Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean struggled to even attempt to open the back door, thinking that this is some kind of joke to pass the time for the crossroad demon. Much like Gabriel fooling around before delivering much needed information. Against the battering winds and thundering of on-coming storms, Dean stood in an alley to the back entrance of a toy store. A toy store of all things, and yet Crowley is adamant that Death is inside.

Grasping the sickle in his hand, hidden by his side, Dean swallowed his pride and opened the door painfully slow, being mindful and acutely aware of every squeak the wood made on its hinges. The back entrance was dark, unoccupied, and eerily silent. Shutting the door in much the same manner, Dean let his eyes adjust before slowly creeping forward, scouting the building with a caution long lost. He could hear his heart racing, breath quickening the closer he got to the main building, and couldn’t help his mind running through the thousands of scenarios. Dead bodies? Lifeless kids? This is a toy store after all, and whether Death just doesn’t give a damn or if he has some sick sense of humour, Dean didn’t wish to know.

Peeking his head into the main building, Dean didn’t know whether to release a relieved sigh or to be tenser. The place is empty, lights lighting the area brightly, light happy music continued to sing over the speakers, but the place seemed deserted. Dean stood up straighter, viewing his surroundings as he planned. If Death is indeed inside, than where could he be? He couldn’t seriously be browsing the many toys that are sold here? And the lack of bodies is seriously starting to worry him, strangely enough.

As quietly as a hunter can be, Dean made his way down the end of the aisle, peeking around the side of the shelf. With each new empty aisle Dean comes across, he slowly sneaks to the next one and repeats the process. By the time Dean got to the middle end, he peeked over, expecting nothing, but froze before quickly hiding once more. Standing still for a few more seconds, Dean gained his courage once more before peeking around the shelf. There, standing ominously on the right hand side of the aisle, back slightly facing Dean, is none other than Death. A towering seven foot, at least, of wisp-like jagged black. With the soft child-like music playing and the selection of remote-control toy monster trucks he was looking at, the picture itself was hard enough for Dean to wrap his head around. He could do nothing more than slowly return to his hiding place behind the shelf.

“Ara~ It appears I have company~”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks; mind pulling a blank at the light and childish tone of voice coming from the aisle.

“No point hiding, I know you’re there, Dean Winchester~”

Dean silently cursed, slowly turning around the corner, coming face to face with a childish cartoon skull and, are those large rectangular gloves?

Death, for it can’t be anyone else but Death, literally bounced up and down like jelly, reminding Dean of a kid excitedly entering a candy store. “Come, come! I won’t bite, I promise~” Dean faltered, head instinctively monitoring his surroundings before hesitantly stepping closer until he now stood a few metres away, not risking taking those remaining few steps. Somehow, the skull mask managed to portray more emotion than he expected. Before Dean could choke any form of words out of his mouth, Death interrupted him loudly, causing Dean to jump, his heart racing as he regarded the unusual being like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh! Where are my manner!? I’m Death, as you may well know, and you are the infamous Dean Winchester! My, you look quite young for a hunter~”

Whatever words Dean managed to form fell flat at that statement. Was that a compliment? How does he even go about attempting to kill such a being? Right now, Dean felt like he was killing a kid’s imaginary friend. During his silence, Death had tilted his head to the side, regarding Dean silently.

“Well, I presume you’ll want my ring, ne?”

Dean’s eyes widened almost comically, “W-what?”

“My ring. You are after it to put Lucifer back in the cage, right?” Dean couldn’t help but notice how much mature his voice sounded, despite still maintaining its childish pitch.

Dean couldn’t help but stammer, “N-no offense, but ah,” he cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to… kill me?”

If possible, Death looked like Dean had just asked him a rather idiotic, but simplistic question, and is mulling over the latter’s stupidity. “Why would I do that?”

Dean’s brows shot to his hair line in response. “..Why wouldn’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah…”

“Why wouldn’t I what?”

Dean just stood there, dumbstruck. His arms moved around him as if helping to clarify. “Me. Why wouldn-won’t, why won’t you kill me?” Clarified Dean slowly, having stumbled over his mistake from Death’s repeating of the question.

Death stood there, head still tilted in silent contemplation. A childish hum sounding from his mask as he stood motionless. “Ah, yes!” Exclaimed Death, straightening his posture as one large hand pointed upwards in gesture. The action itself startling Dean to the point of mimicking a frightened cat. “We both want the same thing!”

“Same thing? You mean-”

“Lucifer locked back in the cage. But sadly there is very little I can do.” With that Death sighed, his mask mimicking the action as it portrayed a look of exasperation Dean didn’t think was possible. Dean stood there awkwardly, thinking over his words carefully before once more being startled by Death. This time by his loud childish voice as he pointed his large gloved finger right in Dean’s face.

“Which is why I’m giving you my ring! You use it to lock Lucifer back in the cage, I become free of my bounds, no more apocalypse! Everyone wins~!” At this, Death clapped his giant hands together, staring down at Dean with such enthusiasm.

Dean honestly didn’t think it was possible for him to draw this many blanks in the span of ten minutes talking to one individual. But eventually, he managed to force himself to speak.

“Yeah, sure. That’s the plan.” Agreed Dean, a strained smirk gracing his lips as he struggled to maintain eye contact with the being. “Hey, just a quick question, how old are you exactly?”

Death tilted his head, an action Dean is starting to become disturbingly familiar with. Silence hung heavily around them, and Dean swallowed thickly. Had he stepped too far?

“Next question!” Exclaimed Death; materialising a ring from literally nowhere before holding it in front of Dean between two large rectangular fingers. “So I give you my ring, take special care of it! And you push Lucifer back into his box and we all go home happy! And if you do this special little deed I will be forever thankful! Do we have a deal?”

“Y-yeah, sure. We have a deal.” Stammered out Dean, his mind spinning. Just as the ring fell into his open palms, Dean backtracked. “Wait, hold on, we didn’t make a deal.”

“Huh? But you just agreed~”

“…Yeah, but don’t you want something in return? Don’t you want some sort of say in how Lucifer goes down? Something?”

“No, why would I want any of that?”

Dean just stood there, agape.

“I just want to be free and see my cute little son again. Goodness he must be worried sick! I hope he’s been looking after himself~” Replied Death wistfully. But Dean found himself stumped once more, even as Death turned back to the remote control monster trucks.

“You… Did you just say… that you have a son?” The sickle in his back pocket was long forgotten at this point, and never in his entire life did Dean picture himself having such a wild conversation with such an old being.

“Yep~ His name is Death the Kid, and he’s just the cutest little button of a son I could ask for~ Here! I even have photos of him!” Dean found himself literally side to side with Death himself, a small photo book in hand shoved under his nose until he took the book. The first picture he came across was of a boy, looking around fifteen years old, with bright yellow eyes, black hair, and pale skin. He wore normal looking clothes, with a bored look, borderline unimpressed, expression on his face. But what caught Dean’s eyes the most, were the unusual three white strips on the left side of his hair.

“He doesn’t look impressed, no offense.”

“None taken! I’d taken that photo of him without his permission. If I’d asked he would’ve spent hours trying to make the photo symmetrical! Oh, here’s him with his friends at the park, and here’s a picture of him when he went on his first ever mission!”

At this point Dean was literally holding the photos, Death’s large finger coming over his shoulder to point at certain people, telling him if they’re friends or part of the family, students, or teachers. Dean couldn’t even fathom the level of trust Death was giving him at the moment, but had to quickly remember that if he ever tried something, Death could quite literally end him within mere seconds. Throughout the album, however, there was one person that stood out.

“Who’s he?”

“Oh, that’s Spirit, he’s my Death Scythe. He’s also more of an assistant as well. He was one of the only people who was allowed to see Kid when he was a baby. Other than that, I like to play pranks on him.”

Dean could literally do nothing but nod his head, trying and failing to imagine Death playing innocent pranks. It’s still taking a while for Dean to get used to this level of bluntness. It isn’t the same as Castiel’s, who’s lack of understanding to figure of speech had him confused. No, this level of bluntness was someone who understood, but just didn’t care. Almost as if they saw no point in lying, and thought the truth to be funnier.

“Well, I guess you should get going.” Death’s voice became sullen, almost as if sad to see Dean go. “I’m relying on you at this moment to put a stop to Lucifer. Because for now I am powerless against him.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around soon after?” 

“Why’s that?” Inquired Death.

“…For your ring…” Supplied Dean, as if it provides all the answers. But after the near on half hour he spent with the being, Dean knew that stating the obvious just isn’t enough sometimes.

“Oh, that! You can just throw it away~ I don’t require a ring for my powers. I just transferred some of mine into it in order to seal Lucifer~ Once the deed is done and he’s sealed it’ll become useless~.”

Dean remained silent, relying on a strained smiles and varies awkward facial expressions to somehow convey his answer. Just as he turned his back, a very bold move on his part, Death once more interrupts.

“Ah! Before you go! I need your help with one more thing!”

Dean slowly swivel on his heel, facing Death who once more stared at the toy’s shelf. “Which one should I get? They all look so very tempting~”

Dean’s gaze once more finds itself to the various size and colours of the remote control monster trucks, and remembering that Death, as trippy as it sounds, has a son.

