Flirting with Death: Five Worlds the Winchesters Never Visited (1/5)
Disclaimer: Not mine. In case anyone was wondering.
Rating: Gen, no rating.
Notes: This is one of five unconnected short stories crossing Supernatural with other fictional universes. I'll be posting one crossover a day; all five stories are already completed. Feedback of any kind - positive and negative - is much appreciated!
Spoilers: Very mild for 1x12 ("Faith"); fairly massive for 2x01 ("In My Time of Dying").
Betaed by solo____. Thank you again!
Flirting with Death
by Sylvia
The third time a reaper comes for him, Dean doesn't even try to talk his way out of it. Third time's the charm, as they say.
When a bridge troll catches your head between its fist and the concrete pillar of its chosen bridge - yeah. That's pretty unequivocal, as Sammy would say. Ketchup, as Dean might put it. Game over, thanks for playing, and all that.
Dean figures he's been lucky. Right? He's lived to see Sam safe. He's protected him for long enough to make sure that he isn't ever going to fall into The Demon's clutches. The Demon's gone. Sam's safe. Dean never expected to live to see his thirtieth birthday, anyway. It's okay. Dean can go now.
Or so he tells himself as the reaper approaches. He tells himself several times, while trying very hard not to think about what Sam will do when he finishes rigging the bridge to explode and comes back over here.
"Hey," he says, and smiles at her. She's being the pretty girl again. He'd forgotten about her once he'd escaped her, but now that he sees her again, it's all back. "Sorry about that last time. You know, the demonic possession and all. That had to suck."
She smiles back. "It wasn't your fault. And I made sure to pick that demon up in person when its time came."
So it *is* the same one. Dean hadn't been sure. No-one really seems sure if there are many reapers or if they're all one, somehow. "Hope you gave the fucker a bumpy ride to hell."
Trade secret, looks like. She smiles like a sphinx and comes closer.
Nice dress - death has a very pretty rack. Not that he's staring, that would be crude. Not to mention kinda inappropriate, what with being dead and all. It's not like he can help noticing, though, with that low-cut neckline.
He wonders how that works. Is she plucking the image of a pretty girl out of his head in specific - which, yeah, that makes sense, but if he'd seen this form before on a living girl he's sure he'd remember - or is it some kind of general template to fall back on? Pretty Girl Number Twelve, dark-haired, pale-skinned, nice handful?
Just one of death's unsolved mysteries, he guesses. "Okay then. How does this work?"
She holds out a hand, and he takes it, allowing her to pull him up and away from the not-too-pretty wreck of his body. She smells nice, like citrus and hyacinths. Or some flower, anyway. Not how you'd imagine death would smell, and for a moment Dean allows himself to think that she's making a special effort for him.
He grins at the thought. Right. Not conceited at all, Dean. She wasn't even female at all, really. Just some kind of anthropomorphic manifestation.
But... she *had* told him he was cute. And this was their third date, in a way. Maybe he could get a kiss out of it. Kissed by death, it would be fitting and poetic and everything. Sam would approve.
Well. In theory.
For a moment, he thinks that she really will kiss him. She pulls him closer still, and he comes willingly, and she leans forward, and she feels just like a real girl when he dares to put his free hand lightly on her hip.
She huffs in exasperation just like a real girl, too, when she pulls away. "Oh, you have *got* to be kidding me."
Dean stares at her for a moment and then raises his eyebrows. "Something wrong?"
Surely this isn't *another* demon -
He looks around, but there's just the troll lumbering off and his body still lying there - and yuck, he really hadn't needed to see that from up close.
But... wait a minute. What was that blue light crawling over the corpse - him - his body? Trolls didn't have anything to do with electrical phenomena. They weren't poltergeists - just big lumps of animated rock.
The reaper sighs. "Well then. Guess I'll be seeing you, Dean."
"What...?" But that's the moment when she does kiss him, just a peck on the cheek, sadly enough, and it's also the moment when Sam finally does turn the corner and shouts Dean's name, and then he loses track of things and suddenly he's staring up into Sam's frantic face and *everything* is hurting.
O-kay. More to this dying thing than he figured.
