Title: Bad Days and Worse Days

Author: Trowa B

Rating: Teen? One mild swearword - yes, sometimes words even desert Dean Winchester.

Notes: Uh… Crack of the highest order?

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'd like to think Mr Pratchett would find this amusing - he found the student example of Discworld genetics amusing, but he's probably more likely to say "pay me money".

SPNSPNSPNSPN

Death sighed resignedly as he brushed the remains of spectral rock salt from the front of his robes. THAT, he informed the spirit, who was glancing between his firework weapon and Death with an expression of bewilderment, WILL NOT WORK ON ME, DEAN WINCHESTER.

"But-" the spirit began. "What-?"

YOU ARE DEAD, said Death. And, because he had heard that it was polite to make introductions, added, AND I AM DEATH.

The spirit; it was holding together quite well, he noted absently. A very strong sense of self, this one; spun to look at his body. What was left of his body. The werewolf hadn't left much.

"Aw, crap," he muttered. "Sammy…"

WILL BE ALONG MOMENTARILY, Death informed him, holding up a lifetimer to examine.

Really, he didn't know why he hd bothered to check. The second spirit's arrival was also punctuated by a blast of rock salt. Death glared.

"Tried that," the first spirit drawled laconically.

The second snorted. "Uh. We're dead, right? Scythe, robes, pale horse?"

INDEED, Death agreed as the scenery faded and drifted, becoming what appeared to be an endless grey sand desert. AND NOW, I MUST BE GOING.

"Wait, what?" the first spirit demanded. "You're just going to leave us here?"

YES, Death informed him as he mounted up, noting that the second spirit was rolling his eyes at his brother's indignant questions. At least one of them understood things.

"But where do we go?"

Death fixed him with his bright blue gaze. YOU CROSS THE DESERT.

The second spirit sighed. "I was afraid he'd say that. C'mon, Dean." He grabbed the other's arm.

"Hey!" the first protested. "Hands off the merchandise!" But he began walking. Death stared after them for a few moments.

"So where're we going then?" the first spirit demanded.

The second sighed. "We'll know when we get there."

There was a moment's silence, then, "This is such crap!"

"Shut up, Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Then there was just Death on a pale horse.

COME ALONG, BINKY.

And then there was just grey sand.