It’s been about a month after Mr. Stark called him into help with the doombot attack, and Peter’s been bored. It’s hard to get that Spiderman, saving the world, hard core rush from purse snatchers, wannabe crime bosses, and mini mart robbers after something like that.
He’s been itching for something big, something that will challenge him. And that’s why he begged Happy to come pick him up and take him to the Avengers compound so he can spar with literally anyone who will give him the chance. Steve is usually up for a match. One of his favorite things to do is teach the younger generation how to kick ass.
As they pull up to the building, Peter finishes off his second large McDonald’s fry. He had to beg Happy for twenty minutes before the beta finally gave in.
Tony won’t like you eating this kind of food, kid, he had said. Leads right to obesity and heart disease.
Peter countered back that he’s Spiderman, his healing factor pretty much makes it impossible for him to get sick and his high metabolism makes even more impossible for him to get fat. And he’s fifteen. Not even close to being the age that he needs to worry about that stuff.
So, yeah. Happy eventually gave in and they both got McDonald’s. Peter’s going to have to get him some kind of gift in thanks for putting up with him. He knows that he can be a handful.
Peter loves coming to the compound. Sure, the tower is great, too, with its labs and garages and gyms and so on. But this place has training facilities build just for supers. There are built in training programs designed just for him, and equipment that is made for someone with his strength. Plus, there’s usually a rare Avenger or two hanging around here.
According to Jarvis, Steve and Bucky are already in the training rooms, and Peter heads straight there with a skip in his step, making sure to salute Happy over his shoulder.
“Mr. Parker,” Jarvis’s voice echoes through the hall, “putting on you suit would be of great importance if you do not wish for the trainees to discover your identity.”
Peter pauses halfway down the hall in a comical pose, then spins on his heel to walk back the other direction. “Thanks, Jarvis.”
He has a room here, one he rarely uses, but it does have a few of his suits stored in it along with a comfortable bed and a few necessities. He changes as fast as he can into one of his low-tech suits. He doesn’t want too much help from it, want to feel his muscles burn and his senses sharpen. Then he jogs back the way he came. A few familiar faces pop up around corners to say hi, but Peter doesn’t stay to chat, can’t even make himself.
He feels too hyped up, like if he had spent too much time away from being Spiderman. He hasn’t. He’s been out almost every day since the doombot attack, but there’s a persistent buzzing along his skin that he can’t get rid of, no matter how high or fast he swings, no matter how many criminals he webs up.
He opens the training room door with a little too much force. It smacks against the wall with a resounding band, making him jump a good foot in the air. Heads whip in his direction, many looking ready for a fight. Spider sense sends shivers up and down his body. Peter tries to brush it off, and winces.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, face already feeling hot. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
He’s saved by Cap, good ol’ Cap, who walks forward to greet him with a charming smile. Sometimes Peter is really glad for the mask, because how can he not blush at just about anything Cap does. I mean, come on. He’s like the most perfect alpha that’s ever alphaed.
“It’s no problem, son,” Cam says, blue eyes twinkling. “Happens to me at least once a week. Are you doing okay? Happy said that you were coming by.”
Having Cap’s full attention on his, plus the uncomfortable feeling of too many eyes has the hair along his neck rising. “Uh,” he stammers. “Just feeling a bit…you know.” He makes a weird shimming gesture with his hands that he hopes conveys what he’s feeling. “Thought some sparring might help.”
Cap spreads his arms out wide in excitement. Peter tries and fails not to stare too hard. “Well,” the alpha exclaims, “it’s the perfect day for it! Bucky and I have a special program lined up. We even have another trainer coming in to show different techniques.”
A little grumbling sound has Peter looking about. Bucky’s back in the corner, hunched over what can only be a baby carrier. And even with a baby, he’s got to be the most terrifying person Peter knows. It doesn’t matter that he’s an omega, or that he has soft-looking, long dark hair, or that Peter has seen him cuddled up with Cap in multiple places around the tower and compound. And seriously, if that isn’t goals.
Bucky glares over his shoulder and grumbles out, “He’s late.”
