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I. Dean Winchester did not enjoy being dead. Or undead, technically.
Though he should be in some kind of burning hell fire right about now he certainly won’t start complaining about his current predicament. As he watches the old man vanish out the door he’s pretty damn sure he’s the one responsible for his current situation.
The paramedics blow through his fragile form as they attempt to resuscitate him. Clearly wherever he was going, it sure wasn’t back into his body. Sam stands helplessly to the side as finally the medics give up. They pronounced Dean Winchester dead at 4:38 PM. The piled his motionless cold body into a black body bag, hoisting him up onto the stretcher and wheeling him out. Sam treaded slowly behind them but he pauses and turns back. His eyes land on Dean’s very spot gazing carefully at the air.
Dean watches, rooted in his spot. Can Sam see him? Quickly before Sam turns away he yells out “Sam! Sammy!” But his brother’s eyes shift away.
“Sam” He yells louder, catching the attention of one table in particular. But not Sam’s. Sam starts walking away and exits quickly following the last paramedic out the door. He starts to follow but a hand to his chest stops him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The person in question was a girl. A petite blonde with brown eyes no older than 18 or 19 and surprisingly enough she a tad bit on the strong side. He attempted to push through her hand but he found himself surprisingly corporal.
“You can’t go where he’s going.” Her eyes showed sympathy. He pushed himself free of her hand and tried again for the door. But she was quick and had back up. A lanky man a little shorter than himself stood in his way this time.
“I’d listen to Georgie here.” Dean was confused, how could these people see him? Were they dead too or were they something else. The man continued, “Why don’t you just follow us over there and we’ll have a nice little chat about you” pointing to Dean, “are dead.” His smile is friendly enough but Dean knows better than to trust strangers. At least this guy has cleared up one question. He is in fact dead.
He follows them over one of the many booths. Two women are already at the table. One in a cop’s uniform slowly sipping a cup of coffee and the other an attractive blonde. The blonde woman is the first to introduce her self as he sits down.
“Hi there. I’m Daisy, Daisy Adair.” She smiles at him and he turns on the charm instinctively.
“Dean Winchester.” He smiled flirtatiously.
“Well let me introduce the rest of us, that’s Roxy, George and Mason.” He got small nods of acknowledgements from around the table. “The man who reaped you was Rube, kind of our head honcho here.”
“Head honcho of what exactly. If I’m dead, why can you see me and everyone else in this place can’t? And I know I’m not in heaven, although you have me reconsidering.”
“You’re a reaper. He took your soul as his last reap. Now he’s up with the angels and all that heaven shit. You’re here to take his place.” George says cutting off Daisy quickly.
“I’m sorry I don’t think I heard you correctly. I’m a what?” His eyes fixate on George who is too preoccupied playing with the napkin in front of her.
“Reaper, except we don’t get the whole big knife thing and black cape ordeal.” Mason substituted.
“I think you’ve got me confused with some other dead guy. You see I’ve seen reapers before and the sure as hell don’t look like any of you.”
“Whatever you saw wasn’t us. There are different kinds, different departments. The world of reapers isn’t so simple.” Roxy explains finishing the last of her coffee.
“Departments? What like you guys just work for one big company or something?”
“We take care of suicides, murders, accidents, diseases and so on. There are other reapers who take care of other deaths. All you need to know is going to be on one small yellow post it. Just do your job, don’t get into any trouble and we won’t have a problem.” She motioned for them to move and Roxy slips out of the booth. In hand she holds an old worn appointment book. She quickly flips it open and deals out a small yellow post-it note with some writing on it.
“Hey, what is this?” he questions as she proceeded out of Der Waffle Haus. “Hey!” He shouted again. This time the customers around him glance up from their meals. He turns his head swiftly around to George beside him.
“They can hear me.”
She gave him a ‘duh’ look as Mason and Daisy laughed quietly to themselves. Mason reached over and patted Dean’s shoulder.
“Welcome to being a reaper, mate.” And then Dean’s head met the table with a loud thud.
