"Do we really have to stop here, Wade?" Dean didn't even try to hide the whine in his voice as he slowed the car beside the sign for the Little Ale Inn just outside Roswell. He saw the cheesy alien face in the window, and groaned as he looked at Deadpool.
The mercenary leaned back in the seat, fixing him with a curious look. "It's a landmark, buddy."
"It's a tourist trap," Dean grumbled.
"That's right. And we are tourists." Deadpool patted Dean's leg, then got out of the car, striding towards the door of the alien-themed diner.
Dean sighed heavily, and got out of the car. He could smell the scent of bacon and char-broiled meat, and his mouth watered. His body was starving for something greasy and unhealthy, and he decided he might as well cave to the desire since Wade was already at the counter ordering.
The place was more horrifying on the inside than Dean thought it would be. Nothing but knickknack alien statues, little stuffed green men, and fuzzy pictures of UFO's. After being abducted in Elwood, Indiana, by the fairies, Dean didn't find much desire to be anywhere near a place famous for UFOs. It was unsettling.
After ordering a cheeseburger, he followed Wade to a table by the window, where he had a nice view of absolutely nothing of importance. He noticed that the mercenary had a small pendent in the shape of a UFO attached to the strap that held his swords in place. Even through the mask, Dean could tell that he was smiling.
"Over priced food, and Made in China trinkets," Dean grumbled as he sipped his soda. "God bless America."
"You gotta learn to enjoy the small things, Chester," Deadpool said as he slouched, draping his arm across the back of the seat. "Didn't you ever do this stuff as a kid when you were traveling around with your dad?"
Dean wanted to laugh at the thought of John Winchester making whimsical trips to places like Roswell. He shook his head, and did his best not to sound too bitter as he said, "Nah. My dad was all about the job. We didn't do the family vacation thing, unless you count hunting Werewolves a vacation."
"Not really." The merc pulled his mask up to his nose and took a drink of his soda.
The waitress came by with their food, and once again Dean was astonished by how much food Deadpool consumed. The merc had three double cheeseburgers, an order of onion rings and fries, and a chicken finger basket. Dean had ordered a bacon burger and slice of cherry pie, and wasn't sure if he could even finish that. As he watched Deadpool wolf down his food, he suddenly wished he had an appetite again. Anymore, food was just something he did to maintain his meatsuit, and not because he really enjoyed it.
Dean couldn't hold back from asking, "How can you eat so much?"
"Regeneration, baby," he answered around a mouthful of French fries. "Takes a lot out of me. If I don't have enough on storage, it takes a long time for me to heal." He took a long drink, and belched before adding, "Healing factors are awesome, but you gotta maintain it."
There were times after Castiel had healed his injuries that Dean was completely famished, and he wondered if maybe that was the reason. It wasn't too far fetched, really.
Two more bites, though, and Dean was at his limit. He never even touched the pie, which made him feel sort of sick inside. Pie was his favorite thing. It was a comfort food. But now, comfort wasn't something he really sought, or even felt he deserved. He slid the pie away.
"You gonna eat that?" Deadpool asked, eyebrow raised.
"Nah." Dean pushed it his direction, and said, "I was thinking we need to figure out a plan before we drive any further."
Deadpool shoveled a fork full of flaky, gooey cherry pie into his mouth, and nodded. "Plan. Plans are good."
"Vetis isn't going to be an easy target," Dean started. "And the fact is, I still don't know the full extent of what I'm capable of. Killing demons is something that came kinda natural for me, ya know? Been doing it forever. But there's stuff in Cain's book that I didn't know about. So, I figure we could travel around for a while so I can get a little practice before we go after the big bad."
"Always good to level up before going into a boss battle," Deadpool said as he scooped up more pie. "I've been there, my friend. Waking up something new, not knowing what you're capable of. But at least I had White and Yellow. Kind of gave me direction. Bad directions for a while, but every partnership is rocky in the beginning."
"I've noticed they're being really quiet today," Dean noted.
Deadpool shrugged, but said nothing else on the subject. "So we're going hunting then?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I think that would be a good idea."
"Hunting evil with Dean Winchester," Deadpool said, a cheesy grin on his face. "This is like Dancing With The Stars, only with more bullets." He reached into one of the pouches on his belt, and pulled out a tablet and cell phone, and for a moment Dean was reminded of Sam. Sam was always the one doing the research, always with his nose in his laptop or calling up friends in the Hunter Network to find a case.
Suddenly, Dean started to hate looking at Deadpool. Hated the way he reminded him of Sam, even in the most minute of ways. He wanted to be alone and never have to see anything that came close to his old life. So many times he had complained about his brother, and now Sam was gone, most likely forever.
"I'm gonna go use the can," Dean said, needing to get away from the mercenary. He stomped to the bathroom and shut the door.
