Chapter Text
As Tony Masters drifted in and out of consciousness, fragmented memories of the chaotic job he had taken on with his family flickered through his mind. Although the details eluded him, snippets of voices echoed, their urgency cutting through the haze of confusion.
“I’m setting off the explosives!” Wade shouted, his voice rising above the tumult.
“Wait, what explosives? Wilson, you never mentioned anything about explosives!” Taskmaster yelled, panic threading into his tone as he fought against an unseen opponent. His sword flashed in the dim light, parrying blow after blow, adrenaline coursing through him. A glance revealed Deadpool, the mercenary clad in his iconic red and black, gleefully waving a detonator as if it were a toy.
“Goddamn it, 'Pool!” Tony barked, frustration boiling over at his partner’s reckless abandon.
“You worry too much, Tasky! It’s all fine!” Deadpool retorted, leaping off Princess, the massive symbiotic creature who relished the thrill of the fight. Her presence was both intimidating and oddly comforting as she engaged their foes with insatiable hunger.
“Dads, argue later! We have to finish the job!” shouted Ellie, her voice slicing through the chaos like a knife, grounding him for a split second.
The industrial complex buzzed with danger; several opponents lurked in the shadows, and blinking lights on the tall pillars warned of imminent doom. Tony’s mind struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. Was it mercenary work? What job were they on? The details were murky. All he knew was that they needed money, right?
Wait, who was “we”? His thoughts spiralled as he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him.
“Bombs away!” Deadpool’s gleeful announcement was unmistakable, and in the next instant, a deafening explosion ripped through the air. The force of it hurled Tony backward, and he felt his head collide violently with the cold, unforgiving concrete floor.
“Papa! Bad fire explosion!” Princess hissed, concern lacing her voice, her instincts as a protector kicking in.
“Dad? Dad!” Ellie’s panicked voice cut through the fog of pain, urgency igniting a flicker of clarity in his mind. He remembered struggling to rise and make sense of the surrounding chaos—
“Tony! Shit… Tony, I’m sorry!” Wade’s voice was laced with anxiety as he rushed to Tony’s side, attempting to pull him to his feet. Every movement sent shockwaves of agony through Tony’s body, and he fought to articulate his thoughts. Still, his mind was slipping, darkness beckoning him.
He clutched his stomach, doubling over as nausea overwhelmed him. Unbelievable waves of vertigo washed over him, and all he could think was that he needed to sit down, to find sanctuary from the explosions that filled his mind—no more chaos, just quiet.
“No, no, no sleep! Princess has got you,” Princess declared, her voice urgent.
“What’s wrong with him? Dad, what did you do?” Ellie’s distress was palpable as she tried to anchor them in the present, shielding them from the looming uncertainty.
Tony fought against exhaustion and the pull of unconsciousness, but it was a losing battle. His senses jolted him awake, his head pounding with an intensity that felt like a jackhammer against his skull. This was not a hangover—no, it was something far more brutal.
Sitting up slowly, he surveyed his surroundings, his body protesting with every movement. Soreness radiated from every inch of him. Disoriented, he realized he was no longer in the thick of battle; instead, he found himself sprawled on a couch—reality settling around him.
Someone had covered him with a light blanket; he could feel the soft, warm fabric against his skin. A chill crept down his back, contrasting sharply with the sharp sting of burn injuries. Second degree at the least—maybe even third? How did he know that…?
He moved his uninjured arm to prop himself up and realized that someone had cut off his clothes. The man couldn’t remember much right now—not his name, age, or where he was—but he knew he didn’t like being so exposed. His vision pulsed with each movement, threatening to drag him back into unconsciousness.
As his vision adjusted, he noticed three anxious faces hovering over him. Behind them, he spotted an unusual sight—a giant creature resembling a red dog crossed with a cat, its wide eyes filled with concern. No one else seemed to care about the strange, giant, dog-like creature, so he chose to ignore it for now.
“He’s awake,” announced a man with black hair, his steady gaze piercing through the dim light of the room.
“Oh my gosh, Dad!” exclaimed a teenage girl, her voice a soft amalgamation of relief and panic. Her features, reminiscent of Latina heritage, lit up with joy as she rushed forward. “You’re awake! It’s been hours.” She enveloped the man in a tight embrace, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders as she held him.
