Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. All rights go to DC, Marvel, and the CW

There was a sleek black muscle car parked outside the diner. The kind of car that was well loved and if it could talk would tell a person things they couldn't believe. The morning was a bright and crisp one, the last remnants of winter still lingering in the air as the driver, a tall man wearing jeans and a grey flannel, got out of the car and headed into the diner. The diner had that old school retro feel which seemed to accompany places that serve big greasy meals that hit the spot. The man paused at the bakery display looking over the assortment of pies, muffins, and pastries as he headed toward the man in the booth at the back of the diner. The man sitting in the booth was dressed in a black suit with a cane leaning against his side. He was older and lean, with a sharp angular face and hooked nose. He was sipping his coffee and eating the diner's special, a platter of eggs, hash browns, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and biscuits with gravy all stacked together like some sort of artery clogging breakfast sandwich.

"Hello Dean," the man said as Dean sat down across from him. "Death," Dean replied with a nod of his head. He looked around and didn't see any wait staff wondering if Death killed them all like he did the ones in the pizza place in Chicago. "Go get yourself some pie, I hear they're all delicious," Death nodded towards the bakery case. Dean got back up and grabbed a slice of both the pecan and apple pie. Sitting back down he noticed the slip of paper next to Death's hand. Indicating to it with a tilt of his head, Dean picked it up at Death's nod. It had a time, date, and coordinates written on it in Death's hand. "Please tell me that's not when and where I am going to die for good," Dean looked up at Death with a pleading face. Death looked back at him, "don't be stupid Dean, you know that's not how I work," he said in his dry, annoyed way which seemed to be characteristic of his interactions with Dean. Huffing in acceptance, Dean looked back at the coordinates and punched them into his phone. A warehouse in Gotham popped up, with an incredulous expression Dean glanced back up at Death who was looking back at him with a raised eyebrow and challenging expression.

"We don't do Gotham. Nobody does Gotham. Why the hell does it have to be Gotham. Is this about that kid who was there when me, Wade, and Constantine were at your place?" Death cleared his throat to stop Dean's objections. Both men sat in silence, Dean with a pinched look on his face as he went back to eating his pie. Dean sat back after a few minutes with a sigh, "I know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for something big. The fact that you are giving me anything is freaking me out a bit," Dean shuddered, it was never good if Death decided to step in and lend a hand. Death looked at Dean, "finish your pie. Oh and don't worry the wait staff is just asleep in the back," Death said with a twitch of his lips as he disappeared. Dean heaved a sigh of relief as he glanced back at the slip of paper. With a groan he stood up and left a hefty tip for the inconvenience of having Death in the diner. Dean walked back to the Impala with the weight of the slip of paper light in his hand but heavy on his mind.

The cashier of the fast food Mexican place was not impressed. Sure, the first time the man in the red and black mask had come in with guns and swords strapped to him had been terrifying, but he was a good tipper and that outweighed any peculiarities. The man always ordered what seemed to be a metric ton of chimichangas and tacos and ate every single one as he sat at a table arguing with himself. Today the order was no different, but when he sat at the table instead of arguing with himself he greeted someone who wasn't there. Shrugging the cashier turned to the next customer who was staring in fear at the man in red and black and awaited the next order.

"Death you're looking fabulous today if not a not a bit ominous. Should I buy you some food, are we counting this as a date. Does it count as a date if you have to ask if it's a date?" Deadpool greeted Death as he bit into the first chimichanga, dripping sauce down his scarred chin. "I thought you said we weren't going to be seeing each other for awhile, or was it just in the case of me getting gutted, blown up, decapitated, etc. etc. cause I am totally okay with making this a thing," the merc continued as Death just reached out and took a taco. "We are not making this a thing, sadly," Death admonished. "I am only here to give you this," a slip of paper was slid across the table to Wade who stuffed the rest of the chimichanga into his mouth as he picked up the paper. Deadpool noted the date, time, and coordinates and with an arching brow looked back up at Death. "What gives, you never do this sort of shit," Wade asked. He grabbed a taco and proceeded to devour it as he waited for Death's answer. The silence stretched on as Deadpool ate and Death watched, "Ughhh fine, don't tell me, why would you ever tell anyone anything other than something mysterious," Wade groaned and Death only smirked. "This have anything to do with Winchester and Constantine, cause you're only this suspicious with them," Deadpool speculated analyzing the being in front of him. "Oh, am I going to be a part of a crossover, can Red Hood be involved too, I liked that sassy jaded kid, so much anger," Deadpool rambled with a contemplative sigh at the end. "Just be there Wade, you will enjoy yourself, you always do," Death remarked before vanishing. Who wouldn't want to work with Winchester and Constantine, they're freaking monster legends one box exclaimed, probably all the people who've died because of them,the other one added. Deadpool nodded his head from side to side, "well worst comes to worst, this story is a shitty crossover." Wade gathered up the rest of his meal and slip of paper, made his way out the door and to his safe house to gather some more weapons and prepare.

The pub was a dingy place, catering to shadowy clientele who wanted to conduct business in private. The tap selection was excellent though, boasting twenty different beers from Sam Adams to the local craft brewery. Smoke wafted throughout the pub while the smell of spilt beer and over cooked meat permeated the air. A man in a tan trench coat and red tie with tousled blonde hair sat in the back corner of the pub. He was wearing a lazy smile curled around a cigarette which was directed at his companion, a pretty goth girl. There was a slip of paper resting between the two. The blonde toyed with the glass in front of him as he watched the girl with a careful nonchalant expression.

"Death, tell me you did not just feed Winchester pie and that's how you got him to agree to this," the man huffed as he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. "I don't see what it matters how I got anyone to agree to anything, Constantine," Death reproached with a flick of hair. "Anyways if the majority of the supernatural knew that a little pie goes a long way with the oldest Winchester, we would have all been screwed long ago," Death smirked at Constantine from across her own glass. The exorcist rolled his eyes at that statement and picked up the slip of paper recognizing the coordinates. "You want me to go to Gotham," Constantine stated in disbelief. Death only nodded in the affirmative at the wide eyed stare. "Gotham is a cesspool, what the hell could be so important that not only your asking little ol' me, but Winchester and Wilson too," Constantine demanded in irritation. Death just tilted her head and looked at him. Constantine drained his drink and took a long drag from the cigarette. "It has to do with that moody kid doesn't it," Constantine groaned as he leaned back against the booth. "Bloody hell, this kid is going to be more trouble than he's worth isn't he. I mean he already doesn't know shit about anything outside of psychotic Gotham. Just please tell me he didn't raise anything nasty," Constantine pleaded much to Death's amusement. Death finished the rest of the drink and stood up. Turning to Constantine, "show up on time, stay under the radar and try not to piss the Bat off," Death requested before vanishing. "Easier said than done," Constantine muttered into his empty glass.

Death materialized in a one bedroom apartment in Gotham. The apartment was sparse and smelled of mildew, with a leaky faucet and angry voices coming from the alley outside. A young dark haired man slept sprawled out on the couch with a half eaten pizza laying on the floor next to him. A knife and the but of a gun peaked out from underneath the couch cushions as Death took in the sleeping form. To those who knew Death, they would say concern flashed across the skeletal face. But then again, those who know Death would also say to be fearful of whatever could cause Death concern.