Topic: Don't Fear The Reaper (AU/Possible Future)

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:32 EST
((Follows Save Tonight.)) ____________________

June, 2012

One long table, thrown onto its side, was not adequate cover against a couple of dozen seemingly mindless drones hell bent on her destruction, but it was going to have to do for now. On one knee, a rifle c*cked and ready against her shoulder, Nim focused on the door at the top of the stairs down into the root cellar. She could hear the things above them, each shuffling step making the floorboards of the cabin groan. It was only a matter of time until that door opened, and then the fight would be on.

It was too late to regret backing herself into a corner, too late to berate herself for setting up a last stand rather than keep running. Nim wasn't the sort to run away if she could stand and fight, and despite Apollo's protests, it didn't seem as though the god was prepared to leave her to brave this encounter all alone. Awkward though he was with the guns and wicked machete she had given him, he was resolute - if he couldn't use his gods-given gifts, he was going to learn damn fast how to hunt the old-fashioned way. He knelt at the other end of the meager cover, his expression grim as he sighted down the length of Nim's Glock.

There were no exits from this cellar but the door they were both focused on. It was both a good and a bad sign - good, in that anyone coming to their rescue would be able to catch the things between hunters and hopefully wipe them out; bad, in that if no one came, this was where Nim was going to die. She bit down on her lip, close to drawing blood in her anxiety, glaring through the gloom as the door above began to bow inward under the pressure of many bodies pushing against it.

I love you, Dean. Come back whole.

The door burst open, bodies surged through in a tumble that crashed to the bottom of the stairs with barely a sound. Outside in the fields, the only sound to give away any sign of life within the cabin was the staccato exclamation of gunfire, repeated and steady. And not enough.

*~*~*

January, 2016

There are few things that could be considered truly strange in a hunter's household, but the activities in the basement of the Winchester house were definitely among them. The generator had been fired up outside, to illuminate the circle room with electric light, banishing all shadows quite deliberately. The protective circle itself gleamed in the light, a strange contrast to the matte of the blankets piled in the center of it. To one side, the hunters had set up an altar for the summoning itself; to the other, there was a small dining table set for one.

Sammy stood on the chair beside this table, very carefully arranging a handful of dried flowers in a small vase, doing his best to make the set up as inviting as possible as his mother entered the room, bearing a tray from which she took the insulated platter protecting the freshly baked pizza and set it on the table. Casting a glance toward Dean, Nimue put the tray outside the door, drawing the portal closed, and moved to catch Sammy up into her arms, carrying him into the circle before setting him on his feet. "Are we ready to go?" she asked quietly, kneeling down with her son and wrapping a blanket about him, anticipating the chill that was bound to come with the Grim Reaper's presence.

Dean was putting the finishing touches on the preparations, lighting a few candles, despite the glow of electricity that was lighting the room. He had already ground and prepared the spell's ingredients and only needed to add them to the bowl, along with an offering of his own blood, a few words in Latin, and of course, flame to set it all burning. He had found an old army jacket hanging behind the basement door, just as she said it would be, and he'd put in on over a plain white t-shirt and jeans, tucking a gun into a pocket, the journal into another, along with spare cartridges. She'd told him a shot to the head would slow the hybrids down and buy them some time, and he was counting on that information to be accurate. Unless Death gave him some other means of defending himself, he was going to have to rely on his skills as a hunter and a little bit of luck. Fortunately for him, while other kids were learning how to hit a ball, he was learning how to shoot a gun, and it was something he could do in his sleep.

Finished lighting the candles on the small altar, he turned to face Nimue and his son, who were both hundled on the floor beneath a blanket, safe within the protective circle. At least, he was thankful they'd had the foresight and wisdom to build this place, perhaps not knowing at the time how important it might be in the future. "Ready as we'll ever be," he replied, gaze darting to Sammy who seemed to be handling all of this like the young hunter he was.

He reminded Dean of himself. He'd been not much older than the boy when his mother had been taken from him, and he'd been plunged into a world of darkness, a world few knew existed. He wished he could give the boy a normal life, but maybe at the very least, he could give him hope.

