Chapter Text
Peter hasn’t had a full night of sleep in what seems like a month. Two fifty percent essays, a dude with a fish bowl for a head calling himself Mysterio wreaking hallucinogenic havoc on his city, an impending heat and an overly enthusiastic best friend overly enthused about his new computer rig tended to do that to a person.
He’s beyond tired and the frankly worrying amount of energy drinks he’s drank in the last week are having a detrimental effect on his physical and mental abilities, and honestly it’s kind of a miracle that Peter’s still standing at this point. The fact is, he isn’t running on even half of his normal cylinders when he finally realises that this isn’t the way to the subway from Ned’s place, and it’s past midnight on a Friday night and he’s kind of really lost.
“Shit,” he mutters and searches his pockets for his phone, swiping it open and squinting down at the cracked bright screen showing Stark Maps. He can’t make heads or tails of the streets around where the GPS shows he is, and he’s really fucking glad that he decided that tonight New York could fend for itself and spent most of the night getting his butt kicked on League at Ned’s, because he’s definitely in no state to be swinging more than one hundred feet up above the street if he can’t read a simple map.
A small tingle sparks down his spine and he looks up from his phone just in time to see a big guy in a black jacket stepping up next to him. Peter just stops himself from jumping up onto the wall of the building next to him in fright, but the split second he takes to consciously stop himself let's the guy swing up an arm around his shoulders.
Peter frowns and tries to shrug away from the arm, wrinkling his nose at the pungent Alpha smell that wafts off of the guy, hugging his phone to his chest. “Uh, dude, what are you doing?”
The guy tightens his hold and smiles at Peter with yellow teeth. “Hey, I was just being a good citizen and all that, seeing a pretty Omega like you looking all lost and alone on a dark street, figured I’ll help you find your way.”
Gritting his teeth, Peter yanks himself away, “I’m not lost,” he snaps.
“Uh huh,” the guy says condescendingly, “and Trump’s not the President. Come on baby, let me help you.”
“No way,” Peter’s not stupid, he’s not one of those empty headed Omega’s who’ll trust any Alpha on the street to treat him well and keep him safe, he’s seen the statistics on how many Omegas get sexually assaulted by Alphas every year. Spidey’s even stopped a couple attacks himself, and there’s absolutely no way that this guy with a nose that’s been broken a couple times means him well.
“I’m meeting a friend soon, anyway,” he tries, hoping the guy will leave him alone.
Crooked-nose guy makes a show of looking around the street, and Peter glances around as well, cursing internally when he doesn’t see anybody else around. He could just Spider-Man his way out of this, he’s undoubtedly stronger than this bull headed egotistical Alpha by miles, but he’s kind of leery doing anything super when he’s Peter and not Spidey, and to tell the truth he’s not sure if he’s got the capacity at the moment to curb his strength and not accidentally crush this dude’s skull.
“Well I don’t see nobody, come on, don’t lie baby, don’t you want some help?” The guy goes to wrap an arm around him again.
Peter takes another step back, baring his teeth. “No, leave me alone.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” and Peter can tell that big, tall and ugly is getting angry by the scowl on his face, so he turns on his heel and makes a break for it. He can easily outrun the guy without looking suspiciously super.
His Spidey senses are seriously malfunctioning from lack of sleep because he doesn’t even get a tingle until he’s basically whacking into another guy stepping out of the alley in front of him, and he yelps and tries to backpedal, phone clattering to the ground as he staggers back. A sharp warning zaps down his spine but too late , there’s a hand gripping back of his neck and Peter can only whimper “ no ,” as his limbs go limp as a newborn kitten.
“I tried to be nice,” Crooked-nose breathes into ear as he drags Peter’s body into the alley, and Peter would be usually rolling his eyes at this point at how cliche this is, but honestly he’s far too terrified at the moment to do so because the guy isn’t letting go of the pressure points at the back of his neck where only his mate should grip, and he really wants to vomit at the violation and also punch something preferably squishy but he can’t because as long as that grip is in place, he’s not going to be moving at all, let alone fighting his way out of this.
