Forewarning right now, I didn't really stick with the normal A/B/O rules that I see so often in fics. Like, for instance, heats/ruts don't make omegas or alpha's go into a sex-crazed state. It brings them in and makes them interested, but they're 100% in control of their own actions. But society ignores that cause of the rape-culture they've adopted.
There will be more, of course, which you'll find if you continue.
Also, right here and now, don't expect Peter to be submitting to ANYBODY. Cause that boy ain't got time for that shit.
Anyway, enjoy some sassy omega Peter and a resigned, crazy alpha Wade.
Peter Parker POV
This wasn't the worst situations he's ever been in.
Now don't get him wrong, it was still pretty bad all things considered.
But at least they weren't shooting at him anymore.
The weight of the dozen or so guys on his back pinning him into the floor was a bit uncomfortable, though. Especially because they were bending his arms at a particularly painful angle, and he could still taste blood in his mouth from one of the dudes who socked him in the jaw. But, all in all, he thought he was doing a pretty good job keeping himself calm.
Through his peripheral vision, a muddied boot trudged toward him and stopped inches from his nose, smelling of the bay and the recent hytel.
"Well that's pleasant," he commented and winced when pressure was added on his arms. The boot shifted a tad as the body it belonged to crouched, grabbing Peter's jaw to look him from side to side. Her finger-less gloved hand dug slightly into the material, pinching it between her fingers, and Peter recoiled.
"No touchie the mask," he snapped, "I have no idea where those hands have been."
"It's about time we got you," she told him, dropping her hands between her crouched legs with a bland lilt to her voice. She had a rough, thuggish look about her, with her square jaw, a bundle of dark hair tied in a loose bun, and a scowl that would've make Kraven turn-tail and run. Peter squinted up at her as best he could what with his face being smooshed into the concrete.
"Look, lady, I don't know who you guys are, but knabbing people off the streets is not the proper way to make friends."
She tilted her head, "Another talker." She stood back up, brushing off her pants as if cleaning off the residue superhero muck Peter might've left on her. "The boss is gonna love that," and without so much of a warning, she pulled her foot back and kicked him in the jaw.
Peter's head snapped to the side with the blow as the coppery taste expanded and flooded his mouth. Any harder and she could've broken his jaw. He groaned into the floor, loud and annoyed, before glaring back up at her. "Kick a guy while he's down, why don't you. Bit of a low blow, literally. No moral ethics whatsoever."
His retort died in his throat when he noticed that the woman had done cautiously still. The guys above him too. Peter slowly stopped rolling his jaw and looked between them, wondering what the heck was going on now. After a tense moment, the woman crouched next to him again and bunched her fingers into the fabric of his suit and heaved him up to smell along the crook of his neck.
"Omega," she said once she pulled away, sounding surprised, "You're omega?"
Okay, perhaps things weren't going so dandy after all. Peter licked the blood from his lip, muscles bunching as he regarded her more carefully. The guys holding him were still stock-stiff. More like pieces of plywood than people now. At least they weren't gripping so hard anymore.
"Yeah," he said, voice low and narrowed, "Surprise." He could smell the alpha from every single goon in the room, especially from her. She reeked of a superiority complex. It was no surprise she was leading this little rag-tag team. But if they could smell him that meant the damned scent-blockers in his suit were broken. That's just fantastic.
It made him regret turning down Tony's offer of installing them in his suit. Most superheroes had scent-blockers in their costumes. In some cases, the smell of their second-gender was so strong it could be picked out in a crowd if the villain in-pursuit knew what they were doing. Thus, it was a precaution they all favored. Besides, it was easier and less risky just to keep the super community, both villain and hero alike, in the dark about such things.
Tony's scent-blockers were amazing. Like, slap those bad-boys on and you couldn't get a whiff out of them for months. But Peter just had to try out his own designs. He just had to perfect his own inventions, rather than taking the easier route and letting a friend give him a hand. Dammit. He wasn't going to hear the end of this.
The woman leaned down again, smelling along his neck as if to make sure, before shoving his face back into the cement. "Well, maybe this will be easier than I thought," she chuckled, "I thought we were facing an alpha vigilante. What a lovely change of events."
