Archive of Our Own

The candles were lit, the spell components on the altar with care, and Death stood in front of the whole thing for the last time a single man. He’d debated the spell for months now, but he’d found something lacking lately. The idea to use a consort spell had come on a whispered wind one day and now he was ready.

It wasn’t like Death couldn’t have anyone he wanted, it was that he wanted no one. Bodies meant nothing to him, they only became fertilizer at the end of things, which was probably one of his problems. He’d tried being with women, being with men, being with people of both genders, and those with none. Death had traveled to other solar systems, been on other planets, tried things in positions impossible to human physique, but nothing really stuck as being permanent. He was permanent. Even God wasn’t, so that was a problem indeed.

Picking up the knife and slicing his wrist with the blade, he chanted as he bled in the chalice. Feeling the magic rise in the room, he allowed himself a small smile. At the end of this, he would know who was the one living person the fates felt was right for him. He could have asked the fates themselves, but they didn’t currently owe him any favors, so it wasn’t likely they would have told him.

The bleeding slowed, his wrist healed. Putting down the athame, he picked up the chalice and stirred it with a wand of basswood. What would his consort be like? Who could possibly be right for Death? That was the eternal question, and Death expected to find the answer tonight.

He picked up the chalice and held it to his lips. “As I drink my consort will be found.” It was several long gulps before the blood and herbs and magic was down his throat. He carefully put the chalice down and waited as the energy sank through his body. Closing his eyes, he wondered if he would get an image of the person behind his lids.

Death stood there for hours, but once the magic went through him and nothing happened, he began to consider that. No image and when he opened his eyes, no line of red flowing from him to someone else. In fact, the magic just seemed to go back into the ground.

It was true. There was no one living on this earth or any other that was right for him. It figured that Death was such a difficult person to match, after all, everyone had to deal with him in one way or another, and he knew their whole lives the moment he looked into their eyes. How could you be close to someone like that?

*

Everything going according to plan? No, never when the Winchesters were involved. Death had steered clear of them for over a year, and now he had to visit. Castiel had trusted the wrong sort of person, and the angels had fallen. Then the stupid Winchester boys hadn’t even followed through on their end of closing off the gates of Hell forever. They would never learn, would they?

The problem was Castiel. He wasn’t near Dean and Sam Winchester, and he ought to be. So it fell to Death to try, once again, to make things work out right. He made his appearance as the boys were in their bunker, fighting over something trivial, as usual.

“Hello,” he said congenial, leaning lightly against his cane. He didn’t need it, but he had it with him always, a present from an old friend. A reminder of what it meant to be Death. “It seems you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble. Again.”

Dean and Sam both turned to look at him. Their looks would have been priceless if they weren’t on a time schedule.

“Death?” Dean gasped, looking around. “Who died? Wait, what are you doing here?”

Sam stood up tall, swallowed a few times and looked from Death to Dean and back again, apparently unable to decide where his focus should be. The trials had been doing their damage to Sam, and now he was so pure the slightest whiff of evil might topple him down to little bits of coal. Dean had no idea what he’d done to his brother.

“I have news, important news, so I expect you to listen carefully,” Death began. Dean looked around wildly before he swallowed. There it was again, that need to please in Dean’s eyes. It made Death wonder sometimes what Dean saw when he looked at him. Was he looking at someone he wanted to please, or was he looking at someone he felt respect for? Dean Winchester pretended he had no respect for anyone but his father, but he’d been learning, over time, that respect and groveling were two different things.

“I don’t have anything to drink, or eat right now,” Dean said, and the reference clicked in Death’s head. They’d only met over food before.

“Yes. That’s fine Dean, another time perhaps. We’re on a schedule.” Death wondered what sort of thing Dean would try to pull out for him to eat, were he to say he had the time.

“Okay, what’s going on then?” Dean asked, looking down at the ground for a moment. When he looked up, his face was scrunched into a polite mask of concern. The boy tried too hard, and his brother didn’t even know how to talk.

“Your angel, Castiel. He’s in trouble,” Death began, but Dean interrupted him.

“You know where Cas is?” Dean asked, rushing forward, no longer pretending to be anything other than himself.

“Yes, I know, and you must get to him before the other angels.”

“Why?” Sam asked, and he managed to get the question out before Dean got to say anything.

“Because he’s the link to Heaven.” Death looked over at Sam. The boy had grown into a man, and he had taken control of his destiny, which Death respected. As Dean had been learning who he was, Sam had been learning how to be better than he was.

“The link to Heaven?” Sam repeated with a frown.

“Where is he?” Dean asked, one hand reaching out to grasp hold of Death’s arm.

There was a shock that went through Death, a rush of energy, magic coursing through him. He turned his gaze back to Dean, and a blood red thread now went from himself to Dean.

The consort spell. Activating now, of all the times. How fascinating.

“Please remove your hand Dean,” Death said, and Dean’s eyes got wide as he looked down at where he was holding onto Death. In an instant he was free, Dean taking a step back reflexively.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, then he looked up again, squaring his shoulders, as though he might need to pry the information out of Death. “But where is Cas?”

“He is currently in a small hotel, just outside of Wyoming. This is the address,” Death took a piece of paper out of his inner jacket pocket and offered it to Dean. “The room number is there as well. Hurry Dean, if Castiel were to die now, the angels will never return to Heaven.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

Death turned to him again. “Castiel is the reason the angels fell. His grace was used to power the fall itself. Therefore him regaining his grace is part of what will reverse the spell.” Pulling out his pocket watch and peering at it, he frowned. “I suggest you get moving.”

“Right,” Dean said as he looked over the paper. “I think I know how to get to this hotel, do you still have that map program on your phone?” he asked his brother.

It was time for him to go, but Death stopped in front of Dean and allowed his fingers to lightly brush across Dean’s chin. Dean paused completely, looking into Death’s eyes, his own wide. What was it about this human that made the spell activate? Could Dean Winchester truly be the one for him?

“Hmm,” Death murmured, then he allowed his hand to fall and he turned away, walking back to his horse. He could wonder those things while he worked.