The other guy follows them in and grabs Peter’s chin, yanking his face up to inspect. Peter’s Spidey-senses at this point are going insane, jangling up and down his spine at record speeds and making him whine helplessly in the back of his throat. Oh god, he really should’ve just stayed the night at Ned’s.
“We’ve found ourselves a pretty one.” Peter’s panicking brain dubs him as Cabbage-breath, because wow, and Cabbage-breath leans in to give Peter a proper sniff. “And a virgin to boot.”
“Damn,” Crooked-nose groans, and Peter can only close his eyes in despair as the Alpha pulls him closer to his body and grinds what definitely isn’t a phone into his lower back. “Can’t we just have a little taste? They’re not going to know if we don’t fuck him.”
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s worth more untouched. And I’m not going to miss out on the big bucks because you can’t keep your knot in your pants,” Cabbage-breath hisses, jabbing his finger over Peter’s shoulder.
“Fuck off,” the hand on the back of his neck tightens even more, and Peter whimpers at the shock of renewed numbness that spreads through his useless limbs. He can’t even move his toes, and honestly the fact that it doesn’t seem that Cabbage-breath is on board with the whole rape thing doesn’t help the fact that it looks like they’re going to be selling him or something fucking insane like that and this is a complete shitshow and Peter just wants to go home .
To his complete horror tears start slipping down his cheeks as Cabbage-breath and Crooked-nose bicker over him. If it’s even possible his heart rate jumps almost double when Cabbage-breath pulls out a mean looking syringe and sticks the needle into a bottle of god knows what. And seriously, is this how Spider-Man goes, jumped by two goons on a Friday night because he was tired and grabbed by the back of his neck because he’s a stupid Omega and jabbed with drugs and sold off to some Alpha to be bred or something even worse for the rest of his life? Peter kind of wants to laugh, but he knows if he could he would probably be sobbing instead.
Cabbage-breath is grabbing his arm and just roughly yanking up Peter’s hoodie sleeve when a ridiculously cheery voice echoes down the alleyway.
“Woohoo, a shady drug party down a shady alley on a Friday night! I’m honestly so offended that you guys didn’t invite little old me!”
Cabbage-breath curses and fumbles with the needle. “What the fuck man, who the fuck is that!?” He spins around, scanning the alleyway with the syringe held out in front of him like a sad mockery of a sword.
Peter has never been so fucking happy to hear Deadpool in his life.
“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t know me! Honestly, you guys are really hurting my feelings, and when my feelings get hurt, people get hurt ,” Deadpool steps out into the weak light, drawing one of his infamous katanas out from it’s sheath on his back. “And wow, I hope that needle’s clean, safety first kiddies, don’t want to be go getting HIV or SARS or cancer, lemme tell you, that shit sucks .”
“Oh shit, that’s Spider-man, fuck, ” and the hand on the back of Peter’s neck is blissfully gone and Peter lets out a sob as he stumbles and hits the ground, limbs still stubbornly uncooperative, and he can’t even muster up offence over the fact that these two idiots think that Deadpool is him.
The two Alphas back away, hands up, “hey man, we were just having some fun, no harm done,” Crooked-nose tries.
“Uh-huh,” Deadpool sings, “doesn’t look like little Omega here is having much fun, does he? I smell a liar, liar, pants on fire!” And then he’s moving forward past Peter and the guys are backing further and further backwards. But none of their pleading stops Deadpool from lifting his katana and skewering Crooked-nose through the shoulder, pinning him to the alley wall with absolutely no effort at all and of course cackling the entire time.
Cabbage-breath pisses his pants as his friend screams. He pleads gibberish and tries to make a break for it.
Deadpool sighs and pulls out one of his knives as Peter finally manages to get wobbly on to his knees. “Honestly, they make things so easy these days. Not even zig-zagging, come on, has Rickon Stark not taught you anything?!”
But before Deadpool can let loose his knife, Cabbage-breath gets close enough for Peter to swing back his fist and nail him right in the dick.