As he blinked confused, a wave of unfamiliarity washed over him. Who was this girl? Suddenly, he realized: she must be his daughter. Instinctively, a deep, protective love surged within him, even as he struggled to recall her name or any memories that would connect them.
“Sorry, I can’t remember your name, honey,” he managed to say, his voice thick with uncertainty. “But I don’t know who I am either.” The admission clawed at his heart, sending a shiver of anxiety through him.
“Oh no, Dad, that’s not good—” she began, her brows knitting together with concern. Just then, a low, uncomfortable voice cut through the tension.
“Tasky?” the voice asked tentatively. The question belonged to another man standing nearby, his expression laced with worry.
“What did you do, ‘Pool?” Tony muttered instinctively, the name spilling from his lips before he could even process it. The final figure before him, a man dressed in a vibrant, '90s-style graphic t-shirt adorned with cartoon characters, was none other than Deadpool, an oddly familiar yet bizarre presence in his moment of amnesia.
“Why do I know you but not anything else?” Tony questioned, confusion tightening his chest like a vice. “Tasky… that’s me, then?”
“Uh-oh, okay, Wade,” the dark-haired man—now identified as Doug—responded, his tone shifting to a more serious note. “You said he was caught in the explosion, and that the blast knocked him back hard?” He shone a flashlight into Tony’s eyes, prompting an instinctive flinch. The bright light pierced through his foggy head, and he groaned in pain, fighting the overwhelming urge to swat it away.
“Yes, that’s about right,” Deadpool nodded vigorously, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It was absolutely an accident, but hey, on the bright side, Tasky is alive and kicking. So, it’s all good, right?”
“Tasky… I’m Taskmaster,” Tony said, his voice clipped and bewildered as he sat up a little, the urgency of the moment sinking in. A wave of confusion crashed over him. “Forget about the job! What the hell happened? Why can’t I remember anything? And why am I naked on this couch?”
“You have a blanket, you’re not totally naked. Don’t worry!” Deadpool chuckled, waving his hands dismissively. “And hey, no one saw anything they hadn’t seen before! Which definitely means that I may have stripped you down, sweetums!” He shot a wink, clearly masking his relief with chaotic humour.
With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Tony attempted to tackle Wade. Still, his legs betrayed him, buckling beneath him as he stumbled back into the plush pillows of the couch.
“Easy there, Tony,” Doug interjected, his voice calm yet authoritative, as he stepped in closer, ready to stabilize Tony if needed. “You’ve got a concussion. Just take a moment to breathe and rest, alright?” His tone was soothing, almost paternal, as if he understood that Tony needed reassurance amidst the storm of confusion.
“No, no, wait!” Tony's voice strained with urgency, his brow furrowing deeper with each thought. “Wade, you blew me up!” He pointed an injured arm at the mercenary, anger mingling with disbelief. “You blew me up! What were you thinking, you idiot?” His frustration echoed through the room, a mix of fear and anger flaring, desperate for answers he couldn’t quite grasp.
“He's mad at me! Oh, Tony, you’re going to be fine!” Wade threw his arms around Tony, but the embrace only made him wince, a mix of affection and suffering rising in his chest.
“You’re a terrible partner, Wade,” Tony muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with frustration yet softened by a flicker of fondness.
“Love you too, Tasky,” Wade replied playfully, misinterpreting the gravity of the moment and returning the melancholy with light-heartedness.
And just like that, exhaustion claimed him once more, dragging him back into the embrace of oblivion.
--
Over the following weeks, Tony found himself stuck in an unyielding routine of rest, physiotherapy, and cognitive exercises—a reality he loathed with every fibre of his being. Each session felt like a form of torment, stretching time into an agonizingly dull continuum that seemed closer to punishment than rehabilitation. Three times a day, he endured a gruelling half-hour of physiotherapy exercises that felt more like an insult to his battered body than a path to recovery.
After those sessions, Ellie, his ever-determined caretaker, insisted on a series of mental drills. They played Boggle, solved intricate word puzzles, tried their hand at solitaire, and even attempted to decode Hart charts that often seemed designed to confuse rather than engage.
