I know what you're thinking.

Who the fuck gave this cock-sucker permission to write a Deadpool Supernatural crossover fanfiction?

Archive of Our Own did.

That's who.

Now, listen here, sugarboo. The story I'm about to tell you is not for the faint of heart. It's filled with supernatural entities, heroism, and gay angels.

So buckle up, buttercup, and ride this fic nice and slow.

Love, Deadpool xoxo

The polished oak table splintered upon impact in the den of the Bunker.

"Ah, fucknuggets," Deadpool groaned as he rolled off the table and onto the floor. He gripped his hips and rotated them, setting them back into place with a quick twist before getting to his feet.

Taking a moment to breathe, he scanned his surroundings and froze mid-rotation. His eyes widened slowly as familiarity struck.

Deadpool knew this place; he'd seen it a million times before and would likely see it a million times more.

"This is the Men of Letters Bunker introduced in season eight, episode thirteen of Supernatural, Everybody Hates Hitler. I wonder if…" he slowly looked around and gasped, clutching the invisible pearls around his neck as his sights settled on the two brothers that made his Netflix binge worth more than the lotion on his nightstand.

Dean slowly stood, his gun from his holster already withdrawn and aimed at the center of the red-leather-cladded stranger. His brow was set in a deep scowl, his stance ready and willing to fire.

"Oh," Deadpool sighed softly, "I don't think you understand how wet I am right now."

Dean's features twisted into confused disgust as his finger hovered over the trigger, ready for any sudden move.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded.

"Dean, who are you talk-" Sam emerged from his bedroom, eyebrows raised as he took in the white eyes and crisscrossed katanas. "Why is Deadpool here?"

Deadpool placed his hands over his heart. "You've heard of me?" He asked. "Me? Sam Winchester knows…me?" He let out a sigh of contentment. "I don't think you understand how much that means to me."

Dean quickly interrupted. "What, like the comic books? Why would a comic-book character randomly drop from the freaking sky?"

"Why does anything happen to us, Dean?" Sam asked with a careful shrug.

Deadpool let out a sudden chortle of laughter and turned to look at you.

"Hey, you. Yes, you. The one reading this. I bet you didn't think I could break the fourth wall in fanfiction, yet here we are. Just so you know, he said freaking sky because he can't say fuck, although somehow, he got away with saying fugly in season one, which will always impress me. It's the CW. The rebranding is a little confusing, but we'll get past that."

Deadpool turned to look at Sam and Dean. "I know this may be a shock," he started, putting his palms up as a sign of surrender, "but the truth is I hopped a little too far in a timeline strand and landed here. I was just…" he hung his head with a defeated sigh, "I just wanted to know why Thor was crying…"

The brothers exchanged glances as Dean slowly lowered his Glock and stuffed it back into its holster.

"So," Sam started, "do you need us to help you reach the right timeline?"

Deadpool looked between them. "Wait, you'd…you'd do that? For me?"

Sam pursed his lips. "I mean, that's kind of what we do. We help people, and it sounds like you need help."

"He needs a lot of help," Dean muttered as he stalked to Sam's laptop and shut it, "we can't. We're going on a hunt."

"Dean, we can spare some time to help…uhm," Sam glanced over at Deadpool, "Wade Wilson?" To which Deadpool nodded vigorously. "We can at least try to help him. Think about how screwed up our timeline would be if he stayed here."

"He makes a good point…" Deadpool started.

"Shut up," Dean retorted, venom lacing his tongue, "we're leaving now. End of discussion."

Castiel suddenly appeared next to Deadpool. "Dean, what's going on?"

Holding his hand to his heart, Deadpool's body jolted before letting out a laugh. "Oh, you are a sneaky fucker," he took in a deep breath before turning to look at Castiel, "sorry, I'm just a little starstruck." Deadpool carefully twiddled his thumbs as Castiel remained silent, staring at him. "I've always loved you. Especially in season four, when it was nothing but sexual tension and angst. Don't get me wrong, I love later seasons Cas too, but…" he let out a deep breath, "what I'm trying to ask is, could I have a hug?"

Castiel quickly glanced over at Sam and Dean, eyes slightly wide, as Deadpool wrapped careful arms around his stiff frame. He didn't move; he just let himself be hugged by a man in spandex wearing many visible weapons.

Deadpool sighed softly, holding Castiel close. Slowly rocking him.

"I've always wanted to ride an angel…" He whispered.