Cabbage-breath goes down with a grunt as Deadpool cheers, and Peter finds himself sobbing as he collapses back onto his butt. He kicks at the groaning body with a shaking leg, just wanting the guy to fucking stop . The screaming from Crooked-nose down the alleyway isn’t really helping his frame of mind at the moment either, making his poor sleep deprived brain protest at all the noise.
A gentle hand drops down on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter jolts lightly, but the scent of the Alpha next to him is achingly familiar and safe . Peter somehow manages to take his first proper deep breath of air.
“Uh, not that I’m all for you kicking the shit out of this cuntbag, but honestly I think you might regret it if you end up caving in his skull, and I know I’m not the best person to tell you not to but like a really nice guy in some bea-u-ti-fully tight spandex has been teaching me some stuff about being a better person yada yada yada and maybe you should like, stop?”
Peter sobs out a laugh, because Deadpool’s talking about him teaching Deadpool , like, what the actual fuck, they’ve hardly ever spoken other than in a couple fights when Spider-Man wasn’t even completely sure if Deadpool was even on the side of good, but honestly he’s just so fucking tired right now and the adrenaline is wearing off that Peter finally stops kicking the now silent body and collapses sideways into Deadpool’s arms.
Deadpool goes rigid and then awkwardly pats Peter on his head. “Um, there, there, little bird, you’re all safe now, these two guys aren’t going to hurt you anymore,” and Peter absently notices that Crooked-nose has finally stopped that god-awful screaming and is passed out where he’s pinned, sagging like some sad, bloodied specimen by Deadpool’s sword against the wall.
“I’m not a bird,” Peter mumbles into Deadpool’s chest. “I’m-” a spider, “-Peter,” he says.
Deadpool makes a small, happy noise. “Hi, Peter! The police, bless their little blue hearts, are going to be here soon to take these two goons away and take you home, so, if you could just let go of me now, that would be real swell, cos me and the po-po, we don’t get on so well. Ha, that rhymed! I'm a poet, and now I definitely know it!”
Peter tightens his hold on Deadpool’s suit, “no, no police,” he mumbles, because that would be a shitshow and a half. Aunt May would probably have a fit, and oh jeez what if Mr. Stark hears about this? He doesn’t have the energy to even think about that stuff right now. “Wanna stay with you.”
Deadpool makes a weird noise. “What?” He squeaks.
Peter might be insane from fatigue, but Deadpool smells safe and familiar, if a little ripe, and Peter knows that Deadpool isn’t in the business of harming helpless civilians, especially Omegas, and his Spidey-senses, if he can even rely on them at the moment, aren’t tingling with a warning, and Deadpool is really warm and kind of comfy and Peter thinks that it’s a great idea to stay with Deadpool right at the moment, because he feels like he could finally sleep .
“‘M so tired,” Peter whispers, “and you smell nice, I’m going to sleep right now, goodnight.”
“Nononono, I kill people, you cannot fall asleep on me,” Deadpool squeaks and tries to uncurl Peter’s fingers from his chest, but Peter just makes an angry noise and curls tighter into him. He’s so done right now, Deadpool, come on, just let him sleep.
“Wow, you’re really really strong for such a little thing,” Deadpool gives up tugging at his fingers and sighs. “Come on, at least give me an address so I can take you home?”
Peter’s beyond words now, give him a break, he hasn’t slept in forever and he just got attacked by two Alphas and maybe almost got sold and or raped, and maybe this isn’t the most logical reaction to that but damn it, he’s going to fucking get some sleep right now .
“Fuck, okay, what even is going on, how the hell is this thing happening right now,” Deadpool mumbles to himself for a few seconds, and then arms are coming up around Peter and lifting him up and Peter makes an approving sound, snuggling up into Deadpool’s neck and breathing in that wonderful scent that’s lulling him to sleep.