And just like that, any anxiety Peter had melted into a deep sense of irritation. Aw, there was that cocky alpha behavior he loved to hate. What were they, back in the Middle Ages? Did he miss the memo that it was still the 1800's, not the 21'st century? Watch, she was probably gonna try and use her "alpha voice" on him.
Gosh, this was always so embarrassing to watch.
"Stand down, omega," she growled, voice dark, low, and full of command.
Peter looked up at her, deadpanning hard behind the mask. "Oh wow, gee, not the alpha voice. Please stop, how ever will I function like a human being now? You beast."
She balked and recoiled as if Peter had slapped her with a moldy dishrag. "I said to listen omega."
Peter cringed. Jeez, these were always so hard to watch. He absolutely hated it when alpha's thought they could get omega's to listen like that. They weren't in the 1500s. They weren't still living in castles or caves, and hitting each other over the head with clubs.
He couldn't believe the stigma that alphas could control omega's was sticking for as long as it has. Honestly, it's just so cringy and embarrassing. They were supposed to be evolving as a species, not devolving.
"How about no," Peter retorted, shifting his arms a little. The grip of the goons had lightened, which was great. Like, why would they need to exert themselves 100% if it was an omega, after all? "And please stop with the voice. I don't know if you can hear herself, but it's so bad. Like, wow, I'm embarrassed for you right now."
The lady stood back up. Her pheromones were still stinging his nose, with things like listen, obey, and submit. But all he could project was stop, oh my gosh, this is painful to watch and uuuuuuuugh.
There was a new look in her eyes as she regarded him more closely. Something curious, surprised, and skeptical. "It doesn't work on you?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone.
Peter arched an eyebrow, "It doesn't work on anyone, honey. Honestly, do you think omega's are that weak? Just gonna growl at them to make them rollover. Just like that? Oi, someone didn't take Secondary-Gender Studies in college."
Her scowl came back, dark and rocky as ever. She looked him up and down one last time, hand on her chin. "Bring him."
The hands holding him started pulling him up and Peter took a deep breath. Time to get back to work, break time is over. "Nope," he said and wrenched his arm out of their grip. Whirling around, he kicked the first chump he saw and punched the second, and threw the third.
If he'd have known his stake-out mission would turn on him like this, he never would've gone in the first place. He's been tailing this lady and her merry band of thugs for weeks now, after connecting them to kidnappings that have been plaguing the streets of his city. Most of them were homeless, some were criminals, and a small percent innocent civilians. Regardless, the homeless didn't deserve that kind of treatment - they had it rough as it was - and criminals should go to prison, not a place to be, likely, recruited and/or tortured. And innocent civilians, they just needed to go home. Nobody deserved to be snatched away from their life like that.
He hadn't expected them to turn around and start hunting him though. Can't say he didn't learn his lesson about tailing the underdogs.
The group of alpha's shook themselves out of their daze and rushed him, teeth-baring, and projecting large amounts of aggressive pheromones that they probably thought would make him drop and surrender. Oh yeah, Peter was definitely going to submit now. The very smell made his nose burn. Yep, that's it. He surrendered. Right there, right now. The odor was too much for him.
"Yoink," he said, snatching the gun out of an alpha's hand and hitting two others with it who tried grabbing him from behind. "Easy, easy. Single file. Let's not crowd Spidey now. There's more than enough of me to go around - hey, don't take that perverted! I saw that look!"
Webbing two alpha's together, he swung them into the rest of the group and knocked them like a bowling ball to pins. "St-rike!" he shouted, pumping his fist. "Bowling actually paid off, who'da thunk?"
His spider-sense probed insistently at his brain and he turned in time to catch the punch aimed for his head. The woman bared her teeth at him again, likely annoyed that he was actually putting up a fight, and grabbed his wrist with her other hand. She twisted it till he let her hand go, before turning the tables on him and squeezing as if she planned to pop his hand right off.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," Peter yelped, yanking back out. "Jeez," he glared at her, fondling the irritated skin of his hand. "Someone forgot to mention they had super strength."
"Back to the plan," she yelled to her team, ignoring him even though her eyes were pinned on him, legs bracketed and arms out as if to catch him.
Not going to happen. Lure him into a shady dock house and jump him once, shame on him. Keep him in shady dock house and try to jump him again, shame on them. How dumb did they think he was? He wasn't about to fall for the same trick twice.