Steve shrugs, optimistic as ever. “Can’t say I’m surprised, Buck, but we’ll get started without him. Come on, kid.”
Peter’s heard Cap’s lessons a few times now, but he still gets sucked in by them. The easy way Cap and Bucky go back and forth, the dynamic drills they put him and the trainees through. Peter thinks that he’s had more experience than most of them, but a few of them almost beat him.
It’s still not really enough. He’s holding back on his strength, pulling his punches and kicks, softening every blow, taking the brute of the damage when they fall or practice take downs. He doesn’t want to seriously hurt these people.
And it’s making him even more keyed up, to always be on edge. And he thinks that Cap can tell. He stands over his shoulder a lot, or nods Bucky over to keep an eye on him. Anxiety creeps up his spine and sours his stomach. All of a sudden, all the different scents of everyone in the room become too much.
Bucky is right by him in an instant. He pulls Peter away from the other trainees and towards where the baby carrier is. He put a barrier up before they started physical training, some kind of force field, Peter thinks, so nothing could touch the little sleeping baby inside.
With a hand on his shoulder, Bucky pushes him to sit next to it. Then the older omega crouches down in front of him. “Listen, Peter,” he says. And that’s all it takes for a wave of panic to wash over him, because how does he know his name? Bucky sighs, rubs at the stubble on his cheek. “Don’t freak out. I was the Winter Soldier. Of course, I know who you are. I wouldn’t have let you in here with my kid if I didn’t.”
Awkward silence hangs in the air as Peter digests that information.
Then, “Steve said that you have frequent panic attacks, so why don’t you just sit here for a bit, calm down.”
Peter is kind of confused or maybe he’s in shock. He’s never heard Bucky talk this much before, kind of didn’t think he really could. He looks from the other omega’s stormy eyes and them over at the little toddler sound asleep in the carrier. “Uh,” he starts, “Actually, I think I’ll go for a walk. Get some fresh air.” He must stand up too fast, because Bucky flinches a little. “Sorry! Sorry. Um, I’ll be back in a little bit, okay? Is that okay? I can come back even if I miss some stuff? I just need to get some air. There’s a lot of smells in here, you know, and I don’t— I don’t really like that.”
The frown between Bucky’s eyebrows gets deeper with every stammered sentence that tumbles out of Peter’s mouth, but he nods anyway.
Peter does a lap around the entire compound, practicing the breathing techniques Bruce has been showing him. When he gets back to the training room, he feels a little better. They’ve started on how to deflect different weapons. Peter usually uses his webbing for that, but he chooses to sit off to the side to watch Cap and Bucky demonstrate different strategies.
He hasn’t even been there five minutes before the door is once again being slammed open, this time by someone other than him. The familiar scent hits him first, causing his cramped stomach to loosen into a warm goo, and his agitated fidgeting to settle. He’s glad that he’s already crouched down into a comfortable, spider-like pose, or else his legs might have given out yet again.
“EEEYY OOOH! Deadpool in the house!!!”
A large red and black clad man slides into the room. A man that he would know in an instant, because only about a month ago, Peter made a complete idiot of himself in front of him, and he still doesn’t really get why.
And he can’t think about it now. Cap starts to introduce Deadpool to the other trainees. “He’s going to help us with some different techniques today. He’s had plenty of experience, including working with the X-Men and Avengers.”
The others welcome him, excited and nervous, but Peter feels like he’s in some kind of weird limbo state that doesn’t break until the large alpha claps his hands together with a loud slap. Peter straightens up, alert and focused just in time to see Deadpool wave excitedly right at him.
“Hey there Spidey!” the alpha shouts. “Remember me?” Then he mumbles something at his shoulder region, too quiet for Peter to hear.
He opens his mouth, closes it because his tongue feels like a limp, dried out sponge or something. Plan B is a jerky nod and a little wave back, which makes him feel like a total idiot.