The bathroom was cramped, not big enough to pace, and definitely not soundproofed enough for him to scream his lungs out like he wanted to. Dean wanted to punch and thrash and kick, and suddenly the First Blade was practically vibrating at his side, the Mark itching like a red hot rash.
The fury kept building and building until the mirror above the sink started to shake. Then his eyes settled on his reflection, distorted by tremors and warped by the black eyes of a damned soul.
Then Deadpool was there behind him, and Dean only had a moment to react before the mercenary grabbed his shoulder, and the world shifted to a place far from the diner, out in the middle of the desert.
Dean spun around, the First Blade in his hand, eyes black and smouldering with hate as he lunged at the merc. But Deadpool was fast. He wasn't some chump demon. He was lightning in the form of muscle and bone, and his blades were an extension of that raw power. It took no effort to block each swipe.
Deadpool shoved Dean back, a wicked grin under the mask "The hate is strong with you, young jedi."
"Fuck you," Dean spat, raising a hand and throwing Deadpool back with a telekenetic shove.
The merc landed several feet back, rolling gracefully back to his feet, not pausing a moment before diving at the hunter, his katanas cutting through the air fast enough to break the sound barrier, leaving a thin line of red on Dean's throat. It wasn't a fatal stroke; it was a reminder that Deadpool was the stronger fighter.
"I'm going to rip your fucking head off with my bare hands!" Dean growled.
Deadpool laughed. "Stop saying you're going to hit me, and fuckin' hit me, Chester."
Dean bared his teeth, his insides burning with rage and suddenly all he could see was red fire. He reached out with his fury, wrapping Deadpool in his grip. The mercenary let out a strangled sound as his torso split open and his legs warped with a loud crunch. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and blood splattered across the bone dry ground.
For a moment, Dean stood over the body of the mercenary, his breath ragged and hissing through his teeth, the red fading with each pounding heartbeat. And when his head was cleared and he could see what he had done, the rage that had turned his face red evaporated as he blanched and fell to the ground.
"Oh fuck," he gasped as tears stung his eyes. Dean reached towards the eviscerated body, fingers sliding over blood-soaked covering Deadpool's neck in the vain hope that there would be a pulse. "Jesus, Wade. Fuck. What have I…"
"Are you going to scream at the sky now?" came Wade's voice, gurgling through the blood in his mouth.
Dean watched, eyes wide and unblinking as the merc pulled his body back together, stuffing one exposed lung back into his chest cavity, then giving Dean a pleading look as he said, "Would you mind grabbing my liver? I think it's in those bushes over there."
It took a little over an hour, but soon Deadpool was again whole. It was amazing and horrifying to watch. And the sounds...The slick, crackling noises would haunt Dean's dreams, if he could ever sleep again. It was too much like watching the souls in Hell reform at the end of a day of torture. Dean couldn't look Wade in the eyes, not even with the mask on.
The mercenary stood and stretched, his body crackling as the bones completely realigned. He rolled his head on his shoulders, looking down at Dean.
"You feeling better, Chester?" he asked, so much concern in his tone that Dean wanted nothing more than to disappear. Deadpool tapped the hunter with the toe of his red boot, and said, "Dean?"
If not for the fact that the world was so silent, it would have been impossible to hear Dean whisper, "Why did you do that?"
"You were practically combusting back there." The merc shrugged, and said, "I knew you were feeling kind of stabby, so I figured I'd take you out here so you could work out your frustrations."
"I could have killed you," Dean said, still staring down at the ground. "You should be dead right now."
"Not the first time someone's said that to me."
Dean ran his hands back through his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks. "I don't know why I did that."
"It's what we do," Deadpool said with a shrug.
And that. That hurt. Dean was shaking now. He needed a drink. He needed an epic drunk. He didn't want to think or feel or move.
Deadpool grabbed Dean by the back of the shirt, hauling him up to his feet, and forcing the hunter to look at him. He straightened Dean's green overshirt, and asked, "You think you're going to be okay now?"
Dean nodded shakily, unable to express how bizarre it was that this man would give a damn about how he felt, considering he had almost ripped him in half.
"Good," the merc said with a grin and a buddy-slap to the shoulder.
The world tilted again, and they were back by the restaurant next to a fiberglass statue of an alien with big black eyes. The way Deadpool moved through space was very different from Dean's demon teleportation. Different even from Castiel's angel express. It felt like being disassembled.
"I think I found us a case," Deadpool said, acting as if nothing had happened. "Got an email from a buddy of mine who used to work for S.H.E.I.L.D. in their weird shit division. Something about a rogue god doing bad things in Montana. He's got some kind of immunity from Asgard or something like that-buddy of Thor. But fuck that poncy blond bitch."
"There's really a S.H.E.I.L.D.?" Dean said with a laugh. "I thought that was just in comic books."
Deadpool looked over his shoulder, and said, "This guy doesn't pay attention, does he?" Then to Dean, said, "Dude, this is a comic book. We're just characters. Load up, Winchester. We're going to Yellowstone!"