The Winchester Gospels

Parker wasn’t too sure how it happened.

One moment, Castiel was mashing tiny, charred bones and muttering some nonsense incantation, and the next, a sickly looking man in a black suit was standing before them.

There was a fair bit an earth shaking and tear shedding fear on Parker’s part, but Castiel seemed as impassive as ever. Death was standing before them and Castiel didn’t even bat an eye.

It hit Parker like a cement truck: Death was standing in front of her. And he looked beyond angry. His hollow face held pure fury.

Parker’s eyes bulged, her entire body shook in fear. Castiel tilted his head in that curious way he always did, “Hello, Death.” He uttered simply.

Parker couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t find her feet to find the door to find a place very far away from Death.

Death’s thin lips puckered, his dark eyes surveyed the dank motel room in disgust. “Six hundred years and this is the prize I come back to.” His deep, tired voice said. A hint of sarcasm lined it.

“I am Castiel,” Parker’s companion announced, “An Angel of the Lord.”

Death rolled his eyes. Parker hadn’t moved a millimeter. Or blinked. Or breathed. She gasped for air and Death’s attention flickered to her. A tiny whimper fell from her trembling lips.

“That is Parker,” Castiel continued, “A Prophet of the Lord.”

Death remained silent, watching the tiny redhead with a fair amount of disdain. “She’s a Prophet?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, not hearing the degradation in Death’s voice.

“Someone’s desperate.” He muttered quietly.

Parker furrowed her brows, unsure what he was talking about.

“He used to have such high standards.” Death sighed exasperatedly, “Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel. All strong, capable men who didn’t need Angels,” (he chortled derisively) “to do their bidding.”

Castiel shrugged, like he agreed fully with Death but didn’t want to say it aloud.

Death shook his head, “So, since I’ve been so rudely awakened from my lovely prison, what can I do for the baby Prophet?”

He was staring directly at her. The hairs all over her body felt like they were going to fall off and run away screaming. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, like the life was draining out of her with Death in the room. Death, who was looking straight at her, waiting for the baby Prophet’s response.

“Um,” Parker cleared her throat, her voice cracking a bit, “I need a…favor?”

Death smirked, “Do you now?”

“Yes,” Castiel responded, “That is what the Prophet just said.”

Death sighed with annoyance at Castiel’s inability to grasp sarcasm and mockery. “And what sort of favor does the baby Prophet want from Death itself?”

“Dean Winchester.” Was all she could manage to get out.

He cocked a dark brow, “What is a ‘Dean Winchester’?”

“He’s a human who died approximately two hours ago.” Castiel informed him.

“And what is he to you?” Death asked in a bored voice, “A boyfriend? A brother? A family friend?”

“I’ve never met him before in my life.” Parker answered honestly.

Despite himself, Death was surprised. “That’s a new one. I’ve never been asked to raise a complete stranger from the dead before.” He rubbed his fingers together, “And how exactly did you hear of this Dean Winchester? How did you know he was dead?”

“I saw it.” Parker said shakily, “And then saw it.”

“Actually, she heard it.” Castiel corrected, “She Prophesized it and then heard it. I would not let Parker witness the heinous act.”

“I see,” Death tapped his chin, intrigued, “And why do you want to bring Dean Winchester back into this…” He glanced around the room with his long, pointed nose wrinkled, “colorful world?”

“Because he’s in hell.” Parker answered without any hesitation.

“I see,” He repeated. “So, the baby Prophet wants me to pull Dean from Perdition.”

“That is what the Prophet is implying,” Castiel nodded, “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Death pretended to think it over, “And why should I help you?”

Parker hadn’t thought about that. Why would Death help a silly teenage Prophet? He could probably destroy her in a blink of an eye. He didn’t have to do anything for her. The blinding spell would wear off and he would go back into his cage. There was absolutely nothing in this for him. Parker could see that he wouldn’t help her if she didn’t do something drastic.

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Parker said hopefully.

“Wrong answer.” Death looked down at his shackles. “I may be bound to you, but I do not have to help you if I feel inclined to do so. I’m going to need something much more substantial than knowing in the bottom of my cold, dead heart that Dean Winchester will live a long happy life.”

Parker gulped and the words flew out of her mouth before her tired brain could process them. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Castiel glanced over at the Prophet in alarm. Giving Death free reign over someone was not a good idea. Didn’t the silly human know that?

“Anything I want.” Death repeated casually. “Then we have a deal.”

Parker’s eyes widened again. It had seemed too easy. What was she going to have to do to get Dean out?

“Since I’m currently preoccupied down under,” Death sighed, “I could always use an extra helping hand.”

Parker waited anxiously for her price.

“If you want me to raise Dean Winchester from hell, you’re going to have to work for me for an undetermined amount of time.”

“How long?” Parker blurted.

Death’s slender jaw clenched, “An undetermined amount of time.” He repeated, annoyed by this idiot Prophet.

“But, Dean is being tortured in hell.” Parker argued, “We need to get him out now!”

Death raised his brows, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you had the power to raise Dean Winchester from Perdition and boss me around. Don’t I feel silly.”

Parker clamped her mouth shut, terrified she’d ruined Dean’s chance of survival.

“Are you done calling the shots?” Death quipped, “Because I’m going to be bound for at least another fifteen minutes and I’d love to hear what you—an insignificant Prophet—have to say.”

Parker swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “I’m done.” She murmured.

“Good.” Death rolled his eyes, “Because I’d very much like you to get to work now. The sooner I decide you’ve done enough, the sooner Dean Winchester gets released from Perdition.”

“I cannot allow this to happen.” Castiel spoke up, “Parker needs to go to Heaven. She needs to—”

“What Parker needs is to take my ring and start Reaping.” Death said impatiently. The chains around his wrist were fading as Parker inched closer towards him, her palms reached for his white ring. He plopped it gently in her sweaty hands. Leaning in, his eyes locked in with hers and he said in a low, serious voice, “Do exactly as I say: Reap everyone you are assigned to. Do not cheat out on anyone or Dean Winchester rots in hell for eternity. You know you cannot cheat Death.”

Parker nodded curtly, slipping the white ring on her thumb. Death gave her a toothless smile. “Good, we’ll be in touch.”