A/N: So at the moment I'm writing a long, angst-ridden Dark Angel story (Shelter from the Storm), but this morning I received an unexpected visit from the Supernatural drabbling muse. This has never happened before, but whither she goest…

The usual disclaimers: blah, blah, blah.

Leave a Good Lookin' Corpse

Tessa didn't jump exactly; after thousands of years she was as used to Death's sudden appearances as she'd ever be, and after all, she'd requested the audience. Still, he unnerved her.

"You called?"

"Yes sir. The Winchesters."

"Go on."

"I'd like to request reassignment. If I'm not reaping Dean, I'm reaping Sam. If I'm not reaping Sam I'm reaping Dean. If it's not either it's both. It becomes tiresome."

"Tessa." He sounded disappointed. "Think; they find such innovative ways to die." He disappeared as suddenly as he'd arrived.

"At least they're pretty," she sighed, and then she too was gone.