Admittedly, there were a lot more people waiting for him than he thought there would be, and his arms still ached from the unexpected beat down, but he could totally handle this. He got this in the bag.
The woman didn't seem to share his optimism. She lunged forward, arms out, with a growl that bubbled past her throat. Peter blocked the first few punches and added in a few swings of his own, but it was getting hard to focus with so many people coming up behind and spooking his spider-sense. The woman was by far the biggest threat, but he didn't like the idea of having guns aimed at his back either.
"Ready," a voice said behind him and Peter barely blocked the kick to his abdomen when his spider-sense buzzed sharply. The woman used the momentum of her kick to whirl around and land a solid hit to his chest that pushed the air out of his lungs and made him stagger. Without wasting a second, she lunged forward again and knocked him in the face, followed by another roundhouse kick, and he hit the floor.
"Now!" She yelled and a capsule smacked Peter in the cheek.
"Hey, aim a little next time!" Peter snapped and looked down just in time to get a face-full of gas. Gagging and coughing, he staggered back to his feet and fanned the gas away quickly. Somewhere through the mist, the woman's fist connected to his face.
"Again," She ordered, and another capsule landed at his feet, expelling gas.
Peter backed up, but his head was getting scarily dizzy. He tottered like an old sot and braced himself on the wall. Patting it a few times, as if just to make sure it was more solid than the wispy barriers of his mind, he weakly began to climb. Everything was spinning and twirling, and he felt one punch away from throwing up. Ugh, his limbs were beginning to shake too. He hated sedatives, especially ones designed for his particular brand of healing factor/immune system.
He managed to get a few feet up the wall before a hand clasped his ankle and yanked him back down. "Not so fast, omega," the woman laughed, voice muffled behind the gas-mask acquired from one of her goons. "You're not escaping that easy."
He kicked her in the face.
Which both greatly amused him and really made him nauseous. He leaned heavily against the wall, lifting a shaky wrist to shoot a web to the rafters, but his arm felt pumped full of iron and it dropped feebly by his side instead.
Coughing, he collapsed to his knee's as the world spun under his feet. "Come on, come on, come on, come on," he groaned, trying to shake the dizziness off. "Time to go, Spidey."
His spider-sense lazily probed his brain and he more watched the oncoming fist than tried to dodge. When it connected, he was pretty sure he blacked out for a second cause when he opened his eyes again, he was back to staring at the floor. The woman was on top of him now, pinning his arms to his back.
"You're feisty, and a bit of a bastard to take down, arencha? The boss is gonna love you," she pushed something sharp and pointy into the juncture of his neck and Peter flung out instinctively. She laughed and hopped off him, backing up a distance.
Peter pushed himself to his feet, but wobbled, vaguely wondering if she'd injected jelly into his legs while he was out. "What'd you..." he slurred, unable to finish as his legs gave out from under him.
"Goodnight, omega," she said, nudging his head with her foot. "See you when you wake up."
Peter wanted to say something intelligent back, like "Nuh-uh," but it was already dark.
So, the situation was worse than he thought. Which, okay, that's on him. He took full credit for getting jumped, he should've known better and he was sorry.
But, all things considered, the gurney he was strapped was kind of comfy, as far as gurneys went. But there was this one blasted wheel that squeaked as it rolled, and it was like listening to a disharmonic duet starring Hawkeye and Black Cat. It roused him from unconsciousness with the same likeness of someone poking his ribs with a sharp stick.
His mask was gone, as far as he could tell, and that should totally be enough to spark a Spidey-Peter meltdown, but his head still hurt like hell and he could hardly muster a thought, much less a panic attack. He squinted through the slits of his eyes, wincing at the lights passing above him. They weren't very bright and kind of cheap-looking, but it was enough to feel like dozens of needle gouging into his retina's.
They rolled over a bump and he groaned, swallowing back the slime of nauseous in his throat. He didn't want to die choking on his own vomit. There were better ways to go. Like passing away peacefully, surrounded by pizza' and science documentaries.
"Where you taking me?" He groaned to nobody in particular and was wholly surprised when the woman from earlier peaked into his line of sight. She didn't say anything, but her face was hard and stoic, and she seemed to be validating that he was awake before disappearing from his line of sight. Even though he couldn't see her though, he could smell her pheromones. She reeked of content, and smug, and victorious.
