Hey, Fearless Readers, Laura here. So... I'm a liar... again. I admit it. I got to writing the last two chapters for you guys and, guess what? It was too long. So, instead of two chapters, I have three. I know, horrible, right? Chapter numero uno for you: Chained. Remember to review, people. We're in the home stretch now. The finale is upon us. Read on!

Oh and *SPOILERS: season 5 finale...


It was strange how strange it wasn't. It had been only three days, but he had already reached his quota of one hundred thousand souls and it was more than familiar to him now. Sure it had been strange in the beginning, but by the end of the first hour—hell, the end of the first five minutes—reaping a soul was an easy process. He didn't know exactly how he appeared where he needed to be, but all he had to do was look down at the list in his hand and, when he looked up, the soul was there in front of him. He also didn't know how he was able to recognize one soul from the other, but there was no mistaking them.

He'd asked Death once why some souls were stamped with names they'd never even heard before when others were stamped with their given name, or why he was stamped with Winchester instead of Clark.

"Names transcend time, Dean," was all that Death had said.

Dean didn't understand it, but then again he couldn't understand even half of what Death said. Death was old, but more than that, he had an understanding of the universe that not even the eldest of his Reapers could hope to obtain. Dean was a new soul, one that had been created less than a century before, stamped immediately with his Name: Dean Winchester. His brother was older, but he'd been stamped Samuel Winchester from creation, though he'd lived many lives before this one.

Then there were those he'd reaped that were older than he thought with Names that were stranger than he had imagination. The most memorable soul he'd collected was Named Yanga. He'd lived in upstate New York as fireman Teddy Stanley when he died with the collapse of a local hospital. Yanga was interesting conversation, soul shimmering strangely, set apart from the others in his charge when he was taken a Life Gate to be reborn as Sophia Chan. Dean could understand the difference between Names and names, but he couldn't see the reason behind why there was a difference or how he knew a souls name even if it didn't appear on his list.

But after reaping the first couple thousand souls, Dean stopped wondering, stopped asking, too busy, even with time slowed down like it was, with reaping the souls of Earth. Michael and Lucifer's battle far outreached the church in Maryland. He ran into countless Reapers, searching for their own souls, all gathered in the same places, stepping on each others' toes to reach their own quotas. One could easily collect a hundred souls in a pass, but the thousands, the hundreds of thousands that were destroyed wherever the archangels fought, resulted in hundreds of Reapers wandering the Earth. After only three days, Dean had two Reapers shadowing him, learning the ropes before being tossed out into the field.

It was hectic, but it kept Dean from seeing the destruction around him. Buildings crumbled, whole cities fell. The entire state of Maryland had been reaped the first day and was now void of anything but bloody remains among the rubble. It wasn't only human bodies that littered the streets. Those of animal and monster alike lied dead around him. Neither angel seemed concerned with any form of life other than their own and each others'.

There were no breaks. By day six, Dean had collected almost three times what he'd had by the third day. By the end of the first month, he'd lost track. The lists were useless now. As he walked down soon-to-be-doomed streets, lost in the twists and turns of unfamiliar places, he touched everyone he passed, reaping every soul he came across lest he leave one to the angels.

Slowly, the world decayed. When Dean looked down at his now-empty list, he wondered whether that meant that there were no souls left to reap.


It was strange how strange it was. Souls had been his business for the last century. Hundreds of thousands of them had passed through the gates of his kingdom, demons seeking his guidance to sort them. He'd examined them, tortured them, took them apart strand by strand, reassembled them, and experimented constantly with the souls in his care—though 'care' was a loose term in this case. There were things even he hadn't been proud of doing when he'd been the King of Hell. The souls he'd seen and felt during that time, though, couldn't prepare him for this.

It was different than anything else he'd ever experienced. Time moved slowly for him so that every minute that passed on Earth was near to an hour for him, leaving him open to collecting a multitude of souls in one sweep. That, in and of itself, wasn't so different. It had been the same in Hell, but the souls he collected were void of the taint he often associated with them.