"That's enough," Dean said with irritation, and Deadpool released the hug immediately, "we will get you back to your timeline for the sake of my own sanity, but we're going on this hunt first. I don't give a rat's ass what you do as long as you stay out of my way. Got it?"

Deadpool nodded and slowly leaned closer to Castiel. "I love it when he uses that voice of authority," he sighed happily, "I know what sock I'll be using later tonight." He offered his heart hands to Dean, who glowered back with the force of a thousand daggers as he snatched his bag and stalked toward the exit.

Sam pursed his lips at Cas and Deadpool before quickly following, the other two not far behind.

Breathing in the fresh air outside, Deadpool suddenly put his hands over his mouth. Eyes wide.

He gasped.

"It's-it's Baby…" Deadpool slowly approached the Impala. "She has been in so many of my dreams, haven't you baby…" He leaned down and started to press a masked kiss to the hood, but a quick swat from Dean's palm to the back of his head quickly forced his head up, and he looked around wildly.

"Hey," Dean put a finger in his face, "whatever dreams you have, are my nightmares. Keep them to yourself. Rule number one: You don't ever kiss my baby. Rule number two: You don't get to call my baby baby ever again. And Rule number three: You are not allowed to be alone with her. Do you understand me? Now, get in the car."

"Yes, daddy," Deadpool stuttered, "I mean, yes, sir."

Dean glared as he moved to the driver's seat and got in while Sam was on the passenger side. Castiel and Deadpool silently sat side by side in the back as Dean gunned the engine and ripped out onto the road, driven by irritation.

A few minutes passed, and Deadpool quietly tapped his fingers against his knees before slowly glancing over at Castiel, who seemed to be trying not to look anywhere but ahead.

"So," Deadpool nudged his arm with his elbow, "your angel blade is pretty cool. I just have a question about it."

Castiel cast a slow eye-glance toward him without turning his head but didn't respond, so he hesitated and asked anyway.

"Does it vibrate?"

Dean turned his head. "New rule. No one in tights is allowed to talk."

Silence filled the space.

Then, after what seemed ages, Deadpool slowly learned closer to Castiel and whispered.

"How many settings does it have?"

Dean cranked up the volume of the stereo to blare Highway To Hell.

"Alright, here we are," Sam said, gazing out his window before double-checking the GPS, "Holmstrom Manor."

Deadpool opened the door and stepped out, cracking his joints in synchrony. "You know, watching you drive all those hours in mere minutes on the show is nothing that it's really like. How do you not need a chiropractor?"

The rest of the gang climbed out and looked up at the manor. It was one of those classic haunting sights one might expect to see on the front cover of America's Most Haunted. Complete with peeling paint, boarded windows, and chipped lawn statues whose faces were contorted into screams.

"What is this? The Haunting of Hill House?" Deadpool shook his head and sighed as they walked toward the front entrance. "You know, who we should call? Ghostfacers- Zak Bagans has nothing on them. Whatever happened to those guys?"

"Who?" Dean asked with a frown, taking out his flashlight.

Deadpool turned and looked at you. "My point exactly." He turned to look at Sam. "Okay," he rubbed his hands together, "my first ghost hunt. What do we do first?"

"Well," Sam looked him over, "I don't know if your weapons will be useful here. What are your swords made of?"

"Fuck, if I know, but it won't be a problem. I think I can handle a little ghost. My movies are Rated R, even after being sold to Disney, and you're what, TVMA?" He laughed, shaking his head as the three exchanged a glance. "Anyway," he waved his hand, catching his breath from giggles, "let's go fuck shit up."

Together, they climbed the creaking stairs of the wrap-around porch. Sam shined his flashlight through a cracked, blackened window. "People say anyone who visits the place after midnight is never seen again. I did a bit of research, and it turns out this place used to be a hospice in the 1940s. Now, the first person who disappeared then was a nurse named Nancy Rutheford. Her family said she went to work one morning and never came back. Most people say she ran off before arriving, but the staff at the time said they saw her enter the basement for supplies, but she never returned. When someone went down to check on her, only a fingernail was left."

Deadpool slowly looked over at him. "What kind of sick fuck takes off someone's fingernail?" He sighed softly. "That probably completely clashed with her outfit. Poor thing."

"Be quiet and follow our lead, or you're going back to the…" Dean glanced over at the Impala and then back at Deadpool. "Scratch that. You're not leaving my sight."

They entered the manor, their flashlights roaming the walls and floors. Dust and dirt had gathered on every available surface, leaves littered the dingy hardwood from the broken windows, and everything seemed leached of color.