II. Dean glanced at the post-it in his hand and shoved it back into his leather jacket.
A.Walsh
8:48 PM
The O’Keefe Bar
His first reap was at the O’Keefe Bar in some back alley. A quaint little bar off of the main street, one of those hole-in-the-wall places that one had to know about in order to find it. Luckily enough for Dean, he had been there the night before playing pool hustling the local patrons. He had to make a living somehow. Demon killing wasn’t exactly a paying gig.
George had been volunteered to baby-sit Dean. The others had “things” to do but from the look on George’s face they didn’t feel like watching a newborn reaper.
So there he stood on the sidewalk, George beside him as they made their way into O'Keefe's. The dim lights and the smell of smoke, beer and cheap cologne came at them as the doors swung open. They walked in with a few stares from the locals but quickly they turned continued on.
Dean liked bars. The low lights, stale taste of beer on his tongue that formed whenever he entered. The atmosphere made him feel confident. Untouchable. This was his arena, the one place he knew that classified as normal. Because what twenty-nine year old who should have been married, living in Kansas and working at his own car garage shouldn’t spend his evenings in bars.
Here he didn’t have to be his father’s legacy. Not the man who saved the day. Here Dean could just be Dean. The twenty-nine year old who should have had a different life.
He hears George grumble something about bars and death but he really isn’t paying attention. He started to focus on the people around him. Attempting to find this A. Walsh. Daisy and Mason had laid the rules out clear. He was to a) find A. Walsh; b) ‘reap’ him by touching him and his soul would automatically fall of him like he was brushing away dust and c) guide the soul away from the body and on ward to a brighter life.
Dean ordered a bar from the bartender and leaned back against a stool George standing impatiently before him.
“ So you’ve got,” quickly checking her wristwatch, “ five minutes before the ETD. I suggest you start on that end I’ll check out that corner over there. You know what to do?”
“Absolutely.” Dean smiled but George rolled her eyes. Looked like his patented charm wouldn’t work on this girl. “What about your own reap?”
“Not for another hour and you are tagging along on that one two. It’s over on Mercy at the hospital so hurry up and then we can finish this.”
Dean turns around and gulps down the beer before him. His eyes adjust to the hazy light over the pool tables as he makes his way around the back. He walks slowly observing each table of players. Out of habit he notices their strengths and weaknesses quickly picking out which ones he can beat. Suddenly he hears a shout from the far corner.
“Walsh, you son of a bitch!” And he knows he’s got his man. Two men congratulate each other while their opponents steam in the background.
“Gentlemen that is how you win a pool!” What Dean guesses is A. Walsh sprouts smugly. Dean quickly makes his move as George comes over watching his every move from the edge of the bar counter. Dean walks up behind the man and pats him quickly on the shoulder. Effortlessly taking the mans soul with out so much as a blink of the eye.
“Nice shot, dude.” Dean offers as he begins to walk away.
“Thanks man.”
“Nice work.” George smiles when Dean reaches her. Dean can tell she’s surprised. Probably thought he’d fight this. But Dean’s always played the hands he’s dealt. From what he’s gathered when Mason and Daisy explained George didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to reaping. Especially her first time. And what with all the nods in her direction about the rules he’s figured out more than she’ll ever tell him.
Dean’s broken from his train of thought when he hears a stick break and then a yell as Walsh’s opponent throws it against the wall. The stick hits it hard enough to help wiggle the old empty bookcase loose. Then when the man punches the wall it’s enough to make it tip over and crush poor Walsh.
As Dean watches the whole thing happen he rushes over but misses just in time. His hands outstretched towards the already flat book case. A sickening crunch echoed throughout the bar as the witnesses each flinched. The bartender rushed over to the phone and began to dial.
“Man that sucks.” A voice said next to Dean. And when he turned and found a transparent image of Walsh standing beside him. Walsh watched as they lifted the bookcase off of his body. “Am I dead?”
“Yep, come with us.” George replies tugging Dean’s jacket and heading for the door followed by Walsh.
Dean mindlessly followed George and the soul outside where his eyes were almost blinded by a white light. Vaguely he could see the outline of a room and a pool table. Walsh began walking towards it and as he reached it the white light began to fade.
Dean stood flabbergasted on the sidewalk. “Is that heaven?”
“For him. It’s different for everyone.”
Dean agrees, things were definitely different for everyone. And with that Dean followed George to her car.