“For your son?... Death the Kid?” Internally, Dean cringed at the choice in name, and felt a pang of sympathy for the kid.

“No~ I want it to prank Spirit. He has a fear of creepy dolls and was planning on putting one over the top and chasing him around the city with it.”

Scratch that, Death truly is an evil being.

“If that’s the case, maybe get something like a drone?” Suggested Dean awkwardly, thinking of how much of a wild tale this will be to Bobby and Sam. “You can do the same, but once you put the cover over it it’ll look like the doll’s flying. That way you can chase him practically anywhere with it. As well as record it.”

Death was silent, having turned back to Dean with the intensity of his mask, before loudly clapping his hands together.

“I love it~! I can see us being best of friends! I’ll film it so you watch too! Oh! That reminds me, I better tell you how to use the rings before you go off sealing the brat. Can’t have you going off not knowing how to use the things, silly me~”

Dean couldn’t tell if he is genuinely trying to explain how the rings work, or if he seriously has the mental capacity of a child. Not like he has the courage to say that to Death’s face either. But when Dean still remained stumped after about five minutes of explanations, Death decided to write it down instead. And right now Dean felt like he’s stepped through a worm hole and is back in grade 1 art class. Through the midst of ink blotches and squiggles, Dean could see a crude drawing of him, holding four circles joined together, to what he assumes are the rings, with picture-him throwing them to the ground. Above his head is a huge speech bubble, with a bunch of words Dean has no hope of pronouncing, especially with that horrid hand writing.

It’s amazing how at first he was scared shitless, now he’s communicating with Death as if talking to a kid.

“So, I put the rings together, throw them on any flat surface, and say these magic words and it opens the gate?” He asks slowly, using wild hand gestures as if it’ll magically help fix this horrid communication problem.

“U-huh!”

“Okay, so, what do these words here say?” Asked Dean, turning the paper around as he points to the speech bubble. Death leans down, humming to himself; the two maintaining stances as Death seemingly reads his own atrocious hand writing.

“Bavo tamo ehn, tabege sa babalo ehn! Simple~!”

“Thanks. And you’re absolutely sure that this is all correct? I’m not saying you’re wrong or anything! It’s just, I want to double triple check.”

“Of course, of course! Everything is all correct!” At that moment, chains slowly manifested around his hands, glowing brightly with command as Death’s frame slumped. His mask matching his mood.

“Looks like I’ve been called. Well, I enjoyed our time together. Hope to see more of you, kiddo~” With one playful hair ruffle, Death had vanished, leaving a stumped Dean with a crude instruction manual on how to seal Lucifer.

When Death remarked about them being friends, Dean awkwardly shook it off, smiling nervously before hightailing it out of there. Never, in his entire life, did he actually think Death would be serious.

Chapter Text

Strangely enough the thought of meeting Death again didn’t come with the same heavy feeling in his chest like the first time. It came with a light, almost jittery feeling; one he’d associate with meeting an old wildcard. And yet this is Death he’s talking about, despite how smoothly their first meeting went, Dean can’t be so sure it’ll go just as smooth the second time around. Especially with this next request.

But now he had to deal with Tessa, a lower reaper who refused to summon her Lord. And while the prickling feeling of agitation began to seep through, accompanied by the ticking away of seconds before he runs out of time, he couldn’t help but marvel the contrast between Death and his reapers.

“Where do you get the nerve?”

Dean couldn’t help it, a twitchy smirk pulling his lips. “I’m his BFF.” He shot back. She didn’t look impressed.

“He calls us, we don’t call him.” She deadpanned, and boy, is the contrast real.

“I think you and I both know you can make an exception.” 

She opened her mouth, but fell short as her eyes looked at something behind him, trailing slowly up as her mouth closed, a look of defeat passing by her eyes. Dean didn’t even need to guess who was behind him, even as two giant rectangular gloves land gently on his small shoulders.

“Dean, Dean, Dean! It’s sooo good to see you~! And Tessa! My you look cute as always~!”

Dean slowly turned around, the gloves sliding off of his shoulders as Dean cranes his neck to come face to face with Death. He looked exactly the same as he remembered him, and if possible, more joyful than their previous meeting.

“You look positively blooming.” Remarked Dean, forcing his body to relax around the odd ball. Death hopped backwards, literally, before tilting half his body to the side as if observing the two.

“And it’s all thanks to you! Without your help the apocalypse would’ve been underway, and I’d never see my precious kiddo again!” He wailed dramatically, his mask never changing expression as he exclaimed.

Dean once more found himself on edge as he shuffled anxiously on his feet. “No problem, really.”

“So, I’m correct in assuming you didn’t kill yourself just to have a heart-to-heart?”

Whether it’s the ridiculous get up, the tone of voice, or the freakish body movements, but Dean finds Death easier and easier to talk to as time passes. Internally, Dean wonders if that’s the whole point. To lure people into a sense of comfort around the being; considering the strong enigma surrounding him.

“Lucifer’s cage,” began Dean, taking small steps forward. He may be child-like, but Dean doesn’t know how he’ll react to certain things. “I figure you’re one of the few people that can actually jailbreak it.”

Death remained stony silent, and the unease he felt before began to bubble uncomfortably.

“Sam’s soul is stuck in that box. And our other brother is trapped in there too. Michael rode him in.”

“Your point?” Piped Death, almost drawling it out, but as of yet Dean sensed no negativity.

Dean took a few steady breaths before letting it all out. “I want you to get them both out.”

Death hummed in his usual childish way, blank eyes staring down at him with no emotion. It didn’t occur to Dean until now how much conveying his emotions in such exaggeration could help ease the tension.

“Pick one.”

Dean froze, “what?”

“As powerful as I am, even I am limited to certain rules. Bringing back the dead, whether it’s both body and soul, or just their soul, is not something to be done willy-nilly. Everything is a balancing act, and bringing back multiple souls is something that can tip the balancing point dangerously.”

Even as Death spoke, Dean felt as if he was a child being scolded for doing wrong; his head hung low as Death spoke, the feeling of dread seeping through.

“Technically speaking, neither Sam nor Adam are dead. So it is possible to bring them back without tipping the balance too much. However, after the damage the angel’s and Lucifer caused, the scales are already tipped. Therefore, I will only help one.”

Dean looked up into Death’s mask, marvelling internally how passive it looks. How parental.

“Sam.”

“I see.”

Dean sat down by the stool, his neck cramping at the height difference. “His soul has been in there for a year, and I understand that it’s… damaged.”

“Oh yes, quite damaged~ You see,” at this Death hopped over comically, sitting down a few stools over from Dean. All the while Dean tried hard not to stare at the unusual way Death sat. Almost as if there was a human-like body underneath. His mind flashes back to his son, and wonders briefly if he is indeed human looking underneath that cloak. “Souls are powerful things. They can be beaten, stretched, eaten, squished, but never sliced or hacked. Souls cannot be destroyed. In that year Sam’s soul has been trapped in the cage, it would’ve been used for all sorts of unimaginable things. The poor thing stuck between Lucifer and Michael~”

“So, what are you saying exactly?” Stammered Dean, his gut clenching. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, hack off the hell part?”

”You mean erase his memories? No, there is not. His soul physically experienced such hardships; it’s seared into it, much like a scar on skin. However, I can place a barrier; a wall even, to block out the hell part. Think of it like placing a colourful band-aid over a cut~!”

Dean faltered, trying to imagine how exactly that would work. “So… you can put up a barrier, in his mind? Something to block it out?”

“U-huh! However, just like a band-aid, if he keeps picking, scratching at it, the band-aid will ware and give way. If he experiences too many traumatising events that remind him of his time, it will overflow. Like fixing a deep cut with a small band-aid!”

As wack as his explanations are, at least Dean can understand how the wall will work. Unlike his drawing on sealing Lucifer.

“Okay, a wall, sounds good! Do it.”

“Ara~ I never said I’ll do it~”

Dean stared dumbstruck, the beginnings of a retort on the tip of his tongue, but once more Death proved quicker.

“I want something in return and if you complete it, I’ll give you Sammy’s soul, wall and all, with a nice cherry on top~!”

Dean couldn’t help the hand that quickly ran down his face, blinking his eyes a few times before addressing the eccentric Horsemen.

“And what do you want in return?”

“Simple! I want you,” at this, he pointed one large finger at Dean’s chest. “To join me for a day!”

Dean did a double-take. “…join you, what do you mean “join you”?”

“Nu-uh! It’s a surprise!”

Dean cleared his throat, a million possibilities running through his mind at the prospect of joining death for a day. Did he mean join him in some weird joint reaping? Follow him around? Cause death? Or did he mean playing pranks?

God he prays it’s the later.

“Here! Find a large mirror and write these numbers on the mirror while saying these words! That way I’ll be able to transport you over easily! I look forward to having you over~”

At this he handed Dean a piece of worn paper, neater writing on it as it displayed another crude drawing. Dean looked behind him, noticing Tessa looking anything but impressed. Lips pursed and arms crossed. Slowly turning back around, Dean stared at the drawing before back at the unusual being once more.

“So… you sure you can’t give me a hint?” Asked Dean hopefully.

