Peter thought it was almost impossible to feel any sort of happiness in this place.

And he was right.

He awoke the sound of the door swooshing open and was up on his feet before Wade had the opportunity to lift his head off his make-shift pillow - which happened to be Peter's arm. His head thumped against the mattress and he lurched up, blinking rapidly. He spotted the guards in the doorway and was on his feet next to Peter just as quickly.

For a couple of sweaty naked men, Peter thought they looked intimidating enough.

The guards - all alphas again - seemed to drink in the smell of post-heat like it was some kind of old beverage that still might have some flavor in it. He was surprised they weren't licking their lips to taste the air, like the bunch of lizards they are.

Which was saying something, because he's fought a literal lizard monster so he could make that distinction.

"Well, let's go," one said, gesturing with their gun toward the door, "only Deadpool."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. He's been here for - by his guess - a month or so, but he's never heard the term "Deadpool" before. Which was surprising. The guard said the word like he was spitting out sour milk, yet there was an apprehension lilt to it. As if it left poison on his tongue.

Wade sighed and Peter glanced at him through the corner of his eye.

"That's me," he said, scooting past Peter.

Peter watched him go wordlessly but almost jolted when Wade's fingers brushed against his. It was just slightly, and barely for a second, but enough to grab his attention by the horns. It was too intentional to be by accident, but sly enough so the guards didn't notice, and he stared at Wade's back as the guards filed around him.

With a simple touch his brain had flickered out and he stood there, mentally floundering. The touch wasn't all that bad, he supposed. They did just spend the entire night - day? - sleeping and snuggling in their nudity, so a brush against his finger was hardly something impressive.

Which didn't explain why his fingers tingled weirdly and he wondered when his spider-sense had migrated from his head to his hand. The door closed and Peter stood there for several more minutes before clutching his fingers to his chest, the same way he'd done in 8th-grade science class when his hand slipped, and he burnt it on the Bunsen Burner. There was no ice from the cafeteria to soothe his skin this time, and he was deeply concerned when he didn't immediately want this feeling to go away.

Harry, MJ, and Aunt May have told him about the walls he's built around himself - forged through years of gender mistreatment and social stigmas - and while he never thought about his moral standards for society as "walls" he wondered when Wade had slipped by them, and why he hadn't noticed before.

Oh, stop it, he told himself sharply, shaking his head and turning back to the mattress. You sound like one of those damn omega-stereotypes from those stupid romance books.

Breaking down his walls. Making him "swoon." Yeah, right. This wasn't some fairytale or storybook. They were in a highly toxic and extremely unethical organization that wanted to experiment on them. That was their reality.

He was just playing into Francis's hand if he kept thinking like a weepy damsel in distress. That was why he put him and Wade in the same cell. Francis wanted them to form a connection and bond. He wanted something out of their interaction and Peter could guess what that was.

Well, no. He wasn't going to be a pawn for that bastard. Wade was a good person - probably one of the best alpha's Peters' met - but that was where the line was drawn. Any connection they made was created out a terrible environment and a bad situation, so it was hardly real.

Peter kicked the mattress in irritation when he couldn't bring himself to accept his own feebly drawn excuses. He hated the way his heart ached for a connection that wasn't terrible and toxic. Is this how he'd react to any good-natured person that came his way?

He's heard plenty of stories where omega's described meeting a respectful partner that didn't lean into stereotypes, only for the relationship to turn abusive. Was he headed in that same direction?

No. He couldn't imagine Wade being abusive. Not that he couldn't handle anything like that, to begin with. And besides, even though Wade had a tedious and somewhat violent reputation among Weapon X, Peter couldn't see him lashing out at him.

Or was that just his bias towards Wade speaking? How would he know? He barely even knew him?

"Dammit," Peter muttered, rubbing his temples. Why'd he have to overthink everything? That's all he felt like he could do, sometimes. Constantly thinking and rethinking and rethinking, trying to come to a conclusion when there wasn't a logical one to be found.

Because damn emotions couldn't go by logic, like the buncha bastards they were.

Emotions were easier to handle when he had his mask on and was beating up bad guys. Then, things were easier. Good people needed help. Bad people needed punched. And Peter was happy to deliver both.

