Warning: This one-shot features the alpha/beta/omega fic-verse. Where everyone has a second gender that is either alpha, beta, or omega. Note that I do NOT follow the general rules of the a/b/o universe. Cause I've always found the fact that omega's are "naturally" more submissive and alpha's "naturally" aggressive and seriously, unhealthily possessive to be really, what's the word, uncomfortable.

So I changed that :D

If anyone is unfamiliar with the a/b/o verse, it's that omegas are seen as submissive and weak and have heats where they go into a state where their bodies lure alphas in to reproduce (or something like that). Alpha's are known as big, strong, bull-headed muscle heads who think it's okay to be possessive of the omegas. (There's a difference between protective and possessive.)

Anyway, I've changed some things. Omegas can go into heat and Alpha's go into ruts (which is basically the alpha equivalent of a heat). Also, ruts/heats don't make the alpha's and omegas lose all control of themselves, they are in complete control of their actions. Society just makes it seem like they have no choice - but they do.

Now, I know some people don't like the a/b/o verse and that's perfectly fine. If it makes you uncomfortable or you just don't like it, don't feel as though you need to keep reading. You guys stay safe and happy :D

Anyway, Peter's not very "submissive" in this. He has zero-chill and he's literally ready to throw hands with anyone. He also swears a lot.

Well, on with the story!

This wasn't the worst situation he's ever found himself in.

It was still pretty bad all things considered, but they weren't shooting at him anymore and that felt like a solid step in the right direction.

The weight of the dozen or so guys pinning him to the floor was a bit uncomfortable though, he'd admit that. Especially when one of them bent his arms at a particularly painful angle, and after getting socked in the jaw earlier, his mouth was bitter with the tang of copper and bloody saliva had soaked into his mask. So while he's been in tighter pickles, he wasn't exactly having a good time either.

Still, all things considered, he was doing a decent job keeping himself calm.

A muddied boot stopped inches from his nose, giving off the stench of the bay and Peter wrinkled his nose.

"How pleasant," he grimaced, and then winced as more pressure fell on his back.

The boot shifted as the body it belonged to crouched and a hand grabbed Peter's jaw to look him from side to side. Her finger-less gloves dug into the material, pinching it between her fingers, and Peter's head snapped back.

"Hey, no touchie the mask! I have no idea where those hands have been."

She dropped her hands between her crouched legs, "It's about time we got you." There was a bland lilt to her voice the reminded Peter of Harry whenever they studied together in high school. His tone would take on the same bored tenor as Peter tried to teach him the tricks behind chemistry.

But where Harry always had that crisp, polished rich look about himself, this woman was the exact opposite. She had a rough, thuggish look composed of a square jaw, a bundle of dark hair tied into a loose bun, and a scowl that would've made Kraven turn-tail and run. Peter squinted up at her as best he could despite his face being smooshed into the concrete.

"Look, lady, I don't know who you lonely shmucks are, but knabbing people off the streets is very impolite where I'm from."

"Another joker," she sighed, standing back up. She brushed off her pants as if cleaning any superhero germs Peter might've left on her. "The boss is gonna love that," and without warning, she kicked him hard in the face.

Peter's head snapped to the side and the taste of copper flooded his mouth again. Any harder and she might've broken his jaw - if he wasn't as enhanced as he was, she very well might of. He groaned into the ground, loud and annoyed, before turning his glare up at her.

"Way to kick a guy while he's down. What happened to after-fight formalities? Didn't even give me the chance too...to uh..." he looked around, the words slowly dying in his throat. The woman had done suspiciously still.

So did the guys pinning him.

Peter stopped rolling his jaw. Had a struck a nerve? Were after-fight formalities an actual thing?

A tense moment passed and the woman crouched next to him again, bunching her fingers into the fabric of his suit and heaving him up to smell along the crook of his neck. Peter made a surprised noise and recoiled.

"Omega?" she said once she pulled away, sounding surprised, "You're an omega?"

The calm Peter had been tightly holding onto slipped between his fingers. He licked the blood from his lip, body coiling as something new manifested in her eyes. The guys holding him felt more like pieces of plywood than people now, their bodies rigid as Peter's scent hit their nose.

"Yeah. Surprise."

He could smell the alpha coming off every single goon in the warehouse, 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 scent-blockers in his suit were broken. Damn.