In fact, this whole place reeked. The smells varied, shifting from excited, and curious, and amused, to scared, and hurt, and help me. He couldn't pinpoint where they came from, but it was everywhere, kind of consuming and overwhelming and was enough to pull him farther out of his daze.
"This can't be good," he muttered as they turned and entered a room. It was a yucky looking room, with a whole lot of low-budget lights and props that looked like they belonged on the stage of a crappy, ill-thought-out movie set. Standing in the middle of the room, with his hands clasped behind in back in a secret-agent-turned-medical doctor sort of way, was a man.
He wasn't an alpha though. His scent was pure beta.
"Ah, here we are," he said, accent British and posh sounding. Peter would've liked it if the guy didn't have a face that screamed 'conceited asshole' "I've been wondering where you've been," he was looking down at Peter crossly as if it were his fault that his trip in the gurney took so long.
"Yeah, sorry, got caught up talking to your lapdog here," Peter smiled fleetingly at the lady, "She's very nice, and she handled me oh-so-gently."
"Another talker," the man sighed. "Lovely."
Peter sniggered, "D'awww, thank you. My momma always did say I had a pretty face."
The woman shrugged, chewing on her match rather bored. "Couldn't get him to shut up, no matter how many times I hit him."
The man turned around the table to examine Peter from all sides with his chin in his fingers. "Nothing we can't fix," he said, tilting his head as he leaned down and sniffed at Peter's neck. "An omega, huh? I'm actually surprised. What's an omega like you doing in the street's of New York dressed like that?"
Peter shrugged, "Oh, you know, kicking ass, taking names, doing what I do."
"Right," he said, rolling his eyes. "Anything else you'd like to add, Angel?" he directed this to the woman.
Peter gaped, "Angel? That's her name? Angel? And what's your name? Mr. Nice Guy?"
The guy stared at him blandly and Peter shrugged, "Okay, that one was bad. Sorry, the quips will get better as soon as this drug wears off. Can't expect them all to be winners when I'm seeing double."
The guy sighed, tugging on his mad-scientist gloves and looked down at him with pursed lips. "You remind me of someone," he said, waving his hand around in a petulant gesture. "Guy couldn't stop talking too. Considered sewing his mouth shut at one point, but who has the time for that?"
"Look, I'm sure your uber-evil mad-scientist agenda is booked," Peter said, "So, in that case, just show me to the door and I'll happily get out of your hair."
"No, no, no," the guy wagged his finger at Peter, smiling coyly in a way one would do to a child who was being silly. "I've been watching you for a while Spider-Man. An impressive set of powers. Good stamina and high tolerance to pain. I'll admit you threw me off by being an omega, but guess that'll just make dealing with you easier in the long-run."
That again? Peter lifted his head and scowled, "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He tussled Peter's hair, "Don't you go worrying about that," he looked back up at Angel and gestured for her to go. "That'll be all. I'll call if I need anything."
Angel shrugged, chewing on her match-stick in the most care-free manner as she left the room. "Give em' hell for me, Ajax," she said over her shoulder.
Peter gaped incredulously, mouth opening into a wide, disbelieving smile, "Ajax," he repeated. "You're named after a cleaner? Ah man, your parents must've hated you. That, or they seriously admired Mr. Clean."
He must've broached a sensitive topic, cause Ajax leered over him again, his face now tight and unsmiling. He had look that rivaled Peter's landlord and that wasn't something to take lightly. Peter was 80% positive his landlord was monster from a 1900's horror film - kind of funny to look at, but so horribly done it left you somewhat terrified. Like they knew how horrifyingly old their effects were and decided to motherfucking own it.
"My name is Ajax. Now drop it."
"Alright, alright, dropping it as fast as your mother dropped you on your head as a baby."
The resulting blow is hard and angry, but Peter's felt worse. Still, Ajax clamps a hand in his hair and brings Peter's face close. "Piss me off, omega, and I'll make your life more of a shit-pile then it's about to be."
"Tough words," Peter whispers back, "My life's been a running shit-pile for the last few years. Literally. The universe had diarrhea when I came into the world, it's hella gross."
His head is slammed back against the table and it makes Peter's vision swim. Ugh, he was pretty sure he had a small concussion from his fight with Ms. Woman-Who-Definitely-Doesn't-Act-Like-A-Holy-Entity. A part of him is telling him that he shouldn't piss off the guy who's probably going to enact terrible experiments on him, but the other part is still offended about the "if he be omega, he be easy to handle" bit and didn't want to give this ass-hat the luxury of an easy time.
