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Peter has been smelling it all day; whatever it is. When he’d left the office earlier today, he thought his sense of smell was on the fritz, because usually he could block out the worst of New York’s somewhat interesting fragrance. Then he realizes that it's the full moon. He groans into his hand before calling Aunt May to see if she's going to come running with him or if she's going to just lock herself up in her place. After a week of double shifts, she chooses the latter and he lets her rest.
He checks his watch, hoping he can fit in an hour of patrol time before his transformations start. Peter would like to think that after years of balancing being Spider-Man and being a werewolf, he would have everything figured out when it comes to those aspects of his life, but he knows it isn’t true. He drops his wrist when he finally does the math to see that even with his super speed and endurance, he’d be pushing it, before he starts the trek towards the forests so he can have space to roam free trying to help newer wolves. It’s better than caging up in his apartment waiting it all out and scratching marks into his floor with his claws.
The wind blows through his fur as he runs through the woods in a way it just can't when he's in his suit swinging through Manhattan. It's a nice break from the usual monotony (if he can call being a superhero monotonous). His hind legs are pumping full force as he races through to the scent so strong and so pervasive but so his .
The scent is rancid. It smells like chemicals and blood and gunpowder and cookies. Peter wants to run the other way, but something about it is familiar and comfortable and home . It's pulling him closer. Even his wolf instincts are crying for him to help which is the oddest thing considering that the moon is full and at its peak and all he should be thinking about is what to do in the morning when his rut hits.
It's one thing to understand biology and know that full body transformations can trigger his wolf’s mating cycle, it's another thing entirely to feel the leftover adrenaline and wild canine instincts that he knows will be clawing at his insides for the next week.
The lycanthropy epidemic was part of the original Hydra’s plan and now it was a necessary evil. People were injected with it when they hit puberty to stop the rest of the population from ripping them to shreds like food. At least now they were partially controlled. They have medicines to help keep people in some semblance of their usual mental state, if a bit warped.
Peter tries not to think about how he could never move this fast on two legs or on a web without getting tired much sooner, as he pushes himself to run harder. Faster. Stumbling into a clearing with a beaten, bruised and scarred wolf is not what he’d thought he’d find at the end of this rainbow, but they're there nonetheless. He slows to a stop and takes a whiff of the air. He’s closer now and the toxic smell is stronger but it’s the least of his worries, because the poor wolf in front of him is in heat.
Peter would like to think it’s come in early, but he’s just noticed that he’s been running all night, that the moon is sinking slowly behind the mountains and he can feel the burning rush of his rut just beneath his fur. He thinks that maybe he should just drag the other wolf home with him. His instincts screaming protect, protect, protect, mine . Just as he makes to grab at the other’s scraggly and partially missing fur the omega growls low in his chest and turns to look at Peter. His eyes are foggy as if he can barely see, so he sniffs the air roughly instead.
Peter whines when the fairly large omega stops sniffing and presents to him. He can feel his instincts thundering like his heart in his chest, the sheer need of claiming the larger wolf, but this isn't the time or place. Not when he doesn’t know the poor guy whose instincts are forcing him to obey any alpha that could have come sniffing. The brief thought sends his instincts into a frenzy of Protect. Mine. Protect. Mine. Protect. Mine. Prote… that makes him growl low in his throat, his tail raised in a warning to anyone who comes near, even if they can’t smell the overwhelming scent of his pheromones, that he’s an alpha.
Transforming back is just as painful on the body as the first time, bones breaking out of and back into place at a speed that shouldn't be possible. And imagining this poor wolf going through that and being taken unwanted during his heat is what forces Peter into action. He mouths at the other wolf before dragging and pushing him along with his muzzle to get the wolf closer to where Peter left his clothes to wait out the last few hours of full moon.
The omega’s pale fur is matted and patchy and the skin underneath looks scarred and sore. Peter doesn't think before he lumbers closer to him and licks over one of the bald patches. The omega starts then whines, clearly wanting to present again but not wanting to upset an alpha that apparently didn't want him the first time. He bites at Peter’s maw and whines again. Peter barks happily, because although the attention is cute, his inner alpha is in protect and care mode and there's nothing the big omega can do about it until the sun comes up and they're back to normal.
