#wilson seems mildly annoyed at best. he's used to this. this is Normal just another day of being friends with house

[itsnotacostume]

we as a fandom do not talk about this scene enough. what the fuck is this. why did he feel the need to install this? so he could stare at his boybestfriend all day without having to get up?

[pennamepersona]

Live With You

-All tags can be found on the ao3 post: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546492 -

I had a dream the other night

About how we only get one life

“Never liked trains much, myself, too slow and the noise, honestly, it’s all so repetitive and sounds way faster than it is, which, salt getting rubbed in the wound, and that’s not even good seasoning!” Wade says, lounging on the top of a couch that isn’t his, in an apartment that isn’t his, in a building that his own apartment isn’t in, in a borough he also doesn’t live in. “And honestly, I should know, I’ve studied cuisine. Mostly by eating a lot of food, but all those impressive civilizations didn’t have to collapse due to idiotic european invaders who didn’t even appreciate most of the spices they were so eager to find in the first place!”

His rambling is only met with brief silence, and then a soft but fierce exclamation of “fuck!” and the sound of wood snapping.

“You aren’t still doing models, are you?” Wade asks, falling off the back of the couch and just barely landing without pain, then walking over to the kitchen table where he’s met with the sad sight of a former assassin glaring down at splinters of wood, the fingers of both hands covered in paint, which actually looks pretty cool on the metal one, admittedly. Still, though.

“Ain’t it gonna be hell getting the paint out of all those cracks?” Wade makes to pick up Bucky’s metal hand, pausing briefly right before contact is made, a pause so small that no one not trained in killing, in the necessity of awareness of each movement, no one who hasn’t lived through battle and war, would notice. Bucky doesn’t flinch, so Wade grabs his hand, flipping it over and gazing at the intricacy of all its parts.

“Y’know, I understand very little about this whole cool metal arm thing, mostly because I don’t care about this shit and this isn’t the kind of science that Spidey-pie usually goes on about, but it seems like getting paint in it would be bad.” He flicks at some of the dried paint on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky’s hand twitches, very slightly, and it seems to be a simple response to touch, but Wade looks at his face all the same. Bucky’s just looking right back at him, his expression almost entirely resignation with the smallest dash of amusement.

“Should I get a loofa?” Wade asks. “Or! I could do the maid thing, everybody loves that. I should have a spare costume - ”

“Steve will clean it later.” Bucky says, his whole being softening at the thought. Wade coos.

“Aw, precious,” He boops Bucky’s nose. “I’ll leave that for some good ol’ fashioned bonding time between you two smitten popsicles, then.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he looks more amused than annoyed, which is part of the reason Wade hangs out here in the first place.

“For real, though, dude,” Wade says, glancing meaningfully at the pile of broken, mostly painted wood. “Models? Not your style, I’m thinkin’.”

“Steve says it might help with focus,” Bucky says. “Keep my hands busy like I want, without guns.”

“Oh!” Wade cries, which does make Bucky wince, so he lowers his pitch. “You wanna clean guns, don’t you? Take ‘em apart, slip ‘em right back together, all that stuff?”

Bucky pauses, then nods. Wade smacks himself on the forehead, then pulls out a smaller handgun from his side and tosses it down onto the table.

“Don’t know why that didn’t click sooner, honestly,” He says, sliding into one of the chairs and putting his feet on the table. “Go on, it’s been a bit since I cleaned that one. Only brought it ‘cuz Peter-man said low-to-no weapons around the trauma patient, so I had to dig out my littlest babies. You’ve got stuff, right?”

Bucky stares down at the gun, unmoving.

“I shouldn’t.” He says. Wade waits, to see if he’ll elaborate, which doesn’t happen within twenty seconds, so Wade goes on assuming that it won’t happen at all.

“Eh, you’re more comfortable with a weapon in your hand,” He says, waving his own hand as he speaks. “It’s what calmed you down for ages, why stop that now? Not like you’re any more or less likely to kill somebody if you’ve got a gun in hand or just the hand, ya feel? Could murder in cold blood just the same with the hard metal you’ve always got on ya.”

Bucky still doesn’t move, but he does glance at Wade.

“What if I do kill someone with it?” He asks, voice sounding what Wade would classify as both curious and nervous.

“Well, you’ve got the perfect test run right here,” Wade says, gesturing to himself. “Can’t die, pal, you’re not gettin’ a control group like this just anywhere.”