*

“Well, this is a mess,” Death mused when he arrived at the hotel. There was a literal bloodbath greeting him, several angels dead and waiting. Raising his eyebrows at Dean, he continued, “You didn’t prevent Castiel from dying.”

“No,” Dean gasped, blood running down his face and one of his arms. He’d given more than he’d gotten, if the dead angels were anything to go by. Death leaned on his cane and studied Dean.

“You lost your temper Dean,” he said mildly.

“They *killed* Cas!” Dean snapped. Then he looked around and saw his brother in a heap on the ground. “Sam!”

Death watched Dean rush off towards Sam, watched as he crouched and checked Sam’s pulse. Sam was still alive, but not by much. Hands shaking, Dean looked up at Death again.

“What’s going on? Is he waiting for your touch? Are you reaping him?” Dean rushed the questions out, eyes flicking over Death rapidly. Even from where he was standing away from Dean, Death could see Dean’s accelerated heartbeat, he could hear the quick breaths, watched as sweat trickled down Dean’s neck and face. For a very long time, Death didn’t say a thing, evaluating the situation, making decisions and plans.

“No,” Death said, just before Dean managed to say something more. “I’m not here for Sam. I’m here for the angels. They aren’t mortal, but they aren’t what they were either. Their passing requires…” Death paused then took the steps that led him to Dean. “A special touch.” He leaned down and brushed his fingers across the cheek of one of the angels.

He let out a sigh, and Death guided him to Heaven with a light push. Dean watched as Death moved to each of the other three angels. Death’s hands could be a balm to those suffering, it was what he was, the very basic fabric of his existence. Without looking back at Dean, Death walked into the hotel room, where Castiel was pacing around his dead body.

The former angel looked right at Death when he entered, eyes wide. “I’m dead,” Castiel said, and Death nodded.

“Yes, in a fashion,” Death agreed.

“I didn’t get to see Dean again,” Castiel frowned. “Will I see him again?”

“I suspect so,” Death murmured as Dean came into the hotel room.

“You can’t take Cas!” Dean cried out, rushing over to Death and grabbing hold of his arm. Death looked down at the hand wrinkling his suit and then up to Dean, raising his eyebrows.

There was a brief pause, then Dean let go of Death’s arm, brushing the fabric straight awkwardly. “Dean, every person has their time. We’ve discussed this in great detail already. Why would I not reap Castiel?”

“It’s too soon, you said… the angels…” but he faltered at Death’s gaze.

“I told you to find Castiel, to protect him from just this thing, but you didn’t. Do you expect me to bend the fabric of space and time, rearrange the universe, again, for *you*?” Death was curious how Dean would respond. He risked a quick glance at Castiel, who was watching Dean closely, a small frown on his face. His eyes found the blood red string connecting Dean to Death, and followed it between the two of them a few times.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “I don’t expect you to do it for me. I expect you to do it for the rest of this world.” He was standing tall, certain of himself, but Death could see the way his muscles were trembling with effort, with uncertainty. Dean shifted from one foot to the other lightly, and one hand rubbed up and down his leg.

“I told you, this is one tiny world in one universe,” Death allowed the worlds to fall off his lips, his eyes traveling across Dean’s face, studying the human.

“But you keep coming back here,” Dean said stubbornly. “You keep involving yourself in the affairs of this world, so there’s got to be something important going on here, something… right?” He looked like he wanted to reach for Death again, but Dean glanced at Death’s face and he decided against it. One hand was outstretched and it fell to Dean’s side. “I’m not wrong on this,” Dean said decisively.

“No,” Death shook his head as he made a final decision. “Each world has its own important moments. This one…” he motioned towards Castiel’s body and then to Dean. “Not one of the very big ones. Tell me why I should bend the rules for you.”

Dean stared at Death for a long time, then he looked out of the hotel, then back to Death. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I… I could owe you one. I’d be in your debt.”

“You’re already in my debt Dean, what on earth do you think you could give me that you don’t already owe me?”

“We’re even!” Dean said, looking wildly at Castiel, then back to Death. “You got something every time you did something for me! We’re square, this would be… I’d really owe you this time.” Death raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know! What do you want?” Dean asked finally, throwing up his hands.

“There you are Dean,” Death said with a nod. “Finally the words you needed to say. I will bring back Castiel, and I will heal your brother, not just of these recent wounds, but of the deeper ones from not finishing the trials. In return, you’ll come with me for one week, no questions asked.”

Staring at Death stupidly for a few moments, Dean finally swallowed and nodded his head. “I have to make sure they’re alright first,” he said. “And then I’m yours. One week.”

“Consider it done. You can’t back out of this Dean.” Death moved to Castiel and he caught Castiel’s eyes.

“He doesn’t know?” Castiel asked and Death shook his head. “It will be hard for him. He’s not good at recognizing his feelings.”

“Any advice you’d like to offer?” Death asked, amused.

“No,” Castiel said with a shake of his head. “I don’t think I’m qualified to offer any advice regarding Dean.”

“Take my hand.” Death reached his hand out to Castiel, who took it and Death crouched, putting the soul back into the body. Castiel gasped in a breath, and his eyes flew open.

“Cas?” Dean asked as he rushed over to Castiel, kneeling on the ground and putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. There was an intimacy there that Death had always figured would become something much more… physical, but it had never done so.

He walked out of the hotel room and over to Sam. Sam’s eyes were wide open, and he was looking around uncertainly. “It’s alright,” Death said soothingly. “No one is here for you.” He reached out a hand and touched Sam’s shoulder, sending energy into the body to heal him. “You need to relax and allow me to stitch you up.”

“What happened?” Sam managed to croak out.

“Dean killed several angels, you got caught in the crossfire I suspect, perhaps you were fighting as well. However, your body hasn’t fully recovered from the cleansing which occurred during the trials. Without the proper treatment, you will die. Dean offered to spend one week with me in return for healing you and bringing Castiel back.” Death watched Sam’s eyes widen. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep him from you forever.” Death patted Sam’s cheek with one hand and then pulled his energy out of Sam. Human bodies were very easy to fix.