The anger he felt towards villains and mooks who took advantage or people made sense to him. The elation and joy when the people he saved gave him hugs, or a thank you, or nothing but the cold shoulder, still left something proud in his chest.

He knew what he needed to do as Spider-Man. The self-proclaimed hero of his city. Spider-Man wasn't an omega, nor an alpha, nor a beta. He was Spider-Man. Simple as that.

But Peter Parker, he was dogged down with petty stereotypes and stigmas and gender norms, and it was so much harder being Peter Parke. Sometimes he wished he could be Spider-Man full-time, even if it meant getting punched on a daily basis.

He collapsed on the mattress with an exhausted groan. His brain felt over-heated. He did not need this level of philosophical thinking right after waking up.

Pushing all his baggage to the side, Peter curled on the mattress, digging his face into the surface. But when he breathed and got a nose full of Wade's scent, he stubbornly turned so he was facing the wall, and scowled.

He didn't get much sleep.

<><><><><><><>

When they came to get Peter later it wasn't without a few accessories. He took the offered grey jumpsuit that all the prisoners wore but blanched at the straitjacket the guards held out to him as well.

"What the hells that for?" He demanded, pulling the jumpsuit on roughly. "I haven't even done anything!"

The guards glanced at each other, deadpanning.

"Right," one said. "Ajax's orders, omega. You give us trouble an' this whole room will be gassed before you can bat your eyelashes."

"Right," Peter snapped, "Cause kicking you in the face isn't the first thing I'd do." He glanced over the guards'shoulder. The door was shut again, but each alpha had a healthy supply of those gas bombs on hand. He could try to immobilize them all, but without his web-shooters, it'd be hard to stop them all before any of that hell-forsaken gas was used.

He looked down at straitjacket. He didn't necessarily need his arms to fight. Spider-Man could kick ass just as well as he could punch in teeth. Besides, not to toot his own horn, but he used his legs a lot while fighting, so it wasn't like he'd be hindered. If anything, it'd put him at an advantage.

If the alphas thought he was immobilized, they'd drop their guard, which left a lot of room open for an escape. Peter pursed his lips, scowled at the guards, but begrudgingly let them secure the straitjacket over him.

It was odd. He's never worn one before - unless getting your arms stuck in your jacket sleeves counted - so it was definitely new. Kind of like a big, self-hug that he couldn't escape from. As the guard buckling up the last of the straps finished, he leaned forward, breathing tickling Peter's ear.

"Look at you," he whispered, voice rough and husky - like a panting dog. "All bound up. Acting like a good little omega. Maybe Wades' tamed you after all."

Peter snarled and jerked his head back, hitting the guy square in the nose.

"Fuck," he roared, holding his face. He grabbed his gun from his hip and swung out, trying to hit Peter, but Peter easily sidestepped, and the guy stumbled. Instantly, the rest of the guards converged, the majority grabbing a hold of Peter to keep him still, while the remaining few held the guard back from tackling him.

Peter knew he probably shouldn't prob the snake anymore, but he leaned forward, teeth bared. "Yeah, whatcha got? Don't start picking a fight you can't win, asshole!"

The guard shoved his comrades off and pulled Peter forward by the front of his jumpsuit, till their faces were just inches apart. "You're pushing it, omega," he growled. "Keep at this, and I'll have to teach you a lesson myself."

Peter gave him a hard look, "I've heard threats from puppies more intimidating than that. Up your goon-game, alpha," he spits it like an insult, "cause you know what?" He added a listless smirk, "ya basic."

His spider-sense tingled, and Peter moved with the hit when the guard back-handed him. He looked back up, laughing as the guards face flushed red, not expecting that kind of reaction.

"You hit like a grandpa. I fight people who'd eat you up and spit you out, on a weekly basis, and most of them have superpowers. C'mon, if you gonna hit me, do it with feeling."

The guard bared his teeth, raising his arm again, but it was caught by one of his comrades.

"Alright," she said, "I let you have your fun. But Ajax will be wondering what's taking so long if we wait any longer. Let's get the omega back to Cell 10 and you can't talk to Ajax about teaching him a lesson," she glanced at Peter, "One that he deserves."

The guard yanked his arm from her grip but didn't try to hit him again. Instead, he leaned forward and growled, "Just wait, omega. In a few days, you won't be holding your head so high. I'll ask Ajax for the honor myself. Then we'll see how much that mouth of yours runs."

