Chapter Text
Peter was getting pretty sick of breaking up with Wade.
They orbited around each other like planets, gravitationally drawing themselves together, like, every other month. When things were good, they were amazing. Peter couldn't imagine being more in love and comfortable with another human being.
But then things imploded and their cosmic paths crashed in fiery chaos. Someone would start a stupid dispute that led to them ghosting one another until they made the decision to cut things off for good.
Again. Every other fucking month.
For being sometimes-boyfriends, they argued like they were teenagers. But they weren't; they were 24 and 38, and Wade admittedly made Peter feel like the most special person in New York, and like total shit.
They'd done it again. Separated. It wasn't some big blowout this time, but Wade had made a joke that got on Peter's nerves after a team up with Daredevil, and Peter was already having a bad day. One of them had gotten emotional, and harsh things were said. After a building argument, they'd both decided they weren't in the headspace to do this again.
Things were supposed to be fun. They were supposed to understand and support one another. And neither could take the stress of it turning sour. Wade was the type to literally- and figuratively- try to blow up his problems; a result of years of poor coping skills and being an unrestrained, stubborn jerk. And Peter was…
Well, most confrontations ended with him webbing off in search of crime that required a destructive hand to deal with. Peter was terrifyingly good at being that source of strength at times. Other times, he just wallowed in his own self-pity and threw himself into his school and his work. Primarily his poorly paying photography job and even worse paying barista job.
There's a phone booth on the right end of the street 4 blocks up that has its receiver disconnected.
Peter's tongue tasted like fake hazelnut and canola oil, which he knew his coffee shop had mixed in their oatmilk to make it froth up. He didn't mind it most of the time. Even right now, he'd rather suffer through the oily, chemical concoction in his mouth than throw away the precious caffeine that kept him standing.
The construction crew up ahead has a screwdriver sitting on the ground. It'll definitely go through a shoe if it gets stepped on.
It was cold out, and the bite of the wind chilled Peter's nose far past comfort. If he pulled his scarf up over it, then he'd be blocked from his coffee, and. Well. That was an entirely new cycle he'd be forced to participate in.
My cell phone is about to ring.
Peter dragged it out of his pocket a moment before the caller ID popped up on screen. It spelled out Robbie Robertson. Shit.
I'm officially late for work in 15 seconds.
"Parker?"
"I know, I know." Peter sunk into his oversized bomber jacket and scarf, searching for any relief from the cold and the discomfort in his head. He felt congested, but…like, mentally. Like his neurons had caught a cold and they were overclocked to break through the blockage. The memory of Wade cursing him out last night made it a lot harder to break out of the funk. "Sorry, Robbie. I'm just down the street."
"Barista job keep you again?" Robbie guessed.
"A few minutes late." Peter grimaced with an apologetic tone. "But I'll be there in a sec. J.J.J. pissed yet?"
"He'll get over it. Don’t stress out." Robbie contemplated on the other end of the phone. Peter listened harder, to catch any muted conversation on his end. So when Robbie cleared his throat, it felt like Peter had been shot in the ear. He bit back a groan of pain, dropping his head towards the pavement.
The sidewalk has a small drop up ahead.
"Parker?"
Peter must have gone silent as he focused on satisfying his Spider sense with the reassurance that yes he could see the pavement gap and yes he could manage to overstep it. He perked up again, jostling his brains. "I'll be there soon." He vowed hurriedly, and hung up before Robbie could question his distraction.
He stared down at the cracked phone screen, trapped in muddled thought. He should check his heat tracker again, to count down the days he had. He should be working on figuring out what the hell he was going to do now that he and Wade had broken things off again. What he was definitely not going to do, though, was open the tracker. It stressed him out too much to see it printed across his screen. He was already in terrible shape emotionally, and now his spidey senses had decided to go off the fucking rails.
Someone’s looking at me from across the street.
Peter tightened his fist on his phone and shoved it away before it could become the next victim of his destructive coping.
His heat was coming soon and fast. If it weren’t for sexist stereotypes insisting that omegas were always emotional thanks to their pre-heat, he’d almost blame his current turmoil on it. Wade was supposed to alpha him through it, as much as Peter would allow him to. Even if Peter’s pride and disdain for his body’s cycles prevented him from doing calming things- like surrounding himself with stupid pillows and clinging to an alpha like his life depended on it- Wade still helped in other ways. Peter would break into his room and steal his shirts to wear at home, or they’d sneak off into an alley tucked behind a dumpster to swap blow jobs. Despite all of his misgivings, Wade never made Peter feel bad about his omega designation. Not when Peter showed up crying- begrudgingly, Peter would admit that sometimes his preheat did make him emotional- at his doorstep, or when Peter spent days a needy mess in his bed.
Wade was the one person that Peter trusted to fuck him through his heat. He did it well. Peter enjoyed himself sometimes, between the agonizing cramps and the emotional torture. But they were usually dating this time of year. It was the first time they’d broken up before the holidays. Usually they were both in better moods.
