Title: It Tolls for Dean

Summary: The Winchesters always seem to cheat Death, to sidestep, con or be dragged out of it. Not this time. This time the bell is ringing for good.
Disclaimer: The characters are Kripke's and the CW's. I'm just having fun.
Characters: Dean, Death
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AR/AU, language, death, ignores the final scene of 5.22 (Swan Song)

"Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave."

Joseph Hall, Epistles

"Dean Winchester."

The voice was smooth, cultured, with a touch of accent that could be from just about anywhere in the world. It also sounded familiar in a nerve-wracking kind of way. Dean opened his eyes—fuck, he hurt—to a world turned a little grey in colour and somewhat muffled in sound. He knew where he was—he knew what he was—without having to be told.

And he knew whose voice he'd heard…

"Death," his voice sounded scratchy. Hopefully the Horseman would think it was because of whatever injuries he'd sustained not because he was nervous as hell. "I never thought to see you again." Especially not sitting calmly beside his hospital bed in a nice two-piece suit, legs crossed, overcoat draped neatly over his lap. One hand—one ringless hand—held a cane. Obviously, Death didn't need jewellery to wield his power.

A thin smile barely cracked the Horseman's cadaverous face. "Perhaps I wanted to be sure that nothing interfered this time."

"Interfered?" He asked, even though he knew he shouldn't.

"Angels, deals with demons. God." Death paused delicately, one eyebrow up, "Those kinds of things."

Oh yeah, those pesky little things, Dean thought but didn't say. "So I'm definitely gonna die this time?"

"Absolutely," the Horseman agreed, "Don't you think it's about time?"

Was it time, Dean wondered? God knew, he and Sam had avoided dying and actually staying dead for a long, long time. Eons, he sometimes felt. He was sixty-two now, which was a lifetime older than he ever thought he'd reach, older than his dad had been... older than Sam would ever get except, of course, kinda not.

"Sam?" he asked into the silence.

"I have no idea. He is beyond my immediate dominion," was the placid response. Death didn't really care one way or another about Dean's brother except that he'd carried Lucifer back down into the pit and the brother's action had freed him from the Devil's spell. Even so, it took only moments for a solemn young man in a dark suit to walk into the hospital room and stand at the Horseman's side, waiting until Death acknowledged his presence. The reaper spoke a few soft sentences into his boss's ear before he just... went away.

"Sam is still in the cage," Death said, "Still trying to convince Michael and Lucifer to 'talk their differences out'."

Dean laughed even as he wanted to cry. That sounded so like his Sammy; still trying to fix things, make everyone feel better. Thirty plus years and it still ached like a part of him was amputated which it kind of was. Apple pie sucked when it wasn't shared with the right people. "Will he ever..."

"That is outside of what even I can know." The voice was gentle but implacable, "If he can separate himself from Lucifer's… essence, he'd still have to find a way to get his body out of Hell. That generally requires divine interference."

Not likely then.

Dean didn't say anything, couldn't really because it still hurt. He'd hoped to see him again before he died, assure himself that the big pachyderm was okay.

"Cas?"

"He will not intervene, if that's what you're asking." Dean shook his head slightly since that wasn't why he'd asked. It was just that, if anyone could give him a final update on what his angel buddy was up to, it was Death. It would have to be Death because it was plain that the Horseman wasn't going to allow any celestial visitations this time. He was right, too; the Horseman did have something to offer: "He hopes to see you in Heaven."

Dean snorted. Death's eyebrow went up.

"You don't expect to go to Heaven?"

Dean almost blew it off with a cocky remark but he didn't, because this was Death, and he'd never been able to hide from him. Cheat death, yes; sidestep it, con his way out of it, be fucking rescued from it, or at least the act of it. The actual, physical embodiment of Death? Not so much. Besides it wasn't about expectations. "Not sure I want to, even if they'd have me."

The eyebrow went up again; silent demand.

"It's all lies. Your happiest memories played out endlessly, but it's not real. The people aren't real."

"You don't want to be happy? Perhaps be a small child again with no worries and nothing to do but catch butterflies?"

