It's quiet when you wake up, and your heart is heavy. Sam breathes steadily beside you in the dark, and you realize you've fallen asleep in his room. The TV screen is black with a pop-up window asking whether you're still watching.
You sit up and run your fingers through your hair. You're not as sad for Jonah, knowing what you know now. You know where he's going, once the Reapers collect him. You know where they all go, each individual soul, or where they should go, anyway. You gaze at Sam; he looks so peaceful. There is no torment on his face, no race against the clock to find answers to whatever problem faces him today. He's been through more than anyone could ever imagine, yet he keeps going. And he'd do it all over again. When will you rest, Sam? you wonder. Even as Death, you don't know when the Winchesters' time will come. They've both died so many times before, but they have business here. And they're not done. So you let his tormented soul sleep. You let him sleep because these precious moments of peace are so few and far between for Sam and Dean.
You slip out of bed, careful not to disturb him. You switch off the TV and turn to look at him one last time. You remember the way you felt when he walked into your coffee shop that afternoon, and how your heart skipped a few beats when you realized he was in the library at the same time you were. A tear brims your eye when you think about the way he leapt to your rescue when your clumsiness nearly sent you face-first down the library stairs. You wipe the tear away. You'll never forget the way you felt waking up beside him, or the way he made sure you felt safe in the middle of all the chaos.
You find your shoes under his bed. Your steps are quiet, padded by your socks as you move down the hall to your room. You stop briefly by Dean's door and place your hand against the wood, debating whether you should see him one last time. Part of you is drawn to him, even though you heard him tell Sam it was only the alcohol. The kiss wasn't real to him, no matter how real it may have been to you. No, don't open the door. Don't go in.
You pack everything you brought with you in your denim duffle bag. You don't even know if you'll need it. For all you know, you'll never have to brush your teeth again. A tear escapes, because you don't want to leave. You want to stay with Sam and Dean. But how? How could anyone love Death?
They have work to do, and you'd only be in their way. This is what you must do.
Tiptoeing through the dark, tranquil bunker one last time, you scratch a note on a piece of paper. Thank you, you think, though they won't hear it.
You step into the night air and close the door gently behind you. You don't want a single sound to stir the boys from their sleep. You don't need their protection anymore. You're not afraid. The demon who killed the professor is gone, and the others... they were only trying to reach you in the only ways they knew how. It wasn't their fault you didn't understand.
"I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon," Billie says as she approaches you in the dark. The crickets sing a chorus from the brush, and somewhere off in the woods, a couple of owls hoot back and forth between the trees.
You clear your throat. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"You always have a choice. When Death set all this up, he didn't want to steal the remainder of your life as a human without your consent. So, you can come with me now, and we can start getting you re-acclimated to one of the most important jobs in the history of existence, or you can stay and forget all of this. You can finish out the life you've begun, and when you're ready, we'll come as Reapers to guide you over with all of the other departed souls."
You blink at her. "What happens if I don't come with you?" The night breeze ruffles through the trees.
She shifts her feet and tucks her curly hair behind her ear. It's futile, though, because it's so thick it pops right back out. "Then we go on as we have. We'd manage."
"Why do you need me, then?"
"Because without you, without the Keeper of the List, some souls miss their window. Everyone has a choice, of course. They can choose not to go with us, but some of them aren't getting the chance to choose. Some are wandering this Earth now who should have passed months ago. Some people are still living who shouldn't be. The world is off balance without Death. And if there is any hope to stop the Darkness, we need Death. We can't leave it up to Sam and Dean Winchester. You're the only one who can save the souls from her consumption. Only Death." Billie steps forward. "It's a lot for any human to undertake. But you're not just any human anymore."
You look around. Something watches you from the cover of a wild raspberry bush; you can see its eyes reflecting in the light of the moon.
"The difference between the old Death and you... He was an archangel. You're human with angelic powers. The combination will keep you humble and compassionate, yet focused and efficient."
You'd always known there was more to this world than mortgages and nine-to-fives. You'd always known that God is real. So are the angels, and the demons, and the dragons. (Thanks, Sam.) And you'd always felt a calling to do something more important than anything you could study for in any university.
You shake your head. "So I decide who lives and who dies?" You don't want to play God.
"Not exactly," she answers. "There's a list. It comes from upstairs. We follow it to a T. Mostly. But only the Keeper can read it."
A list. You wonder what the list says about Sam and Dean...
"It's not hard to see how much you care for these boys. And in time, you'll understand the extent of the chaos they've caused for us all. It's their fault the wandering souls didn't get their chance. We don't share your affection for them, but as our boss, we'll respect it."
She's got your attention. "What... What do you mean?"
"There's an unspoken agreement that when it comes time to reap Sam and Dean Winchester, they won't be coming back. Ever. They won't make it to heaven, or hell. There'll be a mistake, and they'll be tossed out into the Empty."
Ice grips you. You shudder at the thought of Sam or Dean spending eternity trapped in nothing.
"Well, that's not fair now, is it?" Crowley's voice pierces the dark.
"Leave it to the King of Hell to cower in the shadows," Billie says as he steps into the moonlight.
"I assumed she'd want a little support, that's all. We're friends, you know." He stops beside you. "She's conniving and vindictive, this one," he says, nodding at Billie.
Your brow furrows. "What are you doing here?"
"I sensed the minute you stepped out of the bunker. Amara caught wind of this whole scheme and now she'll be on the hunt for you. She can't have you getting in her way." He turns to Billie. "You're not giving her much of a choice, are you? That's low, even for you."
"At least it is the truth," Billie fires back.
"I've never lied to [Y/N]," Crowley balks. "We're friends. I would never do that. I would, however, point out that she's being manipulated. You know that's what she's telling you, don't you?" he says, looking at you. "That if you decide to stay, it gives them free reign to do whatever they like with the Winchesters." He turns back to Billie with his hands tucked into his pockets. "Did Billie tell you about Jonah, too? Your friend's window is closing. Turns out, his reaper decided he didn't feel like doing the job."
"That's not true," Billie bristled.
"Oh, it isn't? So the Reapers aren't holding a grudge against the Winchesters and anyone unlucky enough to associate with them? And Jonah's soul is in heaven, where it should be?"
"I'm trying to restore the balance-"
"You say she has a choice, but she doesn't really, does she? How could she say 'no' now, when you've told her the Winchesters' souls are at stake?"
He's right. How could you? You look back at the bunker door, shifting the strap of your duffle on your shoulder. As much as you want to run back inside, lock the Reaper and the demon out, and crawl into Sam's protective embrace, you know you can't.