Nodding, Nimue tugged Sammy down into the protective curl of her arms. "Okay, little man, just like we practised," she smiled to the little boy. "Your dad's got it covered."

Sammy's big green eyes turned to Dean for a long moment, his expression solemn. "Good luck, Daddy." Then he turned his face away, tucking his head under a fold of the blanket and cuddling close against Nimue.

Her dark eyes found Dean's, her face stark with concern as her arms wrapped about Sammy. "Let's do it."

If there was one thing that could get to him, it was that one single word: Daddy. Not only from the little boy's lips, but from hers, as if the harsh words that had passed between them only a few hours earlier hadn't happened at all, as if he was the Dean she knew and loved, the one who was the father of her children. But there was no time to reflect on this now; he had bigger fish to fry.

"Whatever happens, don't leave the circle," he warned them both, meeting Nim's gaze, his words meant mostly for her. He wasn't even sure if the circle offered any protection against a being as powerful as Death, but there were some rules that couldn't be broken, no matter what. That said, Dean turned away from them and approached the makeshift altar. A dash of this and a dash of that went into the bowl, sensing it wasn't so much the ingredients of the spellcasting that was important but the intent.

"Don't do anything stupid, and I'll stay right here," Nimue promised with a slightly wild look to her smile. She hadn't done anything like this in months, fully in the grip of the rush that came with courting such dangers. She drew Sammy firmly into her arms, settling to wait as Dean worked on the ritual.

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:36 EST
He heard her voice behind him, the veiled warning in her words, wincing at the warning, sensing that her stubborn insistence at putting herself at risk when it came to his safety was the reason he'd handcuffed her and gone after Persephone alone to begin with, but there was no more time to debate it now. His time here had just about run out. He had no intention of letting things get out of hand, but he also had no way of knowing what to expect. He was taking a calculated risk, but one he was hoping he could work to his advantage.

As Dean added each ingredient to the mixture, it seemed as though the air in the room became thicker, heavier with expectation. Shavings of fulgurite were added to the cup, before Dean took up the iron blade that lay on the altar. The one with the initials W.A.H. He drew a slow breath to summon his courage and opened his left hand, palm upwards, drawing the blade slowly across his flesh, just deep enough to draw blood.

Once that was accomplished, he set the blade aside and closed his hand, squeezing to allow his own blood to drip into the bowl, while he took up a Zippo with a Playgirl on the cover and flicked it open, thumbing the mechanism to light the flame.

Setting the whole thing aflame, he quietly chanted the words in Latin that would summon their guest - the most powerful being in all creation, arguably more powerful than God Himself. For a moment, nothing happened, and Dean started to wonder if he'd executed the spell correctly, but he'd met with Death several times before and knew this was just the calm before the storm. He set the lighter aside, squeezing his hand harder, blood running down his palm to drip into the flaming bowl. "Come on, you son of a bitch. I know you're listening," he muttered to himself.

"I thought the point was to invite him, not piss him off," Nimue murmured mildly from where she knelt in the circle. Sammy was silent and still in her arms, obediently keeping his head covered, hiding himself from any chance of even glimpsing what Dean had had to do to begin the summoning in the first place.

Dean squeezed another drop of blood into the bowl, stepping back as the whole thing went up in a burst of flames that had nothing to do with the tiny fire he'd lit with the help of the Zippo. The other candles in the room flickered briefly, as Dean stepped away from the altar, not knowing what to expect. Whenever he'd met Death in the past, his arrival had been silent as, well, death. Blood continued to drip down his hand, leaving drops on the floor, and he turned, half-expecting find Death standing behind him, with scythe in hand, ready to cut him down.

"Well, well, Dean Winchester. This is an interesting twist," a familiar voice was heard, not coming from behind Dean, but from behind Nimue and Sammy.

In the circle, Nimue tensed, gathering Sammy closer against her as she stared, wide-eyed, at the flaming bowl. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that something was there, even before the voice broke the silence. Lowering her head, she touched a kiss to Sammy's head. "Okay, baby," she murmured to her son. "You can come out, but stay quiet." The blanket slithered down as mother and son turned to look up at Death.