Peter scowled, glaring into the guards back as he hastily smoothed his uniform out and stalked back to the door.

What did he mean by that?

They led him out the door and through the corridors that were gradually getting more and more familiar. It was easier to notice things when his head was tampered with drugs. While mapping out more of the place, Peter's mind kept going back to what the guard said and he scowled at the fuming alpha's back.

In a few days...

I'll ask for the honor myself...

Won't be holding your head so high...

If that wasn't a secret villain scheme than Peter wasn't a pun-quipping vigilante, and whatever it was didn't sound good. With how traditional their views were, Peter could only guess what they had planned.

He didn't like thinking of that. It made his skin crawl. He glanced to the doors marking up the walls, hoping to distract himself, but it only made his skin crawl more. Some looked like regular ol' cell doors, but others had windows, and inside he could see experiments in process. Something he's noticed about Weapon X was how they dappled more in torture than real science, and when he asked Wade about it, he said it was because torture was Weapon X's go-to strategy for drawing out mutant abilities.

The x-gene was roused through intense emotional or physical stress, and Peter figured getting electrocuted or water-boarded would be enough to draw it out. Once the ability manifested, they put the mutant through extensive experiments to figure out all its capabilities and weaknesses.

Peter figured Weapon X thought he was a mutant and that was why he was targeted in the first place. The only reason they kept him around these days, that he could guess, was because he was omega and could carry mutie babies for them. Which they were finding to be difficult, much to his indignant pride.

They stopped in front of the ever-familiar Cell 10, unlocked the door, and shoved Peter inside.

"Here's your omega, Deadpool," the guard from earlier sneered as the door closed.

Wade quirked an eye at him, sitting on the mattress with his legs sprawled out. "What's that about?"

"He's just bitter cause I hurt his pride. Also, I think I broke his nose."

"Kudos," Wade chirped, "But that's not what I meant," he bobbed his head towards Peter's straitjacket, "I meant the lovely coat of arms you're wearing. Didn't realize you've turned to the looney side, my dear Petey. I'll have to introduce you to the rest of the class."

Peter snorted and strolled forward. "That won't be necessary."

It was surprisingly easy to keep his balance with the straitjacket on. Then again, Peter had the agility and balance of the best-trained acrobat. Still, it was weird not to have the mobility of his arms. It was something he never spared thought before, but now that he didn't have the comforting swing of his arms, he realized how much he missed it. For something so small, he felt as though they'd robbed him of his leg.

He stopped just before the mattress. Despite himself, the words of the guards, of Ajax, and almost every person he's ever met whispered in his ears. The first thing they'd expect an omega to do was seek out the comfort of an alpha. He didn't necessarily want comfort as much as a friend to talk to, but the implications of sitting next to Wade weighed heavy on his shoulders.

He didn't want Ajax to think he was getting compliant. His pride wouldn't allow it. But he also really wanted someone to talk to.

Aunt May told him, often, that he thought too much about what people would think of him. She's told him constantly that it didn't matter what they thought, as long as he was happy, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want Ajax thinking he was getting close to Wade, purely because he was an "omega.' It didn't matter what Ajax - or anyone - thought, and logically, Peter knew that. But those damned emotions were getting involved again.

Instead of sitting on the mattress, Peter sidestepped and pretended to pace to make up for the hesitation. He didn't look at Wade, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him nonetheless.

Wade didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

Wade had a habit of drawing words out of Peter's just by looking at him. His eyes just held that quiet challenge, tempting Peter to spill his thoughts, no matter how wild or unorthodox they might be. He never talked down at Peter, which only made Peter all the more willing to say what was on his mind.

And he really needed to say was that he was 100% positive that Francis had something planned, and he had a hunch it involved Wade too. But he couldn't just openly talk about something like that. Francis was watching them and who knows if he installed microphones into their walls. If he knew Peter was aware of what was going on, he'd probably do is dastardly plan sooner.

Wade needed to know, and he seemed to sense that Peter had something to say.

"You wanna share with the rest of the class?" He asked, following Peter's pacing with his eyes.