Dean removed his EMF detector from his pocket and let it scan the peeling walls crawling with ivy.

"Sam, Cas," Dean started, "we'll head down to the basement to see if there's a reading. You go upstairs. This place probably has a dozen different rooms."

Sam and Castiel nodded and glanced at Deadpool once before departing for the stairs leading them to the second floor.

"Oo, we're going to the basement?" Deadpool asked him. "Is this what Booktok was trying to warn me about?"

Dean cast a severe glare over his shoulder at him. "Is everything a joke to you?"

"Yes."

Shaking his head, Dean started down the hall, opening doors as he searched for the basement. Together, they walked through until they arrived in what seemed to be the kitchen, which matched the same disrepair as the sitting room. Old, rotted food and mouse droppings littered the floor.

"Well, this looks more like a waste of time if you ask me," Deadpool started, "and how is this going to get me back to my timeline?"

"It's not," Dean retorted, "but this case comes before you."

"Oh, I can assure you. I always come first." He winked.

Just as Deadpool was sure Dean was about to throw a fist, a knife zoomed past, sinking between Deadpool's eyes.

"Owwwww!" Deadpool took hold of the handle and pulled it out. "Motherfucker…" He ducked as another knife soared through the air. "Ha! Missed!" Then another below the belt, which sunk deep into his crotch. "Low blow," he sputtered and grabbed the knife. He yanked it free as Dean stared at him with wide eyes, seemingly frozen in shock.

In a quick move, Deadpool suddenly stood before him, taking a knife to the back and stopping it from going into Dean's chest.

"Hm," he grunted, "don't say I never did anything for you, sugarbear."

Deadpool booped Dean's nose lightly.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Get away from me," he pushed on his shoulders, "and let's light this bitch."

"Yes!" Deadpool exclaimed, fist-pumping the air. "That's what I'm talking about. Now, where's that fingerfucking basement."

It didn't take much longer for Dean to open a small door a few rooms away that led to a lower level. He couldn't tell whether it was the basement they were looking for, but it was worth a try.

"Alright," Dean nodded and placed a foot on the first step. He stopped as Deadpool touched his shoulder.

"Wait," he whispered, pausing for dramatic effect, "hold my hand?"

"No!" Dean shrugged his hand off and started down the stairs at a quicker pace.

Deadpool sighed softly and hung his head before scratching the bulge in his pants. "Misha would have held my hand." He murmured, shaking his head before turning to look at you.

"Do your part. Vote for Misha Collins in this coming presidential election."

Giving another solemn, longing sigh, he descended the stairs after Dean. When his foot landed on the last step, his eyes widened as he looked around.

"Well, what do you know," he put his hands on his hips, "It's just a basement. Who would have thought?"

Dean rolled his eyes and used his EMF detector along the walls, pausing when he approached the washer and dryer set. When he turned the handle, nothing whirred to life or made a sound. The electricity in this place must have been dead for years; there was no way he was getting a wonky reading.

"I miss these episodes, you know," Deadpool sighed thoughtfully, "the episodes where it was just good ole classic monster-hunting fun. Why did that end, do you think?"

Dean rolled his eyes, not responding as he pushed against the washer.

"Was it because Eric Kripke left after season five?"

"Shut up and help me move this damn thing!" Dean grunted.

"Right, sorry." Deadpool quickly moved behind him, placed his hands on either side of his body, and thrust forward with a grunt. "That's it, yup. Just like that."

Together, they moved the set far enough away to see what was behind it. Then, as soon as the area was clear, Dean turned on his heel and unholstered his gun.

He fired it between his eyes.

Deadpool staggered back. "Ahh, what was that for? I didn't even get to finish!" He ducked as Dean raised the gun again.

"You know what that was for," Dean growled, "Remember when they sewed your mouth shut? I think I understand why."

Deadpool put his hands over his mouth. "That's just…hurtful, Dean, but I'm also very happy to know you are, in fact, a fan."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but stopped as a sound caught their attention. The wall behind the washer and dryer was a different shade than the rest, existing in a square that seemed to be a different cut of drywall.

Beyond the wall came a slow scritch-scratch.

"Rats?" Deadpool asked.

"Doubt it." Dean moved forward and squatted before pressing his knuckles against the wall and rapped against it lightly. "The way those knives were thrown, this thing sounds more like a poltergeist than just some spirit sticking around."

He knocked again, and this time, a knock responded.

Deadpool sucked in a soft breath. "I have goosebumps."