“Sammy?” Dean called out as he rushed out of the hotel. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine Dean,” Sam said. He stood up as Death moved away completely, standing as well and turning to Dean.

Castiel came out behind Dean, looking from Death to Sam, and then back to Dean. Castiel was walking gingerly, eyes flickering around him as though he was determined not to get caught unaware a second time.

Dean gave Sam a hug, there was some conversation, and Death barely paid any attention to it all. He was instead trying to decide what he was going to do with Dean. Did he just take Dean to his house? Should he be explaining everything, or should he just allow things to go where they would? He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed a comment from Dean.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can Sammy. Death’s just… he’s just going to… I don’t know Sammy, I don’t know what he wants. Just watch over Cas and be careful with Crowley.” Then Dean let go of Sam and came over to Death. “Alright? Fine, let’s go.”

The edge of Death’s lip quirked up as he saw Dean grit his teeth. “Yes,” Death said with a nod. “I can see how very excited by this you are.” Reaching out his hand, he waited for Dean to grasp hold of it before shifting them out of the living realm and into Death’s realm.

Dean looked around, his whole body turning away from Death. This way of looking at the world was different even from that of the Reapers. Death saw the world in a light shade of blue, bodies bright with varying colors of red, depending on how close to death they were.

“What is this?” Dean whispered. He almost let go of Death’s hand as he turned back to Death. Dean’s eyes flickered down to Death’s hand, and Death allowed their hands to unclasp.

“This is how I see the world Dean.”

“But… when I was with Tessa… it was just like the real world, just no one could see me,” Dean said.

“Yes. That is how regular Reapers see the world. I get something different.” Death moved over to the pale car waiting for him. One hand brushed the sleek finish as he moved to the driver’s side. He could almost feel the soul inside lean into his touch. “Get in Dean, we’ve traveling to do.”

“Oh.” Dean walked around to the passenger’s side and got in, carefully closing the door. “Dude, nice wheels,” he said, looking the vehicle over appreciatively.

“Thank you,” Dean smiled.

Dean glanced at him as Death lightly stroked the steering wheel. “This is… is this your… *horse*?” Dean asked.

“Yes Dean,” Death nodded. “This is my horse. Home please.” The engine roared to life and the car began driving. Death was quite amused by Dean’s reaction to driving through buildings. Also by the way he stared out of the window with large eyes as the car lifted into the air and flew.

“Is this safe?” Dean squeaked out.

“Perfectly,” Death murmured. “After all, you’re in Death’s hands. I promise you will survive the experience.” Death knew he was smirking when Dean turned a glare at him.

*

Death motioned for Dean to sit beside him at the excessively long table. Dean did so, slumping down in the seat with a frown.

“This is just way too big of a house,” Dean complained. “How many people live here?”

“One,” Death said. Dean glared at Death.

“This whole house is for you? Just you?”

“This whole world is for me. Just me. Very few people have ever been here Dean, consider yourself incredibly lucky.” His one servant arrived and poured out a glass of red wine for both of them before disappearing again. Sub sandwiches and freshly fried potato chips appeared on their plates and Dean stared down at the food.

“Is this Hogwarts or something?” he muttered.

“No.” Death took the wine glass and swirled the liquid around, allowing it to breathe for a moment. He lifted the glass to his nose and took a deep breath. Yes, good choice. A small smile tugged his lip up and he put the glass down again. Then he noticed Dean staring at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Death asked.

“You… that isn’t cheap wine, but this is,” Dean waved at the plate. “I assume anyway. So… what?” Dean paused with a frown.

“I enjoy wine with dinner Dean. I also enjoy food. Please, eat. If the wine is too much for you, there is water.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, looking down at his plate. Then he picked up a chip and began eating.

Death did the same, and for a moment they ate in silence. Finally, Death broke it by clearing his throat. “So, Dean, have you ever heard of consort spells?”

Mouth full of sub, Dean looked up at Death and shook his head. “No,” he said around the food.

“They’re a variety of magic created a long time ago to ensure the proper and perfect genetic line of breeding. Back when they were most common, they were used only by the royalty or nobility in order to pick the best matches for their children. The consort spell would be held as absolute as far as final decisions were concerned.”

“Sounds like a brand of slavery to me,” Dean said. “What does a spell know anyway?”

“Depends on the spell,” Death returned with a nod. “Each spell had a different agenda, once the creators of said spells learned how to manipulate them. Eventually they fell out of favor because the royalty wanted certain things out of the spells and created spells to do exactly what they wanted despite what was actually best for the children involved. Countries went to war over the difference in spells used, and they were finally outlawed. The basic idea behind them was sound, and the original spells were actually quite reasonable.”

Dean pushed his plate away and looked up at Death. “Why are you telling me about this?” he asked, and Death could see Dean’s pulse racing.

“I think you’re suspecting the answer to that,” Death said candidly.

“No.” Dean shook his head. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I did a spell a few years ago and nothing happened,” Death said. He shrugged. “I was trying to see if there was, by chance, someone that I ought to be with. There are specifics in the spell. For instance, the person had to be alive.” Death had gone over his spell several times to see what had happened. Dean had been in Purgatory when Death had cast the spell. Therefore, by specifics, Dean was dead, not a viable option.

“I… what?” Dean’s brows furrowed.

“You were in Purgatory when I cast the spell. You were technically dead. Nothing happened when I cast it, so I figured there was no one alive that was right for me.” Death shrugged.

“Why would you even do a spell like that?” Dean asked.

“Curiosity I suppose. Does it matter?” Death pushed his plate away from himself as well and watched Dean. A wide range of emotions was flashing across Dean’s face, and Death waited them all out.

“I guess I just… well, I guess…” Dean shook his head. “It’s me, isn’t it? I mean now, it’s me. I’m supposedly the right one for you?”

“That bothers you?” Death asked and Dean clenched his fists.

“I don’t like being told who I’m supposed to be with.” Dean looked up and held Death’s gaze. “I’ve never thought of you that way.”