It didn’t help that their break-up had been pretty harsh this time. Peter wasn’t going to beg him for his help. If Wade offered, he’d probably, definitely, maybe still turn him away.
He could handle this alone. He could. Really. Even if his body wasn’t quite sure why he was both anxious and abandoned.
If I don’t eat soon, I’ll get a headache later.
“I know the dangers of low blood sugar.” Peter grumbled back to his spidey sense, but he downed his coffee and made a bee-line for the convenience store anyways.
****
“We’re not buying.”
Peter stared at Jameson. He looked at Robbie. He looked at Betty. He turned pleading eyes to the damn intern because he wasn’t mentally prepared to handle this.
This…blasphemy.
“You told me you didn’t want more Spider-Man this month.” Was Peter speaking calmly? He was trying to, but his hands were shaking. He shoved them in his jacket pockets. “So I didn’t take pictures of Spider-Man.”
“You took pictures of garbage.” Jameson sniffed back, waving for Robbie to push the prints away from him. Like. He couldn’t even bear to touch them himself.
Peter’s hands were still shaking.
He couldn’t not sell these. He needed rent.
"Daredevil, Deadpool, and Spider-Man teaming up to take down a prolific mobster is garbage." Peter repeated the insanity, staring Jameson down. He couldn't do this to Peter. Not after he married his Aunt. Not after his moving in was the reason Peter was stuck with such high rent bills.
Garbage?
"You usually got a good eye, Parker." Jameson grunted back, spinning away in his chair. He wouldn't even look him in the eye and tell him to starve like a man. "These aren't it. I don't want this on my front page."
"You-" Peter snatched his photos back. The hair on his neck stood on end. His temper was being absolutely grated. "Then I’ll sell them somewhere else." He threatened. "You'll never see my prints again."
Jameson finally met his gaze, calling his bluff. "Bring me something better. Not masked psychopaths running around in the dark."
"Daredevil isn't exactly running around mid-day." Peter said bitterly.
"Then you have nothing. Get out of here."
Peter decided then that he absolutely was not bluffing.
"Make sure you pick up your copy of the Bulletin." Peter grumbled as he turned to leave, clutching onto the last thing he had of value to hock off on anyone to pay his bills.
***
Peter's text tone went off for the dozenth time in 10 minutes, and it was finally enough to make him check his phone.
With a fitful hand, he seized the device from its webbed up position beside him on the ceiling, breaking its bonds. As predicted, he had 2 incoming conversations from the two nosiest girlfriends he ever had the pleasure to know.
From: MJ
Hey
U broke up with Wade???
What happened this time?
Tiger come on and talk to me
Please?
If you're ignoring me I'll tell Gwen and Har
Sometimes, he really regretted introducing the three. Ever since they'd formed their polyamorous relationship, Harry and Gwen betas while MJ was an alpha, they'd been a driving force behind Peter's misery. It didn't help that MJ and Wade were on texting terms, and she got all the updates about their fluctuating arguments and getting back together.
Harry, the best man that Peter knew, hadn't taken the bait to torment and interrogate Peter, much to his relief. But Gwen didn't respect his ceiling-homework time, much less his privacy.
From: Gwen
What about your heat cycle? Didn't you predict it would hit right after the expo?
It's not good for your health to get attached to an alpha and then stop midway through pre-heat.
You should consider asking Wade for his help regardless. He cares about you, even when you're both acting like stubborn idiots.
Peter tossed his phone across the room and webbed it with a thwip to the opposite wall.
He loved his friends. He really did. But he was stressed enough about his wavering and uncertain future- including the very real possibility of homelessness- to entertain them bugging in on his business.
He didn’t need lectures or questions. He needed to finish his advanced chemistry lab write-up that was due in the morning, which was the entire reason he was sitting upside down on his ceiling in the first place.
His text tone dinged again, and Peter let out a string of agonized groans. It was gonna be a long night.
***
Getting into the Bulletin was a lot easier than he expected.
Nobody really questioned him. The office was busy. Everyone looked focused. A lot less on edge and suspicious than everyone was at the Bugle. Peter marched in with a Bugle in one hand- one of his better Spider-Man shots, to prove he already had a name- and his group selfies with Daredevil and Deadpool in the other, and searched for the most important looking person in the office, determined.
He spotted her across the room, and picked his way over past bustling interns and overflowing desks. Someone shouted over to his right, but a quick glance told Peeter it was co-workers calling to one another, and not paying attention to him. So far, it seemed like he blended right in. Enough so that security wasn’t rushing him out the door.
Approaching the woman he’d set as his destination, Peter managed an, "Excuse me." Immediately he cursed the quietness of his voice and the shy intonation, as he cleared his throat.
The woman he was addressing, a blonde slender woman with a kind smile and big eyes, leaned up from the desk she was bent over. She gave him a once over with her gaze, before she spoke with a graveled tone. "Hi."
"I'm Peter Parker," Peter quickly informed her. He paused, remembering the self-explanatory newspaper in his fingers, and moved to hold it out.
