Spiderman hoots and hollers as he webs and dodges the oncoming humanoid robots. There’s an entire army of them plaguing New York City courtesy of Dr. Doom. Possibly another attempt at bringing down the Avenger’s Tower. Possibly, Dr. Doom just being bored. Whatever the case, he’s happy to help. Even after three years of being Spiderman, Peter is usually left out on these types of big-time hero gigs, but since Thor is back on Asgard, Tony called in Spiderman to help.
Peter swears the billionaire thinks he can boss him around like he’s at his disposal.
Not that Peter would object to help saving the world. A please would be nice. That’s all.
Peter swings around a group of the robots, wrapping them with webbing as he passes. He flips onto a slightly crooked lamp post, presses his thumb over a button on his web shooters, and watches the robots twitch and jerk from the electrical shock until they short circuit. A new feature he has been waiting to try out.
“Not fast enough, kid,” Iron Man’s voice says through his ear piece.
Peter scowls behind his mask. “It’s a prototype.”
The Captain’s voice comes through next. “What Tony means is that there are too many. More keep coming.”
From his spot on the lamp post, Peter can see Cap a mile down the street. He cuts down robots with his shield, slicing their heads off or bashing them hard enough in the face. But for every one he takes down, three more appear in its place.
This section is clear of robots, so quickly Peter scans the rooftops, trying to pin point Bucky’s location. Wherever Cap is, Bucky isn’t far behind. But Peter gets distracted by his spidey sense going off. His head whips around just in time to see a storm drain burst open. They crawl out in tens. All over and under each other with their several small legs. The whorl and clack of snapping pinchers fills Peter’s senses.
“Uh, guys?” Peter says to his teammates. “I got some new ones over here.”
Peter webs the storm drain closed to block their way to the surface and jumps down. The centipede-like robots are as long as one of Peter’s arms and as thick as one of Cap’s. Actually, if you took Bucky’s arm off and replaced the hand with a rounded head and snapping mouth, it would be almost exactly the same. Oh, plus all the tiny legs. And as he fights them, it becomes clear they are fast. Fast for Spiderman who can dodge bullets like its nothing.
The ones that aren’t trying to kill Peter turn to join the other humanoid robots. Just as he begins to have the advantage, his web blockade rips open and the robots stream out in a wave of shining metal. One of the robots gets its pinchers around Peter’s calf and clamps down hard. He lets out a pained shout and kicks the robot against the lamp post. Its metal body crunches and the pressure on his leg is gone.
“Cap?” Peter says. His breath is coming out hard, and his calf throbs. He fires more webs at the ones crawling across the road and buildings.
“I got them over here, too,” he answers. Peter hears Hulk’s roar and feels the ground give a little shake. “Tony, call in backup.”
Peter huffs, pressing that button on his web shooter that will electrocute the robots he has webbed up. What other backup did they have? Natasha and Clint were over on the next street with Hulk. Tony was somewhere in the air with Falcon, Wanda, and Vision because the humanoid ones can fly.
“I’m not calling in that lunatic,” Tony says.
A sleek, dark voice answers, making the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand on end. “I think my mate gave you an order. Didn’t he?”
Tony grumbles, but doesn’t give anymore objections. Nobody really ever talks back to Bucky. He’s not sure if it’s because the man himself is terrifying or if it’s because Captain America will probably hold it against you for the rest of your life, and no one wants to be on Cap’s bad side.
He suffers through more bites and cuts. One of the robobugs somehow crawls up his back. The feel of it’s hundred little legs is enough to make him rethink his entire superhero career.
It doesn’t take long for backup to arrive. He can feel it as soon as they get there, can feel it in his fingers and toes, deep in his belly and along his spine. His gasp echoes through the coms. Before he can stop himself, before he can think, he crashes to his knees.
The pain doesn’t register. The robots might as well not exist. He can’t see anything besides the red clad figure coming towards him. A very embarrassing, very high-pitched whine leaves his throat, and try as he might, he can’t stop it.
“What the hell is going on?” Tony shouts loud enough that Peter tries and fails to claw the device out of his ear.
Get up! His mind yells, but he can’t. His legs refuse to move. His arms stay hanging limply at his sides.
The figure— no, the man, because someone who looks like that can’t be anything other than a very large, very muscular man, is running now. A long sword is in each of his hands, swinging and twisting to decapitate the robots in his way. Peter’s jaw goes slack, transfixed. And then he’s close enough that Peter can reach out and touch him. Which he does without hesitance. The man’s Kevlar clad thigh is warm and muscled.
“Mother fucking chimichanga,” the alpha says, voice deep and rumbling.
Peter’s eyes fight to roll back into his head. “You smell good.”
Distantly, Peter is aware that the alpha has a hand placed on top of his head while the other fires a gun at the horde of oncoming doombots. And Peter thinks he can feel the man shaking. Or maybe the ground is. Or the whole world.