“Um,” Deadpool says, and the sound rumbles through his chest and makes Peter purr, and if Peter was in charge of all his facilities he would be so embarrassed right now, “you’re super light, what do you even eat, air? Kids these days, wanting to be all Olsen twin-ny, you need to actually eat to do stuff, you know?
He keeps up a steady stream of chatter that follows Peter into a light doze. He manages to blearily open his eyes a few times, enough to realise that Deadpool’s scooped up his phone from the street outside, and to know that Deadpool is carrying him through some backstreets. He catches a glimpse of going through a doorway into a messy living room, and then another glimpse of a bedroom as Deadpool lowers him gently onto a mattress.
Peter only lets go of Deadpool because the sheets surrounding him smell like him as well, and he keens happily in the back of his throat as he curls up and snuggles into a pillow. Finally, a bed.
“Insane little birdy,” Deadpool whispers, and Peter finally falls asleep as a gloved hand softly strokes down his cheek.
-
The smell of fast food greets Peter as he blearily blinks his eyes open.
Stomach growling, he sits up and stretches his arms upwards, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Wow, he feels fucking amazing , if a little parched and hungry.
And speaking of hunger, Peter immediately hones in on the pile of tacos on a plate sitting next to the mattress he’s currently sitting on. They’re still steaming and emitting the most enticing smell. And there’s a little post-it note sitting on the rim of the bright pink plate, reading EAT-ME!!!
Peter doesn’t need to read it twice. He scoffs down three soft shell tacos in record time, making indecent sounds at the melt in your mouth pork and bright, spicy sauce. He’s just started on the slow cooked beef and red onion ones and slurping on the chocolate milkshake found next to the plate when he finally wakes up enough to take in his surroundings.
He’s currently in a very sparse bedroom consisting of only the mattress he’s on, a pile of what seems like fast food wrappers and containers haphazardly pushed into a corner, a dresser missing a couple of drawers covered in dirty magazines and bizarrely a pretty extensive collection of Troll dolls. Articles of clothing litter the bare concrete floor and hang off the back of one lone, rickety chair, and the only source of light seems to be coming from a high window, because the lamp sitting next to the mattress with the most hideous lamp shade Peter has ever seen houses a very broken lightbulb.
But Peter’s Spidey-senses aren’t tingling, and he feels well rested enough for them to hopefully not be malfunctioning like last night, so he feels relatively safe. But then the reminder of what happened last night makes his stomach cramp in anxiety and he suddenly is very not hungry anymore, and he drops the remains of his taco onto what has been revealed as a Dora Explorer plate.
All of a sudden, Peter is shivering, and he rubs at his arms. “Oh my god,” he whispers, “I was almost kidnapped . Oh shit, Deadpool! ” He springs off of the mattress, but there’s no sign of the Merc with a Mouth anywhere. He stands, indecisive for a few seconds in the middle of the bare, cold room, before biting his lip. He eyes the closed door to the left and pads over to it, eyebrows lifting as he grabs a hoodie hanging off of the door knob. It’s black and huge, with what seems to be a rather endearing cartoon Deadpool hand stitched messily to the front. Peter can’t help but smile a little at it and gives it a curious sniff.
It smells pretty strongly of Alpha and Deadpool, and Peter doesn’t even think before pulling it over his head, bundling himself in the safe smelling material and bunching up the too long sleeves in his palms. It’s huge, coming down to his thighs and sagging around his lean shoulders, and super warm. Peter finds it soothes his frazzled nerves a little, making him feel secure and small. He tries not to think too hard about why.
The hallway is as equally bare as the bedroom and devoid of any carpet. It smells rather damp and musty as well, and Peter wrinkles his nose. Something crinkles under his foot as he steps out.
It’s another post-it note. This one just contains two arrows labelled BATHROOM and then WAY OUT and a little scribble of what seems like a stick figure riding a unicorn. Peter bends over and scoops it up, running his fingers over the pink sharpie. There’s even glitter glued to the horn on the unicorn.
Peter looks up. “Deadpool?” He calls out. Those tacos had definitely not been left out long, because they had still been warm, and the milkshake had still been fairly cold. Deadpool couldn’t be too far away.
