There were some unexpected perks that came along with an association with Deadpool. Most significant was the fact that the crazy bastard had more money than he knew what to do with and spent it in the strangest ways possible. Like buying a junker car and filling the trunk with 200 boxes of Twinkies and twenty boxes of expensive booze. No room in the trunk for weapons.

Deadpool did not part with his weapons. Ever.

The normal rule was to keep any potential attention grabbing items stowed away. But when Dean suggested that Deadpool store his blades and guns, the merc just patted him on the head and called him "adorable".

Now, they were in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in New Mexico, and the junker-a newer model Impala that made Dean's skin crawl just to sit in-was starting to overheat. There was a sputtering sound, then a puff of white smoke billowed out from under the hood.

"This would never happen with Baby," Dean growled as he took the key out of the ignition.

Deadpool shrugged. "Nothing happens by accident, Chester. This is the Universe telling us to take a stroll."

The mercenary got out of the car, already singing "A Horse With No Name" when he shut the door. Dean got out, watching as Deadpool opened the trunk and pulled out a box of Twinkies and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black.

Dean did his best to suppress the annoyance, as he asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting supplies for our little jaunt," Deadpool answered, like it was completely obvious. Deadpool lifted the bottom of his mask, revealing his scarred and puckered chin as he stuffed a whole Twinkie in his mouth. The chin was the only part the mercenary ever uncovered. He washed it down with a long pull of whiskey, then stuck the rest of the twinkies in one of the many pouches on his belt.

"We're hell and gone from anywhere," Dean almost shouted. "We have no water. It's hot as fuck. We're not walking anywhere."

"After three days in the desert sun, my skin began to turn red," Deadpool's off key voice sang as they topped a small hill overlooking a vast valley of nothing and yet more nothing. He was on his 10th or 100th round of the song, and Dean was ready to smash the merc's head with a rock. "And the story it told of a river that flowed, made me sad to think it was dead... I've been through the desert on a horse with no name…"

Dean's mouth was getting dry, but not as dry as it should be. He knew, deep down, that death by dehydration wasn't possible. His Demon Soul would keep his body going, though he wondered if this could be the end of his meatsuit. He was drinking too much whiskey and Deadpool was leaving a trail of Twinkie wrappers that would make Sam's eye twitch.

Idly, Dean wondered what Sam would make of the merc. Without a doubt he would be fascinated by Deadpool's swords, with the exotic symbols etched into the blades. Dean got a close look at them one evening while the merc was cleaning his weapons. Some of the symbols were similar to the one's on Ruby's knife, but others were obviously Enochian. Others, Dean had no clue. He thought about asking, but decided it might be too personal. Hunters were often cagey with the secrets of their weapons.

Other than the weapons, Sam would probably want to sit down with Deadpool and try to puzzle out the meaning behind the voices. Sam was the type to care about someone's mental health state. Sam liked to fix people. Sam cared.

Dean, on the other hand, wanted to punch Deadpool as the merc blissfully sang his way across the desert, and with the voices in his head providing the soundtrack, it was like listening to a one-man karaoke machine. Dean hated karaoke.

"...And a perfect disguise above. Under the cities lies a heart made of ground, But the humans will give no love."

"Shut up!" Dean finally shouted.

Deadpool froze, a Twinkie en route to his mouth. His mouth twisted as a scarred lip pooched out, like a chastised toddler.

White said, "You are being excessively annoying."

"Chester just doesn't appreciate excellent music," Yellow defended. "Keep singing!"

"Dean is our friend. We don't want to piss him off!" White snapped back.

Dean jammed a finger in Deadpool's chest, and said, "Get this straight, you frikken psychopath. We're not friends. We're working together. That's. It. Once this Vetis fucker is dealt with, you go your way. I'll go mine. Capisce?"

Deadpool and the voices in his head was silent. He just pulled his mask back over his chin, and continued walking. But his gait was stiff and sluggish, nothing like the way he was practically dancing along before.

Now with only the deafening silence of the breathless desert, Dean almost wanted the song to continue.

But before he could tamp down his pride and muster up the give-a-damn to apologize, he felt a tingling in the back of his skull. It was sort of like when he was near demons, but different. Then he heard an engine, and turned around to see an old truck rumbling their direction.

"Deadpool!" Dean gruffed, getting the merc's attention. "We've got company."

The merc spun on his heels, white eyes narrowing to study the truck as it slowed and came to a stop beside them. The man in the truck didn't smell like a demon, didn't look menacing except for the way he scowled at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. His eyes darted to Deadpool for only a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching beneath his beard.

Dean looked like he'd seen a ghost, his voice haunted and eyes wide as he said, "Cain?"

The two Knights of Hell stared at each other, their faces stoney reflections of the other.

Deadpool slapped his hand on the hood of the truck, causing both men to look at him as he said, "How about a ride?"

Cain lived in a small adobe house just a couple miles down the road from where the truck stopped. Dean opted to ride in the truck bed, not wanting to be enclosed in a tiny space with the Father of Murder, whom made him promise to kill him someday. This encounter was...unnerving. Unwanted. The Mark did not itch like it did when there were demons around, when he was needing to kill. He didn't want to kill Cain.

Thus, Deadpool was in the cab of the truck, and when they came to a stop in front of the small house, Dean didn't know what to think when Cain hopped out of the truck laughing like he just heard the funniest joke in creation. Deadpool's usual mirth seemed back in place as he finished whatever story with, "...and that's how my first marriage sorta went nuts."

"You are a character, Mr. Wilson," Cain said, wiping a tear from his cheek. With a nod of his head in Dean's direction, he asked, "What are you doing with him?"

"Chester's helping me take care of a demon problem," Deadpool answered, the humor suddenly vacant from his voice. Dean didn't like the tone or the cold look in his eyes as he added, "We're not friends. Just working together."

"I imagine Mr. Winchester has very few friends now," Cain said, his eyes just as cold as the merc's. "Please, come inside, gentlemen. I'm sure we have a lot to discuss."