The Imposter Impala rolled into the town of West Yellowstone just as the sun was going down. It was a Tuesday, and being early spring, the hotels were not as packed as they might be during peak tourist season. They pulled into a shabby looking hotel with over priced rooms, and got two singles for which Deadpool paid.
After a shower, shave, and change of clothes, Dean knocked on Deadpool's door, and went inside hearing the merc sing-song, "It's o-pen!"
Dean opened the door and froze.
Deadpool was standing at the end of his bed wearing nothing but his mask and red boxers. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, Dean could see the extent of the merc's scars. He looked like he had been dipped in acid, dragged down a gravel road, then fed through a meat grinder. There wasn't a single place anywhere that wasn't pocked by welts and divots. The agony that he must have experienced…
The merc was on the phone, talking to his contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., and while some of the conversation seemed to actually be about the case, most of it was Deadpool flirting. When he noticed Dean looking at him, he smirked and said, "It's not polite to stare, Chester. I know I'm a sexy beast, but try not to drool. It's embarrassing."
"S-sorry," Dean stammered. "I...I was wondering if you'd, ya know, like to um…" He cleared his throat, and said, "Dinner?"
"He wants our man meat,"Yellow said with satisfaction.
"He's about to throw up," White snorted.
Deadpool just nodded. "Sure, Chester." He hung up the phone, and said, "Just give me a sec to get my party dress on."
Dean left, going out to the car to sit in the chill night. He couldn't get the image of Wade's body out of his head. Wade, not Deadpool. Deadpool was the one who wore the suit. But Wade was the guy underneath, and many times Dean had trouble puzzling out which one was closer to the merc's true identity. The voices didn't help, either. There were at least three distinct personalities inside his body.
"Chester…" Dean said, shaking his head. The nickname seemed to be sticking around, whether he liked it or not. It was probably the first time anyone gave him a nickname. The angels had called him the Righteous Man, which was a total crock of shit. He was never around someone long enough for a pet name, and Sam… Well, Sam didn't do things like that. He was always "Dean". And now, he was Chester. The name shouldn't make him smile, but it did.
Wade came out of his room, for the first time not dressed in his red and black suit. Instead, he wore loose fitted jeans and an oversized hoodie with the hood over his head. He still wore the mask.
He got in the car as he said, "Looks like my buddy is still hung up somewhere in Europe, but I got the intel. We're looking for a weapons master, which, honestly, makes my balls tingle."
Dean nearly choked on a laugh, and said, "Okay. Um…is that a good thing?"
"Fuck yeah, it's a good thing." Wade slouched back in the seat, rubbing his scarred hands together as he said, "My balls are attached to my joy center. When they tingle, I'm a very happy man."
Dean cleared his throat. "So, what do you think? Burgers? I saw a couple places along the road on the way in. There's some Mexican joint I spotted with…"
"Mexican sounds excellent," Wade said with enthusiasm, adding, "I love me some tacos."
There were just two cars in the restaurant parking lot, a small economy car and an old truck that was more rust than metal. Dean parked between them, eyeing the economy car like it was giving him personal offense. Where Deadpool's balls were tingling with joy, Dean's Demon Sense was tingling with something else that was almost sickening. He couldn't quite place what it was.
They walked inside and were seated in a corner booth under a faux Tiffany lamp. The merc ordered a plate of enchiladas, two super burritos with extra cheese sauce, a double side of rice and beans, two chimichangas, four tacos, a quesadilla, and a giant strawberry margarita to wash it all down.
Dean ordered a beef and bean burrito and a Corona.
The waiter left, and Deadpool lifted the edge of his mask to dig into the chips and salsa. Dean's eyes wandered over the scars there, and his mind wondered what the rest of his face looked like, especially after seeing his body. Maybe it was morbid to think about, but he'd been travelling with this man for over a week, and he had yet to see the man's actual face.
"You know, you can take the mask off if you want," Dean said encouragingly, going for the chill best friend.
"Just can't get enough of me, can you Chester?" Deadpool said with a smirk, though Dean could tell just by the sound of his voice that he wasn't comfortable with the idea.
Dean wanted to push the subject, but he decided against it. The merc was someone he didn't want to piss off. The scar on his neck was healing well, but he knew that Deadpool could have easily chopped his head off instead of giving him a little scratch. Though at the moment he was pretty sure he didn't have his swords on him, he was absolutely certain the bulges under his sweatshirt were guns. While Dean knew that he could not be killed by a bullet, he didn't want to mangle his meatsuit any more than necessary.