The man - or appearance of a man - that stood before them was gaunt - thin and pale almost skeletal in appearance - but with eyes that were hard as flint and carried the wisdom and knowledge of the ages. His voice was deep and without much inflection, a slight English lilt to his speech, though Dean had never asked why. "I might ask what you're doing here, but I already know, so I'll save you the trouble in explaining." Death turned his cold, dark eyes to those within the circle, no hint of malice or benevolence. "Mrs. Winchester, I presume." His eyes flicked to the boy at her side. "Look at me, boy," he demanded, speaking to Sam.

"Leave him out of it," Dean warned, taking a step toward the circle, jaw clenching.

"You brought him into this by having him here, Dean," Death interjected, his gaze never wavering from the small boy in the circle.

"That was my decision," Nimue interjected quietly, her voice tight as she spoke. The stiff line of her jaw betrayed the deep reluctance to even acknowledge that Death was in her home, much less that he was speaking directly to her son. Sammy lifted his eyes first to Dean, then to Nimue, silently asking permission to do as Death told him. Swallowing, Nimue somehow brought a reassuring smile to her face, nodding in agreement. The little boy cuddled closer to her as his big eyes rose to look Death in the eye.

"So young. He has his whole life ahead of him, doesn't he" It could be five minutes or fifty years. No one really knows, do they' No one but me." Death stood his ground, staying where he was, making no move to advance or touch the boy, only acknowledging his presence. "Children represent hope for the future, but there isn't much future for this one, is there?" he asked, no threat intended, only stating the facts.

"Touch him and I'll..." Dean started, taking another step closer, balling his left fist tighter as his right reached for the gun that was hidden in his pocket.

Death turned his attention from Sammy to Dean, cutting him off. "And you'll what? Shoot me with your little peashooter" We both know you can't kill me, so there's no use making threats. I have no intention of harming the boy. It's not his time yet. You, on the other hand, have cheated Death once too often."

Nimue opened her mouth to interrupt, hoping to calm a little of the tension that swirled through the room, only to be interrupted herself by a disobedient little voice from the circle of her arms. "Are you going to take my Daddy away, Mr Death?" Sammy asked with a startling lack of fear. He was young enough yet not to have a secure grasp on what death truly was, and this calm, quiet man who had appeared in their basement was only a little intimidating. "We made you a pizza."

Death turned his attention back to the small boy, even as Dean grimaced, gaze darting helplessly to Nimue, wishing he'd insisted on them staying locked up in the panic room for safekeeping. "So, I see." Death arched his neck and gazed over at the offering that had been laid upon the small table. "Chicago style, I see. They do know how to make a pizza there. It would be a shame for it to go to waste, now, wouldn't it?" There was no visible smile on his face, yet his tone of voice implied a hint of amusment, perhaps even pleasure at the boy's quick and innocent honesty. "From the mouths of babes, eh, Dean?" Death remarked as he started toward the pizza. "Do use a hanky. The smell of your blood is ruining my appetite."

The look Nimue sent back to Dean was every bit as helpless as his to her, knowing she couldn't shush the boy now he'd spoken to Death himself. It would be rude, after all, and this ancient being didn't seem to suffer anyone's lack of manners lightly. "I helped," Sammy went on, watching as Death moved toward the table. "And I laid the table. Why is everyone so scared?"

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:39 EST
As if only just realizing that he was still bleeding, Dean reached inside his jacket and pulled out a square of cloth, pressing it against the palm of his hand to staunch the blood. Dean said nothing, meeting Nim's gaze before tracking Death to the table as he wound the cloth around his hand. "Quiet, Sam," he scolded, stepping between Death and his son.

"But -" Sammy subsided without voicing his protest to Dean under the gentle squeeze of his mother's hands. Unaware of what was so unnerving about their visitor, the little boy settled down next to Nimue, pouting at being told off.

"On the contrary, Dean. I find your son's honesty refreshing. So many are afraid of Death, but without Death, what is there, hm' Look outside your windows and you have your answer. Your soul has been denied me three times. It vexes me, Dean."

