Death walked the California State Fair in Sacramento.
It was Mid-July, and breathlessly hot. People surged and crowded and pushed, most happy, a few grumpy from the heat and the crowds. Sounds of Celtic music sifted in from one direction; the pounding beat of classic rock from another; "world music" from a third.
He stalked slowly through the crowds, out of place among the hordes of summer-clad fair goers. His dusty tailored black silk suit made a moving shadow in the midst of the swirling colors, his cane hit the ground in rhythm with his steps, his long, pale, parchment-skinned face pulled the eyes, then thrust them away. Somehow there was always a clear space around him as he moved forward.
Death was looking for something.
At a fair, food is a given. Corn dogs, cheeseburgers, deep-fried butter, fritters and donuts and funnel cake and Navajo fry bread, barbecue, pizza, ice cream, cotton candy. Beer, wine, mixed drinks, snow cones, sodas, hot and cold coffee drinks. At a fair as large as the California State Fair, there are multiple clusters of fair food.
Death was looking for one food booth in particular. Oh, he could have gone straight to it, of course. But it amused him to be immersed among the ants, to take his time, breathe in the scents and sounds.
And there it was, Janine's Cafe. The very best salmon tacos on the West Coast, rumor had it. Even better than the ones available in Anchorage. He walked up to the counter. People waiting in the long line moved away, momentary confusion on their faces as they realized that they really didn't want the food here, but would rather be at the booth a few steps away, and what were they doing in this line, anyway?
Death smiled gently at the young man behind the counter. "Five salmon tacos, please, and a lemonade." He slid money across the counter, and added, "I hear they are truly excellent."
"Oh, yes, sir! The very best! Would you like smoked, barbecue, teriyaki, or plain?"
"Do you know, I think I would like one of each, and two of the smoked," he answered gravely.
"Coming right up!"
When his food came, he carried it over to one of the picnic tables, quickly vacated by the people who had been seated there, carefully spread out a napkin, laid the tacos out, and sipped at his lemonade, waiting.
A shadow fell across the table from behind him.
"Man! These crowds! It's crazy!" A short, slender, curly headed man with dark beard and mustache sat down across the table from him, put down a Pepsi, pulled a green chili cheeseburger and fries from a bag, and started eating.
"Definitely," Death replied, raising polite eyebrows, taking a bite from one of his tacos. "Mmm. This is really quite delicious. Have a bite?" He extended the taco generously.
"Eh, no, I've got enough here."
"So." He patted his lips with a napkin. "Shall we discuss the mess your favorite pets have gotten us into?"
"Aw, man. Let me eat first, why don't you?"
"Really, brother. Your little pets have unleashed The Darkness, you call me here to talk about it, and now you want to avoid the subject. They even think they killed me!" Death was offended.
"Yeah, well, they do have a bit of hubris now and then. Sorry!" His voice cracked and He chuckled awkwardly. "But I have a plan!"
Death sighed. His brother always had a plan. But He had created humanity with free will, and those pesky Winchester brothers had been knocking holes in those plans all their lives…
"Very well." He was resigned. "Tell me your plan."
God leaned forward, talking animatedly, waving his hands to illustrate his points. They sat talking at the table for several hours, until the sun was down and the lights had come on. When they left, Death wore a small, thin smile, and swung his cane jauntily as he walked.
It was actually a rather good plan.