Death's Daughter | Supernatural, D.W.

Final Hour

She looks strikingly close to Sigrid, and in my blood loss-induced delirium, it's hard to fight her.

"No," I whimper. My rationale is slipping and I start to truly think I'm killing my friend.

She swings hard and delivers an ear-ringing blow to the side of my head. It takes me to the floor, doubled over. I drop my gun again and she's sure to kick it away this time. Then she plants her boot into my stomach with a forceful kick. If I had anything in my stomach, I would've thrown up.

I take out the angel blade and stand up on wobbling legs. It's just a sparring fight now. I block her blows as well as I can, physically reciting all the training Castiel gave me. She's good with a blade though, and catches me across the cheek with the tip of her knife.

I take a stab at her, but she dodges, and I barely knick her shoulder. She hisses at the pain. In another attempt to plunge the blade into her chest, she grabs my arm and squeezes it so hard that I hear bones break. I scream in pain as my wrist shatters and I drop my blade.

She releases my wrist. I drop to my knees, trying to ease the pain that debilitates my right arm. She walks in circles around me, assessing my weakened state.

"You know, you put up a good fight for someone who knows they're going to die anyway," she taunts.

I don't respond. I drop, lying on my stomach. It's a tactic; as she continues to make remarks, I slowly inch the angel blade up my left sleeve - another thing Cas showed me. Once it's secure, I decide to respond.

"Just kill me," I mutter.

"Stand up and take it like a fighter," she commands. Exactly what I wanted.

I climb to my feet and look her in the eye. She stares me down meanly. After a second, she raises her blade to kill me, but I block her blow with my crippled forearm and messily bury my angel blade into her abdomen. No one talks about how hard it is to stab someone with your non dominant hand.

She falls to the floor screaming. I take in the bloodbath around me. I can see my vision fading at the edges and I know I don't have much time. I stare at my father, ten feet away from me, holding his scythe.

"Impressive," he notes. "The Winchesters really know how to make a killing machine out of all their pets. You know you're not the first, right?"

"Save it," I deflect his speculations.

"You won't be the last, either," Death chuckles. "They'll get over you, just like they did with the prophet and the nerdy girl. They'll move onto the next person they can use as a weapon until it's inconvenient for them."

I glare at him. I know he's wrong, but the words still hurt. Finally, he moves toward me. The sunlight glints off his scythe. I start to accept my demise as he places his hands on the wooden crook.

I close my eyes, expecting to die, but instead I'm melee'd with the butt of the handle. It adds insult to my literal injuries as I fall over with the force of the blow. I spit blood onto the floor and get to my knees.

"It didn't have to be this way, you know," my father sighs.

Blood falls from my mouth as I respond, "Yes it did."

Death raises his scythe.

My heart pounds in my ears.

I close my eyes and think of Dean. It brings me comfort in my final moments.

Death lets out a yell as he swings, and everything slows. The church doors burst open. Gunshots are fired. I'm alive for the time being. I cover my head and wait for them to stop.

When I open my eyes, I see Sam, Dean and Cas in the sunlight that floods through the doorway. My father is facing them now, the back of his coat riddled with bullet holes that I know didn't hurt him.

"Cas," I breathe. "No..."

"I didn't bring them here," he defends.

"What a lovely surprise. You're here for the grand finale," Death says. "You even get to participate."

My throat goes dry as Dean's eyes meet mine. I can't tell what he's feeling; probably a million things all at once.

"There's no reason for you to kill her," Dean reasons. "What's one less reaper under your control?"

"It's the principle, Dean," Death drones. "I can't let my people think that I would let someone go against me, let alone my own daughter, as pitiful as she is."

"You're going to have to go through us first," Sam steps up.

I shake my head. This is the last thing I wanted. I couldn't be mad at Castiel; I knew he probably did everything in his power to stop them. Sometimes there's just no stopping the Winchesters.

Death laughs. "As if I couldn't do that."

With the flick of his hand, all three of them are sent into a wall and fall into a heap on the floor. Quickly, they scramble, drawing weapons and ready to fight.

"Ah ah," Death says. "That was just a warning shot. I have a proposition, and you boys could walk out of here alive."

They stay quiet, waiting for my father's pitch.

"Dean," Death beckons. "Come here."

Dean looks at me and walks in front of Death. My heart is beating at a million miles per hour.

Death holds his scythe out to Dean. "You take this, and kill her, you three will walk from here unscathed. You won't hear from me any further. If you can do that, you get out of this."

"Fuck you," Dean growls. "No."

"Oh, won't you reconsider?" Death asks.

"Dean, it's okay, please," I beg him. If I'm going to die, it may as well be with the knowledge that they'll be safe.

Dean stares down at me, knelt on the ground and bleeding still. Little by little as my energy rebuilds, I heal myself, but I don't think it'll be enough. I just want to hold on long enough for him.

I let out a sigh of relief as Dean grabs the scythe. Death is significantly less scary when it comes from someone you love.

He stands over me, then kneels down to my level. His eyes brim with tears. "I don't want to do this."

"You have to," I beg. "It's okay. I want you safe. This is the way."

"I love you," he tells me one last time. His voice breaks.

"I love you more. I forgive you."

Dean stands and readies the weapon. I take one last look at the eyes and lips that I love so much. The man that I trust with my life will be the one to take it.

I close my eyes and wait, ready to go. I hear the metal swoop through the air above me head, and then hear it pierce something else. Part of me wonders if he missed, but he didn't miss me.

I open my eyes.

The scythe is buried in my father's rib cage.

Silently, my father stares at me, and turns to dust.

Dean Winchester just killed Death.