Peter’s shitty friends were very, very, very occasionally useful.
Useful like a thimble.
Tony went days, months, years without so much as a thought about a thimble. Then the tiny human being who invaded his lab got stuck on the door and tore the strap on his backpack and they may as well have called the chaplain to put the thing down.
Et voila. The thimble suddenly had its place (No, you cannot duct tape a backpack strap together, child, that is a temporary solution to a long term problem.)
Peter’s friends?
Thimbles.
But currently, with Steve stuffing his knuckles into his mouth to keep quiet as half of the rest of their team watched Barton approach the empty space next to Daredevil on the edge of the museum roof, Tony wondered if maybe they could be upgraded to perhaps houseplant-levels of relevance. If, for nothing else, the impending entertainment about to be had.
Barton was both an incredible ally and a fucking moron on a day-to-day basis if they were all honest with themselves. And if they were even more honest with themselves, they would admit that he only got more incredible and stupid when he was attracted to someone in the immediate vicinity.
See Exhibit A: Natasha.
Nat, however, was delighted with the current circumstances and was preoccupied with cutting off the circulation in Wilson’s wrist in an attempt to contain her enthusiasm. Barton cleared his throat next to Daredevil.
All of the heads on Peter’s team turned to address him at the same time. Peter cocked his head in confusion and finally looked over his shoulder at everyone else. Tony didn’t need to see his face to know that he was good and blanched under the mask.
Yeah, buddy. That really was about to happen.
The kid punched Deadpool and Deadpool hissed at him and shoved his head away, then caught on to Peter’s frantic, silent pointing back at the motionless Avengers Team (except for Steve, get it together, man) behind them.
Deadpool did some mental math and stared over Daredevil’s head at Barton in awe.
Maybe even admiration.
Barton refused to look at anyone else and Daredevil showed zero interest in him whatsoever. He wanted to know what his compatriots were freaking out about. He jabbed Deadpool in the side and asked him why the fuck he was being weird, which in itself was a baffling question.
Daredevil did not consider it fucking weird that Deadpool had nearly shot one of their targets through his own shoulder. Nor did Daredevil consider it weird that Deadpool brought motherfucking pillows to a gunfight to begin with.
But gossiping?
Intolerable levels of weird.
He dug a few fingers into Deadpool’s suit and did something which made him yelp and Peter laugh. Deadpool slapped hands on each side of Daredevil’s head, then turned said head very purposefully towards Barton before swiftly removing the offending fingers from his suit.
It belatedly occurred to Tony that Daredevil’s hands were cold.
Barton cleared his throat again, as though he didn’t have Daredevil’s complete, undivided, and enforced attention. The guy looked around anyways, probably to figure out if maybe Barton was fucking with him.
“You want something, pal?” he finally demanded. Barton grinned at him, pleased to be acknowledged.
“Yeah, wanna chat. Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the empty space next to Red.
Daredevil stared at him soulfully through his mask.
“Absolutely,” he said. He sounded almost polite without his threatening gravel. Barton beamed and shrugged off his bow.
Daredevil shoved it back the second it tapped against the ground.
“I absolutely mind,” he clarified nastily, “Get fucked, asshole.”
Steve was dying. He had to smash his face against Barnes’s shoulder to retain a modicum of composure. His mirth was making Wilson’s lips twitch too, and listen, they all needed to get their shit under control before either the thimble or the moron noticed.
Neither appeared to notice anyways. Barton, because he was falling hard and stupid for Red and Red, because he really needed to focus every hateful atom in his body on a single point to put out that level of animosity.
It was his first mistake.
Barton fucking loved to be dismissed by all potential romantic partners. It was like he was always on the lookout for someone to take up the burden of hating him from his own shoulders for a minute. He was beyond charmed by Red’s irritation. With a dopey-ass grin, he took a step back and sat down anyways, with exactly enough room for one body between them.
Red sneered at him and pressed in closer into Deadpool until their thighs were smashed together. Deadpool jerked back into Peter and Peter tumbled over onto his side and nearly took a dive off the edge of the building.
“Fancy work back there with the club,” Barton noted, expertly ignoring Red’s (and subsequently everyone in their line-up’s) discomfort. “Wouldn’t have thought to use it like that. You get it made special?”
Red had practically melded himself into Deadpool’s side. Deadpool examined this display with bemusement, despite his leaning out of it. Unprompted physical contact must have been an unusual sequence of events.
“The fuck is your game?” Red demanded.
Tony had to give him props for being direct.
Barton beamed at him, then rearranged his face into what he thought was a seductive smirk.
“Not sure yet, maybe you can help me figure it out.”
“Get fucked.”
“It’s an option.”
Red was two seconds from climbing into Deadpool’s lap and the guy didn’t seem too mad about it anymore, although Peter was now clearly dying from embarrassment.
That in itself was worth letting this shit go on uninterrupted.
“I’m taken,” Red spat. Barton finally noticed Deadpool and evaluated him for his chance of winning in a fight.
“So it would seem,” he said. Daredevil frowned and shook his head a bit in confusion. He looked behind him to Deadpool and the connection clicked into place.
“It’s not this shithead,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. Deadpool preened at the insult.
Barton was heartened and re-engaged flirting mode.
“Well that makes things easier,” he said. “Listen, maybe you and me could go grab a drink, some pizza, show me how you use that thing, if you know what I mean?”