“Of course you haven’t. I hadn’t thought of you in that way either. That is part of the reason for the spell.” Death leaned back and brought his wine to his lips, taking a sip. “Do you believe I would take advantage of you?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” Dean’s voice was sharp, angry.

“Of course not. I have no wish to be with someone who is not entirely interested in being with me. You misunderstand my intentions, again. I brought you here to see if we have, in fact, any sort of connection. I did not bring you here to force you into anything you don’t fully want.” Why did so many humans think the worst of Death?

Dean studied him for several minutes before he finally relaxed and sat back in his chair. “Okay,” he said, running a hand across his face. “So, this isn’t about forcing me.”

“Please,” Death snarled lightly, forcing Dean’s gaze back to him. “Remember what I said about your presence and what it meant to me? I am not so desperate that I would force someone to have sexual relations with me. I am only interested in mutual satisfaction.”

Eyes wide again, Dean’s gaze flickered over Death’s face, then down to the hand that was lightly wrapped around the delicate stem of Death’s wine glass. “Oh,” Dean muttered.

“Oh indeed,” Death said as he took a sip again from the glass. Dean’s gaze moved to Death’s lips, then his throat as he swallowed. “I have to mention also that the spell makes each party more aware of the other. It cannot create, it only enhances and makes known.”

There was silence for a while, and Death put the glass down, facing Dean completely. He was beginning to wish he could brush his fingers across Dean’s face, bring his lips close enough to kiss, touch the firm muscles of Dean’s chest. Death wouldn’t, of course, because Dean wasn’t ready for contact.

“I don’t understand,” Dean finally said, and Death sighed.

“What that means, is that the spell cannot make you desire me. It can’t make you want to be with me, and it can’t create love where there is no love. What it can do is make you more aware of me. It can point out things that you’ve thought about but buried from yourself. It will remind you about feelings you’re ignoring or ideas you didn’t want to think about. I cannot help that, the spell is cast and it will fade over time if nothing happens between us.”

“So… so it won’t make me like you?” Dean said, and Death nodded his head. “Oh, that’s… that’s good.”

“Yes, I thought you would appreciate that.”

“Wait, but what if I’m feeling things… what if things that have never happened…” he trailed off and Death raised his eyebrows.

“It cannot create,” Death reiterated. “It can only make you aware of things already there.”

“Right,” Dean’s face flushed and he looked away. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Death stood up.

“I think I should show you your room now,” he said, looking down at Dean. This could take Dean some time to get used to.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. He scooted back his chair, which made a loud noise across the wooden floor. Looking at Death with wide eyes, he said, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Death said as he began walking to the hallway. “The floor has survived this many years, it won’t die now that you’re here.”

“Right.” Dean seemed unable to really talk and Death led him to the room right next to Death’s own. He didn’t tell Dean that of course.

Instead, he said, “Here you are. If you need anything, pull the cord by the bed and my help will be by your door in moments. Any questions?”

“No,” Dean said, finally looking up at Death again. “I guess… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Breakfast is at nine. I’ll see you there.” Death waited until Dean was in his room before going down the hall and into his own bedroom.

Not for the first time, Death wondered why on earth the spell had chosen Dean.

*

Death woke from dreams involving Dean moaning, and he washed in cold water to calm himself down. Breakfast was difficult only because Dean kept glancing up at him surreptitiously.

Finally, Death decided to address the issue of the rest of the day. “I’ve been thinking about what to do today.”

Dean flinched and looked towards the windows that were shining bright light into the dining room. “Oh?” he said with a frown.

“Yes,” Death nodded. “I thought you might like to go horseback riding with me. The grounds are extensive and I enjoy getting some air once in a while. What do you think?” But by the time he’d finished speaking, Dean was looking at him and Death thought he already knew the answer.

“Horseback riding?” Dean asked with a small smile. “Yeah! That’d be… great!”

“Good.” Death smirked. “I thought you might like that. I have just the horse for you too. Stallion, black, sleek and beautiful. I think you’ll take to him. His name is Baby.” Death wasn’t going to tell Dean exactly what that meant, but he enjoyed watching Dean’s expression go from uncertain to curious to disbelieving.

“Baby? For a stallion?” Dean asked.

“You’ll understand when you see him,” Death promised. “Are you done eating?”

Dean glanced at his plate, then stuffed the rest of the bacon into his mouth before pushing the plate away and washing the meat down with his juice. “Yeah,” he said when he swallowed. “Let’s go.”

In the stables, the two horses were already saddled and waiting for them. The one was Death’s, his beautiful car in the form of a horse now because that was what Death required. It could change shape into anything that was needed.

Dean was running his hands over the soft and black neck of his stallion, who leaned into Dean’s hands easily. His nose came over and nuzzled at Dean’s hair, in a way he couldn’t do when he was a car. Death swung himself up onto his horse as he watched Dean get familiar with his own mount. One hand traced behind the saddle, and then he frowned.

“What?” he said, fingers brushing over something. “What the hell is this?” he asked angrily, looking over at Death.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Death said, tilting his head to one side.

“There’s marks here! Scratches in his skin, a D.W. and a S.W.! What the hell kind of a joke is this?”

Death smirked. “That’s the marks you made with your brother when you were young.”

“I never touched a horse when I was young!” Dean snapped, still glaring at Death.

“No. And when we came here, you were in a car, not on this horse I’m sitting on.” Death watched Dean sort through what he was saying, and finally his eyes widened.

“Are you trying to tell me this is the Impala?” Dean whispered.

“Yes, in a fashion. It is the spirit of the car you take such good care of.” Death nodded. “I thought you would appreciate that.”

“But… If he’s here… then what’s going on down there? I mean, is the car still running?” Dean frowned.

“Don’t try to figure it out,” Death said, motioning for Dean to get on the horse. “I could explain, but I don’t know if you really want to know all of that. Just accept that even here, you have your “Baby”.”

Dean looked over the horse once more, then stepped up and into the saddle. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’ll just accept it I guess. So, where are we going?”