"I don't give a sh*t what..." Dean broke off, biting his own tongue. Copping an attitude with Death had never worked in his favor in the past. He watched while Death settled himself at the table, shaking out a napkin and laying it upon his lap, before reaching to slide a slice of pizza onto a plate.

"Of course you do, Dean. If you didn't give a sh*t, as you so eloquently put it, you wouldn't have invited me here." He took a bite of the pizza, taking his time, as if he had all the time in the world ....which he really did.

Nimue's dark eyes flickered back and forth between Death and Dean, steeling herself to interject before something irreversible was said. "We have a proposition for you," she offered quietly, adding as an afterthought, "sir. A way to restore the natural order, maybe." Her gaze flashed to Dean for a moment as she gathered Sammy closer against her side. "Would ....would you be interested in hearing it?"

Death turned his gaze back toward the boy who was pouting and looked close to tears, ignoring the woman who was his mother. "Never bargain while eating. It's rude," he scolded her, his eyes on the boy. He'd get to the point of this whole visit in due time. "It's very good pizza. Nearly as good as the real thing. I thank you, Samuel. Now, run along and play. Your parents and I have business to discuss." Death shooed the boy with a wave of his hand, assuring them without saying so that no harm would come to him.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, before realizing that Death was doing them all a favor in shooing the boy. The less he heard of this, the better.

Those big green eyes turned from Death, to Nimue, to Dean, curious and relieved all at once. Nimue smiled faintly, forcing away the flare of fear at being scolded by Death purely for her son's sake, torn between letting him out of her sight and allowing the child freedom from knowing what was about to be discussed.

"Thank you, Mr Death, sir," the little boy nodded politely. "But Momma's scared."

Nimue winced, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she apologised to all three of them, daring to look at Death once again. "I don't want to take the risk of Hades collecting on his deal if he senses what?s happening here."

Death would have chuckled, but he found no real amusement in the mention of Hades. "You think a petulant child has more sway than me" I assure you, madam, that while I am here beneath this roof, Hades has no more power over you than does a maggot. Do you doubt my word?" he asked, pointedly looking at Nimue.

Dean looked toward Nim, eyes begging her silently to let Sam go, not wanting him to hear what was about to be discussed, though it affected his life as much or perhaps more than anyone else's.

She held Death's gaze for a long moment before conceding the point. "No," she said softly. "Just my own ability to trust anyone these days." Reassured by the being sat with them, she rose onto her feet, stroking her fingers through Sammy's hair. "Go on, baby, go play. It's all good."

The little boy didn't need telling twice, shedding his blanket with a bright smile turned onto Death himself. "It was nice to meet you, Mr Death," he said politely as he made his way past Dean to the door. "I hope you like your pizza." Pushing the door open, Sammy stepped out of sight, leaving the adults to talk with the beginning and end of all things.

Dean's gaze tracked his son as he moved past him for the door, feeling both relieved and dismayed and wondering if he'd ever see him again, if he'd be given a chance to say goodbye or if this was it. His frown betrayed his feelings to those who were observant enough or who knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. Once Sammy was well out of earshot, he turned back to Death, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "He's gone. The reason I summoned you..."

"I know the reason you summoned me, Dean," Death interrupted. "I am omniscient, remember" But if it would make you feel better, please, by all means, state your case while I finish eating. This is really very good," he said, sounding almost pleased as he finished off the first slice of pizza and licked his fingers clean.

As Dean faced off with the urbane face of the End of All Things, Nimue looked down at the circle that still surrounded her, feeling keenly the cowardice in remaining inside it when her son had been guaranteed safety from Death. Embracing her own fear, she stepped to the side, crossing the gleaming metallic boundary to stand free of what little protection it might have offered. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," she said quietly, feeling the compliment in the indication that Death was enjoying her cooking. Not many people could say that.

His attention focused on Death, Dean didn't at first notice that Nim had stepped out of the protective circle that was inlaid in the floor, putting herself and their child's life at equal risk to his. Death, however, noticed immediately, as his gaze shifted from Dean to regard the young woman before him. "While I appreciate your display of courage, I can assure you it's entirely unnecessary. Your little circle, while certainly impressive, is completely impotent with regard to me. I could squash you both like flies with no more than a snap of my fingers, but that would serve little purpose."