Death hummed once more, bouncing up and down like an excited child, “Hmmm, I suppose it’s only fair~ Okay! I asked because-

Dean gasped for air, eyes wide and frantic as he took in his surroundings before slumping back down.

“Oh, thank Moses.”

“You couldn’t have given me five more seconds!?” Gasped Dean as his head lolled to the side.

“Son, you were gone for seven minutes.”

Great, now he has a date with Death involving a mirror and he has absolutely no idea what he’s getting himself into.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Relaying the information Dean had acquired by Death to both Sam and Bobby was a lot harder than he thought. Going with the wall analogy and not the band-aid, for God forbid if he used the band-aid analogy, trying to inform Sam that all hope wasn’t lost was like pulling out teeth.

And while he and Sam continued to argue back and forth, Bobby had to spring the one question that Dean knew was going to make him, and Death by extension, look like a nutcase.

“I presume Death’s not doing this out of the goodness of his heart.” Began Bobby, walking towards the pair as if trying to quell the fire. “So what’s your half of the deal?”

Dean mulled over it a few times in his head, each new explanation sounding just as unbelievable or wacky as the first. His eyes shifted to Bobby, then to Sam, then to the floor, unable to find the right words. How the hell does he explain that he’s supposed to just dial call Death to “join him”?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.” Retorted Bobby.

Dean swallowed the unease before giving up. “I don’t know.”

“Was that rhetorical?”

Dean sighed, “No. Look, all he said was that I’ll be joining him for a day. That’s all I know. Believe me, I tried to get more out of him but he’s insistent on keeping it a “surprise”.” Remarked Dean, followed by the quotation marks.

Silence stretched between the three of them, both Sam and Bobby have various degrees of confusion and scepticism. Dean knew what questions were coming his way, and merely held up defeated hands as he explained everything he knew from their brief encounter. Dean knew that most of this will continue to remain a mystery until they’ve met Death face to face, for somehow meeting the jovial being just magically makes everything less confusing.

“How do you know this isn’t some kind of twisted trap?” Shot Sam, hands outstretched in a familiar manner. “I mean, come on. Death? Just wanting what, your company? This just smells like a trap Dean.” Dean can’t even fault Sam for those words, or the slight incline of Bobby’s head as he subtly agreed.

Dean shrugged, “I honestly doubt it’s a trap.”

“And how can you be so sure it isn’t?” Said Sam.

“You just have to meet him for yourself.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

Internally, Dean wouldn’t put it past Death to lie and set this up as some joke, laughing at him from somewhere as he exclaims that he fell for it; like a child playing a bad prank on their parents. But nonetheless, Dean fogged the mirror, pulling out the piece of paper as he read off the instructions.

“The number to Death’s room is… 42-42-564…”

Dean nearly jumped backwards when a ringing sound shrilled from the mirror, light blue ripples washing over the mirror like water as the numbers glowed. Then, the mirror glowed bright white, the screen slowly dulling as he comes to look at none other than Death. Utterly bewildered, Dean could do nothing as two large foam hands reach out and grab him, pulling him through the mirror with ease as if he weighed nothing.

Gone the gloomy and dusty room of Bobby’s to a surreal and unknown location. Is he outside? It was brightly lit, with clear blue skies and floating clouds that lazed about both in the sky and along the ground. From the centre of the room, Dean could make out what seemed to be a graveyard of sorts, with one clear path leading in and out with guillotines above like twisted archways.

“Welcome to my humble adorn~! And perfect timing, as always~”

Right, he’s at Death’s freaking establishment, or whatever. Suppressing a gulp, Dean turned to face the jovial being in question. Noticing behind him the huge body length mirror.

“So… Here I am.” Grimaced Dean, noticing how bare and empty the room is. A large foam hand landed heavily on his shoulder, Death pulling Dean along until he was pressed against his side; like an old friend greeting another.

“I took your advice! And booouuugghhhhttt this!” A puff of smoke, and in Death’s hands is none other than the remote control drone Dean had pointed out during their first encounter. In reality, Dean should’ve expected this, considering Death did openly admit to wanting to prank someone with him, but at the same time, he didn’t actually expect this-

He’s dumbfounded. By all intent and purposes, he’s absolutely dumbfounded.

“Spirit is out at the moment, probably at some bar. Let’s scare him! I even bought a Halloween doll to put on top!” True to his word, Death pulled out a Halloween prop; mummified-looking, equipped with a small plastic scythe and snarling fangs.

“And look!” Death flipped a switch, and the doll came to life. Eyes glowing, arms moving up and down, accompanied by a corny stereotypical Halloween cackle. With its cloak, it easily covered the drone, propped up steadily and ready for take-off; Dean was out the door carrying it before he could even comprehend what was happening. Deaath pushing him out the door like an eager child pushing their parents out of the house to visit the park.

He found himself walking down silent hallways, the feeling identical to a school. The longer they walked, the more his confusion mounted. Questions brimmed against the edge of his mind, but he kept them hidden. He has a deal, and his barrage of questions isn’t part of it. Whatever he’s struck he doesn’t want to ruin just yet. He’ll save them for later.

Soon, they reached outside, the sun bright and burning, opposite to the mild temperatures at Bobby’s. The streets were borderline dead, stores open for business, birds chirping overhead. The few civilians Dean did see greeted Death with a polite nod of the head and a cheerful greeting, to which Death always replies to equally, if not more so, as cheerful. Dean found himself tripping over his own feet every time a civilian, even children, greeted Death warmly like he’s your average Joe. The experience so out there and unique that Dean didn’t notice when Death pushed him behind a brick building.

The two stood out front of a bar, male and female laughter filtering out and reaching their ears. Even from across the street, heads poked out from behind the opposite building, Dean could still hear the laughter and drunken slurs from inside. Turning back around, Dean caught Death turning on the hidden camera attached to the drone before placing it carefully on the ground. With a few beeps, the drone is on and ready for take-off. But still, the drone remained motionless.

“Well?”

“Now we wait~!”

Death peered around the corner, the spitting image of a naughty child snickering as they played a prank, leaving Dean standing there as he stared at the being. Waiting.

It didn’t take long. Death pulled back, activating the drone as it flew high in the air. Dean peered around the corner, just in time to see a dark red haired man, wearing something akin to a casual suit, exiting the establishment. Hands in pockets as he whistled joyfully with a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Death snuck behind him, being mindful of the drone, sneaking from building to building, Dean following silently behind him like a lost puppy before the two settled behind a building.

“Keep him still!” Whispered Death comically. Dean’s head whipped around to face the ancient being.

“What!?”

“You heard me.”

Dean faltered, “How!?”

“I don’t know! Distract him!”

Dean looked between the whistling man- oblivious to the upcoming horror sure to sneak up on him- and Death. Arms out, a silent sigh escaping him in defeat, Dean supresses a roll of the eyes as he jogs to catch up to the man.

“Hey! Excuse me, sir!”

The man pauses, turning around to eye Dean with barely concealed suspicion.

“Oh? Who are you?”

Dean paused in his stride, his detective façade taking over instantly as he offers his hand. “Apologies. Dean Winchester. Yourself?”

The man pauses, eyeing the hand before hesitantly accepting it. “Spirit Albarn.”

“A-ha! Just the man I was looking for!” Exclaimed Dean, his smile bright and dazzling. “I heard rumours around here that you’re just the man I’m after! So many praises!” The lies fell from his mouth smoothly from years of practice.

Instantly, Spirits demeanour changed. Eyes sparkling at the unknown praise. A complete 180 from the chirpy man, to suspicion and hardened, to a complete sucker. “Really!?”

Thrown off guard, Dean continued. “…Yeah. They spoke quite a bit of your accomplishments.”

The man quickly went into a tirade, eyes sparkling as he spoke of his adventures, his crazy ex-partners, before quickly side-tracking on to talk highly of his daughter; Maka. All within the span of one minute. And Dean didn’t even have to speak another word. The man just spoke gibberish.

Dean’s eyes spotted movement behind Spirit, seeing the drone slowly zero in on its target. Behind a garbage can, Death poked his comical head out, giving Dean a large thumbs up before retreating slightly. The drone didn’t falter in its pursuit.

Quickly faking horror, Dean pointed at the drone, jumping backwards in exclamation. “Oh my God! What’s that!?”

Spirit’s reflexes, given the situation, are extraordinary, in Dean’s opinion. Going from outright gushing and fawning over a baby photo of his daughter, to a battle stance, is perhaps the fastest Dean has ever seen. But then, within the same span of ten seconds, Spirits face drained of colour.

His limbs shook, his face ghostly pale, and the most girlish shriek Dean has ever heard from a man escaped his lips. A few more terrified words in gibberish escaped his chattering teeth before flailing, the drone zipping closer; making it enough for Spirit to jump back, panicked, before literally running for the hills. The drone metres behind him, easily keeping up pace as the doll cackled manically.

Dean merely stood there, watching the man attempt to hide every chance he got, before eventually disappearing from his sight. Death came out of hiding, standing directly behind Dean as he brought the drone back to waiting hands.

“I always love Spirit’s reactions.”

He’d have to agree, they were certainly something.