Regret for turning down Tony's offer to install them in his suit made his tongue sour. Most superheroes (and even villains) had scent-blockers woven into their costumes. Given that most of the superhero community was enhanced, the smell of their second-gender was normally lot stronger than your average joe, and if your enemy was skilled enough they could pick you out in a crowd if they were what they were looking for. So scent blockers were a precaution they all favored.

Tony's scent-blockers were amazing. Like, slap-those-babies-on-and-you-couldn't-get-a-whiff-out-of-them-for-months kind of amazing. 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, Tony wasn't going to let him hear the end of this.

The woman leaned down again, smelling along his neck as if to double-check, and shoved his face back against the cement.

"Well, maybe this will be easier than I thought," she chuckled, "I thought we were chasing an alpha vigilante. What a lovely change of events."

And just like that, any anxiety Peter had melted into a glop of irritation. There was that cocky alpha behavior he loved to hate. What was this, the Middle Ages? Did he miss the memo that it was still the 1800's and not the 21'st century? She was probably gonna try and use her "alpha voice" on him.

This was always so embarrassing to watch.

"Stand down, Omega," she growled near his ear, voice falling into something dark, low, and full of command.

Peter deadpanned.

"Oh wow, gee, not the alpha voice. Please stop, how will I function like a human being now? You beast."

She balked and recoiled as if Peter had slapped her with her own moldy boot. "I said to listen, Omega."

Peter was caught between a scowl and a cringe. He hated it when alpha's tried to get him to listen like that. Was it too hard to talk to him like a normal person? He responded well to "Oh hey, could I have your attention for a sec," and "Could have a moment of your time, please?"

It was unbelievable that the stigma that alphas could control omega's was sticking for as long as it has. They were supposed to be evolving as a species, not devolving.

"How about no," Peter retorted, shifting his arms. The grip of the goons had lightened, which was great. Why should they exert themselves 100% if he was just 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 woman stood back up. Her pheromones were still stinging his nose with things like listen, obey, and submit. But all he could project was stop, this is painful to watch, and uuuuuuuugh.

Something curious, surprised, and skeptical twisted her face. "It doesn't work on you?" She muttered it more to herself than him.

Peter arched an eyebrow, "It doesn't work on anyone. Did you honestly think it would? Just gonna growl at me and I'll roll over? Someone obviously didn't take Secondary-Gender Studies in college."

Her scowl came back, as dark and rocky as ever. She looked him up and down one last time, hand on her chin.

"Bring him."

Grappling hands began pulling on him and Peter took a deep breath. Time to get back to work, break time is over.

"Nope," he wrenched his arms out of their grips with laughable ease, and whirling around, he kicked the first chump he saw, then punched the second, and threw the third.

If he'd have known his stake-out mission was going to turn on him like this, he would've stayed at home and gorged himself on the last of the ramen in his pantry. But, he'd been too eager after snagging a lead to these guys and he hadn't taken all the necessary precautions. Like an idiot.

He'd been tailing this woman and her merry band of thugs for weeks now, only after connecting them to a dozen or so random kidnappings that have been plaguing the streets of his city. Most of the kidnapped were homeless, some had been 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 recruited and/or tortured. And innocent civilians? They just needed to go home. Nobody deserved to be snatched away from their life like that.

What he hadn't been expecting was them to turn around and start hunting him. Well, he was definitely relearning the come-up-with-an-actual-strategy-that-isn't-pulled-out-of-your-ass lesson that he's been struggling to wrap his head around for years.

The goons shook themselves out of their surprised daze and rushed him, teeth-baring and projecting excessive amounts of aggressive pheromones that they thought would make him drop and surrender. The smell was making his nose burn.

"Yoink," he jeered, snatching the gun out of an alpha's hand and hitting two others with it when they 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 down like a bowling ball to pins.

"Stee-rike!" he shouted, pumping his fist. "All those bowling nights actually paid off, who'da thunk?"

His spider-sense proked insistently at his brain to stop fooling around and he turned in time to catch the punch aimed for his head. The woman bared her teeth at him again, annoyed that he was actually putting up a fight, and grabbed his wrist with her other hand. She twisted it until he was forced to let go with a yelp, and then turned the tables on him by squeezing his wrist as if trying to pop it right off.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," he yanked himself free. "Jeez," he shook his hand as if to fling the pain off, "Someone forgot to mention they had super strength."