Dean followed Death's gaze toward Nim as she stepped out of the circle and instinctively moved her way, putting himself between her and Death, which, while commendable, did little to protect her if Death wished her dead. "Hurt her and all bets are off," he warned, eyes narrowing at Death, who only exhaled impatiently and took up a second slice of pizza.

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:43 EST
Nimue only shrugged in response to Death's clarification of how useless the protection of their circle was against him. "I didn't think it would do much, to be honest," she admitted quietly. "It protects against the unnatural. There's nothing unnatural about death." As Dean moved to put himself between her and their guest, she rolled her eyes, side-stepping to keep Death in her line of sight. But she held her peace, not wanting to argue again.

"Nicely said and quite accurate," Death commended Nim, as he neatly wiped his fingers on the napkin at his lap, turning then to address Dean. "There are currently no bets on the table, Dean, but I expect that's about to change." He looked from one to the other, as if sizing them up, before turning his attention once more back to Nimue. "The boy is safe. You needn't worry about him. You, on the other hand, are living on borrowed time, Joanna Beth. Oh, yes, I know who you are really. Names are powerful. Your foster father named you well when he chose to call you Nimue, but deep inside, you are still Joanna Beth, though you choose to deny it. You cheated me once, but it was not your fault. You sacrificed your life freely to save someone you loved. It was an admirable death."

"She is not the reason I called you here," Dean interjected, scowling, anger rising, green eyes flashing with impatience and annoyance.

"On the contrary, she is exactly why you called me here, Dean," Death replied, still watching Nimue.

"I'd do it again if I thought he'd let me," she responded to Death's comments, her tone mild and almost conversational, as though this topic of discussion was something everyday and ordinary, ignoring Dean's bristling interjection. She'd long since come to terms with the past she no longer remembered. Her eyes hardened a little as she listened to the back and forth between hunter and apocalyptic being. "She's also standing right here," she reminded them pointedly, her gaze turning to Death once more. "As for being on borrowed time ....That's not news. I was on borrowed time from the minute I chose to become a hunter in a life I don't recall. And you're not talking about me exactly, are you? You're talking about the Nim fighting for her life four years ago."

"In a way, you are one and the same," Death replied, as calmly and casually as hers. Dean, on the other hand, looked like a powerkeg about to go off, but Death ignored this little fact to focus his attention on Nimue. "What you do in the past determines who you are in the future, so while all of this..." He gestured with a too-thin hand to their surroundings. "....seems very real to you, you are correct in your assumption that changing the past can and will change the future or what for you, is the present."

He now turned to Dean, who looked like he was just about bursting at the seams to get a word in edgewise, but doing his best to hold his tongue in check. "You are not from this time. You do not belong here. You are not even from this world. Both of you have broken the rules, and I should set things right by reaping both your souls. However, you are also correct in assuming I am not pleased with how this future is shaping up. The Olympians have upset the Balance and Order of things with their petty squabbles, using the two of you as pawns in their little game of chess."

Nimue nodded slowly, accepting Death's assessment of the situation without feeling the need to comment on it herself. Her dark eyes turned to Dean - the moment seemed to be here, the chance to make the deal he wanted. It was his choice, his deal. But if a soul had to be sacrificed, she'd be damned if it was going to be his.

"We already know all that," Dean remarked, close to losing his patience, coming straight to the point. "We want to know if you can send me back, so we can change all this."

For the first time since his arrival, Death looked mildly suprised by Dean's outburst. "Of course I can send you back. The real question is should I and will I?"

"And what do we have that will sweeten the pot," Nimue added, wariness painting her face as she came to stand level with Dean, shoulder to shoulder in the face of Death. "You wouldn't even be talking to us about this unless there was something we can do that you can't."

Suddenly aware that Nimue was now standing right beside him, he instinctively reached for her hand, almost without even realizing he was doing it. It was a gesture that the Dean previous to arriving in this world would not have done, consciously or otherwise. His gaze flicked to her a moment, eyes flashing a wordless warning that her soul and the souls of their children were not up for grabs to be used as bargaining chips. If anyone was doing the sacrificing, it was going to be him.