“Get up,” he says. Peter looks up, but the alpha is looking off to the side. There’s a mask over his face, almost like Peter’s own.
He must move too slow, because the alpha grabs him by the arm and hauls him up, spinning around. On instinct, Peter follows the movement ending up with his legs wrapped around the man’s wide chest. Not a second later, the man takes off, causing Peter to automatically stick himself in place.
He has his swords out again, and the shining blades slice through metal at a frightening speed. When the alpha begins growling, Peter removes his nose from the man’s throat, not even remember putting it there. He needs to do something to help. He concentrates his fuzzy brain to unstick his hands and begins the process of webbing up and electrocuting the robots again.
“Shit, Spidey,” the alpha says, causing heat to rise to Peter’s already flushed skin.
Peter should let go of the man. He should swing around and web more of the ones that are out of the alphas range, but he can’t get his legs to move. He can’t even get his feet to stop sticking to the Kevlar suit.
Vaguely, Peter thinks that he should be panicking, but the alpha doesn’t seem to mind the extra weight. He smells like gunpowder and medal, fire and cinnamon, but nothing about it is angry, and the cheerful commentary from him keeps a dazed sort of smile on Peter’s face. He’s so busy listening to it that the words from the rest of the team get pushed to the back of his mind.
He does his best to help the alpha with the doombots, and he thinks that he does a pretty good job with how he screams his encouragement. And that’s how it goes until the bots litter the ground in a thick layer and Iron Man gives the all clear.
They gather on a section of road Hulk swept clean. Peter’s so busy listening to the alpha’s constant chatter and focusing on the way his shoulders roll under Peter’s hands that when Mr. Stark touches down in front of them and loudly exclaims, “What the hell is going on here?,” it feels like a bucket of ice cold water was poured down his back.
It’s enough that his feet unstick, and he falls flat on the ground. He scrambles unsteadily to his feet. Under his suit, his whole body burns with a blush. Peter shakes his head like he's trying to get water out of his ears. It does little to help the floaty feeling in his head. Were those bots poisoned? One of them did bite him. But most poisons don't work on him anymore.
Mr. Stark lowers his face plate so Peter can see the look of disappointed fury on his face. He can feel the others watching, too, and he can’t help shrinking into himself a little.
“Well?” Mr. Stark asks.
Peter gulps, tries to think of an answer, and shakes his head. “I-uh.” He glances at the huge alpha, at the guns, knives, and swords. At the muscles. At the way he’s constantly twitching and turning his head off to his side like he’s listening to someone there. Peter swears he hears him whisper something. The whole time, the alpha’s gaze is locked onto Peter.
Mr. Stark seems to think he’s waited enough, because he rounds on the alpha. “What the hell did you do, Wilson?”
The white eyes of his mask expand, and he gasps as if scandalized. “Moi? I was just making sure our friendly neighborhood Spiderman didn’t get eaten by robots. Would’ve been a real shame.”
Mr. Stark looks ready to blast the alpha across New York City.
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Peter steps to the side so he’s standing in between them. At Mr. Stark’s surprised look, he tries to put his thoughts together, but even he doesn’t really know what happened to him. One second he was fine, fighting robots left and right and the next he was on his knees, completely dazed.
Thankfully, Cap steps in, coming to stand at Peter’s side and lay a hand on his shoulder. He’s done it a handful of times before, and Peter’s never had a problem with it, but this time he has to stop himself from squirming away. He must not do a good job of it, because Cap gives him a funny look, then looks between the alpha and Mr. Stark and sighs.
“Bucky says Wade didn’t do anything wrong. He was keeping an eye on him.”
Peter looks over at the omega. His long hair is pulled up out of his eyes and his black tactical gear looks as intimidating as always. He gives Peter a small smile.
“Thanks, man!” the alpha, Wade, yells, accompanied by finger guns.
He doesn’t know why, but Peter kind of wants to push Bucky out of the alpha’s sight. He won’t, of course. Not only is that ridiculous, but there’s also a chance that the other omega will tear him apart and he’s not sure if Cap will let anyone stop him.
“We aren’t going to start any more fights today,” Cap says, still in full Captain America mode. Instantly, Peter stops glaring at Bucky and looks at the ground instead. “Nat’s already sent for help with clean up, but we all need to stay and help, too. We’ll split up in pairs. Peter,” he claps him on the back and gives him a little shove, “how about you stay with Tony for this? The rest of you, get moving! The faster we get this done, the faster we get to go home!”
With one last glare at the alpha, Mr. Stark takes off, no doubt wanting to work on the wreckage furthest away, and Peter hurries to web himself after him, but after making to the top of one of the buildings lining the street, he can’t help but to look back down at the alpha.
He sees the giant, red-clad alpha wildly waving up at him and screaming, “Bye Spidey! Nice to finally meet you!”
There’s a fluttering in his stomach. Smiling, Peter waves back before rushing to catch up to Mr. Stark, but he can’t help echoing his mentor’s question. What the hell was that?