And when our hearts unfold

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural

Pairing: Dean/Cas

-IIII-

Poor little turtledove,

Sitting in a pine,

Mourning for your own true love,

Why not me for mine?—"The Bachelor" by Patrick Wolf

Dean understands Death. Death has spoken to him, looked him in the eye and smiled. Death has a face, if not a name, and Death will take him when the time comes.

It should have been now. Dean wants it to be now. This is not the first time Dean has called for Death, and it won't be the last.

"You wish for me to save him," Death says, inches from the man. "You wish for me to bring your angel back to you."

"You can, can't you?" Dean chokes, eyes not on Death but the ground, the clumps of grass that are missing from the earth. Nearby a swing starts to creak in a slight breeze, echoes of children's laughter long gone now, at home in bed with sweet, sweet dreams.

"You can bring him back to me."

"I cannot," Death sighs into the wind. "I will not. There is no reason for me to obey you, Dean Winchester. The angel Castiel means little to me."

Desperation is a funny human trait. It can bring about madness in the sanest of people. Death watches it work now on Dean Winchester's face, sees his hands clench into fists at his sides as his jaw works furiously.

"But he means something to me. I'll give you anything you want to have him back."

Death rolls dead eyes. "And what can you give me, human? You have nothing that interests me. What makes you different from all the other mortals who have lost loved ones? They have asked for me too."

Dean Winchester's eyes are so red and dark when they meet Death's, straight on, straight through. "But you didn't show up for them, did you? You're here now, with me. Why are you here then if you're not going to help me? You must have known what I would ask."

"You know me, Dean Winchester," Death tells him. The night is so very dark now, everything hushed. "And I know you. But just because you know me, have felt my icy touch, does not mean that you are immune to it. The angel Castiel was good, but Death does not regard good deeds or evil deeds. Death simply takes, and what I have taken I can never give back."

"What if I trade you?" the human says. All harsh words with barely contained hurt, an open wound pulsing at Death's feet. "What if I give you my life for his?"

"You cannot bargain with me. You know this."

"Fuck what I know!" Dean shouts. "Fuck this shit about me knowing you and you knowing me! Cas saved my ass from hell; I'll save his ass from you!"

"You speak like a child about things you don't understand," Death replies, all calm serenity and stillness, stillness. "You cannot hope to defeat me, if that is your intention. The angel Castiel is gone, and that is that."

"But he's not gone," Dean gasps out, like dying breaths, like last words. "He's not. I can still feel him, I—I love him. Don't you understand? I love him!"

But Death does not know emotion. Death can't know emotion. If it did, then everything would not be the way it is and the dead would not stay dead, and the living would live till the end of days and hate for it. Love is a foreign yet familiar concept, a lover never known but remembered, somewhere, somehow.

Death has always known that Dean Winchester would love the angel Castiel, and the angel Castiel would love him back. Death has always known that some things don't end happily but sometimes just end, and he has learned to pity and he has learned sorrow, but that doesn't mean he can feel them.

"I am sorry," Death says, as sincerely as it can manage. It is unsurprised when Dean Winchester slams it to the ground and starts to beat Death mercilessly, but no blood can flow and there is no pain. Dean is crying now, screaming soundlessly and Death realizes that this is the first and last time Dean will mourn.

"I am sorry," Death repeats against the fist slamming into its mouth. And for just an instant, staring up into the tear blurred face of a lover destroyed Death wishes that it could cry because it would, yes, it would for these two, for the Righteous Man and his angel. They never had the chance to start and now they will never have a chance.

Will they?

Death leaves Dean Winchester collapsed in the old playground. His brother will find him there in the morning, sleeping on a bench visited by Dean only in his dreams.

(Death does not know the future nor does it pretend to know. Death does not know how, only that it will come, eventually. So when the soul of the angel Castiel leaves his clutches, Death is surprised. This is no one's work but the creature that has created everything and Death respects it, as it has to. Death has no doubts the angel Castiel, now human, now lost, will find Dean Winchester, or that Dean Winchester will find him. Death has no doubts about that, none at all.)

-IIII-

For some reason, I wanted to explore the psyche of Death. This was originally meant to be about Dean but ended up about Death...huh. (Shrugs at weird brain)