She met his flashing gaze with a warning glare of her own even as her fingers wrapped between his. Of everyone there, Dean was the one who had to come out of this whole, no matter how much he tried to deny it. And yes, it was more than a little insulting that he thought she would bargain with their childrens' souls. Her own soul ....that was hers to bargain with.

"Hold your tongue, Dean," Death warned before Dean was even able to speak one word of protest. "I am not interested in your two paltry souls. Never fear, I will reap you both when the time is right, but this is not the time. There are more important things at stake. The fate of an entire world hangs in the balance. In truth, I have been waiting for you. It's taken you long enough, but better late than never. I have a proposal for you both."

Nimue sighed, rolling her eyes at the confirmed realization that if she and her Dean had only gone through with the summoning months before, rather than going after Hades' mate. Another mistake to feel the burden of guilt for. Her fingers squeezed about Dean's once again before she spoke. "For both of us?" she asked quietly. "You want me to make a bargain on behalf of my younger self, when if you do reset time, I won't remember it?"

Death turned his attention once more to Nimue and for the second time, he appeared slightly surprised by her reaction to his statement. "You seem to think - erroneously, I might add - that you are two separate entities. I can assure you that you are not. You are merely the Joanna - or Nimue, if you prefer - of the future. Your past is only what makes you who you are today. You see Time as being linear, but in truth, it is more like a web, with every choice made creating a even more complex creation, more intricate than you can possibly imagine. I admit it is too complex for your human minds to grasp, but trust me when I say that whatever decision you make here today will affect not only your past, but your present and your future. Do you like your life as it is, Nimue" What, if anything, would you do to change it' Do you want to remember this life, or would you rather forget?"

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:47 EST
She didn't need more than a moment to absorb this and answer - the answer was already there, had already been said in myriad ways over the past years of her life. "I don't know," she told Death honestly. "I don't want my children growing up in a world like this. But I wouldn't do anything to change it, because anything could lose me everything. But if you choose to take Dean back to his place in time, I'd want to remember, so I don't make the same mistakes again."

"Let me put it another way," Death continued. "If you have a pie, for example, and take away a slice, does that slice then become a whole on its own" No, it's still part of the original whole, though it is now separate and apart from that whole."

She frowned, glancing at Dean. "I don't understand," she admitted uncomfortably. "Why are we even talking about me" This is about Dean, and you, changing things back to the way they should be."

Dean turned to Nimue again as she spoke, unsure how he felt about her younger self remembering such a grave and dark future. Though he couldn't deny that he loved them both, it was the younger Nim he had chosen to return to, in order to save the older Nim from the horror of this particular future. "Nim, don't. We have the journal," he reminded her quietly, giving her hand a squeeze to remind her this time that he was right beside her.

Once again, Death seemed slightly annoyed with their lack of understanding. "This is about Dean." He glanced at their clasped hands as if to make a point. "You have chosen to link your Fates, yes" There is no should be, Nimue. That is what I am trying to tell you." Death held her stare with impassive eyes. "However, as I've stated, the Balance and the Order of things has been upset, and you are correct in assuming that the only way to change things is to push the restart button."

Her head turned toward Dean, though her eyes took a moment longer to leave their study of Death's gaunt face. The harsh darkness of her eyes met Dean's, and she knew without him saying it aloud that she was not truly the future he wanted for his Nim. It was the memory of her experiences over the past years that had made her harder, darker, more ruthless. For someone who remembered only six years of her own lifetime in the first place, it was difficult to concede to what Dean needed from her, but ....it was Dean. She swallowed, looking back to Death. "Wipe it," she said firmly. "It never happened. Give it a new fresh start."

"Very well," Death conceded in agreement. "This is not quite as simple as you might think, however. There is something I need in return. Something that will help you in your crusade."