But the big red and black leather clad Alpha doesn’t appear. Peter isn’t quite sure if he wants him to, to be honest. Last night had been kind of embarrassing. But Deadpool had been really kind to him, saving him from those arsehole Alphas, carrying him here and letting him sleep in his own bed, buying him food and leaving him alone. The least Peter could do is thank him. And possibly Spider-Man might be rethinking his opinion of the guy.
Peter ends up turning towards the bathroom, because he needs to pee, and finds a long trail of brightly coloured post-it notes on the way, each one telling him which way the bathroom and the way out was, along with a cute little cartoon drawing that ends up being a little story about the stick figure saving a prince from two scary dragons with a magic wand. He collects them as he goes, lips twisting up in a little smile at each one, and stuffs them all into the pocket of his borrowed hoodie.
The entirety of the bathroom ends up labelled as well, and Peter raises his eyebrow at the post-it note on the toilet. “I know what a toilet is, Deadpool,” he grumbles, but leaves all of the notes alone. The bathroom is kind of gross, and he doesn’t want to touch more than he has to. Peter ends up feeling kind of sorry for the guy, if this is where he lives.
After washing his hands and he makes his way out to the front door, peeking his head around other doorways and just seeing bare, cold rooms. “Huh,” he mutters.
The hallway leading to the front door is meticulously arrowed out with post it notes as well, and contains a story of the prince, stick figure and unicorn going on an adventure to Disneyland and defeating a candy floss monster. Peter smiles at each drawing, even at some of the gory ones that shows the inside of the candy floss monster being full of glittery flesh and the stick figure being dropped into a vat of hot butter for popcorn. It’s a pretty creative venture.
Peter gets outside the shitty apartment without spotting hide nor hair of Deadpool. He stands outside on the sidewalk, chewing at the inside of his mouth. Interacting with Deadpool as Peter Parker kind of terrifies him, because it’s him and not Spidey, and even if Deadpool acts like a childish arsehole most of the time he’s not exactly an idiot, and what if he finds out Peter’s Spider-Man? But really, there shouldn’t be too high of a chance of that happening; Peter’s suit masks both his face and his scent well, thanks Mr Stark, and it’s not like he goes swinging around New York without it. He could just leave without thanking Deadpool properly, but that kind of doesn’t sit very well with him. Deadpool did a good deed, and he should be thanked for it.
Decision made, Peter digs up a bent pen from the pocket of his jeans and writes his number and a little message on the back of one of the post-it notes. He slips it under Deadpool’s door and then steps back, sighing when he doesn’t recognise the street he’s standing on.
He’s still got his phone though, which somehow has stayed in his pocket through him sleeping, and it still has a little battery left as well. It hasn’t even cracked much more from him dropping it on the sidewalk. That’s at least some luck. He winces though when he sees the amount of missed messages and calls from his Aunt May and Ned, and the fact that it’s like three in the afternoon. They must’ve been worried sick when he didn’t turn up home last night or this morning.
He sighs, flicks a text off to Ned and calls Aunt May, lifting his phone to his ear and flinching back as she picks up immediately and starts screaming at him.
“I’m okay, Aunt May, I promise, please, please , stop screaming-”
-
The pretty little Omega disappears down the street, phone to his ear, and Wade steps out from where he’d been hiding in a very convenient bush.
“Bye bye, Petey-pie,” he sings a little sadly under his breath and steps up to his shitty safe house. When he opens his door he blinks down at the post-it note on the floor.
It has a number, along with thank you so much for last night, you really saved me. :) And sorry about falling asleep on you. I have to leave, my family is super worried. But call me, so I can thank you properly. -Peter
p.s. I have your hoodie, sorry, so if you want it back you better message me. :P
p.p.s. Thanks for the tacos. They were awesome! Call me!
Wade looks down at the note, eyebrows trying to escape off his face, which is kind of fair because if he was his eyebrows he would totally be trying to escape off of the disaster that’s his face as well.
“Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw,” he mutters.