Peter glanced at him with reluctance. His eyes darted quickly at the camera's, then back at Wade, and the other man seemed to understand. Cause that's what Wade did. He understood.

He shifted on the mattress, getting more comfortable. "Well, don't say I didn't try. If you wanna stew in your own poison, be my guest," his words spoke of indifference, but his posture was slightly different. It was open, attentive, and ready to pick up any coded message Peter was willing to send.

Thing is, Peter wasn't sure he could code his message well enough. Wade seemed masterful in the art of saying something with his words and saying something else with his body. Peter didn't think he could be that open. He needed to get in close if he wanted to talk to him. Close enough that Francis couldn't see what he was going to say.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and looked toward the wall, trying to pick out the camera's that he couldn't see. But he could sense them. His spider-sense tingled low at the base of his spine, not overwhelming, but there. It tingled like this when someone was watching him. Someone was always watching.

He turned back to Wade, stomach curling in on itself as he asked, "Do you...do you want to snuggle again?"

Wade seemed to think that was as weird as Peter thought it did. He didn't normally ask for close contact, and even though they snuggled after their heat/rut, that didn't mean it was a normal thing. But his body was still battling post-heat and Francis would think it was his internal "omega" seeking close contact. And since Wade was in the same boat as him, accepting his offer would be seen as a typical alpha behavior.

Wade stared at him for a few seconds, eyes boring into his face as if searching for something. After a small moment, he shrugged and shifted his position, so he was laying down. "Sure, why not?"

Peter walked onto the mattress that time. He crouched down next to Wade and lay down. It was so much harder now, thanks to the straitjacket. Wade made it seem so easy, but then again, he's been wearing his for who-knows-how-long. Peter plopped down ungracefully.

He knew Wade liked being the little spoon when they snuggled, but Peter needed to be the one to talk and it wouldn't work as well that way. So, instead of letting Wade take the smaller spoon, Peter had him lay on his side and pressed himself against Wade's chest, snuggling deep so his face was nestled in his shirt. Wade went board still as if Peter were medusa and he was the poor sap he'd turned into stone. Even his chest seemed to stop working as Peter put his head against it.

"Uh...Petey," Wade said, breathless and confused. "I know you wanted snuggles, but, uh...whatcha doin?"

"Calm down. Act natural," Peter mumbled against him, barely loud enough to hear. "I don't want them to see me talking to you. Don't talk. Just listen." Out loud he said, "I just wanted to try the little spoon, okay. You can take it back afterward."

Wade hesitated and Peter could smell the mixture of confusion on him. But a second passed before he relaxed against the mattress and curled into Peter as well, tucking Peter's head under his chin. He inhaled deeply, taking on an act of ease and calm.

Peter took a deep breath. It's been a while since he's been pressed this close to someone and it made his stomach writhe with nerves. But he stubbornly tossed his discomfort to the side.

"I think they're planning something," Peter mumbled into Wade's shirt, "One of the guards mentioned it. I don't know what it is, exactly, but it's going to happen in a few days. It sounded like it was going to happen to me, but I have a feeling you might be involved too."

Wade acted as if he didn't hear anything and simply inhaled again as if breathing in Peter's scent. Peter took that as a sign to keep going.

"I don't want to see what they have planned. I think it's time to bust outta hear and..." he hesitated this time, "I just...I wanted to know if you wanted to tag along."

Wade hummed and shifted so his face was pressed into Peter's hair and he inhaled again. When he exhaled, Peter heard him say, "You think I wanna stay in this hellhole? Count me in, Pete. Whatcha planning?"

Peter ignored the opportunity to bring up the fact that Wade hadn't acted as if he wanted freedom, at all, in the last month or so that he's met him. But he also figured nobody really wanted to endure torture and shrugged it off.

"Next time the guards come in, we attack," he said, "It has to be as soon as possible. When they don't expect it. We're both recovering from post heat and rut, so they'll think we're still recuperating. I don't know how much they know about you're healing factor, but I've got a decent recovery period."

Wade nestled into Peter's hair as if coddling but said into his scalp, "Same here. But Francis knows that."

"Then don't let on that you feel any different."

"You're one to talk," Wade said, voice breathy and restrained to keep back a laugh, "Francis knows you're not making things easy for him. How do you think he's going to see this sudden cuddle session?"