Cap and Bucky dive right back into the lesson, which Peter is so grateful for because his spidey sense is tingling from all the eyes darting between him and Deadpool. If Spiderman didn’t get their attention, knowing a world-famous mercenary does. Well, Peter doesn’t really know him (and isn’t that a shame, because something about this guy makes Peter feel different), but they don’t know that.
It isn’t until Deadpool takes the floor that Peter really perks up to listen.
“Alright, so everyone knows that bad guys usually use weapons. I mean, unless your fighting like some wizard or alien or some shit, right?”
A few other trainees snort, Cap already looks like he’s regretting the decision to bring this other alpha in, and Bucky, well he looks somewhere in between. But Peter nods back, says, “Right.” because Deadpool is an alpha, and he asked a question, and the omega in him wanted to answer.
Peter shakes himself out of it, jumps in place, shakes out his hands. He doesn’t really like when he gets like that, still finds it weird. Like there’s something in him that’s not quite in his control. He almost snorts at that. With his still newish spidey powers, constant anxiety, and frequent panic attacks, you’d think he’d be used to not being in total control of himself.
The trainees and him end up pairing up and going in the center of the room one by one to spar and practice moves that Deadpool yells at them. He sounds like he’s having the time of his life, bossing around a bunch of teenagers. He laughs gleefully when anyone lands a good hit, or blocks and dodges at the right time.
Peter might be showing off a bit throughout the whole thing. With the alpha watching, it’s hard not to. So, he uses just a bit more strength, a bit more agility, listens to his spidey sense every time it tingles. By the time he’s has won his third round, he feels kind of high from all the praise the alpha throws at him. And then Deadpool decides its time for a real challenge, and steps into the center of the room himself. He’s got a gun out now, and the scent of uncomfortable, nervous, excited permeates the room.
Cap, who had gone over to feed his baby, rushes back. The toddler squeaks in his arms, makes grabby hands at the baggie of fruit that’s too far out of his reach. Still, Cap looks like he’s on a warpath. Deadpool still coos when the two alphas are a foot apart.
“How’s the little one doing?” he asks in a high-pitched baby voice. “Still disappearing and turning blue?” Peter can’t tell if he’s serious or not. He hasn’t been around so much that he’s seen anything abnormal with Cap and Bucky’s baby. What with school and patrols and all of Tony and Aunt May’s rules, he doesn’t get a lot of time to just hang around. But he knows that the toddler is adopted from a mutant orphanage, so it might be possible for her to disappear and turn blue. Who knows?
Cap rolls his eyes. “You aren’t using a real gun.”
“It’s got rubber bullets!”
Bucky comes up next to them. “Take them out. You’re only doing this with an empty mag.”
The three of them stand off, and Peter starts to fidget again, starts to feel his heart beating too fast. Sweat beats along his skin under his mask. Peter groans internally. If he has to step outside again and miss this, he’s going to be so pissed.
But then Deadpool throws up his hands. “Okay! Okay! Don’t need to sick Robocop on me, jeez. No bullets. Just pretend.” Wade glances over his shoulder at them and winks. The scent of nerves heightens yet again. “Okay, who wants to be first?”
And, of course, because Peter barely has any self-control, he lunges forward, almost knocking into Bucky in his excitement and nerves to get in the center of the room first. Bucky looks slightly concerned, but Deadpool seems almost as excited as Peter, himself.
“Spidey!!” the shriek of his name is accompanied by a little hop and twirl. “This is perfect! We made such a good team last time that we should be great sparring partners.” He turns towards the small crowd of trainees, but Peter’s left a little stunned, that high feeling is back. He tries to physically shake himself out of it. “You all better watch closely. Spidey’s got a head up on you all, saving the city every night from bad guys.”
They set up to fight, and are about to start until Cap calls out, “Wilson, the mag.”
With the world’s most despairing sigh, Deadpool takes the mag out of his gun and tosses is over. Cap catches it with one hand then sets it down next to the baby carrier.
Peter watches the whole thing feeling tingly, impatient, but its not the same feeling that he came here with. It’s more excited and somewhat nervous. He wants to prove himself, spar against Deadpool and win, show that even though he’s just a small fry in the world of supers, that he’s stronger and more skilled than most.
