Cheating Death

The brown haired man withered under three harsh glances. He was seated at Bobby’s small folding table in the kitchen, with a warm beer next to him. Sam, Dean and Bobby sat around Brian, all arms crossed, waiting for the guest to say something. He took a glance at Bobby. Bobby’s weathered face made his frown seem sinister and that made Brian spill his beans.

“I made a deal ten years ago,” He said his voice almost inaudible.

“I knew it,” Sam exhaled and sat back.

“How did you know?”

“After Bobby told me where he found you, you were kind of heading in the direction of the nearest crossroads; you were really jumpy, always looking around and not to mention your expression after Bobby tested you with the holy water. We have dealt with people in your situation before.” As Sam finished speaking, Dean gave an uncomfortable cough. All attention turned to him. He glared at all of them.

“Nothing, just get on with it.” Dean hissed. Brian raised his eyebrow at Dean’s unusual reaction. Sam rolled his eyes before adding:

“First-hand experience.”

“So… you mean that you made deals before?” Brian questioned, gesturing at the three men sitting before him.

“Not exactly me, but uh…” he nodded his head subtly to the two older men sitting next to him.

“Did you get out of it?” Brian’s eyes widened as he leaned forward. Help was there right before his eyes! It was totally unexpected but he was thankful that the stupid road service did jack shit to help him the other night. Hope was there, glimmering before his eyes. Maybe he couldn’t achieve immortality, but these men had gotten out of a similar situation to his, somehow. He knew that was true.

“I did get out of it, but it wasn’t the easiest and I was pretty damn lucky. You have to accept that you won’t be saved and that’s it,” Dean finally spoke up; his hazel eyes filled with something akin to sorrow and maybe even guilt. What the hell happened to this man? Brian’s mouth was hanging open, opening and closing without noise. Stunned, he sat back.

“That’s it?” he finally breathed out

“That’s it,”

“How?”

“That is something I don’t want to talk about,” he stood up quickly. “Sorry to burst your little bubble, but this is the truth.” Briskly, he left the room. This was yet another huge disappointment for Brian. He stared at the timber floors, his eyes tracing the lines that termites had eaten out of the wood. He felt a weight begin to rest in his chest, dragging down his heart. There were a mix of emotions flitting around – hopelessness, dejection and most of all, fear.

Fear was the main thing that fueled his greed for life. For the life of him, he could not imagine not living. He had no clue what was waiting for him on the other side. He knew that there was a heaven and a hell, but he didn’t know what may entail for him. He simply wasn’t ready for the hellhounds to take their share of him. Dolefully, he glanced up to see the sympathetic faces of Sam and Bobby.

“I’m sorry. I could help you with the journey there, even though it won’t be pretty. It’s all I could do now,” Sam said.

“What happened to Dean?” curiosity got the better of Brian.

“He didn’t exactly get out of the deal. He did get dragged to Hell.” He shifted uncomfortably on his seat before lowering his voice to a hush. “An angel pulled him out. Don’t say anything that I told you, okay?” he stood up to leave the kitchen in the same path that his older brother had left.

“Don’t bother looking for an angel, Brian. They don’t give a crap about us and Dean was lucky enough as it was already.” Bobby chimed in as he followed suit with the other two men. Brian was left alone at the kitchen table. He stared at the beer with its peeling blue sticker. He took a sip and he instantly made a face. Lukewarm beer wasn’t the best. He strode to the sink to pour the beer down the drain.

Bored, he decided to look around Bobby’s house. Behind him was an open doorway to a room that could be described as a mix of an office and a library. A large wooden desk overflowing with old books and parchments stood at the far end from Brian. A fireplace was behind the desk and a couch was situated next to the desk. Shelves of books dominated the walls around it.

Tentatively, he stood up and walked into the room. He felt as if he was snooping, but he shook it off. The room smelt like dust, old paper and whiskey. It definitely smelt very Bobbyish. He approached the desk. Tracing his fingers over the surface, occasionally brushing over paper until he felt… salt? Some stuck to his middle finger and he tasted it. Definitely salt. He noticed two bullet canisters, filled with salt. One was leaking.

“Huh…” he raised his eyebrows. He picked up one of the books piled haphazardly on the corner of the desk. He opened one of the books and a sheet of paper fluttered out. He picked up the sheet from the floor and scanned it. The black and red words were in Latin. He smirked. He had learnt Latin when he was younger since he used to go to a private school. The piece of paper described the how- to’s of a binding spell for Death. He had an idea.

Scrambling across the desk for a piece of scrap paper and a pen, he picked up a piece of a yellow post it note and a ballpoint pen. He tested it against a page of a very old book, leaving a ragged line of blue ink. He probably ruined the precious book a bit, but he did not care. He was ecstatic that he found a way, maybe even around Death. He translated the ingredients he needed from the piece of paper on the post it note and stuck it on the sheet of instructions. He folded it carelessly and stuck it in his back pocket.

He stood silently, his ears sharp for any noise. He could hear a muffled murmur of conversation downstairs. They didn’t have to know. He could do it himself. Silently, he slinked to the kitchen to pick up his favourite leather jacket and slipped it on as he snuck out the front door.



Dean shot up from his bed in cold sweat. He had a disturbing dream that he would rather forget. Usually, he found it very difficult to settle in a decent sleep. Panting, he turned slightly on the bed to scrabble blindly for the glass of water on his bedside table. He squinted in the darkness as he felt the familiar cold glass and took a deep drink. Deciding that he couldn’t sleep anymore, he got up and slipped on a white shirt and went downstairs.

He turned on the lights to the library. He blinked, adjusting to the change of light. His eyes dropped to the floor where a book was dumped on the floor face down. Sighing, he picked it up but he noticed that there was something missing. He had remembered seeing Bobby sliding a binding spell in one of those books. He dropped it on the desk and began frantically searching all of the books piled on the desktop. The spell wasn’t in any of those books and he had searched the ground around them.

“What’s with the ruckus? Get back to sleep.” A grouchy voice broke Dean from his panic. He looked up to see a sleepy and very grumpy Bobby standing at the doorframe.

“It’s gone.”

“What is gone?”

“The binding spell!” Dean’s eyes were bugged from horror. Gradually, realisation dawned on the two men.

“Brian…” Bobby breathed out. They rushed outside to find that the Monte Carlo was gone, without any trace of the thief.

"Son of a bitch!” Dean screamed out into the darkness.