OoOoOoOoOoO

It’d been well over five hours before Dean’s return to Bobby’s. The great being having taken him around his make-shift town; Death City. An actual city he himself created dead centre in the Nevada Desert. The civilians are normal, having known about Death as if he’s merely their mayor and not an all powerful entity. The one and only school being run being the only thing remotely different in more ways than one, with Death as the Headmaster.

Honestly, after today’s events, Dean had forgotten about the real reason he’s even on a play date with Death and was filled to the brim with questions. Though he wisely kept majority to himself.

At the end, after creating more pranks, having stumbled upon Spirit a suspicious amount of times, Death eventually selected still shots from the drone footage and printed them out for blackmail. All the while Dean watched as the all-powerful being cackled almost frighteningly as a stereotypical villain cackling at his own master plan.

Then, it was time for Dean to bid farewell and found himself in silence. Blinking once, than twice, then thrice. The reality of everything crashed down in him that Death has left him at Bobby’s without another word of their agreement.

The room was dark, not a single light illuminating any rooms, with the house itself eerily silent. Warning bells rang loud and clear, suspicious rousing as the day’s events vanished from his mind. Stalking each room individually, only to come up empty handed. Murmuring sounded between the floorboards, directly below, and Dean wasted no time silently stalking to the basement stairs.

Whether Death is far more all-knowing than he’s letting on, or he has impeccable luck, Dean came down just in time to witness Sam, his soulless brother, gripping Bobby’s head in his hands as he raised a hunting knife high above, ready to mercilessly strike. Dean jumped into action, tightly gripping Sam’s wrist, anger seeping into his words before delivering a fully packed punch to the face. He watched, albeit with satisfaction, as Sam fell haphazardly on the floor, knife cluttering out of his grasp whilst Bobby released a breathy sigh of release.

The rest of their actions were like clockwork. Silent of what had just transpired, as well as Dean’s own disappearance, the two made quick work of restraining Sam in his unconscious state. Slamming the heavy metal door as a final barrier between them and the soulless.

Neither spoke. Bobby, too wound up on his near death experience regarding the man he thought of as a son, and Dean, whose frantic mind began doubting whether Death will ever show up. He felt wasted, as if tricked into a one night stand with the false promise of something worthwhile. And with no other word from the God about their deal, Dean felt cheated. Worry ebbed in his gut, staring blankly at the metal enchanted door at what to do next. What could he do? The whole point of today was to get Sam’s soul back, and that relied solely with Death. Without him, is there really anything else they could do for Sam? Absently, he noticed Bobby looking at him, but he paid him no mind.

A low mumble gnawed at his attention, too low to really capture his full attention, but enough to filter through the door and to his ears in the uneasy silence. He listened, perplexed at the strange noise, before realisation dawned on him. It’s coming from inside.

Straightening, Dean lurched forward, Bobby startling at his sudden unprovoked action as his hands fumbled for the locks. Before Bobby could get a word in edge-wise, Dean flung open the door, eyes landing instantly on the familiar towering spikes of Death.

“Get the hell away from me!” Screamed Sam, his visage expressed genuine fear as he attempted to create distance between him and the looming figure.

“What the hell-!” Bobby attempted to lurch forward, no doubt in a pitiful attempt to protect Sam against what he perceived to be danger. Dean had hastily grab Bobby, turning his back to Death as he pushed Bobby back.

“Bobby! Bobby! That’s Death! It’s fine!”

Bobby didn’t look convinced. Eyes frantically flickering between Dean and the God in alarm. “That’s Death!?”

“Sammy! Sammy! Sammy! My~ Don’t you look lively for a soulless man~.” Death bounced to and fro in a comforting familiar manner to Dean. For Dean, it means that Death is good, that he’ll uphold his promise, that he’s truly being helpful in his painfully childish mannerisms. It didn’t occur to Dean that that same comforting familiarity is striking fear and uncertainty within Sam and Bobby.

Death’s signature giant foam hands materialised from his sides, causing Sam to flinch as he clapped them together with a soft “pat”. He tilted dangerously to the side, scrutinizing Sam as the soulless brother continued to struggle against the handcuffs. Then, with those same foam hands, Death, through some unknown and mystic means, materialised a light blue glowing orb from inside him, holding it out in his open palm for all to see.

He then looms threateningly over Sam, once more causing him to attempt to shrink into his mattress, yet Dean continued to hold Bobby back, knowing that Death means him no harm.

“Now~ I’m going to patch you right up~! Okay? Nothing too fancy, all you need is a slap of a band aid and you’ll be as good as new!”

Sam continued to struggle, muttering half-hearted “no’s” as Death loomed closer.

“But I’ll warn you, just this once~ Don’t scratch at the band aid. You’ll only make things worse~ Especially after all the fun Dean-chan and I had~.”

Off to the side, Dean resisted deadpanning. A tickling of irritation and confusion mixing together at the little extra added to his name.

“Be still~! This’ll only hurt a lot more if you move~!”

Sam looked over to Dean and Bobby, in a last ditch effort to save himself from the inevitable. “Please, don’t” He pleaded, and Dean will admit, the look is convincing. The pleading stabbed at something deep within him, trying hard to school his expression at seeing such a look plastered on his little brother’s face. Without warning, Death’s large foam hand slowly lowered onto Sam’s torso, and with it, the glowing soul was gradually absorbed into Sam.

Sam’s desperate pleas ceased, the room filled with his pained screams as his soul is being skilfully attached back into his vessel. Death’s mask remained monotone, his spiked body still looming. It painted quite the picture, to see such a monotone intimidating figure looming over a screaming man. Truly, in any other situation for Dean the memory would’ve been tainted with a mixture of negative emotions rather than the prospect of returning Sam to normalcy.

Then, the screams ceased. Sam crumpled back onto the mattress, seemingly lifeless as Death slowly retreated his hand.

“Is… Is it over? Did it work?” Dean’s voice, curse it, was shaky. Breathless from having to watch, helpless, as his brother pleaded and begged for Dean’s collaborated work to not go through. He felt a gut-wrenching feeling, barely comprehending Bobby reeling back when Death turned his cartoony mask towards the pair of them. Standing up straighter, revealing his menacing height. Then, like the flick of a switch, the image was ruined when Death childishly bounced over silently. One foam hand patted softly on Dean’s shoulder, his own twisted sense of comfort, head slightly lowered as he towered over Dean. Though strangely, he’s getting to the point where such actions don’t frighten him.

“Your brother will be fine.” His voice was calmer, its childish ring gone, though still light. “As long as he doesn’t scratch at the barrier, it’ll remain in place and your brother will be safe.”

Dean looked up, staring directly into the black abyss of his eye-holes. He couldn’t discern what the elder being was feeling. He never could, for the ancient being is a mess of contradictions and false cheeriness. His eyes shifted over to Sam’s prone form, eyes unabashedly displaying the pain he felt, before flickering back over as Death thumped both of Dean’s shoulders.

“Welp~ You know how to reach me~ Seeya Deano~ Bobby~”

Then, he was gone. The space considerably empty and bare without the looming grim presence. Slowly, he turned to face Bobby, who appeared all the more perplexed and flabbergasted at the sharp change in events that he could only muster the tyrant of emotions to colour his visage.

“What in the hell was that!?”

Chapter Text

This is stupid. 

Crowley’s plan is stupid and unnecessary in Dean’s books. But to Sam and Bobby? It’s the best plan they have. Granted, the thought of calling Death for help hadn’t crossed his mind, and for good reason too. He’s already done enough, and while the invitation is still open by Death himself, Dean doesn’t want to squander that trust. 

But he was outvoted. By Sam, by Bobby, and by some twisted chance of fate, Crowley. Crowley and Sam have never met Death, Bobby only once, and yet that seems to be all the motivation needed to bind Death to them just for his help. He worries, for as far as he’s aware, that little mirror communication trick unique to Death doesn’t allow him to teleport to and fro. He can’t be certain, nor does he have the means of carrying a body-length mirror with him just to try and, on the off chance it doesn’t work and Death doesn’t wish to cooperate, ruin their surprise. If Dean survives the night whole, he’ll be thoroughly surprised. 

Dean resigned, playing along with the plan of collecting all the pain-in-the-ass rare ingredients. And as if their night couldn’t get any worse, Dean just had to be the one to have a gun cocked towards him by the owners of the property they broke into. 

With the introduction of Dr and Mrs Weiss, the group didn’t even bother with their inside voices. Getting to work quickly and efficiently as they prepped the ritual. Whilst Bobby drew up the symbols with chalk and lit the candles, Sam prepped the ingredients. In the background, Dean prepared a chair and a bag of fast food, knowing from his own personal experiences that Death loves human food, even though the being doesn’t require nutrients. The taste is all that really matters to him and thus, in his own childish way of apologising, Dean personally bought him a meal-sized takeaway box, sitting within sight at the centre of the room for Death to see. 

Due to his rather… unique experiences with Death, and thus being the only one out of the group who knows how to even remotely deal with the being, Dean volunteered, more so insisted, that his blood be used in the ritual. The three males avoided eye contact with the petrified Dr and Mrs Weiss, who began to whimper at the satanic display. 

