Lambs for Slaughter Part 2

Chapter 1

"Why are you doing this, Dean?" Sam asked hotly, his expression pinched and frustration shining through his dark brown eyes.

Dean wrenched his gaze away from his brother and threw open the door to the Impala before climbing out, making sure to grab the paper bag from the backseat.

The boarded up building stood alone in the center of miles and miles of poorly kept cornfields. Years of disuse had left the wood to rot and fall victim to layers of spray paint.

"Because we're out of options, Sammy." He replied sharper than intended. He'd been over this in his head enough times to know that they were down to the end of the line, and Dean was tired. "We've exhausted our resources at the bunker, Crowley is no damn help, and..." he hesitated, working his jaw, "and Cas is in the wind. He hasn't answered a prayer or phone call in a month. Death is the only being old enough to have any real answers about the Mark."

Sam shook his head, simply to be contradictory at this point. "But it's Death! He's..he's..." Sam threw his hands out to his side.

"He's helpful," Dean told him seriously. "Dude has actually been pretty straightforward with me every time we've met. Hopefully this time won't be any different."

Without giving his brother another chance to argue, he led them towards the building, stepping over the overgrown pathway. The rustic handle broke off as he attempted to jimmy it, so he shouldered the door with a grunt, pleased when it burst open under his weight.

The sunlight flitted through the boards over the windows, and the now open door provided enough light to see the webs of dust hanging in the corners and cloth-covered tables bolted to the floorboards. Sitting at one in a sharp black pinstripe suit was an elderly man with hollow cheeks and drawn features, and a cane resting beside him.

Death.

"Dean," the man greeted pleasantly, his voice a deep timbre that had the hairs on both Winchesters' arms rise.

Dean nodded as politely as he could, keeping in mind his previous encounters.

"Please, take a seat." Death gestured towards the chairs beside him.

He turned one around and straddled it while Sam crossed his arms and didn't move any closer. "I'm good here, thanks," he replied tersely.

Dean rolled his eyes, placing the paper bag on the table before turning his attention to the man watching him with bemusement. "Thanks for meeting with me. I got the goods."

The corner of Death's lips twitched upwards and he reached into the bag to pull out a cheeseburger wrapped in foil. "You shouldn't have."

"I thought it was our thing," Dean snorted, ignoring his brother's exasperated sigh behind him.

"It certainly is," Death agreed, taking a bite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dean glanced back at Sam and shifted in his seat. "I was wondering if you knew anything about this," he rolled his sleeve up a few times until the Mark was showing, then flipped his arm over.

If Death was surprised, he didn't show it. Which made sense, really. Dude probably knew the moment Cain transferred the Mark. "Indeed," he mused, cocking his head to the side. "The Mark of Cain. The Lock and Key."

"The what?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. Even Sam stepped closer, hovering by Dean's shoulder.

"Tell me, are either of you aware of The Darkness?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "No, what is it?" His brother asked, sounding intrigued and lacking the hostility from earlier.

Death continued biting into his cheeseburger, reaching into the paper bag to snag a few fries as well. "In the beginning, there was God, the Light. But he was not alone."