“Okay,” the alpha says, twirling his empty gun around a finger. “So, I’m thinking you’re like a level seven maybe eight.”
Peter’s mouth drops open. Only a seven? Maybe an eight? Peter can lift thousands of pounds. He fights criminals every night, and other crazy, oddball criminals. He’s a nine. At least.
Deadpool quickly raises his hands up in a placating manner. “Which is great Spidey! Really impressive stuff! So, I’m only going to take it a teensy-tiny bit easy on you.” He holds up his hands, thumb and index finger a hair apart.
Peter huffs, crosses his arms. He doesn’t care how— how big this alpha is, he’s going to kick his ass. Show him just how much he doesn’t need him to take it easy on him.
The trainees that surround them take a few steps backwards, giving them some more space. The joking, carefree aura coming from Deadpool changes to something darker. The hair along Peter’s arms stand on end. His spidey sense buzzes along down his spine like a shiver. The gooey feeling in his stomach hardens for a moment, then turns back to jelly.
He’s going to have to do some research about that, look back at his notes from when he first was bitten. He can’t remember that ever happening to him before.
The alpha doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give him time to prepare, but Peter is ready. So, when the gun gets whipped out from behind the alpha’s large back, Peter jumps back and thwips out a web. But the alpha somehow dodges it.
“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he taunts. “I saw that coming from a mile away Spidey. Try to be more unpredictable.”
Peter grumbles, hind of wants to burry his head in the sand. His cheeks are burning under his mask, but he plants his feet, readies himself, and then springs into the air. He acts like he intends to jump right over the alpha’s head, but twists in midair and wraps his legs around Deadpool’s neck.
It’s a move he learned from Natasha. He hasn’t tried in on anyone outside of the training rooms, thinks that if he did this to a regular criminal on the street, he’d break their neck right off the bat. He expects Deadpool to fall over, or at least to become unsteady, but the large alpha barely moves.
For a second, Peter is shocked, stunned. What does he do now? He’s practically sitting on the alpha’s enormous shoulders like some strange piggy-back ride.
Are they going to end up in this position every time they see each other?
The alpha moves in the next moment, and Peter’s training kicks in. Tightening his legs around the alpha, he pulls himself backwards. This time he uses enough of his strength to take the alpha with him.
It’s enough that they both land flat on their backs, the air rushing out of them from the impact of hitting the padded floor with so much force. Peter squirms out from under the alpha and springs up right away.
Deadpool stays down, groaning. “Holy fucking super strength, Batman.”
The gun is still clutched in the alpha’s hand, but with a well aimed kick, it goes skidding across the floor. Victory has him smiling wide under his mask. Level seven, kiss my ass.
It takes another minute or two for Deadpool to finally get up. Peter can’t help rolling his eyes at all the exaggerated groans and grunts. He didn’t use that much strength, did he?
“Now that is what I call a take down!” Deadpool exclaims, on his feet at last. “I think you broke at least six bones, not counting my hand.” The alpha holds up said hand, the one that Peter kicked to get the gun out of. The fingers look distinctly mangled.
Peter’s stomach drops and sours at the same time. Cold sweat breaks out across his skin. “I—I what? I broke—”
The eyes of Deadpool’s mask grow big. “Hey! Whoa! It’s alright, Spidey. I’m already healed up. No worries.”
When Peter still doesn’t calm down, the alpha lays his large, warm hand on top of the omega’s head. “You can’t take these things so seriously, Spidey.” His voice is the same deep tone he used while ordering Peter to Get up! all those weeks ago. It makes Peter immediately perk up and listen. “This is what practice is for. And see, look,” he waves his hand in front of Peter’s face. “All better.”
Still Peter mumbles out a shy, “Sorry,” and hurries back to his place in the circle of trainees. He doesn’t really feel like sparring anymore, but he does stay and watch the other trainees fight Deadpool until Happy comes to take him back home. He learns a bunch a new combination moves, how to dismantle a gun in record time, and that really doesn't want to wait another whole month to see this alpha again.