When Bobby began chanting, Dean took a stand by the takeout food, both of their backs turned away from the frightful couple. The room began to rumble, gradually growing in strength as books fell from shelves, lights swayed dangerously, before glass protective casings shattered into thousands of pieces against the relentless vibrations. Cracking sounded above, dust raining down upon them as the ceiling grew spider web-like cracks, groaning threateningly at the damage and weight it’s undertaking. 
Then, as Bobby finished, everything ceased.

Dean cast his eyes around the room, turning in his spot as he eventually left his post. There was no familiar looming black, no child-like high pitched tones or bone white cartoonish mask. Nothing. 
“Ah… Hello?” Called Dean, unsteady. “Death?”

Two foam hands clapped down on either side of Dean’s shoulders, causing him to sputter in surprise. Both Sam and Bobby reeled back at no doubt the looming and intimidating presence of Death, whilst Dr and Mrs Weiss let out a series of petrified gasps.

“Dean~! Dean~! Dean~! If it isn’t one of my favourite little humans ~! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure~?” Dean swallows a painful lump in his throat, trying and failing to only focus on the cheerful and carefree aspect that Death is exhibiting. After all, a cheerful Death is a pleasant Death, right?

Dean slowly turned around to face the looming figure, feeling his body minutely relax when he comes face to face with familiar monotone child-like mask. His foam hands slide away from Dean’s shoulders as he turned, and slowly, he took a step back as to not crank his neck at the huge height difference. 
“Sorry, Death… Ah… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh?”

Dean faltered, stubbornly maintaining eye contact, unsure with how to further respond. Death is, funnily enough, like a landmine. Majority of the time he seems safe, understanding, content, but Dean knows better. He’d be a fool to think that Death is all sunshine and rainbows. He knows, that if they keep pushing his buttons, testing the limits, that it won’t be long till that childlike mask turned haunted and angry. 

Dean shivered at the thought. 

“Um… Burger and fries? Best in the state!” Dean blabbered, hastily making his way past the frozen Bobby and Sam over to the takeaway he’d ordered, picking up the bag and drink before turning to Death, maintaining a strained smile as he presented his gift. Hostility and demands will get them nowhere. 

“Ara~? Is that your attempt at diverting the fact that you’ve bound me?” Dean paused, noting the different tone to his voice. It still maintained its usual childishly-light pitch to it, and yet he somehow managed to deepen its tone into something more serious. This is new territory. And yet, Death is someone who prefers the honest truth over being lied blatantly to his face as if a mere child in comparison. 

“It’s an apology.” Blurted Dean, forcing his eyes to remain glued to Death opposed to letting them nervously flicker to Sam and Bobby. 

“Oh~? Then what is this about~?” He tilted to the side, in a manner that portrays that the ancient being is looking elsewhere. “Is this about Sam’s hallucinations~?” 

Dean’s strained smile faltered, a frown tainting his visage as he finally broke contact, turning around slowly to face his youngest brother. Noting keenly that Bobby appeared equally astounded. “What?”

Sam looked uneasy, nervously fidgeting in his spot in awkwardness as all eyes turn to him. He looked guilty, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, bashful yet scared of the consequences.

 “Sorry Sammy~. I did warn you all not to scratch at the band aid. Putting up another wall now would be redundant and a less than stellar temporary fix. Now, If you’d be so kind~” Death held out his large foam hands, the manifestation of the binding spell glittering in a wisp-like manner, forming chains around Death’s tiny wrists. 

“We can’t.” Butted in Sam, seemingly the first to gain the courage to speak up against Death, and Dean felt himself panic. “Yet.” He added quickly, noticing the rapid shift in Dean's facial expressions. 
Death remained monotone, foam hands lowering as he released a steady hum in response. Gaining the courage needed, Dean took a step forward, hoping to take the attention off of Sam and onto him as he relays their true purpose. 

“We need you to kill God.”

Death, if possible, straightened further, yet somehow managing to have his mask loom down on them. “Ho~?”

Meekly, Bobby cut in. “Kill God.” He confirmed, voice wavering minutely, though what little courage he scrounged up immediately evaporated when Death turned directly to him. “You heard right… Your Honour.” 

“That is quite the serious request.”

“Trust me when I say I never wanted to bring you into this this way.” Began Dean, once more taking a step forward. “But we’re out of options.”

“Why should I?”

Dean faltered, mouth running dry at the sudden and unexpected question. Why should he? To Dean it’s an obvious answer why, so why ask? Does he want to hear it directly from Dean’s mouth? Or did he simply wish to confirm his own theory? Perhaps dance around the issue depending on the answer he delivers. He mulled over his answer, and how, exactly, would be the best way to deliver his answer. 

Then, by some stroke of luck, he remembered. Past conversations striking him with the force of a freight train.

“Because order.” Began Dean, licking his chapped lips with nervousness. “You once told me, that you protect the order, right? Cas, the new God, he’s threatening that very order, isn’t he?” Death remained silent, as if scrutinizing him. Dean ploughed ahead. “Not much time has passed since Lucifer threatened that order, and I’ll hazard a guess and assume things aren’t quite back up to par, right?” 

“Amazing.” 

Dean blanched, unable to finish his convincing speech when the painfully familiar voice announces himself directly behind him. Hesitantly, Dean turns around, frightful and uneasy when he comes face to face with Castiel’s worn out vessel. It looked burned out, decaying, disease-ridden. To Dean, he literally looked like he was approaching Death’s door. A funny thought given who stood in the room with them.

“I didn’t want to kill you.” Announced Castiel, pained. “But now…”

“You can’t kill us.” Voiced Dean in the hopes it’d buy them more time. It didn’t work.

“You’ve erased any nostalgia I had for yo-” 

The house rumbled threateningly with a deafening crash, a loud screeching sound accompanied by the sudden disappearance of Castiel. The lights above them swayed dangerously, and where Castiel once stood, Death now loomed in his place, giant foam hand outstretched whilst the other remain hidden in his cloak. To his left, the source of the disturbance, the wall laid crumbled and broken, a large hole embedded, showing the long trail of rubble, destruction, and torn up grass leading into the darkness of night. 

“My, my~ Kids these days…” Death huffed a sigh of indignation, his once neutral mask shifting to an exasperated frown. His two large foam hands dusted each other off, turning his body towards the nonplussed men. “Although, this does pose a problem.”

Dean craned forward, “Problem? What problem?” Mind still reeling at what he’d witnessed. Absolutely flabbergasted that Death had, legitimately, bitch slapped Castiel. 
Death sighed once more, looking all the more like an exhausted father than an almighty being. 

“His vessel is melting. If nothing is done soon he’ll explode. Literally.”

“I will not.” All heads, minus Death, zap towards Castiel, who swayed uneasily on his feet. A large sweltering mark bruising along the side of his face and neck. “When I finish my work, I’ll repair myself.” Death didn’t seem fazed by his sudden reappearance, and if Dean had to guess by the subtle shifts of his body, he’d hazard a guess and say Death is more curious about how long it took for Castiel to get back on his feet after the attack he’d landed. 

“How naïve. Are you not aware of the ancient beings you’ve so foolishly consumed? Purgatory was created for a reason~” 

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it? Then why are you seconds away from exploding?” Shot back Death. 

“I control them.” Grounded out Castiel, face neutral and monotone in an attempt to argue back. 

Surprisingly, Death childishly spat in amusement, as series of “pfff!” escaping from behind his monotone mask as both foam hands came up to rest by his mask where his mouth would be located. 
“For an angel turned God you really are dumb~” 

Dean blinked, twice, then thrice, completely startled by the mocking tone Death practically spat right at Castiel. Castiel himself seemed equally as startled, unsure with how to respond to the ancient being who spoke so childishly. 

“Wait… ah…w-what older things?” Intervened Dean, turning to Death as he maintained an appropriate distance. After witnessing how bold Death was in attacking Castiel in such a small space, Dean does not wish to get any closer in fear he’d be caught in the middle. 

“Hmm~ Long before God created angels, he made Leviathans. Dangerous, immortal beasts so dangerous that God created Purgatory specifically for them. Quite amusing, I must say, but equally annoying. They had a ferocious appetite that if left unchecked they would’ve swallowed anything and everything.”

“You…God… Created Purgatory, to lock these Leviathans away?” Muttered Bobby, blanching terribly at the thought. Dean swivelled his head, from Bobby’s pale visage, to Sam’s flickering nervous gaze, to Castiel attempting to maintain stance, before flickering back to Death, who even in the presence of their new God maintained an impressive bravado. '

“Oh yes~ Clever little things they were~ God truly outdid himself on that one.” Mused Death. “Quite foolish on your part. In your selfish quest for power you’ve not only endangered yourself but also the rest of the universe. Although if that was your plan all along than congrates~” 

“Enough.” Grounded Castiel, finally taking a stand against Death, and Dean subconsciously took another step backwards, internally grateful that Sam and Bobby picked up on his behaviour and mimicked him. 

“Oh dear..." Sighed Death in exasperation, once more his mask mimicking his genuine emotions, evoking a disapproving frown.