While he found some solace in the slower-paced walks with Wade, enjoying the opportunity for one-on-one connection, those moments were fleeting amidst the relentless monotony of his routine. The drills were repetitive and increasingly mundane, each exercise blending seamlessly into the next until it all turned into a fog of irritation.
Given the precautions in place, he couldn’t use his phone, as the brightness triggered debilitating migraines. Watching TV was off-limits for the same reason—a cruel irony, as the outside world continued without him. He could listen to podcasts, but even that seemed less appealing these days. To top it all off, Wade had confiscated all his weapons, invoking a heavy-handed “safety” policy because he was “getting too stabby.”
Doug, ever the diligent observer, meticulously recorded Tony’s progress and shared it with the family. Wade transformed the resulting details into a cheerfully illustrated sticker chart labelled “Look how well you are recovering.” Sure, the burns and injuries were healing—scars and blisters fading from sight—but the cognitive struggles and persistent headaches earned him very few stickers, a fact that gnawed at Tony’s already frayed nerves.
Tony was trying to pretend he didn't have a headache as he played solitaire by himself in the living room. Eventually, he found himself flicking cards at various objects, practicing his throwing skills while imitating the heroes he had seen in the past. As he continued with his game, he heard Princess padding into the room.
Princess nudged him, wagging her tail. “Papa wants to play board games. Pick one!”
“Princess, I don't want to play a board game,” Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“Please play, please play,” Princess insisted, nudging Tony toward the games shelf and encouraging him to choose something from their collection.
Family game night had become a nightly ritual, always centred on “thinking” games like Catan, Ticket to Ride, Codenames, or Chess. They might have disguised their intentions with painted smiles and innocent excuses, but Tony was well aware of the underlying worries driving their behaviour. At this point, he would even consider playing strip poker if it meant breaking free from this monotonous cycle. Just one glimmer of excitement would be enough.
After playing chess for the hundredth time with Princess, Tony made an excuse to do something else. He was immediately grabbed by Ellie for physiotherapy and whisked to the kitchen. In the kitchen, Doug was tapping away on his laptop while Ellie guided Tony through yet another tedious physiotherapy session. They had put her in charge, knowing he was less likely to lash out at her than anyone else.
“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, frustration clear in his tone as he shook his head, following Ellie’s finger with his gaze. “This can’t be real; it’s all just nonsense.” Ellie, standing nearby with concern etched on her face, shook her head disapprovingly.
“It’s real, Dad, I promise.”
“Don’t call me Dad,” Tony snapped back, the words escaping his lips more out of habit than genuine anger. Just then, Deadpool burst onto the scene, a whirlwind of chaotic energy, throwing his arms around Tony and nuzzling into his neck affectionately.
“How is Papa Bear today?” he asked with his trademark mischief.
“Don’t call me that either, idiot,” Tony replied. Still, he didn’t push Wade away; a small part of him enjoyed the attention despite his grumpy exterior.
Doug observed the situation closely from the side. He handed over Tony's progress report with the detached demeanour of a physician. “His vertigo seems to be clearing up, but his muscle stiffness is significant. As for cognitive functions, well, Tony has always struggled with memory issues, and after these injuries, we’ll need more time to assess if he can still acquire new skills.”
“I’m right here, Doug! Talk to me like I’m here, asshole!” Tony interjected, frustration boiling over.
Doug’s expression hardened. “Tony, we were speaking to you. Look at the clock on the wall. We had a conversation, and then I began to summarize it. You keep downplaying your symptoms. You won’t recover if you keep pushing yourself. You need to take this seriously.”
In a defiant act of rebellion, Tony flipped Doug off with an exaggerated flourish, the gesture encapsulating his pent-up anger and frustration. He refused to look at the kitchen clock; he didn’t need to be gaslit.
“Okay, you’re getting much too grumpy now. Come on, I’m taking you back to our room.” Wade’s tone was firm yet gentle as he tugged Tony along toward their shared bedroom, with Tony protesting the entire way loudly.
