Having dinner in the house of a man famous as the Father of Murder would probably be intimidating for anyone on Planet Earth-unless you count Wade Wilson. The merc sat to the right of Cain, his mask pulled up to his nose as he feasted, his mouth only seeming to close to swallow or take a drink. Countless times, Dean thought about telling him to shut up (again), but considering that Cain kept asking the man questions and laughing at his stories, it seemed horribly rude. And if there was one thing Cain didn't like, it was rude behavior.

So Dean politely poked at his food, spending most of the meal just nodding as if he was paying attention, and wondering when the ball would drop. What would Deadpool do when Cain asked for death? The two seemed to becoming friends.

"What do you think, Dean?"

Dean shook his head, realizing that Cain was addressing him. He hadn't been paying attention. At all, too wrapped up in his own misery. He searched the man's face, trying to remember the slightest thing from the conversation at the other end of the table.

"Dean's not much for conversation," Deadpool said as he popped a piece of cheese into his mouth.

Cain nodded sagely. "You are certainly a special case, Mr. Winchester."

Dean tried to keep his tone neutral as he said, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Behold the butthurt of the Chester in his not-native environment," Yellow said in a mock whisper.

"Excuse me?" Dean growled at Deadpool. "You think you're fuckin' funny?"

Cain glared Dean down, and said, "You watch your language at my table, boy."

"Yeah!" Yellow bellowed. "Watch your fuckin' language!"

White warned, "Don't be an antagonist. Not until we decide whether or not we should kill him."

Dean stood up. Pointing at Deadpool, he said, "You think that is okay?"

Cain's brow furrowed. He looked at the merc, his eyes going back to Dean. "I see nothing wrong with Mr. Wilson. He's not the one making an ass of himself."

"It's Yellow and White," Deadpool said, slowly pulling his mask back down. Dean was starting to realize he did that when he felt awkward, or defensive. His voice was subdued, like it had been along the road. "They are the boxes in my head. They don't like Dean much right now."

"Then me and the boxes have something in common, Wade," Cain said as he stood. He placed a hand on Deadpool's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. Fatherly, almost. Then he gestured to the door with a nod of his head, and said, "Come with me Dean. We need to talk, Knight to Knight."

Dean swallowed hard, and suddenly felt like he was being taken to the principal's office. He walked out the door first, his hand surreptitiously touching the First Blade. Consciously, he knew that Cain couldn't hurt him. Not without the Mark. Not now.

The view out the backdoor was beautiful at sunset. The desert was painted in red and gold, the sky turning purple in the fading light. A group of deer were slowly grazing on the dried vegetation not even 50 feet away from the stone porch. In the distance, a chorus of coyotes began to howl. Dean noticed with a twitch of a smile, that there were six bee boxes near Cain's small pepper garden.

"Let it never be said, Dean, that you keep anything less than interesting company," Cain said after a minute or two of silence. He stared off towards the horizon, stroking his beard. "Why do people call him 'Deadpool'?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know, really. Just what he calls himself, I guess."

Cain turned to him. "And what do you call yourself, Dean?"

His brow furrowed. "I, uh…"

"That cologne you wear doesn't quite hide the scent of sulfur." Cain leaned forward, giving a quick sniff, before adding, "And those green eyes don't exactly hide the blackness."

Dean almost shouted, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cain huffed a laugh. "Tell you what? The whole damn story? Could it be because you invaded my home? Blew my cover? Brought a horde of demons to my sanctuary?"

With a roll of his eyes, Dean said, "I know. But...You said a 'great burden'. You could have just as easily said, 'this is going to turn you into a demon', and I would have gotten the idea."

There was a small, leather-bound book laying on the porch railing, a pen clipped to the cover. Cain picked it up and handed it to Dean. It was filled with Cain's elegant handwriting, pages and pages of notes and sketches.

Dean looked at him, a question on his lips.

"Consider it a manual," Cain said softly. "I've been writing it since I came down here because I knew someday I would see you again."

Dean closed the book, his eyes never leaving the cover as he said, "You said you would call me so that I could kill you."

"Yes. That's what I said." Cain smiled, but it was a sad expression on his face. "That is not why you are here. This encounter, against all odds, is a coincidence. A fortunate coincidence, considering you're hunting Vetis."

"When did…?" Dean started.

Cain answered, "When you were brooding over your peas, Wade and I discussed your planned hunt. Which, might I say, is a very ambitious project, considering Vetis is almost as powerful as Lucifer."

Dean didn't even try to hide the surprise in his voice. "How is that even possible?"

"Did you ever read the Bible?" Cain said blandly. "There were many angels that fell with Lucifer. That arrogant ass is the only one mentioned by name. He was an archangel, so naturally he was their leader."

"But he was defeated, put in the Cage?"

"That's right." Cain's voice had the tone one might use with a stubborn child. "But the other fallen angels were cast down to Hell with him. Not caged, but not exactly free either. It was the angels that made Hell the jolly place it is today. They trained the first demons in the art of torture, found ways around the body permissions that Angels require for possession. Vetis is one of them, and there are a helluvalot more than just Vetis to contend with."

"Will the First Blade kill a fallen angel?" Dean asked, hopeful.

Cain shrugged. "Don't know, really. Never tried. I may be the Father of Murder, but I've never been to Hell. I will, eventually. But not yet." He paused a moment, looking out over the darkening hills.

After the silence became almost unbearable, Dean asked, "How will I know if you are calling?"

