O, Death

A crash on the side of the road left all Anabel's bones broken, herr head reeling, and her heart ultimately stopping. She knew she’d see a reaper -they had to come to retrieve your soul, so you could pass on- but who she came face to face with was never who she would have expected.

Standing in front of her -or, rather standing in front of her spirit- was Death himself, looking gravely down at her broken body. He was dressed in his normal black suit, the one she’d seen many times before when he was summoned by Dean. His thin, black hair was blowing in the awful breeze, showing the entirety of his face.

“Shame,” he tsked in a musky voice. He poked her body with his cane, causing it to roll into the ditch where her car had ended up.

“Hey!” Anabel shouted, stepping up to him, but the minute his eyes collided with hers, she instantly stepped down. Death was an intimidating thing, no doubt. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice. “Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”

“Not when they’re so ungrateful for dying,” Death replied in monotone, turning to face her. Anabel began to grow uncomfortable after every moment that he eyed her. He looked as if he was planning something and, from the looks of his sparkling eyes, well- she didn’t want any part of it.

“I would have preferred to have your help while you were alive,” he sighed, turning into the wind, acting as if he was enjoying how cold it was. Could Death feel temperature change? You realized suddenly that you couldn’t. “But this will have to do.”

“Help?” she scoffed, crossing her ghostly arms across her chest. Did Death even remember who she was? A hunter, close friends with the Winchesters. “Why would I help you?”

A gleam grew in Death’s eyes, watching Anabel fidget and shift her weight from her left side to her right side time and time again. She needed to move, to hunt something, to get her anxiety down. Her heart was beating fast just thinking about the nest of vampires she had been on her way to hunt when she- Well, when she died.

“You’re going to help me because you can’t stand the idea of going to Heaven and not being able to kill anything,” Death explained bluntly, and Anabel knew he was right. Staying in one place for too long just wasn’t her style. She was born for danger and adventure; if she left the world now, she’d probably end up killing an entire garrison of Angels. And then where would she be? Dead again, probably.

“And how exactly would I be able to help you?” Anabel questioned slowly, arms loosening in the slightest. She had to admit, she was intrigued. She wondered if Death had ever asked for help from anyone else before. Death had unlimited Reapers, what could he possibly need her for?

Death walked slowly over to her, cane making a little thud every time it hit the pavement. He looked impressive in his long, black coat and his menacing, yet emotionless stare. He was a powerful creature, she’d give him that- and also absolutely terrifying.

“I need an apprentice,” he said simply, wiping off a nonexistent speck of dust from his shoulder. “Someone to learn everything I’ve done before I die.”

“But, Death can’t die,” Anabel stated the obvious, now completely shocked by his endeavor. He wanted her to follow in his footsteps? To be the next Death? Once again, she thought, Does he know who I am?! “Can he?”

He chuckled a bit, which was a weird sight, but never broke eye contact with her. “As unlikely as it is, I am just as mortal as everyone around us,” he paused, thinking his words over for a moment. “As long as you have the right tools.”

“And, those would be…?” Anabel tried, mostly joking, but when he didn’t even crack a smile, she cleared her throat. “Look, if I’m going to be your apprentice, or whatever, I think you need to get a sense of humour. Because I am not walking around with an old man who looks and acts like he has a stick up his-”

“Please,” Death held up a hand, shaking his head at her. “just- don’t talk.” He brought out a long piece of parchment, the old kind that’s discolored and crackly, with calligraphy written words covering it’s surface. A line and an X were waiting for her at the bottom.

“What does all of this say, exactly?” Anabel questioned, hesitantly taking the pen from Death’s other outstretched hand. “This doesn’t have anything about sex slavery, does it?”

“This contract simply states that, in the event of my death, you will take on all the responsibilities of Death, including following through with your required actions, watching over your Reapers, and finding an apprentice for yourself when the time comes.”

Her Reapers. Was that really going to happen someday?

“And you’re sure you want to choose me?” she finally asked, pen hovering over the line of the paper. “You’re absolutely positive I can do this?”

Death took a moment to answer, eyeing her curiously, before the tiniest of grins was laid out onto his wrinkled face. “I have faith in you, Y/N- and that’s all I really need.”

Anabel smiled a bit herself, taking a deep breath before signing her full name onto the line beside the X. Immediately the contract disappeared, and she felt different. Stronger, more powerful. The bloody clothes, a memory of her ditched body, faded into a black attire, and a ring similar to Death’s was on her finger, though the stone was much dimmer.

“We should start right away,” Death acknowledged, ushering for her to follow him. Stepping up behind him, the scene changed, and both Death and Anabel were sitting down in an empty pizza place, a large meat lovers in front of them on the table.

Death smiled slyly. “But first, I believe we should eat lunch.”