“Why?” Challenged Castiel, taking step by step forward, slowly closing the distance between him and the ancient one. “Because I dared open a door that he shut? Where is he? I did a service, taking his place.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“Yes. I’m cleaning up one mess after another, selflessly. Of course, you’d know all about the messes God made daily.” 

“Well of course~ We all make mistakes, myself included~ And yet, I know God and you, little soldier, are no God.”

“For someone who makes just as many mistakes as him, you continue to stand in his favour.” 

The longer this continued, the further tense and more frigid Dean became. There were tell-tale signs that Dean has picked up with Death, that allowed him to subtly pick up shifts in Death’s emotions. They were extremely difficult to notice, and rather broad in pinning down what specific emotion the being is legitimately experiencing. However, in certain situations, Dean witnessed and heard enough to make an educated guess. And right now, Death was slowly losing his patience. 

Despite it being Dean who bound Death, and the lacklustre attempt at persuading him with food, he’s forced to confront Castiel in a matter of minutes to do an outlandish deed. Nothing in comparison to his time bound to Lucifer, and yet the experience could only possibly be described as a slap to the face. The longer this continued, the more nervous Dean becomes for his, Sam, and Bobby’s safety.

 “I know God, Castiel, and you are no God.” Replied Death evenly, his childish demeanour erased, leaving something rather unnerving behind. It worried Dean, borderline frightened him, because he has yet to see such a side to Death and he has no idea what to make of it. But what he can understand is the warning shivers that tingled up his spine as Death quickly lost his patience. 

A tense silence stretched between the two powerful beings, and Dean swallowed his rising unease; stepping forward as he made himself known once more. A mere wrench being thrown between two opposing hurricanes. 

“Alright, put your junk away, both of you. Look call him what you want, just kill him now.”

Castiel slowly turned towards Dean, eyes and rotting visage piercing into his own with such unsettling force. Dean internally flinched, forcing himself to maintain posture. 
Towering above Caestiel, Death sighed, mask unchanging as he raised one large foam glove above the new Gods head. Instantly, Castiel raised his own, clicking his fingers together as the transparent silvery chains bounding Death break away. All the while his gaze unflinching from Dean. 

The sound was shattering in so many ways. Yet Dean was too afraid to tear his gaze from Castiel to scrutinize Death’s mannerisms. 

“Why, how kind~” Dean’s stomach plunged at that remark. “As kind as it is, I take back nothing.”

This time Castiel tore his gaze from Dean, staring intently up at Death, who in turn gazed unblinking back. “You’re still very much a fool, little soldier.” 

Castiel regarded Death in a standoffish manner before completely disappearing. Silently yet jarring as his form vanished without the familiar sound of wings. Death didn’t budge from his slightly slouched manner, as if staring blankly at the spot Castiel once occupied before gradually straightening. Slow in response yet Dean can’t fathom if that’s truly the reason. 
Then, Death tilted his head, his mask melting to one of exasperation, like a parent watching a rueful child storm off, before gliding over to the food Dean had brought. “Children these days…” 
Death sat down on the chair, bag of fast food in his lap as his large foam hands somehow managed to skilfully scoop out the fast food. Dean watched in silent fascination as Death brought the food to his mask, a soft “nomp” sounding, only for the food to disappear as if he’d consumed it through his mask. 
The sight itself was a little disturbing. 

Off to the side, practically facing Death across the room, Sam and Bobby stood stock-still almost similarly to deer caught in headlights. Sam motioned subtly for Dean to make the first move, his brows and eyes conveying enough for Dean to get the memo. 

He regarded Death nervously, before clearing his throat. “Um…”

“Hmmm~?”

“Ah… What now?”

”What now indeed~ Quite the pickle you’ve found yourself in once again.” 

Dean sputtered silently over his choice of words, working through what to appropriately say to convey just how dire the situation is now. Though is conveying such a message really necessary? This is Death he’s speaking to, and the ancient being is well aware of what’s at stake. 

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Why indeed~ Though the answer should be obvious~” He replied jovially.

“Obvious?” Intervened Bobby, “Forgive me for asking, but what’s so obvious that you couldn’t kill the new God?”

Death remained stony silent; stoic. Bobby looked nervously to Sam, who looked equally unnerved by the sudden trance-like figure, the two no doubt wondering if Bobby spoke out of line. Dean, however, had a pretty good idea what was happening, having witnessed this at the toy store during their first meeting. 
Suppressing an eye roll, Dean strolled over to Death, standing a mere few centimetre away from him. 

“What’s so obvious, Death?” Predictably, two foam hands landed on both of Dean’s shoulders in response. Too used to his flamboyant mannerisms, Dean didn't protest when Death suddenly stood to his full height, twirling Dean around to face Bobby and Sam as he shook Dean lightly to and fro.

"Weren’t you listening to our conversation~?!” His voice rose a pitch, higher and louder than normal, yet his typical childish pitch lessened whatever serious effect it was meant to have. 
“Oh trust me, we were, it’s just a little hard when two powerful beings are having a pissing contest in the same room.” Retorted Dean. Dean lightly stumbled back further into Death when the ancient being peered over his head, seemingly stretching, as he looked at him a little too closely. 

“Cassie has gobbled up all the souls in Purgatory, right?”

Dean stared, “…yeah?”

“And he even swallowed up the Leviathans, right?”

“…yeah?”

Death straightened up, two foam hands still glued to Dean’s shoulders, resulting in Dean to stumble forward at the sudden action. 
“And that means!?”

Sam and Bobby’s gaze flickered from an exasperated Dean to a stony face Death, confusion evident clear as day. 
“I’m guessing it has something to do with all the souls he’s consumed?” Queried Bobby with a certain degree of hesitation.“Bingo~! Cassie consumed all those nasty souls, but if he dies where do all those souls go~?”

Realisation dawned upon Sam’s visage, his face blanching as he levelled both Death and Dean with an expression of utter disbelief. “Nowhere. The doorway to Purgatory is closed, if Cas dies then all those souls will end up here.”

“CORRECT~!”

Dean ran his hand down his face, taking a few steps away from Death as weariness began to envelope his mind. 

“Great, terrific! Cas is about to go nuke and the door to Purgatory is closed, that’s just perfect!” Ranted Dean, back still turned to Death as he lowered his head, both hands resting on his hips; his brain straining to come up with a quick enough solution. Anything.

“Now, now, Dean, not all hope is lost!” 

Dean raised his head, noting briefly that Sam and Bobby remained glued to their designated spots before turning to face the jovial entity. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation?” Barked Dean, completely missing how Bobby and Sam stiffen at the use of tone. Eyes widening yet unsure as how to appropriately intervene.  

“Why, the only way to save both Earth and Cassie is to have him return all the souls back to Purgatory!” Replied Death with cheer, softly clapping both foam palms together as he spoke.

“We need the door though.” Quipped Sam softly.“You have everything in that lab of yours! Simple, just bring Cassie there and inspire him to give up all those souls! Easy peasy lemon squeasy,”

“Even so, that door only opens in the eclipse. And that’s over.” Interjected Bobby hesitantly. 

Death fell stony silent in much the same manner as previously, causing Dean to suppress an eye roll. “Death! The door!”

“I guess I’ll just make another,” He sighed, foam hands disappearing in the sides of his cloak. Then, he leaned over, awfully close to Dean, with much the same manner one would associate with a slinky. “Now, I won’t be bound anymore, will I?” His tone is flat, and Dean uncomfortably looked away from the hollow holes of his masks eyes. 

Dean forced a cheerful grin upon his lips, "Desperate times call for desperate measures." 

In response, Death huffed before straightening. "Well, next time call me! You do have my number after all~" Then, he was gone, leaving a dumbfounded Sam and Bobby staring at the empty spot Death once occupied before whirling on Dean.

"What the hell Dean?"

"You have Death's number?"

Chapter Text

"Hello~ Hello~ You've kept me waiting~"

Sam stood in the threshold, stunned, staring up at the looming figure a mere few meters away from him. The last time he saw Death was during a standoff with Castiel, and even then Dean did most of the talking; seemingly able to read Death like an open book. With an unnerving ease that spoke volume.

But Dean isn't here, and Death never looked so intimidating until now.

"Please, please, have a seat!" He exclaimed gleefully, large foam hand lightly patting the chair in front of him. He then moved towards the other chair opposite, practically sliding across the floor as his upper body lightly bobbed. It caused an unease to stir in Sam at the sight. Yet, when Death sat down in his chair, jagged body bending in a human-manner, Sam reluctantly took his own offered seat.

Despite this, he sat rigid in his seat. Posture ramrod straight and eyes struggling to maintain contact with the pitch black holes of Death's eye sockets. It was at that moment, Sam wondered how Dean had managed to become familiar with the ancient being.

"You know… when I heard it was you, I just had to come down and see for myself~" As Death spoke, despite quiet and almost lulled, he still stubbornly held onto the light pitch in tone. As if trying to coax Sam into relaxing by appearing as none-threatening as possible. Briefly, Sam wonders if he frequently does this to all he reaps, or if it's a weird quirk of his. He still remembers vividly that exact tone when scolding Castiel.

"Why? To make sure I'll stay dead?" Croaked Sam in response, still struggling to maintain eye contact.

