Avengers One Shots

The spider and the Mercenary

Everyone knows. Except for Peter.

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Friday nights that don't involve being suited up and being shot at by some villain or another have become rare in the life of Peter Parker. Which is to be expected when he's joined the New Avengers—and really, how cool is that? He occasionally hangs out with Iron Man and Captain America who are his idols—if one could call babbling in between fights 'hanging out' but whatever, they would all be total bros eventually.

So Peter weighs his options. On one hand, he could try calling people to go out although he hasn't really inserted himself into the social world in a while. The people he finds himself most comfortable with are the Avengers and his team, and they seem to all be preoccupied. And it's almost a shame, because the evening is young and the sky has only just started to become a gradient of orange and pinks.

Social awkwardness final wins him over. Peter happily transfers as much junk food as he can and a mountain of blankets over to the couch. A cozy evening in is fine with him when he's got comfortable sweatpants and a Star Trek t-shirt to go with the untouched copy of Borderlands 2. He lays out on the couch, limbs every which way and a bag of chips precariously balanced on his chest while he starts up his game.

Peter is warm and content, and he's discovered a new found love for shotguns when they have a corrosive edge to their shells. There's just something about neon green blasts of bullets that pleases him to no end.

The room is a little darker when he finds himself pausing the game to stretch. It's mostly lit by the bright screen of the TV, and curiously Peter checks the clock to find that an hour and a half had already managed to pass. Maybe it's just his sense of time that's been thrown off, but he can't help but feel slightly at unease, like something is off.

He sits up a bit, controller falling to the floor, and jumps at the sudden thud of plastic and hardwood floor. "Oh jeez," he mumbles to himself, reaching down to retrieve the blinking Xbox controller. He's just not used to having this much time, he tells himself, and proceeds to sit back up and come face to face with a red mask.

"I prefer Gunserker, myself."

"Mother of erma—oh my—ugh—WADE!" Peter flails, effectively falling off of the couch, tangled in at least three blankets, and really what even. "This is so not okay!"

Wade cackles like the bastard that he is, falling onto the couch in his laughter as Peter angrily tries to untangle himself from the blanket trap on the floor. "That seriously never gets old," Wade says, still over exaggerating his amusement.

Peter huffs. "Why are you in my house?"

"Because I'm bored! Come play with me, it's a Friday night and I'm forcing you out of your cave of antisocial nerdom," Wade declares. He sounds so sure of himself that Peter knows that he won't take no for an answer. Sighing longingly at his Xbox, Peter pulls himself up and wrinkles his nose at his lazy clothes.

"I'll be right back then," he says and can't help but smirk a bit at the surprised expression he receives in turn. Contrary to popular belief, or maybe just Wade's belief, Peter doesn't mind hanging out with the merc. They're friends and he's not going to go down kicking and screaming when he's being invited out (even if invited is a very loose way of describing it.)

Peter is still grinning to himself when he reaches his room.

He comes back downstairs in a charcoal sweater with a red, black, and white plaid shirt underneath that's evident by the crooked collar and sleeves not covered by the sweater. He has on tight jeans and a black beanie that he thinks look casual enough even though Wade snorts at him when he comes downstairs.