Death took the lead, and showed Dean the property. It was nice to get out and see the grounds again. Very nice. It was better having Dean with him, because Dean was new to this sort of thing, and he had all these *emotions* regarding it. For the first time in many years, Death found himself smiling.

*

The ride was nice, and the picnic lunch that had been in the saddlebags was eaten out on a field while their horses grazed. The stream nearby burbled over stones happily which relaxed Death more than he could ever have expected. Dean didn’t talk much, more interested in the actual ride itself and being close to his “Baby” than actually communicating with Death, but he didn’t mind. It had been a while since Death had been home, and he was thinking he needed to plan more vacations.

As he stretched out and looked over at Dean, currently stuffing his face with apple pie, Death thought he could be quite interested in vacations. He wiped his hands off on a napkin and then his lips, tossing the crumpled paper in to the basket before speaking.

“Are you homophobic?” he asked, just realizing that it was possible that Dean was so narrow minded.

Dean nearly choked on his pie and he put his fork down with a clatter. “Excuse me?” he gasped the words out, swallowing and then choking before managing to breath properly.

“I just realized that it was possible that your mind was not quite as evolved as others of your species,” Death said as he shrugged. “I was curious.”

“No,” Dean protested, shaking his head. “I’m not homophobic. Other people can do whatever it is they want to do with other people. I’m not their judge.”

“You have never considered yourself to be interested in people of the same sex?” Death asked then, raising his eyebrows. Dean was sometimes a puzzle, and he thought he ought to figure him out a little.

“No, not really,” Dean muttered as he looked back at his pie. He picked up his fork and took a cautious bite.

“Hmm?” Death wondered, sitting up fully and packing some of the uneaten food away.

Dean shook his head and then put his plate down in his lap. “Okay, there have been things,” he said finally. “Made me wonder, but no one’s really stood out, you know? So I just figured I’m straight with some weird… bends.”

“Bends?” Death asked with a small chuckle. “Such as?”

Glancing up at Death through dark lashes, and didn’t that boy have beautiful eyes, Dean muttered, “I like silky underwear.”

There was several moments of silence before Death spoke again. Multiple thoughts had passed through his eyes, but he couldn’t quite help himself from voicing the one that seemed most important. “I like silky underwear,” Death said. “To be honest, I prefer satin to silk, because satin is more slippery.”

Dean’s eyes got comically wide and his head lifted completely. “You wear satin underwear?”

With a smirk, Death motioned towards his pants. “Would you like to see?”

“No!” Dean said quickly, then he cleared his throat. “I guess I just can’t imagine it.”

“I see. So you feel that makes you more effeminate? Liking soft underthings?”

“Well, to be honest, I wore a girls underwear and I liked it, so… it’s more than just the feeling of soft,” Dean shrugged.

“I see. Do you think that men who dress up as women all like men? Because I can tell you for a fact there are men who like women and also like to wear women’s clothes. Your pool of knowledge seems rather small.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped and glared at Death. “I see all kinds of people!”

“Do you? Do you think you’ve seen more kinds of people than I have?” Death asked, leaning back and watching Dean. There was a pause, then Dean shook his head. “I didn’t think so.”

“I suppose I just… get involved with specific kinds of people,” Dean admitted.

“You have a particular job, and you see people who are of a particular type most often. I recommend you spend some time looking at the other kinds of people. The ones who do not fit in your neat little boxes.”

“Are you insulting me?” Dean asked, hands clenching as he stared steadily at Death.

“No. I’m merely suggesting you widen your horizons.” Of course Dean thought Death would insult him. Dean was used to being insulted, being told what to do, and how to behave. When Death thought about it, he realized that Dean was still forming, still new to his power as his own person.

“I don’t understand you,” Dean said. Death raised his eyebrows and Dean stood up, abandoning his pie to the blanket as he began to pace. “You’re like, really powerful, right? And you have all these Reapers working for you, and you can go anywhere, do anything, and you want a relationship with just… who ever the spell says you ought to have a relationship with. Aren’t you, like, so far beyond all this?”

“You believe that touch and intimacy is beneath power and authority?” Death asked as he watched Dean closely.

“No.” Dean turned back to look at him. “Yes?”

The corner of Death’s lips twitched up. “Which is it?”

“I don’t know!” Dean sighed. “I guess, I just think you’ve got so much, why would you want some human screwing it all up?”

“Who says a human would screw anything up?”

“Well I would!” Dean tossed his hands up in the air.

“Would you now? You believe I would do things for you even knowing the outcome on a much larger scale, just because I was in a relationship with you?” Curious.

“Wouldn’t you?” Dean asked. “Didn’t you bring Cas back and heal Sam because you wanted to spend this week with me? I mean… if you’re willing to do that to spend time with me, what would you do if I was dying?”

“Kill you,” Death said impassively. He kept his face controlled, watching Dean’s expression go from disbelief to exasperation, to belief. Dean’s green eyes widened and he swallowed several times.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Dean breathed.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Death asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Because then you wouldn’t be with me?”

“You are assuming that I wouldn’t be able to have relations with your soul,” Death pointed out.

“But.. the spell…”

“Was aimed for someone who was alive. I am not restricted in that way long term. If I had widened my options, I have no idea who would have been right for me.” Death stood and brushed off his hands, walking closer to Dean. The look Dean gave him reminded him of souls waiting for him to reap them.

When Death was right in front of Dean, he reached out and allowed his fingers to slide across Dean’s cheek, ignoring the small stab of irritation when Dean flinched away from Death’s hand. Humans could be so infuriating, really, they could. Dean’s breathing was heavier, hitching every once in a while as Death refused to move away.

“Honestly, it would almost be easier if you were dead. I could bring your soul here to reside, and then I would have you around whenever I was home. I could take you with me. You wouldn’t be able to interact with the real world, but I don’t usually either, and you would be right there, constant companion.” Death allowed his fingers to dip down Dean’s throat, feeling the steady pulse of life there, heavy and hard.

“I wouldn’t like that,” Dean muttered. “I’m not someone’s kept boy.”