"Of course not! You may be the bane of every reapers existence, but personally I find you and Dean amusing~" Then, he heaved a sigh. "If you chose to pass on, I'll quite miss you and your brother's antics."

At this, Sam let slip a light scoff. "I thought it was your job not to hold bias."

Death seemed to pause at this, mask a blank sheet and body stoic; almost statue like. He can't read the being in front of him at all and that just unnerves him greatly. Had he overstepped his boundaries? He remembers quite vividly every interaction Dean had with Death, remembers how open he even seemed, like the two shared a history of some kind.

But he is not Dean. He's not so naive as to believe that whatever relationship Dean managed to conjure with Death equally applied to him.

"I try so hard not to place judgement. Every being, no matter how mighty, eventually perishes. Including myself." The last bit was spoken so softly, that had the fire crackled any louder behind them Sam was sure he would've missed it. "But you? And Dean? I think it's one of those once in a millennia occurrences where I can admit such bias and laugh freely; ignoring the path of destruction the pair of you cause, of course." He sighed deeply, almost whimsical. "Kids."

Sam couldn't help but furrow his brows, his body relaxing as they continue this almost pleasant chatter. Yet despite his age and infinite experience, Sam couldn't help feeling a pang in his chest as he listened. Death spoke softly, as if coaxing a child, not in the same manner he often pitched his tones in a childish way. But a genuine soft lull as if drawing from experience. No doubt this ancient being has reaped many new born babes and children alike. Briefly, Sam wondered if this is how Death managed to draw in Dean. Providing his brother with something both familiar with the supernatural yet something he deeply misses.

Sam hastily looked away.

"I need to know one thing."

"Hmm~?"

His eyes stung, the corners prickling, and for once Sam can't berate himself for showing weakness in front of a being that coaxes it like a father comforting his son. "If I go with you, can you promise that this time it will be final? That if I'm dead, I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away."

The words hurt to finally speak, to admit. Voice wavering between words. Like he's taking the easy way out, abandoning his brother and their shared responsibilities that they've silently taken upon themselves. Deep down he doesn't want to abandon his brother, to leave him all alone because deep down he knows how reckless Dean is. And how easy it can be for a lone hunter to perish. They themselves have experienced it numerous times.

"And nobody else can get hurt because of me."

The atmosphere shifted around them. Death's stony mask and abyss-like eyes remaining monotone and unchanging, yet Sam could feel a shift in him. A shift around him. Something benign and serene, unlike any experience he's had with lower reapers, who shift faces and appearances like a shifter. No, Death doesn't change shape in order to lure like the others; it's almost like the being treats those rare individuals he reaps as equals, whilst gifting them a show of his flamboyant and quirky personality. Like a parting gift.

If this was any other situation, Sam would've been terrified. And yet, it's only now that Sam can truly believe that he's lucky to be reaped by Death himself.

"Of course, of course~ Anything for you Sammy~" Then his voice softened, "You have my word."

The reassurance Death veiled in his tone felt genuine. Final. It softened the self-deliberate blows Sam was punching himself with internally, adding comfort to his decision. It gave him a soft lull that he wasn't abandoning anything.

His time is simply up.

"Sam?"

Sam whipped around, eyes widening at the sight before him. There, in all his fretting glory, stood Dean. His eyes flickering nervously between Sam and Death, as if hesitant around the being, before forcibly fixating his gaze onto Sam. An action that would've sparked questions if it weren't for his stunned reaction.

"Dean?"

"It's okay, Sam." His eyes then flickered over to Death. "I would've brought Crow Nuts, but time is short."

"I see." Sam frowned at Death in befuddlement. "By all means."

There was no cheerful tilt to his voice, no exaggerated body rolls, swaying, or bouncing. He truly looked eerie by the sudden stark contrast that Sam had witnessed. Something didn't feel right.

Sam looked hastily between Death and Dean, as if a hidden underlaid message was passed between them. "What's going on?"

"I found a plan."

"It's too late. I'm going."

"No, no, no, no, listen to me-" Began Dean, hand raised as if to placate, taking jerky steps forward. The action itself only served to make Sam even more annoyed at his brother's sudden appearance.

"Why are you even here?" He shot back, halting Dean in his quest. "I'm not fighting this anymore!"

"You have to fight this!" Argued Dean, all the while Death watched silently. If anyone else walked in they would've easily mistaken Death for a grotesque statue.
"I can fix this." His visage softened, eyes pleading, silently begging Sam for a second chance. "But not if you shove me out."

Sam looked away, hating to see his brother pained in this way. Because of him. Momentarily, Sam felt the corner of his eyes prickle; a silent threat of weakness. Utterly lost, Sam looked to Death.

"It's not his time." He heard Dean plead, though his eyes remain fixated on the rugged being. At the back of his mind, a nagging feeling tickles his mind. Something's not right. Something's not right. Something's not right.

"That's for Sam to decide." Answered Death, tone flat yet stern. Had he been in Dean's shoes Sam's sure he would've flinched. Again, the nagging spikes. Something's not right-!

"Sam, listen to me." Reluctantly, breath threatening to hitch as he pulls his gaze away from Death and onto Dean. "I made you a promise; in that church. You and me, come whatever, well hell if this ain't whatever. But you've gotta let me in, man. You gotta let me help!" Sam let his gaze flicker over to Death, chest clenching when the being who promised him finality watched on like a shadowing portrait.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you!"

He's torn, in more ways than one. He's tired, body and soul aching from the mistreatment of their ragged years. He wants desperately to rest, to sleep forever in peace and to let his worries drift away in the clear water streams of Heaven. Yet his heart aches and clenches painfully at the thought of leaving his family behind. He feels selfish, knowing exactly how Dean would feel if their positions were swapped.

Unabashedly, he turned to Dean with a shaky breath, tears finally escaping the tight confines of his self control and trailing down his cheeks.

"What do I do?"

Dean's face melted minutely, as if reluctant to jump to conclusions. "Is that a yes?" He asked breathily.

Sam's furrow tightened, stealing one last glance to Death, who stared back ominously, yet remained silent. Briefly, Sam remembered their earlier conversation, the obvious bias Death admitted to holding in regards to him and Dean. Is this possibly another influence?

Removing his gaze, Sam looks to Dean, visage set into something more determined. More confident. "Yes."

Dean visibly relaxed, breathing a silent sigh of relief as his lips threatened to tilt upwards. The sight made Sam's stomach twist at the elation on his brother's face at his confirmation.

"Let's go." Dean reached forward, grasping his shoulder in a comforting yet familiar manner, before tightening. Startled, Sam looked up, flinching when Dean's once elated face glowed brightly, morphing into something unrecognizable as his orbs glowed a gut-wrenching blue.

An angel.

He'd been tricked. And Death let it happen.

Chapter Text

Dean silently wraps his bleeding palm as he begins to dread his confrontation. Guilt ebbed at his gut as the rumbling of the summons subside; the shattered glass settling on the ground. Funnily enough, hightailing away from Sam with a body-length mirror and fitting it into Baby isn't as easy as it sounds. Yet a summons is a lot more easy and effective this time around. He just hopes Death doesn't begin to get annoyed with him and his frequent brushes with him. 

"Filthy."

Dean whipped around, mind on high alert at the unfamiliar voice. His gaze lands on a teenager, a boy wearing what can only be described as a gothic black suit, with a pair of the most vibrant golden eyes; sending shivers down his spine in a way no creature has ever done. The boy is rubbing something between his fingers, staring at it distastefully before dropping his arm to glance at Dean. There, he notices the odd hair; black with three even stripes of white that cover half his head. "Surely you could've chosen a cleaner location?"

"Who the hell are you?" 

"Death the Kid. Unfortunately my father couldn't answer your summons, but seeing as it's you he asked me to go in his place." 

"Father?" Dean stared at him, really looked at him, and felt a strong pang of familiarity. He's seen this boy somewhere before. Briefly, maybe, but he's definitely seen him. An appearance like that isn't something you just forget about. Death the Kid, he said his name is, even that rings a bell. Absently, Dean notes the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, his stomach threatening to drop unpleasantly. 

"Death is your dad?" Asked Dean incredulously, brow raised towards the boy. In return, Kid raised a similar unimpressed brow. 

"Yes, as I said, my name is Death the Kid."

Then, it clicked, the name acting as the final piece of the puzzle as memories slowly began to resurface. "I remember you now." Began Dean slowly as realisation dawned on him, a small smile gracing his lips with a huff. "Your old man showed me your baby photos when we first met." His stomach eased at the memory, yet his hair still stands with static, causing his shoulders to become taut. 

Instantly, Kid blanches. "Please tell me you're joking." 

Amused, Dean clicked his tongue; shoulders sagging minutely as his voice gives way to a teasing tilt despite the wobble that threatens his lips. "'fraid not, this was back when he was still bound by Lucifer. He missed you so much he pulled out the whole album." As he spoke, Dean noted with barely concealed amusement as Kid's face began to sours with embarrassment. 

"Gotta say though, the whole Wednesday Addams get-up? Not really your vibe. That was what? How many years ago? Still in your rebellious emo phase?" 