Ajax backed up to observe Peter again. He looked irritated, lips pinched as if he were tasting something sour, but was more guarded. Peter glared back at him, daring him to try and make him submissive. Dammit, if he tried, Peter was gonna bust some kneecaps.
Maybe not literally cause senseless violence wasn't particularly his thing, but still. He was sick of that word, especially when it came from losers named after bathroom cleaners. He's already heard it forced onto his secondary-gender all his life, he didn't need it while he was being tortured too.
A moment passed, then Ajax relaxed and smiled. Which, uh-oh, that was pulling some major red-flags.
"Seems you don't really know your place, omega," He mused, chin in his fingers. "I think I know how we can fix that. What any hot-tempered omega needs is a good, strong alpha to calm them down. Keep them satisfied."
"What the fuck did you just say?" Peter screeched, "I'll fucking break any alpha you have! Hot-tempered, my ass! I'm gonna beat the shit out of them and then you, and then Angel!"
"Right," Ajax murmured, more to himself than Peter. "Definitely in need of a calming goat. For both of you, I'd say. I think I know just who to match you with too." His smile grew into something a little more sinister and Peter knew when an evil plot was being hatched.
He squirmed on the gurney, "Stop it! No! Whatever you're thinking, stop it now." Aunt May and MJ meddled in his love-life enough as it is, he didn't need some crazy scientist-type playing sadistic Cupid.
Ajax ignored him and spun on his heels. He peered out of the door, called someone in, and came back to Peter's side with a gaggle of alpha's who looked down at Peter like he was a treat on a dessert table. His dislike for them intensified by 1000 immediately.
"Bind him and put him in Cell Block 10," Francis ordered, "Treat with caution. Omega or not, he's still a mutate."
"This pretty lil thing," one of the alpha cooed, stroking Peter's cheek. "C'mon, boss. This guy wouldn't hurt a fly."
Oh, unintentional pun. Shame Peter couldn't enjoy it.
He was debating on whether or not he should bite the guy's finger when Ajax shoved the guy aside, "I want him to smell purely omega. You go rubbing your smell off on him I'll leave you in Cell Block 10. How does that sound?"
The guy instantly withdrew as if Ajax had threatened him bodily mutilation. "I hear ya, I hear ya," he said, face a little green. "Pure omega. Got it, Ajax."
"Before you take him though," Ajax stopped by the table with a bottle and a syringe. He inserted the needle into the top of the bottle and slurped up a decent portion of whatever drug was inside. "I think we'd better take precautions for now." Peter tried to pull away as Ajax hovered the point over the crook of his arm. One of the goons grabbed his arm and kept it still as Ajax inserted the needle.
Peter cringed from the ensuring sensation and squirmed until Ajax withdrew and the goon pulled away. "Cheapskate," Peter bit at him, flexing his arm where the remaining ache pulsed under his skin. This is why he didn't like needles. He's had too many nutjobs stick em' in him to be comfortable around them anymore. Getting shots was becoming a battle.
"Take him now," Ajax said, putting the syringe down and pulling off his gloves.
The goons started unbuckling the straps holding Peter down. As soon as he was free enough, he'd clock the first one he saw and make a break for the exit. Didn't really know where the exit was, but he's improvised plenty of times. As soon as he was out, he'd memorize the location - wherever he was - and book it. He'd bring back the Avengers or SHIELD, and they could take this place down. Easy peasy.
Only, things were getting very...very...very...fuzzy.
Did Ajax put a sedative in him, or had he stuffed Peter's brain full of cotton when he wasn't looking. The bind on his arm fell away and Peter jolted up. Or he tried to. It felt more like sitting up, all slow and confused, trying to figure out why everything was whirlpooling. He almost didn't notice when hands grabbed him and heaved him to his feet. He swayed instantly and a rumble of laughter flitted around him when he had to lean against the gurney for stability.
He could smell amused alpha's.
His face burned, embarrassment mucking his blundering consciousness and he straightened himself out. His head felt pumped with helium while iron bolts felt screwed into his fingertips and made his hands heavy. Seriously, what was that?