So few words but Dean could see it; feel the weightless joy of having no responsibilities; to not be the one to make the decisions, to not have the weight of everything on his shoulders. His mom would be alive, and his dad. Sammy would still be in the future and therefore safe. It was attractive, very attractive, he could admit that.

And it would be a lie.

"That's not happy. It's Disney Channel on endless repeat." Even as he rejected it, he could almost hear some smooth game show host asking him if that was his final answer. He just about took it back. He had his mouth open and everything but, nothing came out.

It wouldn't be right to say yes.

And that was a totally inadequate explanation for his bone-deep response so he searched for a better idea of why it felt so horrifying because it shouldn't. To be carefree should feel like… heaven. He was being offered that and he should want that. Who wouldn't want that after living his life? After all, it wasn't like it had been puppies and candy cane, far fucking from it actually. Yet he still didn't want The Matrix.

Why?

He thought about it, pictured reality's grit and compared it to heaven's wish fulfilment, and he figured out why he'd always clung so hard to this world, this life.

It didn't matter that Ash had ways of crossing into other people's heavens, of bringing them together in the Roadhouse because, at the end of the day, he knew that what he felt, here, now; what everyone felt, what they said and did, was real. It wasn't digital playback in super-realistic celestial 3D surround and heaven was.

He clenched his jaw and kept his mouth fucking shut.

"So, Dean Winchester, you don't wish to go to Heaven. Hell won't have you," Death smirked in amusement, "Too afraid you will find some way to release your brothers, or at least Sam. Whatever shall we do with you?"

"I thought you guys didn't know the punch line," Dean said to fill up the silence because he had no fucking clue how to answer the Horseman. A stupid question was probably better than listening to the beeps and hums of the equipment surrounding him. Speaking of... "How did I buy it anyway?"

"You finally ask." Dean stayed silent, shifting a little, uncomfortable under the Horseman's cold gaze. Death did that little smile thing in acknowledgement. At least someone was enjoying this. "You were hit by lightning."

Lightning? What the fuck?

"You're shitting me." Death almost frowned and Dean realized just how rude that sounded. "I mean, death by lightning… really?"

The Horseman placed both hands on his cane. It was a sign of infinite patience and scary as hell, Dean thought. "I thought it appropriate actually, since that was how you were originally supposed to die."

Originally... what the hell did that mean? Dean thought back over his life, all the close calls and the dead-centre hits before he got it. "The rawhead in…Iowa, I think, maybe. Roy Le Grange and his self-righteous witch of a wife."

"Precisely," Death smiled in approval. It's fucking scary. Dean decided immediately that Death shouldn't smile. "The angels made sure Sam was given enough information to be able to locate Mr. Le Grange. Then they made sure that he picked you out of the audience so you could be healed and they could continue with their plan for Armageddon. Of course I am grateful that you freed my reaper from that woman's control, but you should have died." Dean remembered the reaper chasing him in the parking lot; he remembered Layla so beautiful and accepting. He couldn't argue with the Horseman's assessment—he should've died.

Fucking angels...

"The biblical forces have slightly less interest in you now so there was no reason for us to not to do this properly. All that was required was an opportunity and the lightning storm provided it. I made myself available and waited for your hero complex to make you act rashly as I knew you would, and—" a skeletal hand waved vaguely around the ICU, "—here we are."

It was odd, Dean thought. He'd had angels and demons taking a personal interest in him and his family for… probably generations actually. But knowing that God and the Devil were meddling in his life was not even half as fucking frightening as knowing that Death had been watching him. Dean tried not to be completely freaked by that fact but mostly failed.

"If it makes your ending more palatable, the little boy you were trying to get to safety survived unhurt," Death offered the information indifferently. He didn't care, and Dean, when he thought about it, didn't really either because he couldn't remember it very well, probably because of the lightning hitting him. If 1.21 gigawatts could jump start a time-travelling DeLorean, it could probably fry his brains pretty good. Still, Dean could admit that, since he had to check out, it was nice to go as a hero.

However, Death wasn't here to make sure he felt good about dying. In fact, Dean was pretty sure that the Horseman didn't give a shit if Dean was happy about it or not. He just wanted to make sure that Dean did die... and that he stayed dead too.

Surprisingly, Dean was okay with that. "I'm okay with it," he repeated out loud. "I think I've been okay with dying for a long time."