At this, Kid sputters. Hands balled up into fists, his brows deeply furrowed as he looks seconds away from sputtering out a retort in indignation, before coming to a complete standstill. Dean watches curiously as the teenager closes his eyes, hands unclenching as he breathes in deeply before releasing it as a long sigh. Then, he slowly opens his eyes, and for once Dean felt slightly unnerved as he stares straight into those sickly yellow eyes.

"Unfortunately, Father does have a tendency to be... overbearing. Though considering the unfavourable circumstances he was in prior to your first meeting, I'm not surprised. Father speaks highly of you, though I'm not too sure why."

Dean shifts on his feet, feeling completely like a fish out of water as he assess this new reaper. Ignoring the whole outfit, and the fact that he looks like a literal kid, there is absolutely nothing there for Dean to connect back to Death outside of his own bizarre name. Despite being father and son, there is no hint of sharing a similar personality; the way he talks and holds himself is rigid and too formal, his words come out dry and indifferent, as if he's viewing things from an detached perspective. Despite being right in front of him, hands clasped behind his back with half-lidded eerie eyes, Dean feels as though the floor is about to give out from under him. 

Despite the glimpse of genuine emotions he managed to spur out of him, Kid remains stoic and concise. Yet the skin-prickling sensation he's come to associate with being in the presence of a Death God suddenly feels taut under his skin.

He hates it. 

"However, thanks to you, Father has been freed, and Lucifer has once again been sealed. For that, I thank you." 

Stunned, Dean watches, perplexed, as Kid lowers his head before him; eyes closed and bangs shadowing his eyes as he remains bowed towards the floor. He remains as such, and Dean feels ill.

This isn't how it's supposed to go. This isn't what was supposed to happen. His aim was to summon Death and end it all, not have to forcibly converse with his mini-me, the silence and tension between them becoming suffocating and awkward as the minutes tick by.

He has a plan and time is ticking. If Death himself was here Dean wouldn't feel so helpless, so unsure in himself and conscious of the right words to say in this moment. Buried beneath, a part of him momentarily acknowledges that Death's flamboyant and childish personality makes it infinitely easier to read and converse with. 

As Kid rose, eyes once more piercing his, Dean is struck with the sudden realisation that Kid reminds him too much of the common Reapers he's interacted with. Blank, stoic, poised. A monotone being of ancient origins, yet the skin-prickling sensation is the only warning of how much power potentially lays coiled inside that tiny body. 

Reapers don't have much of a  feel about them. Just a weak, barely-there nagging that something isn't quite right. They're meant to lull you into serenity and peace, guide you into passing on, and often those souls that act on the nagging sensation are the ones who refuse to accept their offered hands.

Death himself came with a whole other sensation. Even when Dean became familiar with the ancient being, even after spending a handful of moments in close proximity with him for long durations; the only sensation Dean felt that something was wrong was the pin-pricks of energy that buzzed beneath his skin. The hair on the back of his neck threatened to stand on ends, his palms became sweaty, and whenever Death's large foam hand patted his head, the touch left pins and needles minutely buzzing on his skin. It was controlled.

Death the Kid is just that, a kid, and Dean can feel it in the way energy coils around him without the same restraint as Death. Looking into his eyes seems to make it worse, as Dean feels as if the shadows around them flicker. 

Abruptly, he looks away.

"Personally, I don't understand why Father asked me to go in his stead." Continues Kid, and if he notices Dean's sudden shift in behaviour he makes no comment. "However, considering it's you, I'll do my best to hear you out and, if possible, follow through with any request. It hasn't escaped my notice that the only reason you call upon Father is when you're asking for something." There's no negativity behind his words, still as flat and concise as before, allowing Dean to muster the energy to gaze back at the Death God despite the barely concealed jab. 

Clearing his throat, Dean made a point to stare just off to the side of Kid's head as he took tentative steps forward. If Death's eyes were the same hair-raising yellow as Kid's, than he's thankful he wears that stupid mask. Dean doesn't think he'd be able to look Death head-on if he shared those same eyes.

"I do have a request. A favour."

"Of course." Sighs Kid, shoulders sagging just enough to give the impression of exasperation. Even from the side of his head, Dean notes the almost comically tired look that flickers across his features. 'Disappointed, but not surprised' it seems to read, and if Dean hadn't spent as much time as he had attempting to interpret Death through his stupid mask and tilting voice, he probably would've missed the flicker of emotion Kid let slip. It gave Dean enough courage step closer, his eyes trailing closer to yellow before stopping just meter short of Kid.

"I want you to kill me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What? You suddenly hard of hearing? How old are you anyway?" Snaps Dean, irritation overcoming the prickling along his skin as his eyes snaps back to eerie yellow, just in time to catch the deep furrowing of the brows. Dean quickly looks down, suddenly catching interest in the skull brooch pinned to his-ridiculous-suit and, are those skull rings? He didn't take much notice of them prior, more focused on not turning into an awkward mess. But now that the ground has settled enough for Dean to gain his bearings before the new being, along with his unease with maintaining eye contact, and Dean has begun to notice the small  intricacies of his attire.

"I heard you perfectly, I'm just surprised by your sudden re-"

"Dude, seriously? Skulls? Can you be anymore emo? I get you're the son of Death, but I think you're putting it a little too on the nose." Critiques Dean, lips pulling back in disapproval with hidden cringe. How had he not noticed them before?

Kid's eyes widen comically before narrowing, "I'll have you know they're an heirloom! Father gave them to me!"
At this, Dean levelled Kid with a disbelieving look, eyes shooting back down to the skull brooch and matching rings before shooting back up to Kid with a look as if to say 'really?'. 

"Sure. Let's just go with that."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" 

"Just cuz your old man gave them to you doesn't mean you gotta wear them."

"My Father is Death." Deadpans Kid, as if that held all the answers. And if Dean hadn't formally met the being himself he would've been inclined to dismiss it. Unfortunately, your dad being Death does make sense, considering the being's taste in fashion has nothing left to be desired. When Kid grows older, will he dress like that too, he wonders?

"Sure thing, Eric Draven."

"Who-?"

"Look," cuts off Dean. "Are you gonna kill me or what?"

Kid remains fixated, lips pursed and eyes glowing with annoyance. His brow twitching ever so often as he stares directly at Dean, seemingly weighing something up in his mind carefully. "Why?"

Dean, without prompt, brandishes his forearm for the young God, rolling his sleeves up enough to show the angry mark burned into his skin. Consciously, he's aware of the intense pair of eyes baring down heavily upon the reveal of the mark.

"Do you know what this is?"

"The Mark of Cain." Dean glanced up, noting the eyes boring intently at the mark. His tone became heavier, not quite strained yet boring a seriousness he's heard a few times in Death himself. It's subtle, only noticeable by the sheer weight of the words spoken. 

"I've tried to fight it," his voice strains, this time stubbornly refusing to look away when kid's eyes snapped up to meet his. "I've tried to beat it on my own... and I can't." 

This close, Dean notes the the golden rings that encircle his irises, giving the vague impression of glowing rings of energy circling around his pupils. 

"I got no moves left. Except Death."

It was at this, that Dean notices a crack in the mask of Death the Kid. Whatever energy Dean managed to spark out of the kid earlier has drained away, weakening the mask enough for Dean to catch glimpses of hidden emotions.

Uncertainty. 

Kid takes a step back, and Dean feels his stomach drop.

"I... This, is beyond my capabilities." Admits Kid, the mask cracking further as he gazes at Dean with a look akin to pity. 

Don't

"Beyond your-" Stutters Dean, his legs feel weak as the fragile structure of his stability threatens to crumble at this sudden and gut-wrenching confession. Suddenly feeling so lost. "What do you mean, 'beyond your capabilities'? You're a Death God, aren't you? Mini-Death, the son of Death himself? I don-"

"Just because Death is my Father doesn't mean I am as powerful as him." Snaps Kid, eyes threatening to narrow once more from Dean's outburst. "It's not that simple. Despite being his son, I am not a mature Grim Reaper. There can never be two fully matured Grim Reapers existing at the same time. As such, I am immature, and don't possess the power to perform such a task." 

Questions flew through Dean's mind at the sudden drop of new information, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to latch on and voice even one of the numerous questions racing in his mind.

"Besides that, I feel this isn't a decision for me to make, regardless." Voices Kid softly, and only then did Dean stagger back to the present, becoming very aware of the implication behind those words. "I will need to converse with Father."

"Alright, take me with you."

"No."

"What? And leave me here like I just got stood up at prom?" Shoots back Dean hotly. 

Kid frowns, teeth clenching behind pursed lips. "This isn't a matter up for debate. I do not possess the authority nor the power regarding this set of unique circumstances. I will need to discuss this with Father. Considering it's you, I doubt Father will, as you so eloquently put it, 'stand you up at prom'. Wait here, leave, do as you wish. Father or myself will come find you to help rectify the issue." 

Dean lurches forward, "Don't you dare-". Within the first two steps he made, Kid vanishes, leaving nothing behind to indicate his presence. Absentmindedly, Dean dully notes the abrupt peace that came with his departure. His skin no longer buzzed, the hair on the back of his neck settles, yet his stomach continues to churned with the mixture of emotions that coil inside him.

"Son of a Bitch!"