When Sam played the message for everyone at the bunker, Dean had turned ghost white, followed by steaming mad red with the black eyes to match. His anger wasn't at the kid, but rather directed with laser precision on Castiel. He started shouting guttural threats in Hellspeak that made the angel's eyes literally bleed, until Wade heroically stepped in and teleported Dean to a safe distance where Wade was literally ripped limb from limb.

Apart from the complete and utter ruination of his Cat in the Hat pajamas, Wade was none the worse for wear when it was all said and done. And Dean was, as usual, incredibly contrite and apologetic as he gathered the mercs limbs and waited for Deadpool's healing factor to knit the flesh back together.

Less than 30 minutes later, they gathered together in the main hall of the bunker with all their gear, and Castiel teleported them to the source of the phone call. What had started as concern for some kid who was potentially in danger from some supernatural threat, quickly shifted to a different kind of concern.

The kid's story started on a weekend when Ben's mom, Lisa, was gone away on a trip with her new boyfriend, some guy named Jack. In between googling free porn, eating microwave burritos, and doing his best to charm the pants off of the chick that just moved in down the street (Nora, or Nancy, or something with an N-name…), Ben got bored and ended up digging around his room for the missing disc for Halo 4.

During the hunt, he found a strange box that he didn't remember having, and it was filled with items that made no sense. There was a sort of medieval looking journal with his handwriting, an old day planner with a lot of his mom's handwriting, a junk MP3 player with lots of classic rock, and a thick manila envelope with a big question mark on the outside. It was an odd stash, especially the journal.

All thoughts of finding the lost Halo disc were erased as he started reading. The first date was from 7 years ago, and described an evening in which he was kidnapped by some kind of a monster, then helped some guy named "Dean" save a bunch of other kids who were being held captive and soon to be eaten. It was quite the story, and Ben was never one for writing horror. He wasn't much of a writer at all, and didn't remember ever having some kind of journal.

The following entries were shorter. Talking about having nightmares about the "Changelings", and wishing Dean had stayed around. Then they moved to a new town and a new house. There was talk about some girl he liked named Ginny. He remembered Ginny. She was his first big crush, with golden hair and freckles. They were now Facebook friends.

There was less talk about monsters and nightmares, and just regular kid stuff for a couple years. Then Dean made a reappearance. Only this time, Dean had come to live with him and his mom. Ben wrote things that he would be embarrassed to say out loud, about how much he loved hanging out with Dean. How Dean was teaching him things. How he hoped that Dean would always be around.

Just reading the words made his head hurt. Sometimes he would mention another kid or a neighbor, and they would be in his mind clear as day. But Dean, who seemed to be such a huge part of his life, was a blank spot that no matter how hard he tried, he could not fill.

After taking a couple aspirin, Ben decided to open the envelope. Inside were pictures. Lots of pictures. Pictures of him and his mom at a barbeque, pictures of his mom and some guy that Ben couldn't remember, though the face felt oddly familiar. Ben playing baseball with this stranger, and working on some old black car. Ben playing in leaves with this strange man in the background. There was maybe 100 pictures, all from when he was around 11 years old.

Ben didn't remember any of these moments, even as he stared at his own face.

The experience was...unnerving. Very disturbing. It wasn't just that he couldn't remember these events-he imagined everyone forgot things. But to forget so much? So many happy times? And it was obvious they were happy, just by the way his mom's face was lit up. She never smiled like that. Not even with Jack.

Rubbing his temples, Ben looked to the day planner, flipping through the pages. There were dates for his games, for school meetings, special events. And hidden among them were Dean's tee times at some golf course, his appointments with a therapist (all annotated with "cancelled" in red), and a few guy's weekends to go fishing in Canada. Dean was everywhere in that box, but no where in Ben's mind.

There was, however, a phone number. Actually, five phone numbers. One was for someone named Bobby with a note that said "Dean's friend", another with the name Sam next to it, and the last three were Dean's cell phone one, two, and three.

Ben stared at the numbers, glancing at the pictures, and his own journal before deciding to go ahead and just start dialing.

It shouldn't have been such a disappointment when all of Dean's numbers went to the automated, "The number you have dialed is no longer in service" message. Same for Bobby's number. The only one that went to any kind of a voicemail was Sam's number, whoever that was.

The first time he called it, Ben hung up after the brief, "It's Sam, leave me a message" greeting. He didn't know what to say or if he should say anything. So he sat and stared at his cell phone, stroking the peach fuzz stubble on his chin. After a half hour of brooding, he dialed again, hoping that this Sam guy would answer. Maybe he could say something simple. Maybe ask for Dean?

Again, just went to the voicemail. Again, he hung up.

Ben decided that it was stupid. There was no reason to be doing this. He tried to think about something else, but the weird feeling that he had forgotten something important kept popping back in his head. It was like trying to remember a dream, and every time he came close to grasping the gossamer edge of the vision, it slipped through his fingers. It was maddening.

Finally, at a time far too late to be calling a stranger, Ben dialed again. When the tone sounded at the end of the greeting, Ben mumbled out, "Uh, you don't know me. I don't think. But I found this number in my mom's stuff. My name's Ben Braeden. And I need help."

It seemed like a good thing to say. Short and to the point, and hopefully something that would garner some kind of a response. Feeling strangely relieved from finally taking that step, Ben flopped down on his bed and went to sleep.