"Back to the plan," she yelled to her team, keeping her eyes pinned on him as she bracketed her legs and arms 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 hasn't exactly been Brainy McSmarty pants today, but he wasn't that stupid. And to be fair, there were a lot more people here than he thought there would be, and his arms were still aching from the unexpected beating he got earlier.

But he could totally handle this. Got it right in the bag. Easy-peasy.

The woman lunged with her arms out, a growl bubbling up her throat. Peter blocked the first two punches and added in a few swings of his own, but it was getting hard to focus with so many people coming up behind him 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 had 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 clocked him in the face, followed by another roundhouse kick, and he hit the floor.

"Now!" She yelled and something solid smacked Peter in the face.

"Hey, aim a little!" he snapped and looked down at the little canister teetering back and forth next to his arm. He only just recognized what it was before a spew of gas was released into his face. Sputtering and coughing, he staggered to his feet, fanning the gas away as quickly as possible. Somewhere through the milky fog, the woman's fist connected to his face.

"Again," She ordered, and another canister landed at his feet, expelling gas seconds later.

Peter backed up, white wisps like fog swirling around his legs and rising higher. Whatever this drug was it worked fast. He only took a few steps before his head began spinning, and he placed a hand against it, tottering like a sot with too much to drink. His other hand found the wall he'd been close to and braced himself against it.

More clinks and clacks littered the floor and the fog got thicker. Another wave of dizziness clocked Peter's head and he had to pat the wall a few times to make sure it was solid, before weakly beginning to climb. Everything was spinning and a rotten simmer of nausea was bubbling in the pit of his belly. He felt one punch away from throwing up.

He hated sedatives, especially ones designed for his particular brand of healing factor and immune system.

He managed to get a few feet up the wall before a hand closed around his ankle and yanked him back down. His fingers shook and let him slid a foot 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 made another round of sickness roll in his gut. He leaned his head against the wall, groaning, and lifted a shaky wrist to the rafters. He'd meant to trigger his webshooters and pull himself to safety, but his arm felt pumped full of iron and it dropped heavily by his side instead. Was it weird that his skin was feeling numb and tingly?

Two hands grabbed him around the waist and pried him from the wall. Peter felt like a stubborn cat clinging to a carpet, keeping his fingertips and toes planted firmly against the wall for as long as possible, until with a final rough tug, and an unsportsmanlike cuff to the head, he let go.

He collapsed against the floor and pushed his assailant hard enough to send them flying back. It must've been one of the goons, judging by the throaty "AHHHH" that came from their mask. Peter tried to get to his feet, but the world spun under him and he only made it to his knees.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on," he chanted, trying to shake the dizziness off. "Time to go, Spidey."

His spider-sense was a lazily probe this time and he more watched the oncoming fist than tried to dodge. When it connected, he was sure he blacked out for a solid minute because when he opened his eyes again, he was back to staring at the floor, but this time the woman was on top of him now, pinning his arms to his back.

"You're feisty," he could hear the grin on her face, "and a bit of a bastard to take down. The boss is gonna love you," she pushed something sharp and pointy into the juncture of his neck and Peter's eyes widened in saucers. He flung himself out, and she laughed, hopping off and backing up a distance.

Peter forced himself to his feet this time, but wobbled, vaguely wondering if she'd injected jelly into his legs when he'd blacked out.

"What'd you..." he slurred but was unable to finish when his legs gave out from under him.

"Goodnight, omega," she said, her voice sounding far away. He felt numb to the way she nudged his head with the toe of her boot. "See you when you wake up."

Peter wanted to say something intelligent back, like "Nuh-uh," but he was already unconscious.

<><>LINE BREAK<><>

So, the situation was worse than he thought. That's on him. He took full credit for getting jumped, and he should've known better. He was sorry.

But as bad as everything was, the gurney he was strapped was comfy as far as gurneys went. There was one wheel that squeaked as it rolled though, 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 jabbing his ears with a sharp stick.

His mask was gone and that should've been enough to spark an imminent 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 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'r you taking me?" He groaned to nobody in particular and was wholly surprised when the woman from earlier appeared into his line of sight. She didn't say anything, but her face was hard and stoic. She only seemed to be validating that he was awake and disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived. But he could still smell her. She reeked of content, and smug, and victorious.

