The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 2: ''Welcome to the Dysfunctional Avengers, Bub''

THERE'S SOMETHING MAGICAL ABOUT the Avengers' briefing room. Maybe it's the way the massive glass windows frame the skyline, a perfect postcard of heroism. Or maybe it's the tension in the air that always feels like it's one punch away from becoming an all-out brawl. Either way, it's a great place for me, Deadpool, to do what I do best—annoy everyone.

I swagger in, taking a seat at the far end of the table, swinging my legs up like I own the place. Why not? Captain America's just Captain Sitting-On-His-Peg-Leg-Ass right now, anyway. He's probably been here since dawn, mapping out strategies, doing push-ups, and whatever else makes him feel morally superior. Me? I woke up fifteen minutes ago, spent five of those in a diner, and the other ten convincing myself that showing up to this meeting wasn't a complete waste of my time.

"Ah, the gang's all here," I announce, my voice dripping with exaggerated cheer. "And look at you all, standing so heroically. It's like a shampoo commercial but with more spandex and less personality."

Iron Man, standing by the hologram display, rolls his eyes behind his helmet—at least I think he does. With Tony, you never know what's a dramatic sigh and what's a Wi-Fi disconnection. Captain America's lips press into a thin line, like he's trying real hard to pretend I don't exist. The guy's got that silent judgment thing down to a fine art. It's a gift, really.

"Can we get started?" Natasha—Black Widow for those not in the know—asks, her tone flat but firm. Her patience for my antics is as thin as the latex she's wearing.

"Please," Tony adds. "The faster we get this briefing done, the faster I can get back to my lab and away from the guy whose life is one long meme."

"Aww, Stark, you wound me. Right here," I say, clutching my chest dramatically. "You're just jealous because my entire existence is way more entertaining than whatever you're brooding about in that big shiny suit of yours."

"Or," Tony retorts, deadpan, "you're a walking disaster in red pajamas who can't go five minutes without derailing the entire plan."

Before I can hit back with something truly inappropriate, Wolverine growls from the corner of the room. "Can we skip the damn comedy show, Wilson?"

There he is. My ol' pal Logan, once again playing the role of the world's grumpiest babysitter. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, claws itching under the surface like he's just waiting for an excuse to gut me. Not gonna lie—it's kinda flattering.

"Sure, sure," I say, waving my hand. "I wouldn't want to ruin the mood. Let's hear what Cap's got cooked up for us, shall we?"

Cap steps forward, clicking something on the display, which projects the image of a sprawling industrial complex. Looks like your run-of-the-mill bad guy fortress: barbed wire, security towers, enough space for a small army, and zero aesthetic taste.

"We've got intel that Hydra's been moving weapons through this facility," Cap begins, his voice all serious and no-nonsense, because of course it is. "They're planning something big, and we need to stop it before those weapons get into the wrong hands. Our job is to infiltrate, neutralize the threat, and secure any intel we can find."

I stifle a yawn. "Yeah, yeah. Punch the Nazis, save the day. We've done this dance before."

"Except this time," Tony cuts in, "we need it done quietly."

"Oh," I say, sitting up a little straighter. "Quiet. My favorite."

Logan shoots me a look that could melt adamantium. "You wouldn't know quiet if it stabbed you in the face."

I open my mouth to retort, but Cap gives me that Dad Look. You know the one—the shut up or so help me I'll make you do push-ups until the end of time look.

"As I was saying," Cap continues, ignoring my very existence, "we'll need to break into teams for this one. Stark, Natasha, you'll handle the security grid. Hawkeye, you're on overwatch."

"And what about me?" I ask, waggling my eyebrows. "Surely, you've got a special assignment for your ol' buddy Deadpool?"

Cap hesitates, which is never a good sign. Tony, meanwhile, is already looking for the nearest escape hatch. "Yeah, uh, I think I left my arc reactor running—"

"I'm out," Natasha says before Cap can even respond. "I worked with him last week. Not happening again."

Hawkeye clears his throat. "I, uh, have a previous engagement. Like...far away. Doing not this."

Tony's already halfway out the door. "Yup. Super important science stuff waiting for me. Good luck with that, Logan."

"Wait, wait!" I call after them as the room begins to clear out faster than a fire drill. "Guys, come on! You can't all just leave me with—"

And then it hits me. The only person left in the room is Wolverine, who's now standing there like he's just realized he's the last kid picked for dodgeball. His eyes lock onto me, and it's like I can actually hear his internal scream.

"So," I say, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, "looks like it's just you and me, partner."

He lets out a low growl, one that could probably cause a lesser man to run for the hills. But I'm not just any man. I'm Deadpool.

"We are not partners," He grumbles. "This is a fucking nightmare."

"Au contraire, mon frère!" I say, clapping him on the back, much to his disgust. "We're the best of buds. Like Batman and Robin. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like...like...me and trouble!"

Logan's claws slide out with a distinct snikt, and I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Whoa there, Grumpy Claws. Save it for the bad guys."

Cap's voice cuts through the tension like a shield through butter. "Wolverine, Deadpool, you'll be on extraction. Get in, grab what we need, and get out."

"Don't worry, Cap," I say with a salute. "You've got the best man for the job right here."

Wolverine mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like I hate you, but I choose to ignore it. After all, deep down—deep, deep down—he knows he can't live without me.