Peter paces a patch into the dirt big enough for both of them to comfortably wait in. It’s not quite a nest, but once he marks his territory around the perimeter, it’s enough for the whining wolf with him to be surrounded by his protective alpha scent. Then he spends the rest of the night licking at all of the larger wolf’s sore spots and hoping to at least relieve some of the pain they seemed to cause. He sighs softly into the omega’s fur, causing the wolf to bark at him before tentatively licking at Peter as well. It takes a moment of them laying there together, licking each other softly, tails thumping happily on the ground around them before having the attention of an alpha has calmed the omega down enough for them to playfully wrestle around in the moonlight. He still feels unbearably warm, but he isn’t panting or presenting so Peter takes it as a win.
Maybe it was a false heat? he thinks, but even now he can still smell the toxic sweetness not quite leaking from the wolf beneath him as he nips at him. He keeps it light and playful, because he’s Peter first and an alpha second and he isn’t going to just blindly follow these instincts. Not when both his conscience and his spidey-sense are telling him otherwise. He doesn’t get a chance to think further on it though before he falls back in pain.
Somewhere in his mind Peter notices the moon is no longer in the sky and he feels the alpha receding back to the usual scratch just beneath his skin, but the more present feeling is the pain stripping the fur from his body and breaking his bones back into place. Screaming himself hoarse isn’t his favorite pastime, but it happens often enough where he isn’t surprised to hear his own voice tearing at his throat and rattling his sensitive eardrums. His hands are clawing at his own skin and he knows he’ll have the marks for a day or so before they heal themselves.
There’s a buzzing in his head while he crawls over to his clothes and tugs them on with shivering hands, what feels like hours later. He’s still thrumming with that constant ( Protect. Mine. Protect. Mine. Protect.) rhythm, but it isn’t as urgent or as loud or as clear what he should do to take care of either of those things.
“I’m sorry,” says a deep and raspy voice behind him. The familiarity stops him from pulling his shirt over his head and he turns to look at the man still talking to him. “You shouldn’t have had to spend all night looking out for me. I don’t need a big strong-”
“Deadpool?” Peter finally says cutting him off and hates the way the scarred man tenses up before he looks away again and pulls his shirt on. “I have an extra pair of sweats that are probably a little too small for you, but you could wear them. I mean, if you wanted? I don’t know what you wear when you’re out of the suit. Maybe you’re just a nudist.”
“No. That’d be fine,” Deadpool responds, quiet as he tugs on the old pair of baggy sweatpants that Peter tosses from his bag. “And uh...the name’s Wade out of the suit; Wade Wilson.”
“Nice to meet you, Wade. I’m Peter Parker.”
“Alliteration buddies! I’ll order the t-shirts. I know a guy.”
“Why am I not surprised,” says Peter, but he can’t stop the huge grin from stretching across his lips as he finally puts a face to the R-rated jokes and late night rooftop dinners he’s been a part of for the last few years.
“Aw, look at that smile. Isn’t he just the cutest lil alpha we’ve ever seen.” It’s as if saying it out loud snaps Wade out of his own reverence. He stands taller, looming over the younger hero. “No one’s going to know about this.” He doesn’t have any weapons and Peter knows him well enough to know he doesn’t need any, but after a night of cuddling as wolves, his posturing doesn’t scare Peter the way it should. It makes him want to tease, the same way it had last night. The way it always does when he and Deadpool are out on patrol goofing off.
“About what?” Peter steps closer even though it means he has to tilt his head up to look into Wade’s startling blue eyes. “How you’re not an alpha, just a really big strong omega?”
Wade growls. Peter’s eyes flick down to his lips for a second. He’d been trying to ignore all the signs that he was attracted to Deadpool when they patrolled together, but out here on the edges of the woods in the early light it’s hard to think of why he shouldn’t be. Especially when his wolf had smelled like home.
“Cute,” Peter says. He’s only ever seen some of Wade’s scars while they were eating, but he thinks he likes the way the blush creeps under the shifting scar tissue.
“I know you are, but what am I?”
Peter is laughing, but he means it when he asks if Wade wants to grab breakfast. He wonders if Wade can feel the thrumming of Mate. Home. Safe. Mine. Protect. his wolf seems to be howling at him.
“C’mon, Red,” Peter says fondly watching as Wade’s eyes widen in realization. “Race you to Brooklyn Bagels.”
“Oh, you’re on! Your cute lil alpha tush is gonna be left in the dust, Webs.”
“So you say.” He smirks. “Ready?”
“Set.”
“Go!”
The wind is blowing through Peter’s hair as he runs and jumps and parkours out of the woods on their way back into the city. His legs aren’t as powerful now that he’s bipedal again, but he’s still pumping them full force as he races against Wade. The omega’s scent is just as strong. Still sweet and sickening and home, but it’s so
Wade.
He basks in the scent of it, not bothering to keep a grin off his face.