The Horseman pursed his lips in acceptance. "Tessa did say she nearly had you convinced before that black smudge appeared," he said blithely and nearly made Dean choke on his laughter—which would have been a neat trick considering he was already a spirit—but the former hunter couldn't help it. He'd never heard old Yellow Eyes referred to as a 'smudge' before. It made the demon sound like a charcoal stain...

Death merely looked at him, stared at him with his cold eyes. One finger tapped out a steady rhythm on the head of his cane.

Dean got himself back under control.

Death nodded his approval. "Still, Dean Winchester, we are left with the problem of what to do with your soul once you die. You have rejected Heaven. Hell says no. Purgatory is… Well, let's just say I can't recommend it," He stopped, finger tapping, still looking at Dean, considering. "Perhaps you'd like to stay here and work for me?"

Dean's jaw would've dropped to his ankles if he hadn't been lying down. "You mean become a reaper? Me?"

Death nodded slightly, resettling his hands on his cane. "You have no fear of death. To you it is just another state of being. You understand it, physically and emotionally, far better than most humans yet you are still able to remain detached from it. Those are the perfect qualities for a reaper to possess."

The former hunter was already shaking his head. "I don't know; I think I'd suck at it. The first time some serial killer or sick pedophile refused to be reaped I'd probably go ballistic or something." He risked looking at the Horseman directly, "I've hunted monsters all my life. Being dead isn't likely to change that."

"True. You might prove to be a touch recalcitrant upon occasion and I truly do prefer when the process runs smoothly." Death's smile had been scary but it had nothing on his little chuckle.

Dean tried to control the shudder than ran down his spine. "So where does that leave me?" he asked. "I mean, in terms of my afterlife."

Death looked at him—really looked at him—and Dean was helpless under his gaze, unable to move, or blink or even fucking think. It was an eternity, it was a moment, but he was exposed more deeply and thoroughly than Alistair had ever managed on his table with all his knifes and scrapers. For all the times he'd died—too many times—Dean realized he'd never had his life flash before his eyes before.

All things considered, he decided that had been a good thing.

Another smile, wider this time but just as unnerving, "I guess, it will just have to be a surprise." The Horseman leaned forward. He'd seemed so far away in his chair but he reached Dean easily and placed two fingers on his forehead. Dean braced himself for the wrenching weirdness that had always followed Cas performing that gesture but there was nothing, just a void. It wasn't weightlessness, or fear. It didn't hurt. It didn't even make him want to hurl. It was just… almost nothing.

It was almost like sleeping but without the nightmares.

…

There was noise; a steady 'thump, thump'. It was reassuring, almost forgotten but still familiar.

He went back to sleep.

…

He ached a little; felt tight and uncomfortable.

He didn't even realize he was stretching until something soothed the ache away and he went back to sleep.

…

It was beyond uncomfortable. He needed to get out.

He tried to kick, and move, but he couldn't: the space was too small.

Out. He needed out. Right the fuck now!

…

He was out. It was louder and quieter, colder and yet somehow warm.

Wherever this was, it was much better.

"Oh my god, Amy! Look at him! Look at our baby boy."

The voice was tight with excitement. No matter how calm her husband was trying to sound, Amy could hear Matt's blissed out grin. Amy smiled lazily in return, happy but tired. It had been a quick labour—they'd barely made it to the hospital in time—but he was a big baby; 9-pounds, 4-ounces and already 26-inches long. She sighed because he wasn't going to fit into most of the baby clothes they'd been given.

"Amy, honey, I know we agreed we'd call him Tommy but…" The boy opened his eyes, green coloured instead of the blue he'd been told to expect.

"You want to call him after that guy who saved your Dad's life, right? The great family hero," she laughed fondly, very familiar with the story.

Matt pulled his eyes away from his son's and looked at his wife. "Yeah. Yeah. I want to call him Dean."

The baby squirmed and it almost seemed like he nodded approval. Amy laughed even harder. "Dean it is."

"Don't worry, Dean," his father cooed at him, "We're going to take good care of you. You won't have to worry about a thing."

Somewhere, unseen, an angel smiled in satisfaction.

Fin.