"The Spider-Man guy." The woman answered without even a glance at the paper, her tone cool. The recognition made his cheeks darken. "I'm Karen Page. How can I help you, Peter Parker?"
"Photos?" Peter asked hopefully. "A drug bust right here in Hell's Kitchen last night. I uh, got some pretty close shots."
"And the Bugle isn't buying." Karen guessed.
Peter shrugged helplessly. "Can't print 3 vigilantes conspiring against the city. Might send people into a panic."
Karen smiled, humored by the joke. Still watching him, she accepted the folder he had the team-up pictures in to flip through them. Manicured nails brushed each aside by the corners, picking them apart to glance at each with burning focus.
Peter held his breath tighter than his landlord clutched onto his impending eviction notice.
"I'll admit, it's not our usual material." Karen said finally as she gazed up at him. "But they're good. It would be nice to see good headlines about Spider-Man and Daredevil out there."
Peter felt immediately freed.
"I can ask our boss about buying them," Karen continued, folding her arms. "But I'd need a story to go with it. Maybe you can give a witness statement?"
Peter's body locked back up.
"I don't really- I mean." Peter's palms felt sweaty. He shifted on his feet, feeling 15 and begging to sell his pictures all over again. "Words aren't my medium, you know?"
"Look," Karen reached back towards the receptionist, getting one of her cards. She pressed it into Peter's palm. "I'll show these to my editor. If he approves, we can meet for coffee. You can tell me briefly what you saw as our anonymous source and I'll fill in the rest." She smiled smoothly. There was something in her eyes that Peter couldn't quite decipher. "Call me later?"
Peter looked down at the card. He turned his eyes back up at her. His anxiety over finances was definitely overpowering his anxiety about retelling an event he was very present for.
This is going to go wrong.
Peter flashed her a flustered grin. "Absolutely, Ms. Page."
***
Dr. Octavius's lectures didn't offer much of a solace from Peter's predicament. Despite the heavily loaded speeches that Peter's half exhausted mind struggled to keep up with on the best of days, he was forcibly aware of every small change in the classroom when his senses were on the fritz.
Like the fact that the guy 2 rows down in front of Peter wouldn't stop scratching a spot on the back of his neck that was probably a rash if his spidey senses were right in their warning. A contagious one. Peter really hoped the guy didn't touch any door handles on his way out.
Or that Harry was intently whispering to Gwen about Peter's clear distractedness, and that he was asking if Wade was the cause of it.
The second his name was mentioned, Peter shot Harry an irritated look and shut him up for the rest of the hour.
It didn't go smoothly after that. Peter would focus in for a minute or two on the review Dr. Octavius was presenting, only for someone to squeak their chair or for a car to honk down the street. It took all of his strength not to ditch the class altogether when the girl behind him opened her sour smelling green juice that nearly made him sick.
By the time they were designated to head to their lab to put in hours on their engineering project for an upcoming Oscorp Expo, Peter felt like crawling out of his own skin.
She's about to stumble.
The message was a sharp stinging in his spine, unrelenting in its nagging. If he didn't act on it, it'd get worse. It'd torment him until the stinging became a full body ache, like a joint that needed to be popped before he went insane.
Peter didn't want to act on it. It was a stumble . She didn't need to be protected from every small inconvenience like his powers decided she did.
"Gwen, hey," Peter was too weak not to alleviate the anxiety. His hand caught her elbow just as her ankle quirked, a slippery tile making her lose her balance for just a second, not even enough that it would have interrupted her stride or made her drop a paper.
Gwen looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. Her eyes were all seeing. He hated that analyzing look. She was too damn good at it.
"This happens every time, Pete." Gwen informed him as she stopped walking, and instead blocked the hallway with her stance and peered down her nose at him.
"Good luck, buddy." Harry clapped his shoulder and continued down the hallway, but Gwen's look kept him from ditching out.
"You need Wade, or you need to find someone that you'll be comfortable with." Gwen decided before Peter had a chance to argue it. "We all know how bad your heats get when you're alone. You already look terrible."
Peter's eyebrows knit. "Thanks. But I'm not asking-"
"He wouldn't want you to go through this alone. You know that." Gwen said pointedly. "How many of these has he helped you through? How many times did you help him, even when things were rough?"
"Like…" Peter's voice fell off. He wasn't going to dignify the rhetorical question with even a snarky response. "...I'm not asking Wade. Definitely not. I'll figure it out. I still have 2 weeks."
Even Harry looked doubtful at Peter's answer, as he pointed out, "So you spent 2 weeks with Wade already, and you think you'll just be okay if you stop?"
A scuffle behind them had Peter turning his head, catching sight of Dr. Octavius heading their direction. He stopped a moment to throw a judgemental eye over their lack of movement, and cleared his throat demandingly.
"You're wasting time and resources. This expo won't wait for anyone." Dr. Octavius sniffed.
"Yes, professor." Gwen smiled apologetically and headed them all towards the lab.