In fact, this whole place reeked. The smells varied from excited, and curious, and amused, to scared, and hurt, and help me. He couldn't pinpoint where they came from. It was everywhere; consuming and overwhelming and 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.

Peter craned his neck up to get a look at the man standing in the middle of the room. He had hands clasped behind in back in a secret-agent-turned-medical doctor sort of way.

But he wasn't an alpha. 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 had taken 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."

The woman shrugged, chewing on a match with bored movement. "Couldn't get him to shut up, no matter how many times I hit him."

The man walked around the table to examine Peter from all sides, chin in his fingers and eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Nothing we can't fix," he said and tilted his head as he leaned down, sniffing at Peter's neck. "An omega, huh? I'm actually surprised. What's an omega like you doing in the streets 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 winced at himself, "Yeah, okay, that one was bad. Sorry, the quips will get better as soon as the drug wears off.:

The guy sighed, tugging on his mad-scientist gloves, "You remind me of someone. 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. So, 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 in a way one would 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 just so he could look the guy in the face and glare.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He tussled Peter's hair, "Don't you worry about that," he looked 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, mouthing falling into a wide grin, "Ajax? 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 because Ajax was suddenly leering over him, face 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 a monster from a 1900's horror film. Like, he looked kind of funny, but so horribly animated at the same time it left you somewhat terrified.

"My name is Ajax. 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. Ajax clamps a hand in Peter's hair and brings his 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."

His head is slammed back against the table and it makes Peter's vision swim. He was pretty sure he already had a small concussion from his fight with Ms. Woman-Who-Definitely-Doesn't-Act-Like-A-Holy-Entity, but now it felt worse. A part of Peter 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 very 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 tasting something sour, but there was a guarded layer behind it. Peter glared back at him, daring him to try anything. If he even tried to make Peter "submit," was Peter was going to bust some kneecaps.

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 before Ajax relaxed and smiled. Which was pulling some major red-flags.

"Seems you don't really know your place, omega," he mused, chin in his fingers again. "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."

"Excuse me?" Peter screeched, "I'll break any fucking 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 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 wasted no time looking 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. Peter might've appraised it under different circumstances.

He was debating on whether or not he should bite the guy's finger and risk rabies when Ajax shoved the guy harshly, "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's face drained of color as if Ajax had threatened him with bodily mutilation. "I hear ya, I hear ya," he said, taking on a green tinge, "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 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 him to keep him 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, wishing he could rub at the aching spot. This is why he didn't like needles. He's had too many nutjobs stick em' in him to be comfortable. Getting his yearly 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, he'd knock out 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 straps pinning his arm fell away and Peter jolted up. Or he tried to. It felt more like sitting up, really slow and confused as if 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 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 and iron bolts felt screwed into his fingertips/ Seriously, what was this stuff?

His confusion must've shown on his face because 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 tried to glare at him, but the room felt like it was spinning and shit he felt like he was going to throw up. Even if he wanted to, he wasn't given the chance 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 to keep up.

"Told you this would be easy," one of the goons said. "Bet we could've handled him even without the sedative."

Another round of agreeing chuckles.

That rerouted Peter's brain. Yeah, this was 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 himself to the goon's hand, which was clamped over his bicep. Peter curled his fingers around the wrist, earning a surprised "Huh?" from the alpha it belonged to just before squeezing.

He put more strength behind it than he intended if the resulting SNAP! was any indicator, followed by a howl of pain. 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 left him surprisingly winded and queasy, and he barely stopped himself from hurling on the floor.

Thankfully, the rest of the goons were just as surprised as their friend and didn't think to attack right away. Peter took a deep breath and grabbed for the next one. He snatched empty air first but managed to snag a jacket his second time around, 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 snaps his head back. Groaning, he hit the wall again.

His spider-sense is a lazy drunk loitering in 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 forces his face into the wall, only making his headache worse, before he's 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. He's still choking as 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 steel braces.

Residue vomit lingers on his tongue and the back of his throat and almost throws up again. He feels it staining the front of the cheap grey shirt they dressed him in and he wants to be disgusted, but he felt too much like shit to 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 hisses at him and rams her gun into his back, shooting him forward. He stumbled inside and whirled around, sticking his leg out to kick them, but all he hits is a locked door. It dents under his foot but doesn't budge.

