!"
"Says the boy who used Mycroft's name to get out of detention," Luke says cheerily. He runs ahead then, very much like a squirrel, clambers up the chain link fence surrounding the playground of primary school building. He jumps off the other side then waits for Sherlock to follow him up.
"It's not my fault," Greg answers once Sherlock has made it to the other side. It's an easy climb, especially since they've been doing this for ages. "I didn't do it intentionally. I merely mentioned that I needed to go outside to tell Mycroft not to wait for me anymore because I had detention and couldn't go with his family to this stupid dinner."
"It was stupid," Sherlock agrees.
"Shush. Anyway, I'm not a user."
"You're using me to get free ice cream," Sherlock reminds them. Unfortunately for Greg, he resumes his former position on Greg's back.
"That's different."
"How?"
For a moment Luke struggles to find an answer. And for a moment, he nearly has it. A light sparks in his eyes, an oh-I-have-it! smile appears on his face. But it dies two seconds later and he merely turns to Greg, defeated, and says, "Race you to the shop."
"I have a six-year-old to carry."
"We can take turns."
Sherlock scowls at Luke and clings to Greg. "No."
"Ah well…" Luke flashes them a mocking grin. "C'est la guerre!" he yells then tears off. Greg curses inwardly, adjusts his hold on Sherlock, before he goes after him.
To be honest, Sherlock scares Greg sometimes. It's not the tantrums and the intelligence that make him feel uncomfortable when he's around Sherlock for too long. It's his ability to manipulate people so easily. Greg is not sure if he's learned this from someone or if it's inborn. He recalls several incidents of Mycroft asking people—older, respectable people—to do things for him when Sherlock was still a baby. And they wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it was Mycroft asked of them. It must be a Holmes thing, though Greg has noticed that Mycroft and Sherlock use this…this thing differently.
With Mycroft, it's all about being posh. It's about appearing older than your years and it's about looking like nothing that will come your way will surprise you. Mycroft puts on this authoritative tone in his voice that just makes people listen to him. It's a talent, one that Greg can never hope to copy.
With Sherlock, it's sweetness. It helps that he looks every bit an innocent child. Sherlock will only have to smile at someone and everyone will flock to him and give him what he wants. The smile is dangerous enough, but the crocodile tears are deadly. The moment you look at Sherlock while he does his fake crying, you've already lost the battle. He has this way of making it look like he has the world on his shoulders when he cries. What disturbs Greg the most about it is, he's not sure how Sherlock learned to cry like that.
He doesn't really want to find out.
"Genius," Luke praises when Sherlock finally walks out, balancing three huge ice cream cones in his hands. "I should bring you a live snake."
Greg pinches Luke's side quickly. There's no way he's going to look for a living, breathing snake just to reward Sherlock for manipulating the ice cream vendor. The dead one's going to be hard to get already.
"I want my snake," Sherlock responds. His ice cream is running down his fingers but Sherlock doesn't seem to care. "By tomorrow."
Luke huffs. "Can't we negotiate? It's not that easy, you know. A later date or—"
"No." Sherlock licks his ice cream, wrinkles his nose, then, to Greg's amazement, throws it in the nearest bin.
"You should have said you didn't want any." Greg hands his cone to Luke in order to dig his hands in his pockets and search for the wad of tissues he'd stuffed there earlier. Sherlock luckily doesn't argue when Greg begins to clean his fingers. "We wouldn't have forced you to go with us."
"I find that hard to believe," Sherlock replies. "Where would you have gone?"
Greg turns to Luke for an answer. Wrong decision. Luke raises his finger and points it at a place Greg is positive, he should never, ever let Sherlock go to.
Sherlock eyes the building critically. Then, he nods and looks at Greg. "I want to go."
Mycroft greets them with a small frown on his face. "I'm not responsible for your studies, but I am responsible for my brother's," he says, his voice flat, letting Greg know that Mycroft is truly, truly angry with them. He bites his lower lip and holds Sherlock closer to him, as if he can use him as a shield from Mycroft's fury. No such luck, Greg thinks when he meets Mycroft's eyes.
"You were gone the whole day. Luckily, Sherlock's teacher was only a substitute who didn't know who her students were." He gently takes Sherlock from him. The kid stirs but doesn't wake and even nuzzles closer to Mycroft. It leaves Greg feeling empty and exposed. He shoves his hands in his pockets and averts his gaze. Beside him, Luke is completely silent and Greg absolutely hates him for it.
"Was it worth it?"
"Yup," Luke blurts out before Greg can say 'no'. Then again, saying 'no' would be lying and Mycroft would be able to tell.
Mycroft stares at him coldly. "You're going to get an infection."
"Liar," Luke mumbles. He rubs his ear, wincing slightly when he puts too much pressure. Mycroft is right. He will get an infection. The skin around the silver hoop is alarmingly red compared to the rest of the skin of his ear.
Greg pushes Luke away. "Go," he says, "go and do something for a while. Put something on that."
Luke pouts but he understands and obeys without further complaint. As soon as he's out of earshot, Greg quickly says, "I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry. It's just—I mean, it was only supposed to be ice cream since I got hungry and Luke got hungry and we had no money so we needed Sherlock. And I, uh, made the mistake of asking Luke where to go and Sherlock wanted to see ear piercings and Luke's always wanted one. So we convinced Sherlock to do his creepy manipulating people thing so Luke could get it. And—and we kind of forgot about the time and Sherlock fell asleep but—but—it was alright since we didn't—"
"Stop."
Greg stops.
"You sound ridiculous when you're nervous." Mycroft shifts his hold on Sherlock. He eyes Greg strangely. "Do I truly frighten you that much?"
Greg flushes. "You don't frighten me."
"I make you nervous."
"Yes," Greg admits. There's no shame in admitting it because older people get nervous around Mycroft so it's perfectly acceptable for him to act like he's about to step foot off a ten-storey building. "Sometimes. When you're doing the whole Big Brother thing. It's kind of creepy. But it's you so…er, I don't know. I'm not doing a very good job in getting out of trouble."
To Greg's surprise, Mycroft actually smiles at him. It's a small smile but it's a smile nonetheless and Greg finds himself grinning back. Mycroft's eyes drop to his mouth. "They're not stupid," he says. "They make you look interesting."
"Is that a euphemism for ugly?" Greg jokes.
"If you think it then yes, I suppose. But I assure you, they really don't look stupid."
"Am I out of trouble?" Greg asks as he walks after him. Luke's standing near the gate, waiting for them both with his and Greg's bags slung over one shoulder.
"No," Mycroft tells him.
It sounds like a lie.