He tapped the cover of the book, and said, "When I call you, you'll know it. You'll feel it like an uncontrollable urge to go. And you will be pulled through the Cosmos to wherever I am."

Leaning close, his voice soft, he added, "Do not forget yourself, Dean. The reason I gave you the Mark was two fold. First, yeah, I could see you were a killer. But also, I could see something in you that was incorruptible. I hope you hold on to that."

Then he gave Dean a slap on the back, and said, "Come back inside. Your body needs rest."

The table was cleared when they reentered the house, and Deadpool was at the sink washing dishes, whistling the tune to "Little Boxes" as he swished suds across the frying pan. His gloves were tucked neatly in his weapon belt and the sleeves of his costume were rolled up to his elbows, revealing skin that was covered in scars and burns.

Cain grabbed a coffee cup from the rack near the sink, offering a soft, "Thank you, Wade," as he poured himself a cup from the metal pot on the stove. Deadpool didn't pause in his whistling or scrubbing, but seemed to relax his posture a little.

"We should do more nice things for bearded men," Yellow said almost wistfully.

"Stop crushing on biblical figures. It's not professional," White said.

"We're not only nice to the people we want to have sex with," Yellow said defensively.

White was obviously not in agreement, saying, "Name one person…"

"That old lady in New York," Deadpool said out loud, causing Cain to look at him strangely.

Dean's brow scrunched. "Don't you hear them?"

Cain shrugged. "No, I'm sorry. I guess I don't." He gently touched Deadpools elbow, getting his attention. "What are you hearing, son?"

"The coyotes, your radio in the other room, the wind in the willows…"

Patiently, Cain asked, "In your mind, Wade."

Dean sat at the table, watching Deadpool struggle with putting things into words. He could talk for hours about weapons, missions, places he's been, but when it came to the subject of the Boxes, he seemed at a loss for the right way to put it.

"The story, I guess," he answered with a shrug. He put the last dish in the drainer, and unplugged the sink, carefully swishing away all the suds. "They keep me on track. At least White tries to. Sometimes they just point things out that I'm missing. Or things I forgot about from a previous issue."

Cain's brow furrowed. "Issue?"

"Yeah. This is just a story. A comic book, actually." The merc hopped up on the newly cleaned counter, his feet bouncing against the cabinet, his white eyes averted. "This is all a story, and I'm the star. You guys are incidental characters, I imagine. No one ever sticks around in my story. Not for long, at least. Maybe one plot arch. Sometimes making later cameos. But you'll both be gone eventually."

"That sounds awful lonely," Cain said, leaning against the counter beside the merc.

Deadpool shrugged, and answered with forced humor, "Lonely schmonely. There's always another issue." Then he jumped off the counter and struck a pose, and in his Narrator voice, said, "Deadpool, the Merc With A Mouth, a never ending saga!"

Cain and Dean watched him walk out of the kitchen, through the living room towards the front door. After hearing the door close, Cain turned to Dean, and said, "That man is a very special person. Do yourself a favor, and do not push Wade away. I have the feeling you could learn a lot from him, if you would pay attention."

"Learn what? How to be a functional psychopath?" Dean said, his words more sad than insulting.

Cain didn't say anything else. He finished off his cold coffee, rinsed the cup, and walked towards the bedroom, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. More and more, alone with his thoughts was the last place Dean wanted to be, and it wasn't long before he found himself walking out the front door where Deadpool was sitting on the edge of the porch, cleaning his guns as he did religiously every evening before he slept.

After a few minutes of summoning up the nerve, Dean muttered, "I'm sorry, Dea-Wade."

Deadpool paused briefly, then continued what he was doing. "Why?"

"For being a dick," Dean pushed out. "I am a dick pretty much all the time. I've gotten a lot worse about it since I, ya know…"

"Turned into a demon," Deadpool finished.

"Yeah." Dean nodded and jumped down to sit beside the mercenary. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at the ground. "I lost my family and my only friend to this. And I've never been good with people. So, I hope you understand that I'm trying."

"Did you know that there are certain species of cacti that will die if you ever water them? And certain fish, they can't live unless they are at the bottom of the ocean under a lot of pressure. They just explode! " Deadpool sounded almost like a kid telling about his day, except for the deep tone of his voice.

All Dean could manage was, "Huh?"

"You are a prick who needs to be under pressure or you can't function and explode," White explained.

Dean laughed and shook his head.

"He thinks we're funny!" Yellow gushed with floating hearts.

The next morning, the junk Impala was in the driveway and a couple boxes of Twinkies on Cain's table. There was very little said, other than a grunted "Thank you" from Dean and a stern, "Leave me alone" from Cain as they got ready to leave in the cold pre-dawn.

Cain walked over to the passenger's side where Deadpool was sitting, fiddling with his PSP. Cain said, "It was nice to meet you, Wade."

Thinking back, the Merc couldn't remember anyone ever saying that to him. Maybe cursing the day he was born, but never nice-anything. For a moment he was speechless. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of business cards, each emblazoned with the Deadpool logo. He handed one to Cain, and said, "I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, call me maybe?"

Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as the Father of Murder took the mercenary's card, and chuckled as he said, "I might do that." Then looked at Dean, all humor gone. "I don't want to see you again unless I summon."

"Yes, Sir," Dean said. He put the car in drive and they left Cain's patch of land with Deadpool waving a handkerchief out the window and blowing kisses.