"To him, I'm nothing but a whimsical omega with a hard head. He'd either write this snuggling off as an effect of my post-heat or me becoming more 'compliant.' Either way, I don't think he'd be too unhappy."

"Yeah maybe," Wade muttered. There was a subcutaneous lilt to his voice and Peter glanced up.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Wade shrugged, just a little. "Just concerned, I guess," he mumbled, "Francis is all kinds of messed up. Like me. I believe you when you say they're planning something, cause there always fucking is when Francis is involved."

Peter didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. He totally got what Wade was saying. Dealing with people like Doc Ock and Norman Osborn, he's learned that most people have second agendas. Just being in the presence of Osborn and Wilson Fisk sent his spider-sense in crazy fits. But he couldn't tell Wade that.

As far as he knew, Francis hadn't let on that he was Spider-Man. Peter didn't know why he didn't scream it to the world, but it only made Peter more anxious in the long run. Peter hated it when the villains were clever and Francis seemed like the kind of guy to think things through. What was his reason for keeping Peter's identity a secret?

Still, apparently, he wasn't the only one hiding an alter ego.

"That guy called you Deadpool," Peter said. "What's that about?"

Wade exhaled loudly and pulled away from Peter, breaking their cuddle to turn over on his back and stare up at the ceiling. When Peter sat up to look at him, he paused, both concerned and unnerved with the smile Wade is wearing. It's not soft or grim or even mischievous like it usually is. But wide, sharp, like a beast baring its teeth.

"Just a codename," he said, not even looking at Peter. "Someone who I was. Or am. Not sure if we ever separated the two. I wore spandex and tights, like all the greats, but with more than enough kills under my belt to label me a villain. Or an anti-hero if they're feeling gracious."

Peter recoiled and leaned back, eyebrows pinching. "Kills?" He parroted.

Wade glanced at him and quickly looked away at whatever he sees. "Yep," he said, bluntly. "Kills. A whole lot of em'. I'm not exactly a nice person. Avengers labeled me a bad guy. X-Men want nothing to do with me. Villains aren't returning my calls. I'm what they call a wild card. Either it's too unpredictable or they just don't want it around."

That's when it clicks. No wonder the name Deadpool sounded familiar. He's heard it from Tony before. A name muttered sourly throughout the team, but nothing they ever elaborated on. Peter was out of the loop when it came to big news in the superhero community, so he never gave it a second thought. The Avengers knew, and as long as "Deadpool" never showed up in his city, they would handle it.

But now he knows. Deadpool was a mercenary with more kills under his belt than the Winter Soldier. A man who couldn't die thanks to his healing factor.

Every single mention of Wade's healing factor pulled to the forefront of his mind, and he sucked in a breath. It was so obvious. Why hadn't he seen it before? The truth had been on the tip of his nose and he looked right through it.

Wade still doesn't look at him, but his smile is tighter now. His eyebrows pinched. "Everyone has an alter ego, Pete," he says, and glanced at him briefly through the corner of his eye, "Even you. It's just a matter of letting it out."

Peter stared at him, betraying no emotion on his face.

Truth is, he doesn't know how to feel. He's conflicted.

Killing was a no-no to him. A no-no in general. He didn't like it. He didn't condone it. Death was something Peter avoided if it were possible. He's experienced enough of it to keep it at an arm's length with everything he did.

His parents.

Uncle Ben.

Gwen Stacy.

Captain Stacy.

Countless people he couldn't save in time. Children who lost their parents. Parents who lost their children.

The word stuck in Peter's throat like a chunk of cement lodged in his esophagus.

Wade killed. Apparently, he's killed lots.

But he's shown him nothing but respect upon meeting him.

But he's killed.

He shared Peter's heat and never once threatened him.

But he's killed.

He treated Peter like a person, which was more than most other alphas ever did in his life.

But he's killed.

Wordlessly, Peter got to his feet. He doesn't look at Wade and Wade doesn't look at him. He steps over Wade's body and returned to his favored corner and stared at the floor.

Well fuck.

Things are heating up and the plot draws closer. Whoop! Thanks so much for the support guys.

I've recalculated and this story will now have *counts on fingers* like, 2 or 3 more chapters. But my numbers have been flimsy so IDK I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Hope you enjoyed! :D