Besides, he liked Wade.
The food arrived in short order, and they fell into companionable silence. Dean even managed to finish his burrito and beer, and find it in him to give Deadpool shit for his girly drink, which resulted in more flirting than Dean had anticipated. The merc was full of surprises.
Once the main courses were finished, Deadpool ordered fried ice cream and a slice of cherry chipotle cheesecake and Dean had another beer. And despite the repeated rejections, the merc didn't give up until Dean had tried at least a bite of the fried ice creams, which he insisted was the best he'd had this far north.
It was only slightly weird that Wade fed it to him from his own fork. As Dean let the treat melt on his tongue, the merc said, "I hope you know this means you're my boyfriend now."
Any other time in his life, Dean would have probably mustered up some kind of defense of his masculinity, but instead he said, "I don't put out on the first date, mother fucker."
"Don't worry, Chester. I'll still respect you in the morning," Deadpool said as he slouched back in the booth, his fish-bowl size margerita in his hand. He took a long drink, licking at the sugar on the rim of the cup, and Dean shook his head.
After slurping the last of his drink, Deadpool gestured to the door and said, "Wanna get out of here? Go find a liquor store and do something stupid?"
Dean yawned, and shook his head. "We still have two bottles of Johnny Walker, and I'm kind of tired."
"Yeah. I'm kind of eager to get you in bed too," he said with a shark smile, before pulling the mask back into place. Dean didn't touch that one, knowing no matter what he did, it would not work out in his favor.
While Deadpool paid, Dean headed out to the car. The night had turned icy, and there were flurries starting to fall. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of ice cold air. But there was another scent, something strangely familiar.
When recognition hit, he only had a split second before he saw Sam standing over his shoulder in the warped reflection of the car window. Then he was facing his brother, his toes barely touching the ground as Sam jerked him up by his jacket, his eyes angry and face twisted with pain.
"S-Sam?" Dean stammered, still stunned. Too stunned to do anything but stare at his younger brother.
"Is this you?" Sam hissed.
Dean's brow scrunched. "What?"
"Five bodies, all gutted." Sam shoved him into the side of the car, and shouted, "Are you the one killing these people?"
"No!" Dean snapped, wrestling himself free of Sam's grip. "Fuck, Sam. Why would you even think that!"
Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're kidding, right? Like I haven't been following the carnage you've left all across the fucking country. What the hell, Dean?"
"The only things I've killed are demons!" Dean snapped back.
"And that makes it okay?" Sam looked like he was going to cry. "Do you know how worried I've been about you? How fucking certain I've been that you were going to be killed by some hunter?"
"You tried to exorciseme!" Dean shouted.
Sam's eyes shimmered. "Do you want to be this?"
"Of course not! But…" Dean let out a frustrated growl, then threw his arms around his brother. It only took a moment for Sam to do the same.
On the porch of the restaurant, Deadpool cocked his head to the side, and muttered, "Plot twist…"
Sam looked towards the voice, his back going rigid. "Who the hell is that?"
Dean cleared his throat, and said, "That is Deadpool. We're hunting together."
"Deadpool?" Sam said, his face lighting up. "You mean theDeadpool? The Merc with a mouth?"
"Aw schucks," Deadpool said, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels like a little girl with a crush. He came over to the brothers, and leaned to Dean, asking, "Who's your tall, handsome friend?"
"This is Sam," Dean said, waving a hand his direction. "My brother."
"Uh huh." The merc was unimpressed.
"This is the douche that wanted to send Chester to Hell. We should break his legs," Yellow said.
"Let Dean decide what we do," White said diplomatically.
Yellow was having none of it. "He fucks with our Chester-baby, we kill him."
Dean whirled on Deadpool, jamming a finger in the merc's chest. "You're not killing my brother!"
Deadpool raised his hands. "Sorry, Chester. Not me. It's the boxes; I can't control them." The merc cleared his throat, and said, "Nice to meet you, Sammy."
Sam frowned at the name, and was about to correct him, when Deadpool vanished with a snap.
"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, confusion on his face.
Dean didn't really know how to explain Deadpool. "He, uh, he does that sometimes."