His confusion must've shown on his face cause Ajax laughed, "One helluva sedative, huh? Made it myself. Won't be kicking ass or taking names with this pumping through your system."
"Bastard," Peter said, trying to glare at him, but the room felt like it was spinning and shit he was actually getting kind of nauseous. He didn't get a chance to double over and puke his innards out as he was seized again and led out the door.
He was easily pushed out of the room, and with one hand gripping his arm, he was steered down the hall. Peter stumbled as he went, trying to make sense of the bright lights and fuzzy walls passing him. Blotched and blurry figures swam in and out of his vision, making him blink rapidly.
"Told you this would be easy," one of the alpha goons said. "Bet we could've handled him even without the sedative."
Another round of chuckles.
That rerouted Peter's brain a little. Yeah, this is too easy. What the hell, Parker? What happened to breaking every alpha Francis threw at him? He put so much effort into challenging Ajax's stupid traditional views, he wasn't about to be alpha-handled into a cell with nary a fight or budge. Not with his pride at stake.
Peter felt his way up his shirt, using it to guide him to the goon's hand, which was practically ghosting over his biceps as if he couldn't put forth the effort to really restrain him. Peter curled his fingers around the wrist, earning a surprised "Huh?" from the alpha it belonged to and squeezed.
It was a little harder than he intended if the resulting SNAP! was any indicator, followed by the howl of pain behind him, but Peter used the surprise to lean back into the alpha, grab his forearm, bend over, and throw the jackass over his shoulder. It takes only a couple of seconds and would've been as simple as breathing if he didn't feel like throwing up after moving so quickly. It leaves him surprisingly winded and queasy, and he barely withheld from hurling on the floor.
Thankfully, the rest of the goons were struck with surprise and didn't attack him immediately. Peter took a deep breath and grabbed for the next one. He snatches empty air his first few tries, but managed to snag the jacket of the next alpha, and tossed her toward the one he just threw. He hears her smack into the wall and goes for the next.
Unfortunately, the rest had snapped out it by then.
"You little bitch!" one growled and pulled out his gun.
"Francis wants him alive," another chides her comrade and forces the gun back down. "Hurt him and you can take his place in Cell 10."
Peter wants to snidely say that he would've dodged it regardless but is too busy stumbling into the wall to get it out. Shaking himself, he pushed off the wall and right into an awaiting fist that snapped his head back and made him see stars. Groaning, he smacked into the wall again.
His spider-sense is a lazy, drunken tingle on his skull, but he still manages to dodge the next hit and kick the offender away. He's not so lucky the second time. His punch is stopped and his arm bent behind his back. The position forced his face into the wall, only making his headache worse before he was lifted and slammed into the ground.
That's when he threw up. There's not much to empty out his stomach, so he's left dry heaving for the most part. When he's done, he's lifted by his neck and roughly led down the hall. There are more than one pair of hands-on him now, each tightly clamped over his arms and back like a steel brace.
Residue vomit lingers on his tongue and the back of his throat and makes him want to throw up again. He feels it staining the front of the cheap white shirt they dressed him in and he wants to be disgusted, but ugh, he felt too much like shit to really care at this point.
They stop next to a door. When Peter looks up, he sees a clearly written Cell Block X above the metal frame and he's suddenly shaken with apprehension. They all talked about Cell Block 10 as if it had the devil itself inside. It was enough to intimidate the alpha's into behaving, which was a mighty big indicator that whatever was behind this door couldn't be good.
"Wait -" Peter slurred, digging his heels into the ground. "Don't-"
"Too late, omega," a goon hissed at him and rammed her gun into his back and made him shoot forward into the room. He stumbled inside and whirled around, sticking his leg out to kick them, but all he hits is a locked door.
The door dents under his foot but doesn't budge.
Dammit.
His foot dropped and he stumbled down onto the floor, breathing heavy. His head was pounding now. Less like a ball of cotton and more like a child banging drumsticks against his head, only they're made of spikes with little bells attached to the ends. He groaned throatily and slumped down on the floor, putting his head to the cool cement floor.
It takes him a few long minutes, and a cough to his left, to realize he's not alone.
There's a man sitting in the corner of the room, half cast in shadows. Peter's vision is still mottled, but he sees grey pants similar to the one he's wearing, and a white shirt with an odd contraption on it. It takes him several blinks to realize it was a straitjacket.