Maybe he'll manage next time.
(Highlander)
Rating: Gen, no rating.
Notes: This is one of five unconnected short stories crossing Supernatural with other fictional universes. I'll be posting one crossover a day; all five stories are already completed. Feedback of any kind - positive and negative - is much appreciated!
Spoilers: Very mild for 1x12 ("Faith"); fairly massive for 2x01 ("In My Time of Dying").
Betaed by solo____. Thank you again!
Flirting with Death
by Sylvia
The third time a reaper comes for him, Dean doesn't even try to talk his way out of it. Third time's the charm, as they say.
When a bridge troll catches your head between its fist and the concrete pillar of its chosen bridge - yeah. That's pretty unequivocal, as Sammy would say. Ketchup, as Dean might put it. Game over, thanks for playing, and all that.
Dean figures he's been lucky. Right? He's lived to see Sam safe. He's protected him for long enough to make sure that he isn't ever going to fall into The Demon's clutches. The Demon's gone. Sam's safe. Dean never expected to live to see his thirtieth birthday, anyway. It's okay. Dean can go now.
Or so he tells himself as the reaper approaches. He tells himself several times, while trying very hard not to think about what Sam will do when he finishes rigging the bridge to explode and comes back over here.
"Hey," he says, and smiles at her. She's being the pretty girl again. He'd forgotten about her once he'd escaped her, but now that he sees her again, it's all back. "Sorry about that last time. You know, the demonic possession and all. That had to suck."
She smiles back. "It wasn't your fault. And I made sure to pick that demon up in person when its time came."
So it *is* the same one. Dean hadn't been sure. No-one really seems sure if there are many reapers or if they're all one, somehow. "Hope you gave the fucker a bumpy ride to hell."
Trade secret, looks like. She smiles like a sphinx and comes closer.
Nice dress - death has a very pretty rack. Not that he's staring, that would be crude. Not to mention kinda inappropriate, what with being dead and all. It's not like he can help noticing, though, with that low-cut neckline.
He wonders how that works. Is she plucking the image of a pretty girl out of his head in specific - which, yeah, that makes sense, but if he'd seen this form before on a living girl he's sure he'd remember - or is it some kind of general template to fall back on? Pretty Girl Number Twelve, dark-haired, pale-skinned, nice handful?
Just one of death's unsolved mysteries, he guesses. "Okay then. How does this work?"
She holds out a hand, and he takes it, allowing her to pull him up and away from the not-too-pretty wreck of his body. She smells nice, like citrus and hyacinths. Or some flower, anyway. Not how you'd imagine death would smell, and for a moment Dean allows himself to think that she's making a special effort for him.
He grins at the thought. Right. Not conceited at all, Dean. She wasn't even female at all, really. Just some kind of anthropomorphic manifestation.
But... she *had* told him he was cute. And this was their third date, in a way. Maybe he could get a kiss out of it. Kissed by death, it would be fitting and poetic and everything. Sam would approve.
Well. In theory.
For a moment, he thinks that she really will kiss him. She pulls him closer still, and he comes willingly, and she leans forward, and she feels just like a real girl when he dares to put his free hand lightly on her hip.
She huffs in exasperation just like a real girl, too, when she pulls away. "Oh, you have *got* to be kidding me."
Dean stares at her for a moment and then raises his eyebrows. "Something wrong?"
Surely this isn't *another* demon -
He looks around, but there's just the troll lumbering off and his body still lying there - and yuck, he really hadn't needed to see that from up close.
But... wait a minute. What was that blue light crawling over the corpse - him - his body? Trolls didn't have anything to do with electrical phenomena. They weren't poltergeists - just big lumps of animated rock.
The reaper sighs. "Well then. Guess I'll be seeing you, Dean."
"What...?" But that's the moment when she does kiss him, just a peck on the cheek, sadly enough, and it's also the moment when Sam finally does turn the corner and shouts Dean's name, and then he loses track of things and suddenly he's staring up into Sam's frantic face and *everything* is hurting.
O-kay. More to this dying thing than he figured.
Maybe he'll manage next time.
(Highlander)