prologue: "curiosity killed the cat..."
It began like this:
After that disaster with the Tower of Babel, Death turned to his companion, and said, "I think I'll like to live some time as a human."
And his companion, who had abandoned his old life, asked, "why?"
Death gestured to the people they were watching from up high, as if that was an explanation in itself.
His companion did not understand.
"Do you not think you're all amazing?" Death elaborated. "I won't deny I had my doubts, initially, when God first showed me his designs. Humans were weaker than both leviathans and angels, so why were they chosen to inherit the earth? Yet here we are, barely a few centuries after their creation, and they're already trying to reach the heavens!"
"But their attempt was unsuccessful," his companion pointed out, still perplexed.
"Well, God has always been a spoilsport, hasn't he?" Death sighed. "Even now, when he's disappeared, he still can't help but interfere."
"Would that be so bad?" his companion wondered.
"Then why leave at all?"
A slow, careful blink was the only response he could offer.
Death shook his head dismissively, and returned his attention to the people below. His companion followed suit. They watched as the humans gave up on trying to communicate through tongue, and started gesticulating wildly at one another. It was largely ineffective, though it made for a comical sight.
After a while, Death spoke again. "how long do you think it'll take for them to overcome this challenge, and rebuild?"
"…a millennium, perhaps?" his companion guessed, after a moment's pause.
Death huffed. "A bit quicker than that, I hope. This world has been terribly boring. If God truly stays away like he intends, then these humans shall be the only entertainment I have for a long, long time."
Unwittingly, his companion felt a flare of anger at the thought of being viewed as only entertainment. He suppressed that emotion quickly. It was not as if Death was an active puppeteer, pulling their strings according to a prewritten script; he was simply an invisible bystander, laughing as they acted foolishly all by themselves.
That was why he did not understand his master's wish. humans were impulsive and illogical; flawed and mortal. What would his master gain from debasing himself as such?
He should remain silent, for it was not his place to question his master. Ineffable as he appeared, his master must have a reason for all that he did.
…but his curiosity was too strong to be ignored.
"Is that why you wish to be a part of them?"
Death dipped his chin in agreement.
"How?"
Death turned to him, one brow cocked. He seemed surprised that his companion was expressing such an interest. "You're not asking because you want to be human again, are you?"
"No," his companion refuted. "I have no interest in repeating that experience."
"Not even to see your brother?"
"He's chosen his path, and I've chosen mine," his companion replied resolutely.
It was the truth. He missed and grieved his family everyday, but he had long accepted his new reality. What was the point of pretending otherwise? No amount of regret will ever allow him to turn back time and undo his mistakes. He could only move on.
At least this way, he can keep watch over what remained.
Death hummed, accepting the answer.
"The other day," he began, a seemingly random non-sequitur, "I saw an angel tear out its grace. Then, it fell."
"To hell?"
"No, to Earth," Death corrected. "It was reborn as a human baby, one without its memories. She was a blank slate, as pure as any other newborn soul. When she grew, she lived her life like any other woman would."
His companion frowned. Such an unusual affair…how come he has not already heard of it?
"What happened to its grace?"
"It fell alongside the angel, and was absorbed by the earth," Death said. "A beautiful tree has grown in its place. Grace, in any form, begets creations."
"Is that what will happen to you?" His companion pressed.
Death snorted inelegantly. "If my powers were to hit with a similar impact, then all life on Earth would be dead."
"Ah."
"Indeed," Death said. "No, I'd rather give my powers to you, instead."
If he still breathed, he would have choked. "What?"
Death repeated himself. It did not seem to help.
"Give away your powers?" His companion echoed. "Is that even possible?"
Death shrugged. "If they're my power, then aren't they mine to do as I wish?"
"But," his companion stuttered, "why me?"
"Because you are my creation," Death said honestly. "My first, oldest creation. You have been with me longer than anyone else, and have become familiar with the duties I must perform. I've watched you as you completed your tasks, and found your performance to be exemplary. Consequently, I believe you're capable of acting in my stead."
His companion recalled the missions he had been given. At that time, he'd been filled with pride, pleased with his master's trust; now, that memory was soured with the taste of betrayal.
Is this why you saved me? So that you could groom a replacement for when you grew bored?
God, after all, had his angels. But Death cannot easily create his own. Reusing leftovers was probably the best he could do.