Bucky nods, then, and picks up Wade’s gun.

Nothing at all happens for a brief, charged moment.

Then, Bucky stands up, sets the gun back on the table, and goes to one of the end tables in the living room area, pulls out a drawer, and comes back, carrying cleaning supplies for the weapon.

Wade smiles as Bucky starts to take his gun apart and clean it, allowing for a stretch of silence he thought would be much longer, but then another impossibility happens.

Bucky looks over at him expectantly, and Wade knows that he’s waiting for Wade to start talking again. He still doesn’t look annoyed, hasn’t since the first week or so that Wade knew him, and it’s this moment of two clearly traumatized killing machines comfortably contrasting that lets a tiny knot in Wade’s chest unravel.

“I was wondering, too, if you knew anything about anniversaries,” Wade says, leaning back in his chair, half the legs off the ground. “I’m pretty sure one of mine with my arachnid amore is coming up, and you seem the romantic type. Got any pointers for me, wintogreen?”

“A ring,” Bucky says, a small smile on his face that Wade knows to his bones is mocking.

“Alright, I’ll give, why a ring?” Wade says, narrowing his eyes.

“You talk about him so much, figured you’d be dying to get on down to the courthouse and make your sap nice and legal.” Bucky’s still smiling, and yeah, Wade’s positive that it’s mocking, matches the shithead’s tone perfectly.

“Oh, so now we’re taking cheap shots?” Wade asks, leaning back even further. “Nice to know you’re not even trying, pal.”

“Always used to give my friends shit,” Bucky shrugs. “Why stop now?”

Wade falls backwards with a shout, cracking the back of the chair beneath him, and damn, it’s gonna leave a very small and quickly gone bruise, but even a lasting one would’ve been made up for by Bucky’s laugh.

And I had the week that came from hell

And yes I know that you could tell

Clint’s on what could, very generously, be called sick leave.

He’s not actually off the clock (never is, as an Avenger, which is mildly annoying but so’s most of Clint’s life), but they aren’t sending him on long, high-stakes missions at the moment. He didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t slip up, but he’s been...tired, lately. The higher ups (sometimes he thinks of them as his handlers, but he never really likes thinking that, so he tries not to) have noticed that tiredness, the way it doesn’t affect his physical reactions, but does make him less overall energized during training, during missions, even during what’s basically off time where it’s just him and Nat sparring, which he normally enjoys, but lately…

Well. The last time he got tired like this, he got emotional during a mission. And the last time he got emotional during a mission, actually let himself get invested, he brought Nat in. And that turned out fine (great, actually, in a lot of ways, Clint thinks), but no one wants that to happen again. Well, no one who makes decisions. Clint doesn’t like decisions. He doesn’t love being told what to do, but it’s usually better than thinking about what he’s doing. But when he’s tired, like this, he thinks more, and when he thinks more, he starts looking at what he’s doing, and that just makes things so complicated. He’s been doing all of this too long to overthink it now.

But he’s human, wasn’t tortured or trained or brainwashed or whatever they want to call it, like Nat and Bucky were. Like Wade was, too, and he supposes that last tack on is some part of the reason he’s outside the window of Peter Parker and Wade Wilson’s living room, watching the Winter Soldier and Deadpool play MarioKart.

He’s been keeping an eye on Bucky, while he’s on leave, or whatever, because he might not be close with Cap, might not know Bucky personally, but he appreciates that Cap’s always been trying to do the right thing and that it broke him down a lot when he couldn’t find his best friend (and lover, Clint’s brain helpfully reminds him) and keep him safe. And right off that thought is that Bucky is important to Nat, so maybe he doesn’t actually know Bucky Barnes, but he knows that he’s a worthwhile guy if those two care about him so much. And Bucky’s, like, really traumatized, and Steve tries to give him space, but he worries a lot, talks to Nat about it sometimes, and Clint’s kind of bored now? So he covertly babysits the Winter Soldier.

Definitely not the weirdest thing he’s ever done, but it makes the top ten, which is impressive in a really hard to explain and probably fucked up way.

All of this to explain why he’s watching two guys play MarioKart. Because Deadpool has also been looking after Bucky, but instead of hiding and being, like, stealthy and not dealing with feelings, Wade Wilson just breaks into the apartment that Bucky shares with Steve and talks to him about literally anything in the world.

And it works.

