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The common room of the Avengers Compound was, for once, a tableau of relative peace. Tony Stark was nursing a cup of coffee that was more mechanical fuel than beverage, Clint Barton was attempting to teach a disinterested-looking pigeon a card trick, and Natasha Romanoff was reading a book that was definitely not a spy novel. Thor was regaling a bored Bruce Banner with a tale of a giant space goat, the details of which were dubious at best.
The tranquility was shattered by a distinct thump, followed by a muffled groan.
Everyone looked up to see Spider-Man, Peter Parker, picking himself up off the floor for the third time in the last hour. He’d been trying to hand Doctor Strange a datapad, and had instead performed a spectacular face-plant, his limbs splayed out like a very embarrassed starfish.
Doctor Strange, who had been levitating serenely a foot off the ground, didn’t even blink. He simply looked down at the teenager, one eyebrow arched with the patience of a saint who had long since abandoned hope. "You keep tripping over my cape. Your spider senses need some work," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of sympathy.
"I'm noootttt," Peter wailed, his voice muffled by the floor. He scrambled to his feet, his mask hiding the furious blush that was creeping up his neck. "I’m a highly trained super-hero! I can dodge bullets! I can sense a pigeon’s bowel movement from three blocks away!"
Tony snorted into his coffee. "Please don’t ever phrase it like that again, kid."
But Peter was on a roll, his frustration boiling over. He rounded on the Cloak of Levitation, which was currently floating placidly behind Strange, looking for all the world like a sentient, crimson-red curtain. "Your cape is alive, right? It's tripping me on purpose!" he accused, jabbing a finger at the garment.
The Cloak’s collar ruffled slightly, as if in offense.
Doctor Strange shook his head, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. "No, it is not. That is a you problem." He gestured with a hand. "The Cloak has chosen its user. It finds you… uninteresting."
Peter’s jaw dropped. "No."
He crossed his arms, a petulant gesture made all the more comical by the fact he was still slightly dusty from his last tumble. "Well, I’d rather fall into Deadpool's lap instead," he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "At least he'd make a joke about it instead of being a condescending wizard."
The air in the room froze.
Tony, mid-sip, suddenly choked, a torrent of black coffee erupting from his nose and spraying across his pristine white t-shirt. He sputtered, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and dawning parental panic. Clint’s pigeon squawked and flew away. Thor’s story about the space goat died in his throat. Even Natasha looked up from her book, a flicker of pure, unadulterated amusement in her eyes.
"The new phrase for the 'What the Fuck' jar just dropped," Tony wheezed, frantically wiping his face with his sleeve. "That's a grand, Parker. A grand."
But Peter was too focused on Strange's smug face to notice the fallout. "What?" he asked, confused by the sudden silence. "It's a metaphor! It's hyperbole! I just meant—"
"Did you just say my ass is better than a wizard's cape?" a voice, impossibly chipper and slightly muffled by a mask, cut in from the doorway.
Every head in the room swiveled to face the new arrival.
Deadpool stood there, framed by the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other holding a half-eaten chimichanga. He was wearing a t-shirt that read "I SURVIVED THE PURGE" with a cartoon giraffe on it. His head was tilted, and even through the mask, you could practically see the shit-eating grin stretching from ear to ear.
"Hey, everyone! Did I miss the part where Spider-Man admits he wants to nestle his cute little spidey-butt in my lap for story time? Because I'm pretty sure I heard that part."
Peter’s body went rigid. The blood that had been in his face drained so fast he felt dizzy. He could practically feel the two-thousand-degree heat of Tony’s laser-focused stare boring into the back of his skull.
"Wade!" Peter squeaked, his voice cracking in a way that was decidedly not heroic. "No! It was a joke! A bad joke! I was just telling Strange his cape is a menace!"
Wade sauntered into the room, completely unfazed by the tension that was thick enough to be cut with a vibranium knife. He draped an arm around Peter's shoulders, pulling him into a side-hug that was more of a headlock. "Aww, baby boy, don't be shy. It's okay to admit you prefer the cool, merc-with-a-mouth vibe over the grumpy, flying-drape aesthetic." He winked at Strange. "No offense, Doc, your cape is fabulous. Very 'Sally Field in a wind tunnel.' But it's got nothing on this."
He released Peter and slapped his own leather-clad thigh for emphasis.
Tony had finally managed to stop coughing, his face a strange shade of red that could have been from choking or from sheer, unadulterated horror. He looked at Peter, his expression clearly communicating a single, desperate question: Is this what you’ve been doing with your extracurricular time?
"Kid," Tony said, his voice dangerously calm. "We are going to have a very, very long talk about your taste in… people."
"He's not a person! He's a mercenary!" Peter corrected, his voice an octave higher than usual.
"Hey! I'm a person who is a mercenary," Deadpool corrected, affronted. "I have feelings. And heaps of student debt. Mostly the debt, though."
"This is wonderful!" Thor boomed, clapping his hands together, utterly oblivious to the social devastation he was witnessing. "The Spider and the Mercenary! A union forged in jest and destined for hilarious, violent chaos! I shall compose a song!"
"Please don't," Peter and Tony said in unison.
Natasha closed her book, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She looked between Peter, whose mask was doing a terrible job of hiding his utter mortification, Deadpool, who was now trying to feed Peter a bite of his chimichanga, and Tony, who looked like he was calculating the fastest way to blast both of them into the sun.
"You know," she said, her voice silky smooth, "the jealousy angle is a new one for you, Peter. I'm impressed."
"It's not jealousy! He's my situationship!" Peter yelped, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. "I did not just say that. I did not just say that out loud."
The room was silent for a beat.
"You… you two have a situationship?" Tony whispered, sounding utterly broken. "I'm going to need a new coffee. And possibly a new heart."
A wide, beaming, utterly insufferable grin was practically audible in Deadpool's voice. "Did you just call me your situationship?" he asked, his voice soft with a dangerous amount of glee. He pulled Peter close, ignoring the younger hero's attempt to squirm away. "I love it! That's way better than 'butt-buddy' or 'the guy who keeps stealing my tights.'"
"I hate you," Peter muttered into Deadpool's chest.
"No, you don't," Deadpool cooed, patting his head. "You just hate that you tripped over the evil wizard cape and I heard you say you'd rather fall into my lap. Which, by the way, is always open. You want to try it out now? Get a feel for the merchandise?"
"Yes," Clint said, his voice a faraway whisper. "Yes, this is the best day ever."
Doctor Strange, who had been watching the entire debacle with the detached air of a man observing a particularly dull car crash, simply sighed. "This is why I live in the Sanctum," he muttered, and with a swirl of his cape, which Peter was now convinced definitely gave him a little smug flutter, he vanished in a circle of sparks.
Peter was left standing in the middle of the room, trapped in a headlock by a very happy Deadpool, while the Avengers stared at him with a mixture of awe, horror, and in Clint's case, pure, unadulterated joy.
"Wade," Peter whispered, his voice pleading. "Let's just… let's just go to my room."
Deadpool's smile, if it were possible, grew even wider. "Well, well, well. Look who's taking the initiative now. I like it, Spidey. You're learning." He squeezed him tighter. "Onward, my little situationship! To the land of poorly-made anime posters and a lack of judgmental wizard capes!"
As Deadpool dragged a limp and protesting Peter out of the common room, Tony could only stare at the coffee stain on his shirt and wonder what he had done in a past life to deserve this. He just hoped the kid's spidey-senses would eventually warn him about the absolutely horrendous life choices he was making.