"This place is fuckin' nice…" Yellow said with box-like awe.
"We should not be here. We're going to wreck the place," White said with a box-like sigh.
"We'll be good. We can be good for a while," Wade said aloud. "You two just keep your opinions to yourself."
"This is just the garage!" Yellow said with excitement.
Dean smirked, listening to the internal conversation as he dutifully polished Baby. He'd missed the sleek, black Impala. Driving the Imposter was practically sacrilege, and for the last hour he'd been repenting for ever touching another car.
"I know you missed me, sweetheart," Dean said with a smile as he buffed out another non-existent smudge from the chrome surrounding the left headlight. "Sammy just doesn't appreciate your beauty."
Sam was across the garage listening to his brother and Wade talk to themselves, and he wondered for not the first time if this was really a good idea. The vague explanation of the voices in Deadpool's head was somewhat unsettling, and Sam wanted to discuss it further at some point. And really, Dean had always talked to the Impala like it was his long lost girlfriend.
He cleared his throat, and both men looked at him. "I got the wards down."
Dean nodded, and muttered, "Thanks," as he popped the cap on leather cleaner. "I'll be in in a few minutes, okay Sammy?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Didn't mean to interrupt happy time." He turned on his heels and headed back through the door.
Wade walked over to Dean, his eyes sliding over the glossy curves of the Impala. "She's gorgeous."
"I've rebuilt her more times than I care to say," Dean said as he started cleaning the driver's seat. "It was my dad's. I grew up in this car."
"Most important car ever built, according to Carver Edlund," Deadpool said with a grin.
Dean looked up at him. "Seriously?"
Deadpool grabbed a rolling stool and sat down. "Yeah. Swan Song was all about the Impala, and how it helped Sam beat the devil."
Dean paused in his buffing, and looked at the merc. "I thought he stopped publishing after No Rest for the Wicked?"
The merc opened his pouch and pulled out a couple grenades, a My Little Pony t-shirt, and finally found his copy of the book. He handed it to Dean, who flipped it open, his face grimacing more with each turn of the page.
"Son. Of. A. Bitch." Dean slapped the book shut, and sighed. "I swear, I'm going to find that bastard someday."
"I'm with ya." Deadpool grinned. "Maybe we can do that before all's said and done. We'll hunt down the goddamn writers putting us through all this bullshit."
"That sounds like a fun plan." Dean went back to polishing, then froze, eyeing the pouch on Deadpool's hip. The one that seemed to have everything possible inside. He gestured to it, and asked, "What all do you have in there?"
"Everything," he answered. "It's a dimensional sack. Everything goes to a sub-dimension. Think Time Lord technology. It's bigger on the inside."
A further hour of polishing later, and Baby was at her full glory. Dean had worked up an appetite and had a healthy amount of grease on his skin. For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about killing or maiming or revenge. All he was thinking about was showing Wade the rest of the bunker and grabbing a beer.
It felt good to walk through the doors of the bunker, to see all the sights and smell the smells that now meant "home". Not all the memories were good-some were downright horrible-but it was still theirs. It was the first real home Dean had since he was 4 years old, and nothing was going to change that.
Wade was beyond impressed with the place, letting out a low whistle upon entering the map room with it's towering ceiling and marble floors. Sam practically lived in the library, judging by the mound of dirty clothes on the floor and blanket on the couch. The younger Winchester was currently in the kitchen, and a very pleasant aroma was wafting through the vents.
Dean went to the fridge, impressed that Sam had kept the beer stocked, even if it was behind bags of produce and a package of tofu. He grabbed three and tossed one to Sam and Wade. He popped the lid, and held up the bottle. "To home."
Sam nodded, and all three took a drink.
After beer and a salad (Sam's idea of dinner…), Dean led Wade to the living quarters. When they first arrived, Sam and Dean staked out their rooms, and figured the rest would never be filled. Then Castiel's room had been set up, even though he never used it. Charlie's room was easy to identify with the Star Wars poster on the door. Dean wondered if she would ever come back from Oz.
Though all his stuff was now with his mother, Kevin's room was still locked and reserved forever in the young prophet's name. No matter how much time passed, Dean doubted he would ever be able to open that door.
Thus, there was only three rooms available, and Wade opted for the one that was closest to the shower room. Everyone had avoided it because of the noise the pipes made, but it didn't seem to phase the mercenary as he dusted off the mattress and opened his Bag of Holding and dug out a set of sheets the same color red as his costume.
When Dean came back an hour or so later, after a shower, shave, and change of clothes, the place looked like Wade had always been there. Swords, guns, a rocket launcher, and several different types of explosives decorated the walls. The small wardrobe was full of clothes, all neatly hung with boots lining the bottom. And the small shelf above the bed was stacked with Wade's collection of Supernatural and Deadpool books.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Wade's voice beside him.
"Kinda cozy, isn't it?"
Dean turned, and had to do a double take. Wade was wearing hot pink, Care Bear footie pajamas. And Dean did not laugh, would not laugh at a man who could probably kill with his thumb.
Sam, on the other hand, had no decorum. He came around the corner, and burst into a giggle, before saying, "I don't want to know," and turned back the way he came.
Wade ignored the younger Winchester, and looked at Dean. "Did you need something?"