Some didn't want to come, but most were open. Their death was taken with a grain of salt and the souls followed him without much prompting. They were soft and white, not stamped with a print of ownership. They were quiet and peaceful, not screaming with the pain of Lucifer's grace. They were compliant and willing, not scared still with the fear that he would hurt them. Though he was dealing with the souls of the dead, they weren't of the damned, and that made all the difference.

Nothing of his experience in Hell could have prepared him for the devastation of the world around him. Somehow, it was worse on Earth than anywhere else. In Hell, he expected the rubble, the remains of the dead, the screams of pain. On Earth, the effect was duplicated among the living and Sam was there to clean up the mess. He didn't know where Dean was, only that Death had offered him the same deal. They would become Reapers to help deal with the never-ending list of the dead and deliver the souls to the varying Gates. Heaven and Hell were only two Gates, created simply from the firm belief that they existed. There were others, dozens of Gates, all different, but revered among the Reapers.

The souls that were meant to reincarnate were the worst, in his opinion. Those were delivered to a Life Gate, directly to the body of a newborn child. Knowing what was to come was not the pleasure he once thought it to be. The souls taken to the Life Gates would reappear on his list only days, hours, seconds later. Quite often, he didn't even feel the need to bring the soul to a Gate, knowing that it was listed again five or six Names down. Once a master of torture, all he wanted now was to make things easier on the souls in his possession. It was often easier to hold onto the souls himself than to continue reaping them over and over again, wearing them out so quickly that they came unraveled. He delivered them to more permanent Gates, but even he knew that it was temporary.

Michael and Lucifer had destroyed whole continents of people, souls all reaped before their time by Reapers who were floundering to make a dent in their lists. Sam could see them falling through the cracks, first the souls taken to the Life Gates, then the others. They disappeared from his list just as often, though he tried to be conscious of the ones in his charge. He would touch the shoulder of a passing person to collect the soul before the angels laid waste to it, but there was nothing—no Name on his list, no soul to collect.

He lost track of the time, flitting from one place to the next, searching for souls, but those that were there were lost, consumed quickly by the two warring archangels.

Soon, they weren't even angels. Corrupted by the power and weight of a trillion souls, they fought harder, destroying everything in their wake until nothing remained. Whole planets dissolved and suns collapsed against their might. Gates were forced open and broken, no pathways remaining to transport a soul even if he could find one. Then, one by one, the Reapers began disappearing.

It wasn't noticeable at first. There were so many Reapers out in the world, now that the apocalypse had started. They swarmed over planet faces, collecting, collecting, collecting. Sam didn't even realize he was alone until his fourth soulless town. He'd been so focused on the souls disappearing from his list that, when he looked up, he was shocked, sure that he'd missed something important because he couldn't be the only one out here. There had been thousands.

But the thousands of Reapers were gone, consumed by the angels, right along with the human souls.

"Death," he called, flitting to his new master's side.

Death stood on a lonely street, long since destroyed, but he was calm and thoughtful, surely remembering the buildings that had once towered in front of him. He was normally hard to read, but Sam thought he looked… nostalgic.

Death turned at Sam's voice, curiosity on his face masked by the hint of annoyance. "They're gone, Samuel," Death said. "All of them."

"Dean?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"He's safe," Death said, not bothering to turn and face him. "It won't be too much longer until he realizes what happened."

"What the hell!?" came the familiar voice.

"It seems as if I miscalculated. I thought for sure it would be another day, at least, before he discovered the extent of the damage."

"Sammy?" Dean asked, shocked at the sight.

"It's Sam," he said reflexively, though it had been too long since he'd corrected his brother. They embraced in a tight hug and Sam found emotions surfacing that he never thought he'd ever feel again. Shame and grief were at the top of the list, but more than anything, he was happy that Dean was still alive, and relief took the place of everything else because his brother was safe.

