Sam woke sometime in the night with a cramp in his neck and his face wet from drooling onto his arm. He sat up, stretching his long arms and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then he sat for a couple sleep-dazed minutes staring down at the table.

"You're so cute when you first wake up."

Wade's voice made Sam jump to his feet, his heart suddenly pounding as he shouted, "Jesus, Wade! What the… You scared the shit outta me."

"I don't smell anything," Wade said with a sniff of the air. He was sitting on the couch by the lamp, just a silhouette against the green lampshade. "Interesting research you're doing though, Sammy."

Sam had to think for a second to remember what he'd been doing before going to sleep. Then it all clicked, and he said, "I remembered hearing something about a sort of ominous 'Workshop' before."

"Yeah." Wade closed the folder he was reading, and said, "You could just ask me."

Sam walked around the couch and sat, glancing towards Wade. "It, uh, seemed like a sore subject. Didn't want to open old wounds."

The merc huffed a laugh. "Interesting choice of words."

"Sorry," Sam said with a shrug. "I didn't really find anything, though."

"You found some pretty interesting things, kid," Wade said. He stretched out his legs. He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark red t-shirt, same as he wore when he left with Dean. Sam had to wonder where his brother was.

Wade tossed the folder to Sam, and said, "Do you know who Steve Rogers is?"

Sam shrugged. "No. Test subject?"

"Try the ultimate test subject." Wade grinned. "He's the guy who became Captain America."

The young Winchester's eyes went wide. "You're joking."

"No. Dead serious. The first Super Soldier was originally a scrawny kid from the Bronx." Wade slouched against the back of the couch. "I met him once. Nice guy. Straight arrow if ever there was one. Didn't really care for me much. But in a way, I'm the end result of what he started."

Sam's ears perked up.

"It's Origin Story Time!" Wade said with that odd Narrator voice. "See, once upon a time back during WWII, there were a lot of mad scientist types running around trying to enhance humanity. And in the middle of their search for perfection, they found some humans who went sort of above and beyond your average Joe Sapien. These labcoat wearing ass hats collected DNA, tissue samples, and whatever else they could from these anomalies, and used it to make various serums. Captain America was the first success. The only success for a very long time."

He paused, his eyes going distant. After a moment, he said, "Weapon X was something else entirely. It was a one of those black projects that got funded via nefarious means. The idea was the same. Make better humans. Only this time, they focused on making the ultimate killing machines."

Sam's blood started to feel very cold in his veins. He'd seen the way that Wade-Deadpool-operated. How weapons were extensions of his body. Combat was just as natural to him as breathing. Maybe even more so. And if he came out of some program…

"I only remember fragments from before," Wade said softly. "More like feelings. Like I feel like my mom was a short chick with frizzy hair. The only thing I know for sure is that I had cancer. And that was what made me sign my body over to Dr. Killbrew. He said that they had a way to fix me. But what they did…" His voice cracked, and he had to wait a moment before he continued. "It was so painful. Agony. Absolute agony. And it went on for days at a time. No rest for the wicked, as they say."

Wade fell down into his thoughts. He remembered the table, how cold it felt against his skin. Then how hot his skin felt when they started pumping the serum into his blood stream. The way his stomach hurt for days, and the things that spewed out of his guts when the treatments were over. Even then, all he wanted to do was die. But they weren't done with him, not until the day came when they thought he had been destroyed by their experiments.

There was no funeral. No call home to mommy to let her know her sweet baby boy had died at the hands of some mad man in the Workshop. There was just a ride out the back door, where he plummeted into a festering sea of corpses. The Dead Pool, where all the failed experiments went.

It was cold. He remembered that clearly. So damned cold that his muscles froze and his eyes frosted. But he was aware of his surroundings. Aware of the rotting flesh that surrounded him, water warmed by the decay. There was snow. So much snow. It turned his feet to ice when he started walking away from that Hell.

Sam's eyes were glistening with tears. He'd been to Hell. Literal Hell. And the torments he experienced there were on par with what the man next to him on the couch had experienced on Earth. It was hard to imagine that someone could survive that without being a little mentally unstable.

"Thanks for telling me," Sam said after a few minutes of silence.

Wade shrugged a shoulder. "Thanks for listening." He sighed, and added, "You too, Chester."

Sam's brow scrunched, then he looked behind them and saw Dean standing in the doorway. Dean had the same haunted look in his eyes, and Sam knew that he too was remembering Hell. In that moment, Sam's resolve to find a way to save Dean redoubled.

He stood up from the couch, and said, "I'm heading to bed." He touched Wade's shoulder, and said, "If you ever need to talk, about anything…"

"Yeah, yeah," Wade said with his typical smirk. "That's enough chick flick time for now."

"My brother is rubbing off on you," Sam said with a laugh.

Dean scowled at his brother, and walked into the room as Sam walked out. He rounded the end of the couch and handed Wade a beer as he sat beside him. Unlike Sam, he didn't leave an entire couch cushion between them.

Wade took a drink, and grimaced. "This tastes like shit."

"Sam's choice," Dean said with a similar frown. "From some microbrewery."

"Further proof that some people need different hobbies." Wade downed the rest of the bottle with a few quick gulps. "You not sleeping either, huh?"

"Nah." Dean took another sip and sat his bottle on the small table.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the stillness of the bunker. It had been a rough day. Stressful in ways that went above and beyond the average in the life of most people. Nothing is more stressful than dealing with the ghosts of the past.

Then Dean felt Wade's hand curl around his. It was a gentle, almost timid gesture. Like the merc was afraid Dean would pull away. And true, Dean's immediate inclination was to do just that. Pull away, jump to his feet and spew something about personal space and man-zones. Instead he gave Wade's hand a soft squeeze.

Dean could feel the heat rising on his face. He felt like such a schmuck for doing this. Hell, he didn't even know exactly what "this" was. Holding hands. It was something kids do. But when Dean looked at Wade and saw the soft smile curling the corner of his mouth, Dean's heart did a strange dance in his chest.

"You know…" Wade started.

Dean cut him off with a curt, "Not a word, Wilson" and sighed as their fingers entwined.

"I love it when you're so commanding."

Dean gave Wade his best death glare, which was actually pretty feeble considering he was a demon.

And holding his hand.

Alone.

With mood lighting.

A bubble of laughter made its way out of Dean's mouth, and he just let it flow because Wade was laughing too.