"Nobody saw that, did they?"

"No, no one at all, (Y/N)," Clint scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "other than Tony, Steve, Nat, Wanda, Scott, Pete, Vision, Rhodey, T'Challa, and Bucky."

"I saw it too," Sam joined in.

The two men broke into quiet laughter, each of them on either side of you, helping to hold you up as you walked back to the jet to return home. You gave them a sharp glare of warning to shut their mouths, but in the current situation, you had no power to stop them. If they hadn't been there to actively hold you up, you'd be completely helpless to get anywhere on your grotesquely broken leg.

"Don't worry," Clint began again, "I'm sure that no one got video of it. Give it a few days, and they'll all forget. I'm sure that the next accident for any one of them is right around the corner."

"No, man, I got video, too," Sam offered eagerly. He held up his phone in his free hand, swiping his thumb over the screen to light it up with the embarrassing scene of you getting stuck in one of Pete's webs only to put yourself right in the line of Steve's shield, tripping as your leg snapped only to fall onto T'Challa who impaled you with one of his claws when he tried to catch you.

"Sam, name your price. I'll pay anything to get that video from you."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Hmm," he paused, stopping in his tracks to become introspective, leaving Clint to stumble slightly to try to keep you upright. The archer mumbled something laden with curses that you didn't quite hear, your attention fully on Sam to hear what terrible idea he could come up with. "Alright...alright, how about this...I'll give you this video and then you can watch me erase my copy, if you give Redwing his bath every week for a month. Even in those hard to reach places."

"Done," you answered immediately, without any hesitation.

"Damn, that was easy. Maybe I should've taken more time to think this through."

"Too late, pal," you shrugged. "Now please, just get me home before anyone else finds out about this."

"But everyone was here?" Clint joined in again. "There isn't anyone else who would be able to give you shit about it if you're the only one with evidence."

You hung your head as you continued to walk, knowing that the likelihood of this staying quiet was pretty bleak. Even if you had the evidence, things had a way of getting out, and there was one particular person in your life that attracted trouble like a damn magnet. If it was trouble that involved you, it moved just that much faster.

"Oh, Barton, if only you were right."

~~~

It was a warm, medication-induced haze that awaited you back at the tower's infirmary, and once you had felt your body relax willingly into it, there wasn't much that could put you into a bad mood. Even the pain that kept coming as the doctor reset your bone didn't shock you; this was a well-earned respite from caring about the world around you. You were actually just about to drift off into the vast, soft cushion of sleep when Barton just had to stick his big head through the door and wake you up for something that could never be important enough, as far as you were concerned.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he began, announcing his arrival, "front desk says that you've got a visitor. Some guy in a red leather onesie?"

"Oh, shit," you groaned under your breath, though not to be missed by the archer, who was staring at you intently and ready for some good dirt on who this mystery guy might be.

"Problem? Should I tell him to go?"

"No, let him in," you relented. You knew that it was unlikely that he would listen anyway if anyone tried to remove him. "He's a...a, um...friend of mine."

"Friend...hmm, okay," Clint answered in kind, turning away to retrieve your guest. What you couldn't see through the windows into the hallway were the other Avengers practically lined up along the wall that he would have to pass by, all waiting to get a view of this person that you had never once mentioned.

It wasn't that you were hiding your relationship with Deadpool, per se, it was just that you hadn't found a good time for introductions. With him, they had to be well-timed just to make them tolerable for everyone involved, and there weren't historically great interactions between the Avengers and your favorite mercenary. When the doors opened again, with Clint leading the way, you found a new wave of energy and pushed yourself up to sit and greet him, but something was definitely off. "Um, hold on," you paused, raising a hand to stop him, "what's that?"

"Depends," Wade answered quickly with a halt to his steps, "are you going to judge me or not?"

"Depends. Is that blood you're trying to wipe off of your suit?"

"Possibly."

You squinted your eyes to try to get a better look at the dark red blotches that had splattered across his chest and onto one of his legs, and the color was quickly unmistakable. "It also depends on what kind of blood it is."

"Oh, well I know that I'm gonna pass this test," Wade laughed through his mask, "it's from a bad human. A really, really bad human, I promise. You would've loved to get your hands dirty on this one, (Y/N), believe me."

"Jesus, Wade, couldn't you have at least cleaned up before showing your face here? This is my job!"

"But I'm not showing my face," he snapped in reply, "the mask is down, duuuh! Shit, (Y/N), did you take a shield to the melon too?"

"Fine, whatever," you sighed, figuring that the argument was a losing battle anyway. You winced in pain with the movement, but you were able to gently rest yourself back against the gurney when your muscles decided that holding you up wasn't all that important anymore. "Okay, spill it, Wilson. How did you know that I was injured anyway? No one on the team knows that we're dating, so it couldn't have been any of them."

"Black Wilson called me."

"Sam did not call you, Wade. No way."

"He did!" he exclaimed, stomping his foot petulantly as he pointed back towards the door. "He called me when you guys were on the way back! Look!" Wade grabbed his phone from his pocket and shoved it towards you so that you could see the last call that came in, along with the familiar phone number that you knew as well as your own. "Suck on that, buttercup!"

"What the hell, Sam?!" you yelled so loudly that he might actually hear you through the heavy glass windows; even Wade took a precautionary step back. "FRIDAY, get him in here!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I didn't know that you guys were friends. When did that happen?"

"At the exact minute when I realized that we were the perfect Ebony and Ivory karaoke act. I mean, think about it. With a voice like that, he could have panties dropping with the first note. I know I'd drop mine for that fine piece of chocolate. I've got the face for dimly lit bars full of poor decisions, so together, we're making bank, baby."

All you could do was to close your eyes and pray that it was the meds making you hear things incorrectly, but knowing Wade Wilson, he said exactly what you had just heard, and you would carry that mental imagery with you for weeks. "Wade, did you tell him about us?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

Wade took in a breath to give you what was undeniably going to be a long-winded, abstract yet colorful explanation, but thankfully the door opened before he could start, shifting your attentions to a much easier target to hit.

"Hey, White Wilson, what's up?"

"Sam," you answered to get his attention, "did you tell anyone else on the team about me and Wade?"

"Oh, shit," he gasped, a hand quickly thrust over his mouth, "was I not supposed to?"

"Well that's just great," you hissed, pulling your blanket up over your head in humiliation, "I should've known that having more than one Wilson in a story was a bad idea."

A hand reached out and grabbed the edge of your blanket, yanking it down with one quick pull of anger, only to be replaced by a leather-clad finger pointed at your face, and one of the offended Wilsons feigning hurt feelings. "Listen here, light of my goddamn life, no one breaks walls around here but me, you got that? I don't care if you are the main character."