"Sh." Dean hushed him before sending a fist through the wall, tearing the pieces away bit by bit until there was a decent-sized hole, which led to another room.

"A panic room?" Deadpool asked.

"From the size of those barrels, it looks more like an old bootlegging operation," Dean said, flashing his light through the room covered in cobwebs.

"Ah," Deadpool murmured, "so it is The Haunting of Hill House."

Dean slowly looked over his shoulder, brows furrowed in annoyance.

"What?" Deadpool shrugged, "I'm just saying. The author could have been a little more creative."

Sighing, Dean ventured forward. He dusted his head, removing the crumbling pieces of dusty wall as he entered the room and shined his light here and there.

"Let me guess," Deadpool said, strutting to a barrel and kicking the bottom lightly, "bodies are floating in here, and that's what's causing the haunting."

Deadpool glanced at you. "How original."

"Who are you talking to?" Dean asked, staring at him with a frown, trying to look past him.

"That's for me to know and you to dot, dot, dot…" Deadpool shimmied his shoulders. "That's a great reference if you understand it."

Sighing in defeat, Dean moved on to move around the room. A crowbar in the corner caught his eye, and he snatched it before walking back to the barrel. He wedged the end of the metal beneath the lid and heaved.

Dean took an immediate step back and held his breath, eyes watering.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Deadpool asked, peering inside with wide, white eyes. "Yup, that's a fermented dead body if I ever did see one."

"Okay, yeah, you were right. Congratulations. Can we move on now?" Dean grumbled, searching through his bag for salt canisters.

"Don't bring out the bitter party; I've watched enough Murder She Wrote to know how this works, but I also know the algorithm will probably turn on us in the next ten seconds or so."

A little girl suddenly appeared in a static flicker between them. They both took a step back and looked her over. Tiny in stature, she wore a ratted dress, and her skin looked like she'd never seen daylight. Dark bags rested under her eyes as blood dripped from her tangled hair.

"Well," Deadpool crooned, putting his hands on his hips, "aren't you just the creepiest little fucker I ever did see…" His voice ended in a sputter of blood as she sliced a knife through his neck.

She disappeared with a laugh.

Putting a hand to his throat, he gasped. "Fuck little kid ghosts. I hope no one ever plays hopscotch with you motherfucker."

"Let's just burn the bodies and get out of here."

Deadpool nodded and looked at the way they'd come in. "Right," he put his hands on his hips, "so, was that brick wall there before?"

Dean followed his gaze and sighed. "Dammit…" he moved forward and pressed his hands against the walls, but it wouldn't budge. "Sammy! Cas!"

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't start the burning process," Deadpool nodded, "or else we'd be stuck here with the fire. I'd be fine, but you'd probably go to Hell," he snorted as he laughed, "again."

Dean glared over at him and slammed his fist against the wall.

"We'll just have to wait for them to find us," Deadpool said as he settled between two barrels of dead bodies and leaned his head back, crossing his ankles completely content.

Not a half hour passed, though it felt like hours to Dean, and he started pounding on the brick wall again.

"I wonder if the brick wall was always there," Deadpool pondered as he lay on his stomach, scratching his emergency crayon against the floor, "the ghostie probably wanted us to see it one way, but in reality, it was different. Sneaky little thing." He chuckled.

"I'm not laughing," Dean paced and looked down as he drew wings on one of the people he was drawing, who looked suspiciously like Cas, trench coat and all, "what are you drawing?"

"Destiel," Deadpool whispered as he drew Castiel on top of Dean, fucking him from behind, "but shhhhh, don't tell Jensen. He's not a fan."

"Yeah, well, neither am I. Erase that."

Deadpool looked up. "You can't erase love, Dean. No matter how many erections you try to hide."

With a swift boot to the face, Deadpool rested his forehead against the drawing. "Don't worry, you'll always have moments of trending on Tumblr." He caressed the drawing just as another voice broke through.

"God?" Deadpool raised his head.

"Dean!" Sam called out. "We're here, we'll get you out. That damn girl ghost had us trapped in a room upstairs. Made us think there wasn't an exit."

Dean sighed in relief. "The bodies are in here, let's torch these suckers."

The wall suddenly disappeared, letting Sam and Castiel walk through and take in the space.

"Gross." Sam frowned as he approached the barrel of remains.

Castiel ventured further, too, tilting his head as he looked down at the drawing on the floor.

"Deadpool?" He asked, addressing him kindly.

"Yes, honeybee?"

"What is that?"