Bucky’s calmer around Wade, more relaxed. He laughs, sometimes, which Clint knows happens with Steve, but not often. He pushes Wade around, doesn’t worry about where his arm is and where weapons are, because Wade does this thing where he just hands a super traumatized former assassin guns and tells him to clean them while Wade chatters on (mostly about Peter, which also makes Bucky kinda smile because it’s hard to hate a guy who’s that in love). Clint may not like thinking too much, but he knows two and two makes four, and that keeping guns away from someone who’s been used to holding them for going on a century isn’t gonna make him less twitchy, and having him get used to feeling them in his hand and not worrying about Suddenly Murder around a guy who literally can’t die is, actually, really fucking smart.

Which could maybe mean that Clint can stop stalking the Winter Soldier and let Deadpool be the cool babysitter. He’s in good hands (Nat would smack him if he said that, but Nat’s version of good hands probably doesn’t actually exist, and also Nat smacks him a lot anyway, so he just assumes it means he might be right and she doesn’t want to say it, which is fine) and Clint’s not actually helping.

But here’s the thing: Clint really wants to play MarioKart.

No one plays stupid games with him much, and he kind of misses it? It happens sometimes, usually when Thor’s around or he’s bribed Nat somehow, but he’s realizing suddenly that he could probably go up to Wade Wilson at almost any time and ask him to play dumb video games and Wade would totally say yes.

And maybe he wants that. To play dumb video games that mean nothing tangible with some fucked up, traumatized dudes who just wanna let loose and be morons for a while because everything just keeps happening all the time and Clint’s fucking tired, and he’d bet his favorite hoodie that Nat stole three years ago and he’s been trying to sneak back for just as long, that those two are too.

So Clint does a stupid thing without thinking and opens the window to goddamn Deadpool’s living room and slides in.

“Hey,” He says. “You guys got another controller?”

You got something I need

In this world full of people, there’s one killing me

“Cap, I get that you’re worried, but why would I know where he is?” Peter asks, fiddling with the door to the apartment, bags weighing down his arms and phone shoved between his ear and shoulder.

“I don’t know, Bucky said something about Wade the other day, so I thought he might know,” Steve says, sounding frustrated. “And it’s impossible to get ahold of him, so I called you.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Peter sighs, kicking the door. “Wade! I know you’re home, you texted me like five minutes ago, open the door!”

The door opens, which is great because that means Peter can rush in and set down the grocery bags, but is also weird because Wade didn’t open it.

“Hey, Cap?” Peter says, shifting the phone so he’s holding it with his hand instead of his shoulder. “Found him. Don’t worry, he’s safe.”

He then hangs up before Steve can say anything else and stares at Bucky fucking Barnes, who opened the door to his apartment, where Peter lives, with his boyfriend, who is not Bucky fucking Barnes.

“Spider-babe!” Wade cries, leaping over their couch and crushing Peter in a hug, which he returns much more lightly, still really confused as to what the hell is going on.

“Hey, Peter,” Another voice calls, so Peter looks, and yeah, turns out life can get weirder, because Clint Barton is eating pizza on Peter’s couch.

“Alright,” Peter says. “What the hell?”

“Boy’s night.” Bucky says, which just leaves Peter more confused, so he pushes Wade back to look him in the eyes, and whoa, Wade’s not wearing his mask.

Wade always wears his mask around people. Not around Peter, thank god, and he’s worn Wade down to usually not wearing it to dinners with Aunt May, but that’s about it. There are two people in this apartment who are not Peter or Aunt May, and Peter just got home, so the logical step is that Wade’s been not wearing his mask for a while.

It’s so strange, seeing Wade’s perfectly happy face in their apartment when there’s more than just the two of them. Peter’s not complaining, just confused, but if whatever this is makes Wade more comfortable...well, he’s probably not going to object.

“Really, though,” He says. “What the hell’s going on, Wade?”

“Like he said,” Wade points over his shoulder to Bucky. “Boy’s night. We would’ve invited you, but it’s more like ‘Boys Who Have And Will Probably Continue To Kill People And Are Also Probably Traumatized Or Whatever’ night, so you didn’t quite fit the bill, sugar cheeks.”

“No to sugar cheeks,” Peter says, which makes Wade whine, and then he looks at Bucky. “Cap’s looking for you, dude, might wanna call him. Won’t force you, just thought you should know.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, then he nods and goes to grab a small tote bag from the living room and walks out the door with only a small wave to Wade and Clint and Peter’s pretty sure he saw at least one gun in that bag?