“No,” Death agreed. The fingers slipped away and Dean peered at Death. “You are not the kind of person who would be willing to be kept. I’m merely saying. Living or dead does not matter to one such as I.”

Dean nodded his head briefly. “Do you think that far ahead? To when your partner dies?”

“No. Either state is acceptable, I don’t really care if you are alive or not.”

“You said alive in the spell.”

He had, hadn’t he? Frowning, Death tried to explain why he’d done that. “I wanted someone who had something to live for. Someone who would be busy with things, and would be able to deal with me not always being available. The dead have nothing left to them, just death. The living can have a household, can travel, they can save people, or they can run a business.”

“You want to be *that* guy. The one who’s always out of town on business.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t *want* to be that guy. I *am* that person. There is nothing I can do about it.”

Dean flushed slightly, then nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

Death shrugged. “Nothing to apologize for.”

For several moments they stared at each other, and then Death felt the punch in his gut. A moment later, dark clouds rushed over the area, rolling in fast and hard, thunder shaking the ground. The horses came over to them and crowded in, so unlike real horses, but spirits were always clinging to the things the cared about most.

Death frowned as he looked around. One hand lightly touched his shoulder as Dean did the same. The crack of lightning touched the ground nearby and then there was the pelting of rain across their skin as the clouds began emptying their misery.

“I’m sorry,” Death whispered, the anger inside mixing with his sadness.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, raising his voice to be heard over the wind that whipped up.

“A storm,” Death said wryly. He looked at Dean. “Can’t you tell?”

“Why is it suddenly pouring?”

Death would have said more, but another crack of lightning licked across a tree and the top half of it started crashing down. Moving quickly, he got in between the tree and Dean, making sure Dean stayed safe. The branch hit Death’s back hard enough to rip fabric and skin, and he waited until it was done shaking before standing up and brushing it off of himself.

A hand reached for the edge of Death’s torn jacket, and he felt the dull throbbing of pain across his back. Glancing at Dean, he saw eyes wide with disbelief and a bit of awe. Raising an eyebrow at Dean, he saw Dean’s lips moving, but couldn’t hear the words over the howling of the wind.

The movement was quick enough that Death wasn’t expecting it. The hand moved from the tattered fabric and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to Dean. Then there were lips pressing against his own, Dean’s body moving into Death’s space completely. His eyes wide, Death leaned into the kiss, relaxing a bit as he did so, wrapping his arms around Dean and holding him close.

When they broke apart, Death was a little out of breath, and Dean was pressed completely against Death’s body. “Wow,” Dean breathed. “That was… intense.” Death raised an eyebrow at Dean, who laughed. “Sorry,” Dean said and he backed away.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Death said as he allowed Dean to back away. His body was warm from the contact and even though the rain was still falling, he only noticed it because it was stinging his back.

“Can we go back?” Dean asked, and Death shook his head.

“No, but I can make a shelter.” Death moved to look around. He could easily make a shelter, this was his world after all.

*

They were sitting on a soft padded blanket, Death’s jacket, shirt and undershirt off, while Dean cleaned the large scratch across Death’s back. It would heal over time, Death had told Dean, but Dean had insisted on looking at it and cleaning it once he’d seen how deep the wound was.

Dean's hands were warm as they moved across his skin, and he thought he could get used to being touched. It didn’t happen very often, and it was nice. Death had waited too long to look for a consort, really, he had.

The shelter was a small shack Death had constructed from the nearby trees, with a fireplace that was blazing nicely and all the basic necessities. He thought he might keep it around in case of future emergencies. Every time Dean had asked for something, Death had put it in so there was also a large kitchen and a basement storage.

“So why was it suddenly raining?” Dean asked, and Death took a deep breath, trying not to feel the loss.

“Storms like that come when a Reaper dies a violent death,” Death explained. “It doesn’t happen very often, but now that it has, it will be hours before it subsides. Depending on the strength and age of the Reaper, it could actually take days to pass.” He swallowed around the anger in his throat. Death would not let the destruction of one of his own pass without returning the favor. He was very protective of his own.

“Oh.” He could almost feel Dean frowning. “It takes a lot to kill a Reaper.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So… what happens to the Reaper when it dies?” Dean asked.

Death turned enough to glance at Dean, who had a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide dripping from it in one hand. “I get a violent storm in my realm.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want? Not all creatures have souls. Some are souls and some are energy. Beginning and end but no…” Death trailed off, searching for the proper word. “Presence.”

“So… Tessa… if she died…” Dean trailed off.

“I would have a very violent, very long storm, and then there would be not another whisper of her across any realm ever again.”

Dean’s face contorted into several expressions and Death waited them out. “That’s awful.”

“I never forget them Dean,” Death said softly. He turned to face Dean and reached a hand up to touch Dean’s cheek. “They live on, through me, through my memories of them. I have lost many Reapers, to spells, to violence, to disasters they cannot control. Each and every one of them I remember, and I will never forget them. That is more than they could ever wish for, because they are just the ferrymen.”

“Still doesn’t seem right,” Dean grumbled as he leaned slightly into Death’s hand.

“You live in a very different world than I do,” Death said. “The angels are supposed to be the same way, but they don’t work like that anymore because of Metatron’s medling.”

“We have to fix that mess,” Dean grumbled.

“You will work on it, but it is not my business.” Death brought his finger down to brush across Dean’s lips and he watched as Dean gasped in a breath. It was nice to touch, and to see the effects it was having on another being.

“I dreamed of you last night,” Dean blurted out, and Death raised his eyebrows.

“Did you?” he asked mildly.

“It was intense, and it was weird, because I haven’t had those kinds of dreams in so long. I thought, well, I wondered… was it the spell?”

“Possibly,” Death admitted. “I had similar dreams myself. However, you would not have had it if -” but Dean cut him off.

“If it wasn’t there in the first place, right?” Dean rolled his eyes. “The thing is, I’ve never thought of you like that before.”

“Not that you were consciously aware of,” Death pointed out.

“You had?”

“Not that I was consciously aware of,” Death quirked his lips up.