Dean interjected quickly. "Ah," he put his hand between them, "we don't speak of it. Understood?"

"Every kink has its place, Destiel. I mean, Castiel." Deadpool said, standing to his feet.

With one last glare from Dean, he and Sam began prying open lids and salting the bodies.

"Hey, look at me," Deadpool held one of the skulls in his hands up into the air, "to be, or not to be. That is the question…"

Dean clenched his jaw. "Can we light him on fire, too?"

Deadpool kicked his foot shyly. "Oh, Dean. You really do know how to win my heart, don't you?"

Salting and burning was the easy part.

Going back into the basement and up the stairs was a bit treacherous as they scanned every area the little girl ghost could be.

"Do you think she's gone?" Deadpool whispered. "And why a little girl anyway? If it was a nurse who first disappeared, why not her? Unless the author didn't think about that until halfway through writing."

Sam pursed his lips. "I thought she looked familiar when I saw her because she was. The little girl was the daughter of the nurse who disappeared. I don't know how her body ended up here, but maybe she tried to follow her mother in death and somehow got lost. It's happened before. You don't want to leave the ones you love behind, so you hope to come across them one day, only to lose your mind in the process."

Finally, exiting the house, Deadpool breathed in the air.

"Ah, yes. Cow manure. That's refreshing."

Dean shook his head. "Alright, I'll tip off the police and close this case. You two, get him back to his right timeline." He shook his head before walking away to make a phone call.

Deadpool turned to Castiel and Sam, letting out a soft sigh. "You know, I'm going to miss you guys. Even though I spent most of my time with Dean, I just feel like…I've known you my whole life." He sniffled. "I think I'm more of a brother to you than Adam ever was. All five out of three hundred twenty-seven episodes he was in."

Sam nodded awkwardly. "Right, sure."

"It wasn't a long time," he wiped the under eye of his mask, "but it was a good time."

Crowley suddenly appeared behind Deadpool.

He glanced over his shoulder with widening eyes, and slowly, he turned, placing his hands against his cheeks. "Is he gonna say it?" he whispered to himself. "Is he going to say the line?"

"Hello, boys."

"He said it," Deadpool fell to his knees, "he said the line."

Crowley sighed. "What do you want?" he asked as Dean came around to stand next to Sam.

"All I want, Mr. Crowley, sir, is to be the peanut butter between a Crowley and Castiel sandwich."

Crowley glanced down at him and arched a brow, watching Deadpool bow to him as if he were a shrined cat named Olivia or Meredith. He glanced at the trio behind him.

"Friend of yours?"

"No." They replied in unison.

Deadpool stood to his feet. "I don't have to take this abuse. I can go to any other fandom I want to," he pointed a finger at them, "don't test me. I'd love to go fuck things up over at The Vampire Diaries. There, we can discuss the destructive plot line of not one, but two 150-year-old vampires obsessed with a seventeen-year-old girl," he sighed and shook his head, "and don't even get me started on Pretty Little Liars and that man using and abusing his power as a teacher."

Deadpool turned to look at you. "I know it used to be ABC Family and has nothing to do with the CW, but don't be a little bitch. Just go with it."

"Who are you talking to!?" Dean exclaimed, waving his arms about, eyes wild in exasperation.

Deadpool held his hands up. "Woah, be cool, man. You're starting to act like a crazy person."

"Enough!" Crowley shouted, and Deadpool spun around, placing his fingers to his mouth.

Eyes wide.

"Louder…" he whispered.

Crowley narrowed his eyes on him. "What timeline do you belong to?"

"Well, it's kind of a cross between Earth-616 and Earth-10005. It's kind of a mess, but it's my mess." He sighed fondly.

Crowley raised his hand to snap his fingers, but Deadpool put his hands up. "Wait! Wait!" He slowly turned to face Sam, Dean, and Cas. "I just wanted to say…I'll always remember you three. So kind…"

"Dumbass," Dean muttered.

"And patient," Deadpool continued, "and I'll be thinking of you at night. As I touch myself and turn my prostate into silly putty. I just- what I'm trying to say is," he sniffled, "I love you, guys."

"Okay." Crowley snapped his fingers, and just like that.

Deadpool was gone.

Hey, Pooh-Bear.

If you're reading this, it means you've reached the end of this fanfiction.

I hope you enjoyed seeing me in action with the Winchester brothers, that baby in a trench coat, and the always-sexy King of Hell.

He can peg me anytime.

Oh, and leave a kudos and a comment for the author.

Thanks 3