In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have said, "I need help". Or maybe he should have been clear on the fact that he was trying to figure out something about his past. Maybe just said something along the lines of, "Just looking for information, no need for three overly armed men to show up in my house."

As they sat around the small dining room table and the kid told his story, Wade started to get a very uncomfortable feeling. It started out as a slight uneasiness in his gut that quickly bloomed into rage. Although, unlike Dean, Deadpool kept his emotions to himself. The mask was helpful to hide the fury that stung his eyes and heated his skin.

By the time the kid had laid out all the pictures, the journal, and made mention of the headache that he had just thinking about all these events described in images and words-not to mention the guilty look on Dean and the angel's face...

"Someone erased your memories, kid," Yellow said. It was the first time the box had spoken in a while.

Dean heard the voice and looked at Wade, a fleeting, guilty look.

"You did it, didn't you?" Came the White Box, who had been silent even longer.

"We should gut you where you sit, you sonofabitch," Yellow growled.

Dean stood up from the table, cutting off Ben mid sentence. His eyes narrowed on the merc, and he growled, "Outside, Wade."

Wade stood so fast, he knocked his chair over. He grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket and the world shifted.

Once the split second of dizziness passed, Dean barely managed to dodge the edge of Deadpool's katana. He was not prepared, not at all. He didn't have the rage built up that usually accompanied their battles. He was just Dean Winchester, who had just had the sins of the past dumped onto his head and no idea why Wade was suddenly trying to kill him. This wasn't sparring; this was life and death.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Dean growled, barely managing to parry another brutal swipe.

Deadpool-Wade wasn't home right now-looked at Winchester with narrowed eyes. He stood with his swords shaking in his grip, hot breath steaming out of his mask. The voice he spoke with was not recognizable as Wade. "It was the Workshop, wasn't it? That's where it started. The fucking headaches. That fucker Killbrew with his goddamn smirk."

Now Dean was really confused, but he didn't have much time to reflect on that as the merc dove once again, this time slicing open Dean's side. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was deep enough to hurt like hell and turn Dean's eyes black.

"Stop this!" Dean growled.

Another attack, this time slicing open Dean's upper thigh. Deadpool moved fast. Too fast. Faster than even the eyes of Hell could see, and Dean felt a tingle of something akin to fear as the merc dove at him again, and again, each time nicking him in a new location. Each was a little deeper, a little more vital.

"Do you know how bad it stinks in the Deadpool?" the merc hissed as he prowled around Dean. "Everything else is gone. Everything! Except for that. The stink of that fucking cesspool of corpses and skeletons."

Dean was coiled tight, blood coating his jeans and shirt. If not for his demon soul, he would be on the ground writhing.

The merc suddenly threw aside his swords, and the next instant he had Dean by the throat. The First Blade was still gripped in his hand, and Dean stabbed and stabbed, but the merc's grip did not lessen. It tightened, crushing Dean's windpipe.

Deadpool threw him down to the ground and stood over Dean's body. A body that was dying. There was no apology in the merc's cold white eyes. No mercy.

"Kill him," Yellow urged. "He's just like the doctors at the workshop."

"But he's Chester," White said. "He has nothing to do with the workshop."

Wade grabbed his head with both hands and shouted, anguished, "Shut up! Just shut up! All of you! Get out of my head! GET OUT!"

There was a rush of wind, and suddenly Castiel was there. He pressed his palm to Deadpool's head, and the merc's body filled with holy light that burned out his eyes. He flopped on the ground with a heavy thud.

Dean could barely see, and his demon soul was aching to flow out of his doomed meatsuit. But then there was a rush, like going too fast on a Tilt-a-Whirl after bad beer. No matter how many times he'd felt Cas' healing power, it was always alien to feel his flesh come back together.

A moment later, Dean was on his knees beside Deadpool's lifeless body. He peeled back the mask, revealing the burnt eye sockets and scorched lines around the merc's mouth.

"Wade…" Dean whispered, his hands cradling the scarred and puckered flesh.

Castiel kept his distance, looking down at the merc's body with pity. "I saw into his mind, Dean. He was in so much agony. He was begging to die, and I…"

"It's okay, Castiel," Dean said, the syllables of the angel's name feeling awkward on his tongue. He sighed heavily, wiping away the tears that spilled over his lashes. "He'll be back."

"Dean…" Cas started, but fell silent seeing the merc's arm twitch.

They waited in silence as Deadpool slowly started to come back to life. In Castiel's eyes, it was like watching a fire burst forth out of cold ashes as the merc's soul fluttered anew.

"Here I am," Wade croaked out, his eyes still hollow burned sockets. Slowly, he pushed his way up to his feet. For a moment, he swayed, trying to find his balance. By the time he was completely upright, his eyes had returned. He looked Castiel and sighed. "Looks like even angels can't kill me. I shouldn't be so disappointed."

"You, uh, okay?" Dean asked, taking a step towards him.

Wade glared at him. "Just fuckin' peachy. Never better." He bent down and grabbed his katanas, sheathing them in a quick motion. Then he started walking, moving towards a grove of trees.

Dean followed a few paces. "Where are you going?"

Wade stopped, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. Dean hoped he would speak, explain what just happened. Instead, the merc vanished with a snap of air.