"No, I, uh…" He gestured to the room, and finally found the brain power to say, "Just wanted to make sure that you're settled in okay. Gonna get some sleep. So, if you need anything…"
"Don't worry. I'm a big boy. I can manage," Wade said with a grin. He patted Dean on the shoulder and walked into his room.
Dean couldn't stop himself from smiling, as he said, "Goodnight, Wade."
Wade plopped on his bed, and said, "What? No kiss?"
Dean flipped him off, still grinning, and headed for his own room.
Everything was exactly as he left it, including the messy bed and socks in the corner of the room. After the first post-demonic encounter Dean had with Sam, he imagined that his little brother would have tossed all of Dean's belongings into the incinerator. But that really wasn't Sam's style. He was more the type to mope and do nothing than destroy things.
With a satisfied sigh, Dean flopped down on the mattress and buried his face in the pillow. He wiggled around, enjoying the caress of his memory foam mattress that knew just exactly how to hug his body. Even if his mind was a restless, dark place, at least his bed was comfortable. It was a bed that only ever had his body between the sheets, and if that isn't home, then there is no such thing.
Being home didn't stop the nightmares from coming. He found himself standing in the desert, surrounded by everyone he ever knew. Everyone he felt he let down. Some were people he didn't get to in time to save from whatever monster took their life. Some were the bodies of demons he'd killed before learning how to properly exorcise. Others were collateral damage from the Apocalypse that he kick started. The crowd went on forever in all directions.
Up close, though, were the ones that he wished would just leave him alone. Bobby looking tired and haggard. Pamela with her stomach still bleeding. Jo…
John Winchester was coming close, his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted with disgust. His lips didn't move, but Dean could still hear his voice. You're a disappointment, Dean. Always were too weak.
And Castiel. The angel stood beside him, his piercing blue eyes under a furrowed brow. He whispered in his gravely voice, "Hello, Dean."
Dean shot up in bed, on his feet in a moment. His eyes scanned the room, expecting to see the angel there. But he was alone, and felt alone in a way that had nothing to do with a lack of company. The faces of all those people-thousands-lingered in his mind. Turning on a light didn't make their voices go away. Especially John…
According to the clock, it was 2:30 in the morning. He had managed two full hours of sleep, and had no desire to try it again. Dean walked barefoot into the hall, his eyes going briefly down to Wade's closed door, before turning on his heels and going towards the map room. He was just about to pull out his cell phone and play a round of Angry Birds, when he noticed a nice aroma on the air.
Following the scent to the kitchen, he found Wade standing by the stove with a stack of pancakes on a platter and more going onto the griddle. He was still in his footie pajamas, but he was noticeably missing one constant accessorie. The mask was off, laying on the counter by the refrigerator.
Dean paused, studying the scars and sores that covered the merc's head. Some were raw, as if they were still healing. For someone who healed so fast from losing a head, Dean had to wonder why Wade's body was so scarred.
"Hey," Dean said as he leaned against the door frame.
Wade stiffened. "Thought you were sleeping, Chester."
"Yeah, that was my plan, but…" Dean shrugged.
"Bad dreams." He nodded, "Me too."
Dean pushed off the door frame and walked to the coffee machine and started the process of making a fresh pot. Sam had stocked the little area with a variety of roasts and several bottles of flavoring. He walked to the sink, chancing a glance at Wade, wanting to know what the man's face actually looked like.
With the way the merc hid behind the mask, Dean expected something grotesque. Yeah, there were scars, but that was just part of life. Really, the merc had a nice profile. Solid, sharp cheekbones, strong chin. Chocolate brown eyes…Dean felt his face heat up at the comparison of the merc to anything chocolate and melting in his mouth.
"We've broke his brain with our stunning good looks," Yellow said with pride.
White jumped in, "He's probably trying not to vomit."
"I told you before it's not polite to stare," Wade said tightly.
Dean looked away, his face burning as he said, "S-sorry. I just…" He knew he needed to say the right thing. He didn't want to accidentally insult the merc, who was clearly feeling very vulnerable. Dean was struggling to find the right words, but was coming up empty. He was never good with words. Actions, yes, but words… Dean set the pot aside, and said, "You don't have to hide from me, okay? You shouldn't hide from anyone. But… Just… I… Fuck."
"Shut up, Chester," Wade said with a smirk, as he flipped a pancake. "You hungry? That salad was great and all, but…"
Dean grabbed a plate and handed it to Wade before finishing with his coffee making. With a bottle of maple syrup that somehow survived Sam's sugar inquisition, the two took their heaping plates to the library. Dean turned on the TV and found that Sam had purchased the 4th season of Game of Thrones. They popped in the first disc and sat on the sofa to eat, each making guesses of just how many boobs will be in the first episode.
It didn't take long for the sugar and carbohydrates to do their magic. Dean started to yawn, and his head nodded forward. Wade grabbed a blanket from the floor and used it to cover them both before turning off the TV and closing his eyes with a whispered, "G'night, Dean."
Dean woke feeling warm and cozy, having slept through the night without another nightmare. It was only belatedly that he realized he was snuggled up against Wade with an arm curled around the merc's waist and face buried in his chest.
He only had a second of consciousness before hearing the click of Sam's cell phone, and his brother mutter, "Payback."