Chapter 3
3.
Phil Coulson was an unflappable man.
Joining a top-secret government agency? Sure. He had finished SHIELD training in 12 months, the fastest for any trainee, worked his way up the line faster than anyone else, and now sat at nearly the highest level or whatever the highest level was.
(He definitely had the highest security clearance though, other than Nick Fury.)
Someone wanted him to bring in the heavily armed archer running amok in New York stealing intel from which SHIELD needed? Done. Said archer wanted to bring in an extremely heavily armed and skilled (and likely very brainwashed) Russian spy into the same said top secret agency? Done. Nick Fury wanted him to pretend to be dead for six months? No problem. And he wants to dip his (vintage, may he add) Captain America cards in his blood to supr on a superteam? Maybe.
Coulson sits in the Helicarrier, screens displayed in front of him, as he watches said superteam, the Avengers, fight their way into a heavily armed HYDRA base, adjusts his tie as he watches the five members of the team blast, shoot, and smash their way into the base.
“I’m in,” Black Widow reports over the headset, as Coulson watches her effortlessly take out two guards by tasing them in the necks with her Widow Bites.
“Proceed with Plan Alpha,” responds Coulson into the headset, as he spots a man dressed in red and black spandex get into the same service elevator as Hawkeye.
He’s about to ask who the man is, but Stark beats him to the punch.
“Katniss, please tell me JARVIS is malfunctioning and not that fucking Deadpool is in the elevator with you?” says Stark in a falsely sweet voice.
Coulson blinks. Deadpool? His fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the body cam that Hawkeye had on, and rubs the back of his neck. He’s greeted with a sight of red spandex, and two swords strapped across the man’s back.
“Hawkeye, report,” commands Coulson, at the same time idly watching the Hulk smashing a couple of unfortunate HYDRA agents.
“He’s a friendly,” Barton relays. “Here to help,” he answers, as a chipper voice from his comm chimes in.
“Hey secret agent man! Please don’t kill me, I’m here to help, I promise. We’re like bros, so you know, kinda have an obligation to help him? Saw him on the television and was in the area, so voila! Here I am,” the man rambles.
What the fuck?
“Shut the fuck up, Wilson,” he hears Barton grit, and Coulson watches as they get off of the elevator, Deadpool imapling two HYDRA goons instantly.
“Barton, you’re screwed,” Coulson threatens over the comms in his and Barton’s private line, and watches as Iron Man blasts out of the base with a computer and two HYDRA agents clinging to his legs, desperate.
“Yes, sir,” Clint replies grumpily.
☆
“Okay, I know what this looks like,” Clint says, walking into the Avengers communal area with Deadpool trailing along behind him, wearing only the mask part of the costume, having switched out his spandex for a black jacket with pink stripes down the sides and a pair of black jeans. ‘But this was completely a one-sided-”
“This is totally what it looks like,” Deadpool says, the grin visible in his voice. “Hi, Wade Wilson, nice to meet you,” he says, holding out one gloved hand to Coulson.
Coulson ignores the hand, raising one eyebrow at Clint, the archer tensed and ready for argument. “Easy,” he signs at Clint, who visibly relaxes.
And ignores the rambling of Deadpool: “Oh hey, secret language! I know some,” who proceeds to sign the word for fucking, complete with very suggestive eyebrows.
“Mr. Wilson, please take a seat,” Coulson says, gesturing at a chair across from him. Clint follows suit, detaching his quiver from his back and dumping it on the floor unceremoniously, fingers gripping the bow tightly.
Wade Wilson, who has grabbed a pen from the mug full of pens in the middle of the table, is flipping it lazily in his hand, occasionally the pen hitting the table with a dull clack.
“How do you two know each other,” Coulson says, almost deadpan.
Deadpool, sitting up straighter in his chair, drops the pen. “One day, some Russian fucknuts who were beating me up in an alley decided they were going to take me to a second location for some torture, possibly murder,” he says, white eyes of the mask staring straight at Coulson. He tips his chair backwards and sing-songs to the ceiling, “never let anyone take you to a second location! First rules of being at a bar, fuck those guys.”
Coulson raises an eyebrow at Clint again, who heaves a sigh. “Basically I saved him from getting beaten up by the Russian mafia, and the next day he showed up at my apartment with three pizzas and beers,” he says begrudgingly, picking at his nails like a child getting scolded from a teacher.
“Now we’re bros!” Deadpool exclaims happily, picking up the pen again. “He helped me find an apartment in his building and now we’re good bros who hang out right, amigo?” he says, nudging Clint with his shoulder.
Coulson sighs, as the rest of the team walks in, Natasha heading over to Clint immediately, glaring at him, and scolding him in furious Russian. “идиот,” he heard, and he smiles in his head.
Thor and Tony head immediately over to Deadpool, who’s now tipped his chair back so much he’s almost parallel to the floor. “So, Deadpool huh?” he hears Tony say, looking at Clint with an amused smile. “We’re going to have so much fun,” he says, now glancing at Coulson, raising one eyebrow.
Well, fuck.
(Coulson pretends not to notice that Deadpool is around at the Avengers Tower more and more. He also pretends not to notice Clint is much happier, grinning more and more, even though the pranks on his office become more and more elaborate.)