Dean stared at him for several long moments, then he leaned in and kissed Death again. There was more hesitancy this time around, and Death leaned into Dean, opening his mouth and sweeping his tongue across Dean’s lips. Dean groaned and then there was a thunk as the bottle of peroxide fell from Dean’s hand. Dean slipped in to straddle Death’s legs, arms wrapping around his neck. He opened his mouth, meeting Death’s tongue and twining with it.

Death didn’t know Dean’s boundaries, so he kissed back, a moan slipping from him when Dean’s tongue explored his mouth. Dean slid closer and his hips were right against Death’s. He moaned again, feeling Dean’s length pressing into his own hardness.

Finally, Dean broke away and his lust filled eyes swept across Death’s face. “I never really thought I’d want to do this with a guy,” he admitted.

“I’m not really a “guy”,” Death said, raising his eyebrows.

“This is a male body,” Dean said, brushing his hands across Death’s shoulders and down his chest. “That’s what’s strange.”

“You’re willing to give it a try though,” Death said as he watched Dean’s face carefully. Was he reading Dean right? He hoped he was.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “I’m willing to give it a try. Only, what do I call you?”

“Death,” he said with raised eyebrows. “You thought I had some other name?”

“Well, isn’t death a concept, not a name?” Dean asked, licking his lips. “It seems like it would be weird calling out “Death” at the end.”

With a smirk, Death kissed Dean again, several times and when Dean was breathless, he pulled away. “I suppose you’ll have to find out how you feel about it when the time comes.” Then he moved to pull Dean’s jacket off of his shoulders.

There was a small struggle and neither of them spoke as they focused instead on getting Dean out of clothes. Then he lay Dean on his back, standing to pull the rest of his own clothes off. Dean watched, his breathing quickening, licking his lips occasionally as Death revealed pale and smooth skin.

“Shit,” Dean whispered. Death let his dark gaze sweep across Dean’s body, taking in the scars, the tanned skin, the anti-possession tattoo, the heavy and very hard dick nestled against dark curls. Dean reached up for him and he allowed himself to be pulled down until he was flush against Dean's body.

He kissed Dean again, allowing their bodies to get used to the feeling of each other before bringing a hand down Dean’s side to making him shiver. Death abandoned Dean’s mouth to kiss down his jaw, his neck, across his shoulder. The flesh tasted like the sun, heat and life combined. Flicking out his tongue to brush across the skin, Death brought his fingers across Dean’s hip, then slipped them up Dean’s skin, moving away enough to give his hand space. Death lightly bit at the shoulder, then came back to the juncture between neck and shoulder, sucking Dean into his mouth, teeth nipping as he did so.

Hands flexed across Death’s back as Dean moaned into Death, pressing his hips up and against Death. Letting go of Dean with a soft pop, Death breathed across the dark mark he’d left on Dean’s skin. Dean gasped and turned his head to look at Death, eyes glazed slightly with need.

“Yes Dean,” Death said, tweaking a nipple just to watch Dean twist under him. “I do know what I’m doing.” He smirked a bit at the faint flush that brushed across Dean’s cheeks.

“I never…” Dean started, but Death kissed him again.

When he pulled away, Death chuckled. “You didn’t have to say anything. I could see it in your eyes.” He kissed down to a nipple and sucked it into his mouth, allowing his fingers to touch the rest of Dean’s body. Dean twisted under his ministrations, moaning as Death’s fingers traced along the ribs, slipped down across his belly, then moved out down Dean’s hips and legs. Death enjoyed touching Dean, enjoyed feeling Dean’s breath hitch as Death’s fingers came back up Dean’s thighs and pushed the legs open.

Settling himself carefully between Dean’s legs, Death left the nipple to kiss a path down Dean’s body, licking the sweat that was beginning to shine across Dean’s skin as he went. When he slipped his tongue into Dean’s bellybutton, Dean’s hands were in Death’s hair, incoherent words coming out of his mouth. He allowed his fingers to dip down and squeeze Dean’s ass briefly before slipping up, brushing against the hole on their way back to lightly clench Dean’s balls.

“I’m going to suck on this a bit,” Death breathed into Dean’s skin, kissing the base of his cock. “But I don’t want you to come until I’m inside of you Dean,” he said, looking up at Dean.

For his part, Dean’s eyes were bright and completely blown away already. Dean nodded his head a few times, and Death opened his mouth to flick his tongue across the tip of Dean’s dick. Then he slipped the head into his mouth, tongue swirling around to lick the precome off of him. Salty, bitter, a heavy taste that Death attributed to the touch of shame and uncertainty Dean was feeling. Opening his mouth further, Death sucked Dean down, getting used to the feeling of it.

One hand played with Dean’s balls while the other slipped to brush at the skin between balls and hole. Dean’s hands clenched in Death’s hair and he spread his legs further. Humming around the hot flesh in his mouth, Death sucked Dean down more. Dean’s breath was coming in short pants, and when Death looked up at him, he saw Dean’s eyes were closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

It was delightful, and watching Dean come undone under his fingers was intoxicating. Death brought his head up and licked all the way up, sucking the dick down once more before coming off completely. Dean was ready for more.

Summoning the lube was as easy as wishing for it, and Death dipped one finger in the jar, swirling it around Dean’s hole right after. Dean’s eyes opened and Death looked up into them before wrapping his long fingers around Dean’s dick. He coaxed Dean further into pleasure by feeling each ridge and line of the dick in his hand, then slipped his slick finger inside.

“Shh,” he breathed when Dean clenched around him. “It’s just me Dean,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, fingers still stroking Dean. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a nod. “You’re just death,” and Death knew it wasn’t used as a name. Quirking his lips up, he nodded at Dean.

“If I had wanted to kill you, you would simply be gone, peaceful and easy.” A little roughly, Death pressed the finger inside Dean, all the way to his knuckle. “It wouldn’t be pleasurable and slow.”

Dean gasped at the intrusion, but he relaxed right after, getting a smile from Death for his efforts. “Sorry,” Dean breathed.