Relieved and satisifed that Nim was content to leave her memories of the future behind, Dean looked to Death, setting his jaw as he resolved himself to agree with whatever terms were necessary for redeeming their world, not only for themselves, but for all humanity. "What are your terms?" Dean asked, hoping Death didn't ask for anything he was unwilling to give. He'd seen enough over the course of the last two days to warn his own Nim of what could happen if they weren't careful, if they didn't proceed with caution, and he was more determined than ever to prevent this future from taking place at nearly all costs.

Now was the killing moment. This was when they found out what the price of hope for this future really was, whether it truly was a price worth paying. Nimue drew in a slow breath, listening with one ear for the sounds of Sammy playing in the living room above them even as her eyes focused on Death.

"First, I must warn you that changing the past, changes the future. You know this, but you must accept the fact that certain things that happened as you remember them, Nimue, will not be as they were. I cannot predict who will die and who will survive this struggle. I cannot predict the outcome of what choices you will both make in the past, which is now your future. I can assure you, however, that if you succeed in defeating Hades, those souls which are sacrified along the way will reap their own reward or punishment in the afterlife. That, Dean, is what reaping is all about."

"Just a chance," Nimue said softly. "That's all we're asking for. A chance to change things, and hope it's for the better. Neither of us is dumb enough to think that anything is set."

"What do you need from us?" Dean asked, cutting to the chase once again, past all the mumbo jumbo that didn't mean diddly squat to him. He just wanted to get on with things, to do what it was he was supposed to do to make things right.

"My blade," Death replied bluntly, directing his attention at Dean. "Your friend Crowley has it, and I want it back, but before I collect it, you might find it useful."

Nimue glanced at Dean, aware that there was no love lost between him and that particular demon. But Crowley wasn't the worst of them; though he was dead by now, killed during Hades' takeover of Hell in the first place, he was still alive in the year Dean was going to return to. And he would be looking for a way to preserve his place in the face of the Olympian struggle. "Death's blade can kill gods."

"Death's blade can kill anything," Dean concurred quietly, possibly including Death, which made it the most valuable weapon in existence, more valuable even than The Colt, which though powerful, had its limitations. "Is that all you want?" he asked, looking back at Death, who was finishing off another slice of pizza while Dean and Nim whispered back and forth, as though he had all the time in the world, which he really had.

"I want the natural order restored," Death reiterated in simple terms. "And I want my blade returned. That is all for now."

"For now?" Nimue's suspicious mind turned instantly to the suggestion that Death might be trying to bluff them into making a badly advised decision. "Are you asking us to agree to something even you haven't decided on yet?"

Jo Winchester

Date: 2012-07-23 01:51 EST
"No, I am leaving the door open in case you need my help again, but be warned....I do not offer help lightly. Dean already knows this." Death turned a pointed gaze to Dean, alluding to the fact that he knew of Dean's encounters with Death in his own universe, but that was of little concern to him right now. "Are you ready?" he asked, as if their discourse had reached its end.

Dean's eyebrows lifted, looking surprised. Though he knew this moment was coming, now that it had, it seemed somewhat abrupt, and he regretted having to leave her. "Can I have a minute to say goodbye?" he asked, turning to Nim, unable to hide what he was feeling.

Realizing that time was up, Nimue frowned, turning to face Dean even as he turned to her. She didn't want to rehash their waking moments, or touch on the pain all over again. Swallowing against the urge to blurt out that ever-present wish for him to stay, she drew in a deep breath. "Do you want me to call Sammy?" she asked Dean softly.

Dean frowned, taking both her hands in his as he turned to fully face her, wanting to see his son one last time, but not really sure how to say goodbye. "Which would be better?" he asked, putting what was best for the boy above his own needs and desires, though in the end, it didn't really matter. If all went well, this future would never happen.

"Neither." It was the honest answer, proving once and for all that no matter what Nimue felt, what she went through, she would always keep to her promise of truth with him. Her fingers curled in his hands as she looked up at Dean, her face white with the effort of holding back her selfish desires. "Be safe, Dean. Please."

