For RockRoy- Is that my shirt? Marvel edition! Be warned, I've never written anything Marvel before, so if they're OC-ish, SORRY! I LOVE MARVEL REALLY, HONEST! Deadpool! ^_^

As usual, Clint was the first to rise, this time awoken by his stomach growling. He could smell pancakes, but it was still dark out, the sun barely close to the horizon. With a frown, he dropped from his night time perch and recovered his favoured weapons, sliding his feet soundlessly across the floor. He hurried down the steps on light feet and rounded the corner, pressing his shoulder to the wall and nocking an arrow.

The kitchen light was on, the heavenly scent of pancakes torturing his senses. He could hear someone humming what sounded like the Spice Girls, a shadow flitting across the square of pale illumination on the hall floor. Clint straightened his spine, tipping his head forward to peer around the edge. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, running a million possibilites through his head, deciding a inhibiting shot for each one. Instead, he got him.

Ooh, they all knew about him, they kept tabs on him as best they could. Spiderman moreso, the webbed warrior tangled with this nutcase more than he cared to acknowledge.

"Deadpool."

"Clinty, baby!" Clint groaned in annoyance, rising and flicking the lights on. "I made breakfast!" Deadpool threw his arms wide, beaming under his mask. He wore a full body apron reading Kiss the Pool, his arms bare and as scarred as ever. He shuffled about in Hello Kitty socks without a care in the world. Clint wasn't too worried about that though- Tony was going to have a fit. Every surface in the kitchen was covered in tottering towers of pancakes, all golden and perfectly round, the ones at the top steaming gently, the whole delicious aroma making Clint's stomach growl again, relentlessly. Deadpool rolled up his mask, mischievous grin in place. "I'd give you a plate, but I've lost them."

"How did you make so many and why did you make so many at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Why do you sound surprised?" Deadpool took a stack and carried them over, dumping them in his friend's arms. "Now, where are the others? These pancakes aren't going to eat themselves!"

"Natasha's going to shoot you."

"Healing factor." Deadpool bounced out. Clint sighed, but bowed his head to sample a pancake all the same. Say what you like about Deadpool, but his pancakes were the best.

When the gunshot sounded, Clint didn't even startle. He was on his third pancake by then. If Deadpool hadn't woken anyone up by then, his ranting and swearing did, followed by his wailing and Natasha kicking him- literally- from the room. Clint rambled out, quite enjoying this. Deadpool was a heap of tangled limbs on the floor, muttering under his breath, a bullet hole healing at the base of his throat.

"I did warn you." Clint smirked. Deadpool said nothing, rolling onto his front and clumsily pushing himself up. Natasha appeared in the doorway, squinting at Deadpool, gun pointed steadyingly at his head. A clatter from upstairs and Bruce stumbled onto the landing in his over-sized pyjamas, yawning. Steve appeared beside him, giving the invader a curious look.

"How did you get in here?" He asked.

"For me to know and you to never find out. On an unrelated note, your bathrooms are astounding." Steve sighed, nodding at the archer who went to check. He patted Bruce on the shoulder and hopped over the railings. "Wow, no superhero landing. I wasn't expecting that."

"What do you want?"

"I made breakfast! And buried your kitchen as a result, but hey." The red-clad mercenary shrugged and smiled. Natasha flipped a knife from her sleeve and slashed at him, cutting the apron from him in two swift movements.

"Is that my shirt?" She demanded.

"I find it flattering." Deadpool struck a pose, leaning forward slightly with one hand on his hip and the other blowing a kiss to the captain. Steve dropped his head into his hand, mumbling incoherently. Natasha was toying with the blade in her left, the butt of her gun bouncing restlessly against her thigh. Deadpool had 'borrowed' one of her SHIELD T-shirts, navy blue and short-sleeved with the logo on the back. It fit Natasha perfectly, but was tight on him, a little too tight. This didn't stop him flexing and posing like no tomorrow, dropping careless pick-up lines and flirting shamelessly with Steve and then Clint when he returned. He tried one on the redhead; she put a bullet through his knee and kicked him over.

"It's three o'clock in the morning. If there is any time for you, it definitely isn't now." She whirled on her heel and flounced back into her room, kicking the door shut behind her.

"I might keep this." Deadpool said from where he lay, patting himself on the chest.

"Why?" Clint sighed.

"Souvenior."

"Go home, Deadpool." Steve advised.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I am home!"

"NO!" Natasha burst from her room in a blur of scarlet, gun blazing, eyes furious. Steve and Clint backpedaled hastily. Bruce was snoozing against the bannister, propped up on his elbows. He opened an eye lazily to survey the mayhem, saw Tony emerge from the workshop with his repulsors. The mechanic stopped short, having not expected Deadpool either. He looked up at Bruce, brow raised. Bruce just shrugged. Natasha had run out of bullets, threw aside her gun and pounced, cat-like. Deadpool wailed.

"Get back!" He demanded, scrambling as quickly as he could peppered with bullets. "Oh, if only the writer could think of something more creative, I may just live to eat my breakfast!"

As I said, I've never written Marvel before. Sorry if this is pants!