A/N: I dunno. Because I felt like writing a crossover, and with all this stuff about Death and his ring?
Anyone is welcome to borrow this idea and run with it if it sparks any ideas.
Office with a View
"So. I heard you were looking for this?"
A pale hand rose and turned, ring glinting on a slender finger. The sight of it cut the air in half and filled it thick.
"Death?" Dean finally asked. When he first entered the pizza place he'd had all these questions, had been determined to get them out (I mean, come on. It ain't exactly every day you get to meet death without, y'know, an appointment). But at the sight of the man before him, he'd faltered, and they'd sat in uncomfortable silence until just now.
Because, really. With the way all the other horsemen had looked, he'd been expecting this guy to look... Well, kinda like the storybooks, a skeleton with skin, gaunt like the classical grim reaper. But this guy didn't look anything like that. He was sort of handsome, but sort of more like a cute kid. He couldn't be more than eighteen.
"Nah, I'm not him," said the green-eyed kid with dorky glasses. "I guess you could say I'm his boss. Sort of."
"Wait, how can you sort of be his boss?" Dean thought about it for a second. "Isn't he a major mojo head honcho?" Dean might have made a comment about the kid needing a nanny but he figured, hey, he'd seen older demons in younger bodies so fuck knows, this kid might be older than Death.
"I used to be all mortal like you, but then I accidentally did one of those impossible task things and found these relics that made me Master of Death."
"Huh. How's that working out for ya?"
The kid made a squinty frowny face. "Eh. Not too bad. I get to travel. And hey, I've got an office with a view. Could be worse."
"So could this work for anyone? Like, someone else get that stuff and be his master?"
"Nah, not really. I mean, sure, if I hadn't done any of that stuff then I never would have gotten where I am, but as luck has it I was the only person that it would have worked for, anyhow."
"Yeah? You got some sorta freaky demon blood that messes with the mojo?"
"Actually, yeah. It's all, genetics and hereditary stuff. That's why I don't really want to boss him around much. He's my Pops."
"Ugh. No offence dude, but grim reapers, uh, 'shaking their bacon' with the human populace don't really make for a pretty picture."
"Tell me about it. At least he's got a human-looking body for when he's up top. Death-death isn't exactly what chicks would dig as pro-procreative." The kid looked at him with a grin in his eyes. "Granddaddy Death is surprisingly into the wholesome family doo-dah."
"A hellhound is for afterlife, not just for Christmas?"
"Right! And we use that scythe to carve the turkey. Gives the flavour an extra kick."
"Uh-huh. And blackdeath pudding is to die for." Dean stopped with a grimace. "Jeez. Thanks for the invite man, but I think I'll pass on any home-cooked dinners. Not that making punny with you isn't all sorts of fun."
"At least we've managed to dig our way out of that awkward grave silence!"
"... Dude. No."
"Uh, right. Sorry?"