Dean felt the unshed tears burning in his eyes, but he held them back, for her sake. There was no use crying. Tears would change nothing. What he needed to do was be more like her - to gather his courage and his resolve and do what he'd promised to do. It was their best option, their best chance for a bright future. "Don't let him forget me," he told her quietly, though he was really asking her not to forget him either. Remember me. He opened his mouth to speak again, hesitating a moment, knowing Death was witnessing this brief but very human moment. "I love you," he told her, hoping those three little words would encompass and express all he was feeling. With that said, he offered one last kiss, soft and tender, his fingers trailing a gentle caress against her cheek.

"He won't," Nimue promised him firmly, certain in herself that even if this future was all she had, their son would never forget him. That the child in her womb would know how very special its father truly was. For a moment, she wavered on the cusp of tears just as he did, feeling keenly the loss all over again. His kiss swallowed her quiet sob, the sound forgotten in the need to share everything she felt in that one last gesture of loving affection. As she drew back, she leaned close to him one last time. "I will always love you," she whispered fervently, hands gripping his shirt for just a brief moment before she stepped back, unwilling to linger on this goodbye. If all went well, it would never happen again.

His hand fell between them for just a brief moment to touch the child that was growing inside her, to at last acknowledge that small swell of life, even as he was saying goodbye. He offered her a warm, sad smile, feeling torn between the Nimue of the past and that of the future, loving them both, despite the differences. "I'll never forget you," he promised, giving her exactly what it was he wanted for himself, knowing he'd never see this particular Nimue again and wanting her to know that his time here would not be forgotten. He felt like Dorothy in Oz, saying goodbye before returning home, though there'd be no clicking together of heels or reciting, "There's no place like home." Dean realized home wasn't a place so much as it was a state of belonging, and he had come to realize without a doubt that where he belonged was right at her side.

Her hand lowered to rest over his, feeling the child in her womb shift under the warmth of his palm. "You'd better not forget us," she told him firmly, gently slipping from his grasp. "But don't let me get this bitter in your lifetime. I'll drive you nuts." She forced a flicker of a smile for him, curling her arms around herself. "You should go," she said softly, looking toward Death where he stood in silent witness of a very human moment. "Thank you."

"I have a feeling I drive you more nuts than you'll ever drive me," Dean replied, a small ironic smile on his face, reluctantly letting her part from him. "Is this the part where I click my heels together and say 'There's no place like home"'" he asked, as he turned to face Death and whatever future awaited him.

"Do I look like Glinda to you?" Death replied, hinting that even Death had a sense of humor, given the right circumstances.

Nimue snorted softly, unable to keep from smiling at the strange irony in this. After all, the last place Dean wanted to go at all was Kansas.

Ironically though, Kansas was home and the place where it had all begun, at least, for him. "There's one last thing," Death continued, as he dropped the napkin on the table and moved to his feet to face the pair. "And that is the question of when. Things have already started to change, and in order to avoid an even bigger mess, I am afraid, I will not be able to drop you back to the exact moment at which you left."

Dean's smile faded, not liking the sound of that. "When are you planning on dropping me off then?" he asked, knowing what Nim had told him earlier that day about the changes in her own past that were suddenly emerging from her memory.

"A few hours later. A cabin outside Fremont. You will need a weapon. And Dean....Make your choices wisely. This is a one-time only deal. There will be no restart button again."

Strangely it was precisely that uneven, uncertain memory of the night he had been taken from June 2012 and brought to January 2016 that provided details to this answer. Nimue broke in quietly as they made themselves known in her memory. "In the middle of a fight," she clarified for Dean, looking to Death as though he would confirm her warning. "It'll be dark, underground. But they won't attack you until you attack them."

Dean looked from Death to Nimue, his gaze lingering on her, wondering if she was remembering events as they had happened to her or as they were currently unfolding back in 2012 or both. "Just get me back there," Dean said, addressing Death, even as his gaze remained locked on Nim. "If it's a fight they want, I'll give it to them."

He wasn't going to abandon Nim in her time of need, and it seemed to become clear that for some reason, she was the one who'd been the target all along. Death needed to hear nothing more. As promised, all it took was a snap of his fingers and Dean was gone, back to June 2012 to try and set things right.

((Out of the frying pan and into the fire, maybe? Stay tuned to find out!))