As they entered the room, Wade closed the door softly behind them, effectively muffling the outside world. He guided Tony to sit on the bed across from Deadpool's, the two having carved out a cozy yet chaotic space within their shared lives. The room was a patchwork of their personalities—Wade’s vibrant, scattered wardrobe, a desk cluttered with Taskmaster's gear, and an overflowing shelf crammed with Wade's eclectic collection of pop-culture merchandise, each item telling its own story. It felt lived-in and chaotic, but undeniably theirs.
Wade gently grabbed the box of bandages and ointments he used on Tony. Deadpool and Taskmaster often helped one another with field injuries and their aftercare.
“You should apologize to the girls and Doug later, Tasky. You can hurt me all you want, but you're really starting to upset the rest of our family.”
“Maybe if you all backed off—” Tony began defensively, anger seeping into his tone.
“Tony…” Wade interrupted, giving a gentle shake of his head. He carefully lifted off Tony's blue graphic tee, revealing the colourful bruises and angry burns that marred his skin. Each mark told a painful story of a mission gone wrong.
“I’m not—look, it’s not like that! I’m perfectly fine! I don’t need any of this—”
With an exasperated sigh, Wade interjected, “Think back to what you said to Doug in the kitchen.” He tried to keep his voice calm, knowing how easily Tony’s frustration could spiral.
“I asked him to stop acting like I wasn’t there,” Tony replied, irritation lacing his words like a bitter aftertaste. As Wade meticulously unwrapped the dressings on Tony’s arm, he dabbed the healing burns with ointment, using a gentle touch.
“Yeah, but you also insisted three times that you needed him to gather intel for an upcoming job—the same job where you got hurt. Then you told him he doesn't listen to you and called him some very colourful names. You keep repeating yourself to Ellie and me. And you even refused to play chess with Princess! Tasky, you need to rest.”
“Princess sucks at chess,” Tony mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, but Wade could see the cracks in his bravado.
“Oh, sure, she does. But you can pretend to enjoy it to help her self-esteem,” Wade countered, a teasing grin breaking through his concern.
Tony watched as Wade focused intently on redressing his arm, the quiet intimacy of their shared moments anchoring him amid the swirling emotions. It was a familiar routine, one that soothed him even when he felt adrift.
“You sure it was three? Three times… I don't remember that,” Tony murmured, casting his gaze to the bright pink Hello Kitty alarm clock perched on Wade's bedside table. The clock's fluorescent numbers changed from 2:03 p.m. to 2:25 p.m. in what felt like a heartbeat, confusion settling over him.
“Wade, I’m losing time,” he said, fear creeping into his voice, making it tremble.
“I know,” Wade replied, applying ointment to Tony’s neck and taking extra care to avoid the tender blisters that flared with pain. He could feel Tony tense beneath his fingers.
“Look, I—” Tony paused, his earlier bravado cracking under the weight of his vulnerability. “Wade… I’m not good at asking for help. Can you stay? I mean—obviously, you have jobs to take care of, but—”
“Actually, money isn’t a huge problem right now,” Wade replied, his fingers running soothingly through Tony’s hair, the gesture both calming and affectionate.
“Hey, idiot?” Tony said, his voice softer now, a hint of warmth returning.
“Yes, Papa Bear?” Wade teased lightly, though his eyes held sincerity.
“Do you mind… sitting with me for a bit, in bed? Jus' here?” Tony asked, his tone almost shy, as if the request felt vulnerable.
“Are you asking for snuggles?” Wade teased, a playful grin spreading across his face as he sat on the edge of the bed, the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting a soft halo around him.
“Yes,” Tony admitted, the vulnerability in his voice breaking through his tough exterior. He felt the walls he often built around himself crumble slightly in Wade's presence. With gentle care, Wade helped Tony into the bed, his smile widening with joy as he settled in behind him. He wrapped his arms around Tony in a protective spoon, their bodies moulding together effortlessly.
As Wade stroked Tony’s hair in a soothing rhythm, he murmured, “I love you, Tony,” his voice barely above a whisper but thick with sincerity.
“Yeah, I know,” Tony replied, a small, affectionate smile creeping onto his lips. The simplicity of their exchange felt comforting; it felt like home. “You have to say it back, or I’ll tell Doug you need extra cognitive rehab!”
Wade half-joked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, Tony relented, rolling his eyes playfully.