“Uh,” He says, squeaking a bit. “Did he have a gun?”

“Little bastard better give it back,” Wade mutters, folding himself against Peter’s back. “Don’t worry, though, baby, he’s just borrowing it. Helps him to get used to being himself again, not some coddled and half-dead trauma patient.”

“He’s right,” Clint says, popping up in front of Peter, mouth still full of pizza. “Thanks for the hospitality, man. Text me, Wade.”

And then Clint’s gone, too, though he leaves through the living room window.

“Um.” Peter says, still not totally sure what’s going on, but really not wanting to stop whatever it is, because he’s almost never seen Clint that comfortable and he’s definitely never seen Bucky express anything but discomfort, anxiety, and dissociative hatred.

“It’s like therapy, but better,” Wade says in his ear, sounding content in a way that Peter’s worked towards for years, and there’s a tiny little prick of what could be a desire for it to only be Peter that makes him this kind of happy, but Peter’s not even remotely interested in indulging that, so he turns around in Wade’s arms and leans against his boyfriend.

“Alright,” He says, simply, giving Wade a quick kiss. “Help me with the groceries.”

Wade does, and it’s a nice little moment of domesticity. It’s probably the unexpected shock to this part of his routine that’s making Peter think, but when he does think for a minute, he realizes that he’s really happy.

He lives with his boyfriend, who is also his best friend, he’s got a Master’s Degree and is considering taking the plunge for his Doctorate, he does freelance science work and research that brings him more joy than he ever thought any job could, he has dinner with his aunt every other weekend, and he’s really, indescribably happy.

He turns to Wade once they’ve finished putting away the groceries and kisses him again, soft and firm.

“I love you,” Peter says, looking right at Wade’s eyes, right into the still-warm contentment there. “A lot. More than I ever knew I was capable of. I’m so happy, Wade, and so much of it is thanks to you.”

He can see Wade’s eyes getting a bit shiny, and when he leans in to kiss him again, Wade’s already meeting him halfway.

“Love you too, Peter.”

And if we only die once

I wanna die with you

It’s strange, Bucky thinks, dropping a shell and slamming into Clint’s kart in a quick maneuver that has both Clint and Wade shouting, to be feeling like this.

He can hear Steve in the kitchen, talking with Natalia about weapons safety for their apartment, can feel Wade’s knee brushing against his leg and Clint’s foot on his shoulder because Clint’s somehow ended up sprawled nearly vertical on the couch and mostly upside down, can see out of the corner of his eye Peter leaning against Wade’s side as he types on his laptop and absently chews on something he has on a necklace.

He knows where all these people are, knows who they are, knows what they’d do if he asked for anything. Knows that, even though this place isn’t his, is Wade and Peter’s, that he’s safe. Knows that he can trust these people with his life, if he needs to, could even trust them with Steve’s.

He crosses the finish line and Wade throws his arms up in the air and Clint groans about how Bucky always plays dirty and he can hear Steve laugh from the kitchen and it’s strange, to be sure, for Bucky to feel like this.

But as he stands up to go get another box of pizza from the kitchen, brushes against Steve as he does, feeling the casual warmth that always comes as Steve loosely pulls him in for a short embrace, a soft press of lips against his own, he also thinks that he wouldn’t mind doing this long enough for it not to be strange.

Clint’s lifting himself onto the table the pizzas are on, sitting cross-legged in front of Natalia and picking each individual mushroom off his pizza and tossing them at her to see if she’ll catch them in her mouth or her hand, and Bucky can see his lack of tension mirrored very directly in her.

Bucky looks back into the living room, Steve’s arm around him, and watches as Wade gently nudges Peter back into awareness and hands him a glass of water that is actually flat sprite, which makes Peter choke slightly and punch Wade’s arm, seeing so easily into the domestic teasing and care that seems to always run so fully through Peter and Wade.

It’s strange, to be so okay, so unworried, but Bucky thinks he likes getting used to it. He leans into Steve, and when his guy drops a kiss onto his head and laughs at Natalia tossing a mushroom back at Clint and hitting him almost perfectly in the middle of his forehead, Bucky smiles and gives himself to permission to do what he’s been trying to do for a while: be happy.

If we only live once

I wanna live with you