I know you were asking for Rabbot prompts but this is a Shawn Hatosy character and a Noah Wyle character.
Anyway, I need Carter fixing Pope up at their house. Maybe he messed up his hand fighting or something. And Pope is extremely tense. He knows the pain is coming at some point. He fucked up and that means pain. But Carter is so tender and he apologizes every time Pope winces because he stand hurting his Andy
Serina gave me permission to make this A/B/O so I did.
He didn't mean to hit that guy but he was in Andrew's face even after Andrew announced he needed space. He tried to avoid the use of violence, and made it a point to step around the guy. Asked him to leave him alone and kept his hands behind his back.
But the guy wouldn't leave.
He wouldn't get out of Andrew's face and it became too much. Once his fist connected with the guy's nose he jumped away. The guy came back up swinging catching him on the underside of his chin. He fell backward slamming his head on the ground before he could roll onto his side. Pain flared to life in the back of his skull, he felt a gush of blood down his neck.
It sparked red heat inside him.
Andrew rose to his knees, caught the asshole's kick before it could hit him and twisted it to the side. The dickhead cried out, dropping to the ground where Andrew shoves him away and starts to get on top. His fists raised to attack, to make him bleed, to teach him a lesson about being a brainwashed prick.
A hand catches his wrist.
Slender fingers curl around his fists, tucking under his fingers until they can unclench his own. Andrew watches blunt nails spread his hand out until both hands can tangle together. He follows the visible wrist bone up a long pale arm to see John smile down at him. His brown eyes soft, open, mouth moving as he speaks to Andrew.
"Come on, Andy." He comes to stand behind him, touching the small of his back, "They called the cops. They'll handle the guy. Come on, let's go."
Andrew blinks, "He touched that girl."
"He did." John draws him to his feet, sliding his arm around Andrew's waist and leaning their bodies together. Where his solid frame pressed into Andrew's, the whirring beneath his skin quiets down. Red bleeds out of his vision as his Alpha guides him away from the asshole and towards their car.
"I got you, Honey." John's voice soothes him like a balm over a burn. It steers Andrew back to the here and now. There's a small crowd surrounding them, a Beta mother and her two children. An old Alpha and his mate and three teenage Omegas. One of them was the cashier at the store they shop at.
She waves at them when Andrew makes eye contact with her.
"I'm sorry." He starts.
She shakes her head, "Don't be."
"Come on." John tugs Andrew closer until he can tuck his head into his neck. He's still wearing the hospital's scent blockers but the sweat from his shift, plus the heated day gives Andrew enough scent to work with. He breathes it in, lets it sit on the back of his tongue as he huffs.
John walks them to the truck, slips the keys out of Andrew's pocket then opens his door for him. Andrew whines as he's detached from John's gland. The truck is infused with both of them, plus Lena's vibrant scent, even Jack's petrichor smell still lingers from when he borrowed it. Andrew chuffs, trying to draw as much of it into his lungs as possible.
The awareness of what he just did snaps back to him like a rubber band. It's viscous, sticking to his nerves like gum. His fingers buzz from lingering rage, system in shock as he watches John step into the truck and start it up.
His head hurts, there's blood soaked into the collar of his shirt and a high-pitched ring is in his ear.
"We should get you to the hospital."
"No." He shakes his head, hisses as pain seizes him.
"Andrew-"
"You're a doctor." He mutters.
"Who can't tell you if you have a damn concussion without a scan."
"No hospitals, please."
John curses under his breath but relents, driving them through the city and back to their place. Andrew has started to doze, mind gone hazy, body feeling like cotton as he steps out when he parks.
He can see how irritated John is, the way his mouth pinches, how his brows draw together. He's grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything and Andrew wants to apologize for causing the inconveniences. This was supposed to be a nice long week with no Lena, no working, no problems.
They went to the grocery store to pick up some food for the week and were halfway out the door with their bags when some asshole Beta started screaming at one of the cashiers. She was little, hardly coming to the guy's chest, and even though she was giving as good as she got, Andrew's protective instincts kicked in.
He told the guy to leave her alone but he grabbed the young Omega's arm until she screamed. Then he grabbed the guy's collar and dragged him into the parking lot. He heard John shouting at him, but all Andrew could think was that this guy wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.
He would blame the reaction on his pre-heat but this was all Andrew and his inability to rein in his impulses.
"Come here." John calls from the bathroom when they're inside.
Andrew shuffles his feet.
"Andrew." His Alpha's head peels around the doorframe, "Now."
A sickening feeling drops low in his stomach, ice spreads through his veins, freezing his heart. He screwed up.
Fucked up their week.
Let his temper get the better of him and now he's in trouble. Now John will see what a mess he is and leave him, maybe grab him the way Smurf sometimes would. Cleaning his split knuckles and bruised lips with sharp nails and clumsy fingers.
Maybe he'll force Andrew to take a cold shower to clean away the blood he spilt. Leaving him with a single towel to dry off while he shivers in the empty bathroom. Left to stitch himself up, trying not to throw up at the nauseous roiling in his stomach.
He knows their bathroom is a rich orange color, something Lena picked out that neither of them were prepared to like. He knows their towels are a fluffy golden brown because John refuses to use harsh fabrics. He's aware of how comfortable the room usually is but walking into it felt like crawling through barbed wire.
John is at the sink digging through the cupboard, his med kit sat on the counter as he mutters. His neck is red where he removed his scent patch and although Andrew doesn't smell anything, it doesn't mean his anxiety isn't still ratcheting up.
"Sit on the toilet." John orders.
Andrew whines a pathetic sound before sitting down.
"Can you take your shirt off? I saw you land on your arm. It didn't seem broken-" John keeps talking as he pulls bandages and gauze from the cabinet.
Andrew can get his shirt off but it hurts the back of his head to pull it over. He bites back his hiss but smells his fear seeping into the air. He's trying to tamp it down, forcing out a calm Omega scent, but the more he pushes the worse his sour fear becomes.
John twists away from the mirror to glare at him.
"Andrew?"
"I'm sorry." He closes his eyes, "I didn't mean to."
He hears John move and prepares himself to be smacked, or grabbed or for the cold sting of rubbing alcohol poured over his wounds.
"Andy." Gentle, soothing hands slide over his shoulders, "Hey," John's caramel macchiato scent fills his nostrils, honey infused in it to coax him forward until he's cradled in the crook of his neck, "I got you." He draws them together, entwining until Andrew spills onto his lap.
"You're safe." John rumbles, "I'm going to look you over. You hit your head pretty hard and I can tell you scraped up your shoulder and arm. I'm not mad at you, honey."
He kisses his temple.
"You're not?" Andrew turns his head to see him.
"No." John pulls back until he can examine Andrew's face, then tilts his head forward so he can prod the back of his head.
Andrew winces.
"My bad." John apologizes, "You hit your head good. Come on, sit back up here and I'll look you over. You're not in trouble, Andy. I promise."
Andrew climbs back onto the toilet and lets John move through a quick examination. Becoming putty in his hands, sweet caramel and coconut fill the bathroom until it's heady with loving mates. John's hands are soft, sure, never once causing him pain that wasn't accidental. Not once did he raise his voice and scold Andrew or belittle him for not having better restraint.
By the end of patching him up Andrew is purring, swaying on the toilet seat as his Alpha runs a warm rag over his neck to clean the blood away.