Uh-oh, that's never a good sign.
Peter fell back on to legs, easing into a crouch. He's sweating and sporting the worst migraine, but he'd take this bastard down if he needed to.
But the man simply cocked his head to the side, eyebrows quirking. With his face closer to the light, Peter can see a bit more of him. The first thing he notices is that the mans' horribly scarred. Or burned. Or both. And that he reeked with the stench of pain. But when Peter's eyes meet his own, they're hard and angry.
"And who are you supposed to be?" the man drawled, just shy of a taunt. "They're actually giving me roommates again? Nice try, Francie!" he yelled this toward the door, "But I'm not buying it. Give 'im to someone else."
Peter's head recoiled and he scowled. "S'cuse me," he snaps, but it's loose and watery, "I'm not given to anyone. I don't want to be here just as much as you."
The guy shakes his head, "Doubtful. I've been here for quite a while. You could say I'm in the senior class of the facility. It sucks ass, take it from your upperclassmen."
"All the more reason to hate it," Peter said easily and slid back, finding his own little corner to nestle in. He pulled his legs close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He gives the cell a once-over. "Wha - what is this place anyway? I didn't get the Freshmen Orientation."
"This," the man looked as though he was trying to spread his arms out, and gave him a painfully large smile that was too wild to be real, "Is Weapon X. The go-to-hell for those looking for a little more oompf in their already shitty lives. A muties one-stop destination for death and mental instability. Whoooop-de-dooooo for us," He slumped back against the wall, thumping his head roughly against the hard surface.
Ooookay, his roommate was crazy. Probable right, but crazy, Good to know. Peter leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, fighting off another bout of nausea.
"Francis's sedative?" The man says after of moment of Peter struggling, "Yeah, it's a little bitch, ain't it? Doesn't work on me for very long, but it puts you through a tizzy, huh." His eyes flitted to the mess down the front of Peter's shirt.
"Yeah, well, you're not making it any better, man," Peter grumped, rubbing his temples and trying dutifully to ignore the pungent smell and stomach acid on his clothes.
He laughed at that. "Probably not," he agreed easily, "Don't worry, it runs its course fairly quickly."
"Says the guy who said it doesn't really affect him," Peter drawled, "Thanks, but in this case, I don't think our systems are quite on par."
The man shrugged, "Alright, got me there. A healing factor will do that."
Thankfully, after that, he stayed silent until Peter was good enough to open his eyes again and take a deep breath. "Feeling better yet?"
"Think so," Peter grumbled, still massaging his forehead, "What the hell did he put in that?"
"Probably the tears of puppies and the cries of little children."
"Yeah, feels that way. Been a while since I've tasted puppy tears."
The man gasped, "Well, how often do you do it?"
Peter chuckled, not quite ready to be amused, but it eased the tension in his shoulders. If but a little. "Alright, got me there."
The man shifted his position so he was sitting back against the wall. His eyes were hooked to Peter though, like fishlines digging into his skin. It didn't take a strong nose to smell the clearly evident alpha coming off him. He could probably smell Peter too.
"So, why's ol' Francie putting omega's in my cell?" He asked as if picking up on Peter's thoughts.
Peter leveled a glare at him and quirked an eyebrow, all but shouting with his expression, Why do you think? But out loud, he said, "Beats me. Said somethin' about a 'calming goat' but I don't know who's calming who in this scenario."
Wade rolled his eyes, and leaned his head up, looking at the ceiling, "Yeah, that sounds like him. What a douche."
"A true jackass," Peter agreed.
After a long pause and a moment of serene peace, Peter grumbled sourly under his breathe. "Well, I ain't playing the calming goat, nor will I remain calm," he got to his feet. The effects of the sedative were getting better, so long as he didn't move too suddenly.
The man watched him move to the door but didn't make a move to join him. Rather, he looked on curiously as Peter ran his hand over the edge of the door, searching for the hinges.
"It's automatic," he said after a moment, "Slides up and down from the ceiling."
"Okay," Peter said without turning and knocked on the door. It wasn't hollow and sounded pretty thick. He already dented, so it couldn't be impervious. But Ajax made it clear that he knew of Peter's strength and ability, even if he wanted to hide it behind the knowledge that Peter was an omega. He'd have to be careful. Especially if Ajax kept trying to sedate him like that.