"You do not have to bear it for long," Death continued, oblivious to his companion's spiraling thoughts. "Humans, as we both know, live rather short lives. If you find this onus disagreeable, then you may return my powers to me once I die."
Return?
So he intended to return.
He relaxed. Of course, his master wouldn't be so cruel to leave forever.
Really, he should be flattered that his master was so confident in his abilities. God's angels certainly never received such privileges. Most of them have never even met him!
However…
"What if the apocalypse was to occur in your absence?" He voiced aloud. "Even assisted by your powers, I'm not sure I'll be able to collect so many souls alone."
"Hmm," Death mused, tapping his finger against his bottom lip. The black stone of his ring glinted under the heavenly light. "Then I suppose I will have to create more of the others to help you. After today, there should be no shortage of candidates."
They both peered downwards, where frustration had given away to anger.
"I thought they'd finished constructing heaven."
"Only for those who are free of sin," Death said. "And unfortunately, there are some sins that cannot be passed onto a scapegoat—but I digress.
"In truth, I doubt the apocalypse will happen any time soon. But if it did, then I grant you permission to seek me, and return my powers and memories to me.
"Otherwise, you must allow me to live freely."
His companion mulled over this proposal.
He supposed it was a good deal; a much better one than the angels had received, at least. Death didn't have to explain his plans. Like God, he could've just walked away, and left his companion to pick up the slack.
He still could. Would, if this argument continued. His master was incredibly stubborn, and did not change his mind easily. He still remembered when Death and God fought over the creation of purgatory, and how the planets came to have craters.
Wouldn't it be easier to just concede? Human life was short (and getting shorter with every generation). It might be worth it, to exchange a few centuries of uncertainty for an eternity of security.
Furthermore…
Well, Death has been Death since the beginning of time. Surely a break wouldn't be remiss?
"Acceptable," he said, at last.
"Then I will go, and make my preparations," Death said, and left.
His companion did not respond. He simply waited as, below, verbal arguments began to turn physically violent.
Then came death.
Then, regret.
Then, death.
Then, Death.
It continued like this:
The human that had become Death watched as Death that had become human died. His name had been Shelah, and by human standards, he had lived a decent life: loving parents, loyal wives, and filial children. Death still did not understand the appeal, but he hoped the experience was enough to satisfy his master's curiosity. It had been some 400 hundred years since he received his master's powers, and each day was more exhausting than the last. He cannot wait to give it all up.
The body breathed its last, and Death reached forward, eager to return to his place as only another one of Death's companions.
—Master's soul disappeared.
Death stilled.
He glanced around, in the unlikely event that his master's soul had been collected by a disobedient reaper. But there was nothing to suggest as such.
Master's soul was simply…gone.
Death was befuddled. He had never encountered a situation like this.
He rued, not for the first time: Master would've known what to do…
Then he felt it—his master's soul, shining brightly across the Pacific Ocean. When Death followed the trail, he found it cocooned in the body of a newborn girl.
Death stared at the wailing infant for exactly seven minutes and 54 seconds before he understood.
His master was Death, an immortal primordial. He could not die. His soul cannot be reaped.
He can only be reborn. Again
And again
And again.
It ended like this:
Henry Winchester II was born on July 31st, 1981, the result of a union more momentous than the human mind could ever comprehend. He was named after his paternal grandfather, a man whose sacrifice has yet to be understood; all the same, John loved him, and hoped his son could grow up to be as kind and honorable as the Father he remembered.
Mary thought it was foolish of her husband to honor a coward who abandoned his family. But she kept quiet, as she was no stranger to complicated family relations. She as good as murdered her parents, yet she couldn't help but name her other sons in their memories. For all that she wished to leave the past behind, the legacy of her bloodline continued to haunt her.
It was fitting, then, that she should die trying to protect little Sammy; redemption, for the time she chose John's life over her father's, and was left helpless as he bled out in her arms. It hurt, but she was glad it was her pinned to the ceiling. John was strong. He would take good care of their children.
What she should've understood—
It was always the ones left behind who suffered.
The wheels of fate spun on.
John claimed his birthright, and began a hunt he would never see finished. Included among the casualties were the childhoods of his sons, though he wouldn't come to regret it until much too late.
Heaven sang. Hell laughed.
And Death watched it all, counting down to the second when Dean sobbed out, "YES!"
EDITED 9/21/22