"How touching," Death commented. "I don't suppose you've noticed, but there are quite a few problems in need of our attention, the apocalypse being the most pertinent. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to stop wasting time and possibly come up with a solution."

Sam didn't think he'd ever seen Death so angry. He was normally calm, collected. Even in the face of the worst of the apocalypse—he didn't think he'd ever forget Istanbul's last stand—Death gave orders without reservation, not even seeming to notice the chaos happening around him. Now, though, Death was angry. No. If anything, Death was pissed. This wasn't just the destruction of worlds, this was the destruction of souls. This was personal for Death, Sam realized.

Dean seemed to have hopped on the same thought train because the words that came out of his mouth mimicked Sam's thoughts almost exactly.

"We can fix it," Dean said. "We can get the souls back and patch them up just like you did me, no problem. There's still plenty of angels, right? Enough grace to go around?"

Death looked contemplative for a moment before he shook his head. "There are too many souls and too few angels," he said. "Aside from that, it would be nearly impossible to stop Michael and Lucifer in their quarrelling. If we couldn't to that, the souls would just be destroyed again."

It was hard, seeing Death look so dejected.

"Aren't you, like, more powerful than the G-man?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, exasperated. G-man? Why the hell couldn't Dean be normal for once? It was the freaking apocalypse after all. Then again, if God had been here to stop the angels from fighting, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"I don't see what any of that has to do with the situation. Regardless of my power, I am bound to the angels. As long as they exist, I am unable to meddle in their affairs."

It was only then that Sam could make out the light shimmer of the chains that tied Death to the Earth. He wouldn't be able to move even a block in any direction. For a being like Death, it had to have been the equivalent of being held in a cardboard box that was at least a dozen sizes too small. He had to be aching for release. It was no wonder that he was angry enough to allow his emotions to show.

But then Death's face relaxed and even a slight smile could be found on his lips.

"One last move, Death, my man." Dean smirked.

Sam ignored his brother calling Death 'my man,' and focused instead on the fact that he had a plan, not that his brother's plans were all that solid to begin with.

"That is only a temporary solution, Dean. We need something a little more permanent. How does pizza sound?" he asked seemingly out of the blue.

Now it was Dean's turn to look confused.

"I am unable to meddle in their affairs," he explained. "But I am certain you and Samuel would have more luck."

Speaking of, "why are we alive anyway?" he asked. "Everyone else is gone, but we're still here."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I mean, I get why you're alive. Who's gonna kill Death? But Sam and me, we're just human. Well, we were human. Now we're Reapers, I guess? Not that that stopped the dynamic duo from tearing through them like Christmas paper."

"They both need you alive. Without your souls intact, they cannot continue to occupy your bodies."

"They why don't you just kill us already?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed and put his head in his hands. Leave it to Dean to practically beg Death to kill them.

"Because, Dean," Death said, bemused. "Despite my distaste for the human race, I happen to like you and your brother."

Sam almost smiled at the sentiment until Death continued.

"Besides," he said. "They've been preventing me from tearing apart your souls since, well, since you were born." His smile was cheeky, but it held a hint of gravity that nearly had Sam cowering. Only Dean's amused bark kept him from running.

"Well, it's a good thing that things went our way for once, huh Sammy?"

"You didn't think that this was how things were supposed to play out, did you?" Death asked. "Time isn't written in stone, Dean, but the future was fairly certain until your imbecile of a father decided to change his mind. Now look what I've been reduced to, dealing with the devil, swapping time around like chess pieces. I don't suppose you know how dire the consequences will be if I go through with this?"

"It's not like you have a choice," Dean said.

Sam was beginning to understand a little of what they were talking about, but he could have just as easily been inferring the wrong thing. "I don't suppose you know how dire the consequences will be if you don't," Sam added, using Death's argument against him.

Instead of the annoyed flick of the eyes that he'd been expecting, Death smirked in amusement, touché written on his face.