“Fine… I love you too, Wade. Stupid. I shouldn’t have to say that; we’ve been together for almost fifteen years now.” He felt a warmth spread through him at the prospect of their long history. Wade tightened his hold, their fingers intertwining as he smiled contentedly.
“On and off,” Wade added with a smirk, playfully challenging him. “I mean, I might see someone new here and there, but our relationship is rock solid. Surprisingly, it never bothered you. I expected you to be possessive.”
Tony rolled his eyes theatrically. “Just because it’s an open relationship doesn’t mean I don’t love you. We both have demanding jobs. When you’re with me, I’m happy. And when you’re off with someone else, that’s fine too. I want you to feel fulfilled, and if that means spending time apart and seeing other people, then whatever.”
“So you’re happy if I’m happy?” Wade asked, his tone shifting to reflect the sincerity in his heart.
“Basically. I like it best when you’re with me, but I understand that it’s not a threat to our bond.” Tony’s voice was firm, reassuring both himself and Wade of the strength of their connection. Wade wrapped his arms around Tony more tightly, feeling like the luckiest guy alive.
“You’re my number one, Tasky,” he declared proudly, the nickname bringing with it an easy sense of familiarity and love.
“Don’t say it like that,” Tony grumbled, yet a smile tugged at his lips, the warmth of the moment breaking through his faux annoyance. Tony squirmed playfully, prompting Wade to nuzzle him affectionately, their laughter brightening the atmosphere.
After a brief and playful struggle, Tony rolled over, meeting Wade’s gaze directly. The intensity of Wade’s warmth and admiration was palpable, and something in Tony’s heart softened further at the sight. As they touched foreheads, Tony closed his eyes, savouring the tenderness that enveloped them—a quiet reverie that bound them together in that peaceful moment.
Wade broke the comfortable silence that hung in the air. “In all seriousness, Tony, I’m truly grateful for this family we’ve built together. I know you’re hesitant about long-term commitments, but I want to be with you now, to raise our daughters as a team, hang out with Doug, take bubble baths, and maybe even pick out matching outfits—”
“Wade?” Tony interrupted, amusement dancing in his eyes as he shook his head slightly.
“Yes, Tony?”
“Shut up,” he said, his tone light but firm.
“Okay,” Wade agreed, a mischievous smirk on his face as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Tony’s lips. The warmth of their affection enveloped the room, creating a gentle aura filled with laughter and intimacy.
As they lounged together, exchanging sweet kisses and soft caresses, Wade’s hands began to roam playfully over Tony’s body. Tony laughed, a melodic sound that filled the air with joy, playfully swatting Wade's hands away as they enjoyed the affectionate banter that danced between them like a familiar rhythm.
Soon, the soothing lull of the moment wrapped around Tony, drawing him into a tranquil slumber, his breathing becoming soft and steady. Wade, noticing his partner's peacefulness, tenderly pulled a cozy blanket over him, considering retrieving the stuffed unicorn from the other bed—its vibrant colours a perfect match for the whimsical spirit they both cherished.
Wade reflected, “Tony may put on a façade of grumpiness, but beneath that tough exterior lies a heart that adores the Spice Girls, revels in matching outfits, and finds comfort in snuggling with the large unicorn plushie.”
Propping himself up, Wade gazed down at Tony, his heart swelling with a mixture of admiration and profound sorrow. He gently brushed his fingers against Tony’s face, tracing the delicate contours while feeling the rough texture of scarred skin—a testament to the struggles Tony had endured. Those scars whispered stories of battles fought, wounds inflicted not by the world but by Wade’s own reckless choices. And yet, astonishingly, Tony had never placed blame on him; he had never spoken of the pain.
“I’m so sorry I did this to you, Tony,” Wade whispered, his voice thick with emotion as it barely made it past the lump in his throat. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I wish I could erase it all, but the reality is, it’s there, and I can’t change that.”
With a heavy sigh that seemed to echo the weight of his regrets, Wade came to terms with the impulsivity that often dictated his actions, understanding the chaos it had spiralled into for them both. In the depths of his sorrow, however, there lay an aching gratitude for the love they shared—a fierce, unyielding bond that had weathered countless struggles and emerged, battered but beautiful.