"It's thick metal too," the man continued, "I've punched through quite a few of them, but it looks like you've got a bit of super strength on you. But he's got camera's watching, so I wouldn't try anything just yet," he glanced at some hidden device in the corner and smiled widely, all teeth and gums.
"Stop playing the calming goat," Peter snapped at him, "I'm not giving Ajax that satisfaction."
"In my defense, I was like this before you even came in. Also, stop calling him that. It feeds his ego like nothing else. If you really want to hurt him, call him Francis. He hates it."
Peter snorted and turned around, "Francis? Really? Is that his actual name?"
The guy laughed, "Yeah. Man, you should see his face when he hears it. Gets all red, like a really angry beet. It's hilarious."
"Heh, I'll remember that next time he starts threatening me with alpha's."
At that, the guy goes quiet. "Yeah," he said stiffly, "He does stuff like that too."
They both let the implications of that hang over their heads. This guy was full alpha too, so Peter should've been at least a little hesitant. But he was in a straitjacket and he hadn't made any move toward Peter, so they were fine for the time being. The second he tried anything though, Peter wasn't going to be holding back. He mentioned a healing factor, that'd be hard to counter. Especially if this guy was persistent.
Peter figured that was part of Ajax - Francis's - plan. He didn't know how well the guy's healing factor was, but if Peter resisted and Wade kept coming back, Francis probably hoped it'd wear him down. He could only fight him off for so long.
Well, Francis just didn't know how determined Peter was. He'd fight day and night if he had too.
"Name's Wade, by the way," the guy piped up after a tense couple of minutes. "If that helps."
"Doesn't really," Peter said, not looking up from the door, "but thanks, I guess."
Wade snorted, "You're not easily impressed, are you?"
"I've seen a fair share of mad scientists and alphas," Peter admitted, "Takes a lot more than a sadistic plan and a good-tempered alpha to impress me."
"Mild-tempered," he says with a derisive laugh, "Nobodies called me that before."
"Well, you haven't given me a reason to think of you as anything else."
"I didn't want to freak you out. Besides, my face is usually enough to make people flip."
At that Peter turns, eyes flickering over the mans face again. Like his feet, and Peter assumes the rest of his body, it's covered with scars and disfigured skin-tissue. It was startling when Peter first saw it, yes, but he's seen plenty of gruesome things in his life. Instead of commenting on the last bit, he said instead, "Didn't you just hear me say I didn't want to be calm?"
Wade seems surprised that Peter didn't take the bait. He dodged commenting on it the same as Peter though, and opted to say, "So, are you saying you want me to brutally and arrogantly come on to you?"
"No. Not exactly."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
And it strikes Peter how easily it says that. It's not very often he hears an alpha ask what an omega would like them to do. Especially so willingly and none erotic. Wade sounded genuinely curious about how Peter would like him to react in these circumstances. He's not joking. Not teasing. But curious.
Peter turns to him, not quite sure what to say. "For now...just - just stay there," he decided on and waited for Wade to challenge that, as so many others would.
Instead of his alpha pride getting bruised, Wade shrugged and made himself comfortable in his corner. "Aight. Cool," and that's that. He just sat there.
Peter stared at him skeptically, before turning back to the door. There wasn't much more he can get from it. It's automatic, thick and sturdy, but not enough so that Peter couldn't break it down. He could do it now, but Francis was probably expecting that after Peter's fiasco outside.
It'd be risky to make a move now. Peter had no idea where he was, no clue about the layout of the place he was being kept in. He was brought in blind. Once he got a bit more information he could come up with an actual plan.
But if things got too dicey, a quick escape was also on the table.
Satisfied with his evaluation, Peter returned to his corner. There was only one mattress on the floor, and Wade was sitting on it. He made no room to offer it to Peter and Peter didn't ask. He didn't want it, nor did he want to share it.
Francis was playing a dangerous game here and Peter refused to be a pawn. So, he got as comfortable as he could on the floor and clasped his hands over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
Like the brilliant genius he was, he hadn't even told anyone about the mission he was on. No one knew where he was or where he'd been. Good job, Parker. Your intelligence holds no bounds.
"Well, goodnight roomie," Wade said, face-planting the mattress.
Peter didn't respond, but he had a feeling Wade expected as much.