Dammit.

His foot dropped and he stumbled 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. He groaned throatily and slumped the rest of the way onto the floor, putting his head to the cool cement.

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 can make out grey pants similar to the one he's wearing. His roomie is wearing a white shirt though, twisted and decorated with buttons and straps. It takes him several blinks to realize it's a straitjacket.

That's never a good sign.

Peter jumped back up, almost threw up, and fell back on legs, easing into a crouch. He's sweating and sporting the worst migraine, but he'd take this bastard down in a heartbeat if he needed to.

But the man only cocked his head to the side, hairless eyebrows quirking. With his face closer to the light, Peter can make out more details, like the scars draping themselves over the man's body. Or were they burns? Maybe both. When Peter inhales, the stench of pain is acrid in his nose. His eyes are hard and angry when they meet Peter's.

"And who are you supposed to be? They're actually giving me roommates again? Nice try, Francie!" the man yelled this toward the door, "But I'm not buying it. Give 'im to someone else."

Peter recoiled and then scowled. "S'cuse me," he snapped, but it's loose and watery on his tongue, "I'm not given to anyone. Believe me, I don't want to be here just as much as you."

The guy shook 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 slowly 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, but didn't close his eyes. He grimaced, fighting off another bout of nausea.

"Francis's sedative?" The man says after of moment of watching Peter struggle, "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.

The man laughed at that. "Probably not. 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."

He stays silent until Peter is good enough to unravel the pinch from his features 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, theatrically affronted, "Well, how often do drink it?"

Peter chuckled, not quite ready to be amused, but it eased the tension in his shoulders. "Alright, got me there."

The man shifted his position so he was sitting back against the wall. His eyes were hooked to Peter, 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?"

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."

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 approach the door but didn't make a move to join him. Rather, he looked on curiously as Peter ran his hand over the edge, searching for the hinges.

"It's automatic," he offered after a moment, "Slides up and down from the ceiling."

"Okay," Peter said without turning and knocked on the metal. 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 again.

"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, "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, shooting a glance over his shoulder, "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 oddly silent. "Yeah," he says stiffly, "He does stuff like that sometimes."

They both let the implications hang over their heads. This guy was full alpha too, so Peter should've been at least a little hesitant. But the man was in a straitjacket and he hadn't made any moves toward Peter, so they were fine for the time being. The moment he tried anything though, Peter wasn't going to allow any second chances. He mentioned a healing factor, and depending on how strong it was, it could 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, the hopeful conclusion would be to wear Peter down until he couldn't fight anymore.

Well, Francis didn't know just how stubborn Parkers can be.

"Name's Wade, by the way," the guy piped up after a tense minute. "If that helps."

Peter didn't look up from the door, "Doesn't really, but thanks, I guess."

Wade snorted, "You're not easily impressed, are you?"

"I've seen a fair share of mad scientists and alphas. Takes a lot more than a sadistic plan and a good-tempered alpha to impress me."

"Good-tempered," 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."

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. It was hard to look at, he'd admit, but he'd take it over Francis.

Instead of commenting on Wade's appearance, he went with instead, "Didn't you just hear me say I didn't want to be calm?"

Wade leaned back as if surprised Peter didn't take the bait. He dodged commenting on his own appearance too, and said, "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 their circumstance. Not joking. Not teasing. But curious.

Peter turns to him, not quite sure what to say. "For now...just - just stay there." He waits 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."

Peter stared at him skeptically and slowly turned back to the door. There wasn't much more he could 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 right now, anyway. Peter didn't have a clue where he was and no idea what the layout of this place looked like. He was brought in blind. But as soon he got more information he could come up with an actual plan.

And if things got too dicey too quickly, an escape was already 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. It was thin and lumpy, and Wade made no room to offer it 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 told anyone - not Dare Devil, not the Avengers, not even a passing comment to DeWolff, who was looking into the same string of kidnappings he was - about the mission he was on. No one knew where he was or even who he was.

Good job, Parker. Your intelligence holds no bounds.

"Well, goodnight roomie," Wade says, face-planting the mattress.

Peter doesn't respond, but he had a feeling Wade expected as much.