“I won’t take offense,” Death said, slipping the finger out a bit before pushing it in again. “As long as you remember not to do it again. Manners Dean. I know you were raised in motel rooms, but I also know you know what manners are.” He added a second finger and Dean’s eyes widened again.

“That was…” Dean started, but whatever it was, he never finished. Instead his hands left Death’s hair and clenched at the blanket under them. “Yeah,” he breathed.

“Does that feel good?” he asked as he twisted the fingers inside Dean.

“Yeah. Good.”

Death smiled indulgently and scissored his fingers inside Dean. He dipped his head down to lick at the tip of Dean’s dick again, fingers stroking harder, pulling at the flesh to keep Dean nice and hard. Adding a third finger got him another gasp, but Dean didn’t seem to want to keep Death away from him anymore. His hands had moved to his thighs and were now holding his legs as open as he could, giving Death complete access to what he wanted.

When Dean was nice and loose, Death moved away completely to get the lube on himself. Dean looked up at him with pleasure filled eyes, and he gave Dean a small smile. Once he was slick, he nudged his dick against Dean’s hole, pausing for a brief moment, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” Dean gasped. “Are you… asking for permission… now?” Dean shook his head and let one leg go to grab hold of Death’s arm. “Yes!” he hissed, and Death nudged himself into Dean.

Still so tight, but he had known that would be true. Dean hadn’t ever done this before, and although he’d stretched Dean nicely, three fingers was simply not the same as a heavy and ready dick. He waited for Dean to adjust to the intrusion, then he pressed in more. Dean’s eyes never stopped looking at him, and as the pleasure rushed across his body, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Yeah,” Dean said with a nod. “That’s good. That feels good.”

“Indeed,” Death agreed. Pressing in further, he felt Dean accepting him, opening to him so deeply inside that he could almost see the acceptance. Death was now a part of Dean, as he was a part of Death.

Once fully inside, Death allowed himself to feel all of Dean, still clenching around him occasionally. There had been desire building inside him since he’d seen Dean a few days ago, and now it was entirely focused between them. Death didn’t say a thing, just began moving, slipping out a bit to push back in, and Dean cried out, both hands grabbing at Death’s arms, legs wrapping around Death’s waist.

“Yeah!” Dean’s legs clenched tighter and Death grabbed hold of Dean’s waist, fingers digging into Dean’s skin. “Yeah, that’s good, god, that’s so good,” Dean was mumbling, and Death smirked.

“I’m not God Dean,” Death said, feeling his heart pound in his chest, an ache settling into his thighs as he sped up, pounding harder into Dean.

“No, not God,” Dean agreed with a nod. “You’re…” he paused and Death sped up, feeling Dean clench around him before relaxing a moment later, as though Dean couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more. “You’re…”

“You seem to be having trouble deciding who I am,” Death said, hearing the slap of skin on skin reverberate through the room, feeling himself getting closer as he watched Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, fingers digging into Death’s skin so hard there would be bruises later. He didn’t mind, and he sped up again. “Yeah! Oh god,” then he paused, and licked his lips. “Death,” he whispered, almost like he was embarrassed to say the word.

“That’s right Dean,” Death said, feeling his body clench, getting ready.

“Death,” Dean said louder as he closed his eyes, his head tipping back. One day, Death would put his fingers around that delightful throat and stroke it as he pounded into Dean. For now though…

“Yes Dean,” he groaned, slamming into Dean, riding the pleasure and finally coming.

“Death!” Dean cried out, coming when Death’s fingers wrapped around Dean’s dick and stroked him a few times.

For a moment, Death just watched Dean as he came down, legs relaxing and falling on the ground, hands letting go of Death’s arms as well. Then he just lay there, breathing hard for several moments, finally opening his eyes and looking up at Death.

“Jesus,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “That was… amazing.”

“Yes,” Death agreed as he slowly pulled out of Dean. When Dean hissed a breath in and clenched, Death paused, stroking fingers down Dean’s thigh. “It’s alright. As I said, it’s me, and I won’t hurt you. You have to relax again to let me out.”

Dean nodded and slowly relaxed, allowing him to pull the rest of the way out, but not without moaning at the end. He moved to lay next to Dean, and pulled him close. With a kiss to his forehead, Death stroked sweat soaked hair off of Dean’s face.

They were silent for a while, just lying there breathing the same air. Then Dean took a deep breath and nodded his head.

“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he admitted and Death chuckled.

“Would you?”

“Yes.” Dean glanced up at him. “But… I have to go. Like, not this instant,” he said when he saw Death’s eyes narrow. “Just… I can’t stay here with you, all the time, you know? There are things, I have to do. Out there.”

“There are things I have to do as well. What are you proposing?” Death asked. Dean wouldn’t have started this conversation if he hadn’t any kind of ideas.

“Maybe… some way to contact you? I mean, I pray to Cas, and I know he hears me. I can’t pray to Death, right?” Death shook his head, but the idea was amusing. “So… how do I get in contact with you? I mean, I won’t go and kill myself every time I want to chat.”

“No, that would be unwise.” Death considered, then created what he wanted. Nothing was too difficult for him. He offered the phone to Dean.

Taking it in one hand, Dean frowned. “It’s… white,” he complained.

“Cream,” Death corrected. “A…” he paused. “Pale phone.”

Dean groaned and put his face down on Death’s chest. “Seriously?”

“You can call me on that. I figure you have no other phone that is like it, so you should always be able to tell who you’re calling. My number is already programmed in. And Dean?” Death waited until Dean was looking up at him. “It’s unbreakable. Nothing will harm it, so I suggest you keep it on you always. Don’t give it away, or I’ll be quite irritated.”

“Can I use it for other calls?” Dean asked, and Death shrugged.

“I suppose you’ll have to figure that out. If you want to know badly enough.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Dean put his head down again, the hand with the phone dropping down across Death’s chest.

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “We’ll give this a shot.”

“Dean,” Death said quickly. “I don’t share.”

“Yeah. I had a feeling you might say that,” Dean grumbled.

“Did you? Well then, you know now and you will react accordingly.”

“Yeah.”

More silence, and then Death smiled. He was ready for round two.

The End