Red was unimpressed. He was so unimpressed he said exactly nothing, just stared, boring holes into Barton’s face. Barton faltered in the face of this misstep.
“Or maybe not?” he offered, “Maybe just the pizza and beer?”
“I’m. Taken,” Red repeated, each word pure venom.
“Yes, but are they tall, blond, and handsome?” Barton negotiated with what he apparently thought passed for smoothness.
“Yes.”
Steve lost it. Started choking. Barnes turned around to muffle his coughing in his suit.
“Oh.”
No. No, everyone shut up. Tony had to see how he came back from this one.
“Alright, well. Maybe down for a threesome? Just saying man, you’ve got a hot bod and I know I don’t look like much, but under the purple here, man. Got abs for days. Kinda like those gams of yours.”
Whatever the opposite of charmed was, that was Daredevil. The line in his shoulders said as much. But then, out of left field, it dropped. He unglued himself from Deadpool and leaned a little forward into the space between him and Barton, and Barton, the poor sap, got excited and moved in a little closer, too.
“You’re the archer,” Daredevil noted with a slight lilt of interest in his tone.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.”
“Always hated bows. My sensei had this thing about target practice.”
“Oh, yeah? He an archer, too?”
Daredevil smirked.
“Something like that. Can I see?” He held out his hand for the bow.
Now, Barton was an idiot in all matters of love, but he was not an idiot about weapons. He hesitated.
“You ever used one before?” he asked reluctantly.
“Yes. Not my forte. Better with clubs, if you catch my drift.”
Barton was delighted with the unexpected return flirting. Peter tried to sink into the roof’s concrete. Barton carefully offered the bow, but before Red could take it, Deadpool reached around him, took it, and chucked it behind him. Red snarled at him.
Barton blinked in shock.
“Uh,” he said.
“Saving you the heartache, pal,” Deadpool told him amiably. “Unless you want him to throw it.”
Red decided to throw him instead. Shoved him right off the roof. Zero remorse. They all appreciated the dull ringing of a dumpster vibrating below.
He readdressed Barton.
“Still interested?” he asked.
“Yeah, like, weirdly turned on,” Barton responded after a moment of shock, peering over the edge of the building, where Deadpool was swearing vigorously at a colony of ants.
Red scoffed.
“Y’all need Jesus,” he announced. He stood up and dusted himself off. “I’m going home. Kid, you are now in my debt for everything tonight. Including this guy. We’re doing my thing next time.”
Peter mumbled an affirmative into the concrete. Barton hopped up waving his hands.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, “Totally separate thing. Re-writing that whole convo before. Seriously. You’re kind of ridiculous. Like, in hotness and MMA. Wanna get a drink? No sex strings attached, hand to God.”
Red paused and gave him a once-over. His lip curled for a blip of a second and he sniffed. He dropped his hands to his hips.
“Are you fucking dumb?” he asked.
“Yes,” Barton answered, entirely unrepentantly.
“Obviously,” Red snapped at him. Then, to Tony’s surprise, he jerked towards their group.
“You fucked this guy?” he accused.
For a moment, Tony thought that he was asking him, but to everyone’s surprise, Natasha leaned out and said,
“Yeah, got a thing for idiots.”
Even Peter’s brain short-circuited. Tony knew because he jerked to attention. Everyone and everything went still for a beat.
Barton broke the silence, turning to Natasha in horror.
“You two know each other?” he just about whimpered. Both Reds stared at him with pursed lips, then dismissed him at the same time.
“I hate your work,” Red informed Natasha.
“Thanks, I like the new suit,” she responded sweetly, slipping out from the Avenger circle. She sauntered over to him and reached out to take his hand. He allowed this. Allowed the cutesy little squeeze she executed.
“It’s more of an old suit,” Daredevil qualified.
“Semantics. Who’s your new boo?”
“Ain’t new. You don’t know him.”
“Not for long,” Natasha said with sweetness and grace.
“Get close and I’ll break your fucking arms,” Red replied with equal grace and sweetness.
Natasha. Was. Charmed. What the fuck. Her lips flickered in and out of a smile and she dropped her eyes for a second before looking back up into Red’s face.
Barton was floored. Hell, they were all floored.
“I missed you,” she said. “You never call. Never write.”
“I missed you, too. Stop breaking into my apartment, it’s weird.”
“I missed you. You’re never home.”
“Got a job, Nat.”
“And a boyfriend. What’s his name?”
“Blonder and nicer than yours.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Smells like you.”
Barton squawked, now entirely enlightened as to why Red hadn’t played his game. He glared bloody murder at Natasha. She grinned at him around Red and gave a little unapologetic wave.
“You know how it is, gotta mark my territory. Is it Castle? Or is it that Rand kid? Wouldn’t have thought you’d go for someone so much younger.”
“Fuck no, and I’d rather die. Stop digging through my shit and call me like a normal person. I’ve gotta go.”
“Are you bluffing on the blond? Is it that PI? She’s pretty, angry. Exactly your type.”
“See you around, Nat.”
He hopped off the side of the building, just as Deadpool irritably dragged himself back up over the opposite edge.
“Peter,” he announced, hauling himself over the last couple inches and dragging the kid upright. Peter rag-dolled and hummed miserably in response. “Are we done? We’re done, right? Perfect, listen. I had a fucking amazing idea for them ants down there, but we need like, at least two jars and a flashlight.”
“Kay.”
Yeah, no. No, they were both still thimbles.