Dean tried to pull himself up to a sitting position. The weight of his guilt did more to hold him down than the dull pain of the air knocked out of his lungs. He looked across the floor where Kevin laid, his empty eye sockets staring off into nothingness. This was all his fault. This wasn't just a screw-up that he could find some way to work out. This was a long line of broken promises. Lies thrown on top of other lies.

Kevin was dead and he had no one to blame but himself.

He wanted to stay where he was, just lay there and give up but he couldn't. He didn't know if he missed some basic part of himself that would allow him to quit. He just couldn't do it. He had to keep moving. He had to keep fighting, even if he didn't know how. He just had to. He brought himself to his knees and reached out for Kevin's hand. The fingers felt warm against his calloused touch. Grief began to build up inside him, like a scream that would erupt from his throat. It built upward straining for release until the hint of a shadow crept from over his shoulder. He whirled away from his friend's body in one movement to face his new intruder.

Death stood before him.

The sight of this enigmatic entity nearly sent a physical shock through Dean. Nothing happened without a reason and he had enough intelligence to see the reason. His arm reached reflexively in front of Kevin's body. "No," he sputtered, as if he could somehow stop the inevitable. "Why are you here?"

Death smiled wanly and folded his hands in front of the jacket of his well tailored suit. "That, Dean Winchester," he replied coolly, "should be obvious."

Dean struggled to his feet. Maybe he could still fix this. He had to try. What more did he have to lose? He shook his head and tried to put himself between Death and Kevin. "This was my fault. Take me instead."

Death sighed and met Dean's eyes like a parent scolding a child. "That's not how this works and you know it."

Something snapped inside him at this refusal. The grief and guilt melted together instantly into rage. "Then why appear to me at all?!" Dean demanded. "I don't have to see you for you to do what you do."

Death tilted his head as he considered the question, with the same regard as a shoe about to crush a helpless ant. "True," he replied, "but I came to talk to you." He gestured to the open door behind him. "Come with me, please."

Dean stubbornly planted his feet to the marble floor beneath him. He did not like it when anyone told him what to do and his hold on sanity and reason had become quite tenuous in the past few minutes. He wrapped himself up in his anger so tightly that he didn't notice that the word 'please' was spoken. "Why? I don't have to see you. I sure as hell don't need to give you your privacy." He knew that he looked like a petulant child but he really didn't care.

Death pursed his lips, stifling another patient sigh. "It is a matter of protocol," he said, "I am not personally doing the reaping. I would prefer that those who do, do not see me."

"Why not?" Dean frowned skeptically. "They work for you."

Death swept his hand once again towards the door in invitation. "Let's just say that I am not one to micromanage."

Stalling. That's what he was doing. Stalling for time. Stalling to try to get his way. Was this really as pointless as it felt? Kevin was dead. Sam was gone. Did anything he did in this moment matter at all? Shrugging in defeat, Dean Winchester followed Death into the side office.

Death ran his hand along the cherry finished desk. To Dean, he appeared to prefer not to face his audience as he spoke. "While you may find my function in this reality distasteful, I do serve a purpose." He picked up a glass paperweight and looked through its surface as he explained. "I am a force of balance, between the living and the dead as well as between good and evil."

Dean snorted derisively, folding his arms across chest and leaning his back against the closed door. "You've been doing a bang up job."

Holding the paperweight up to the light, Death feigned interest in the object in his hand. The words came out as if rehearsed. Who else did he have to explain himself to? "There are rules," he said, "carved into the fabric of time. My power is limited."

"We've all got problems," Dean replied, "Get to the point."

At this, Death faced him. The paperweight returned to the desk. "Both sides have disregarded the balance, breaking rules without thought to the cost." He turned to him fully now giving Dean his full intense attention. "Of all those currently engaged in this conflict, you are the only one concerned with maintaining balance."

Dean swallowed, letting his arms fall to his sides. He began to realize all of the sudden where he stood in the world and just who he was talking to. Whatever was happening, he couldn't be a part of it. Death had picked the wrong guy. He had screwed up. Kevin was dead and it was all his fault. He looked down, knowing how ashamed he must have looked. To someone such as Death, his desires must look pitifully small. "I just want to get my brother back."

Death almost smiled. "I never said your support for my cause was intentional," he said. "Nevertheless, I am giving you aid."

Dean looked back up incredulously. "You're going to help me?" He felt a sudden fluttering pressure in his chest and had the vague sense that his heart had begun to beat harder. Hope. Just a little bit but it was there.

Death shook his head reaching across Dean to open the door once again. "Not directly," he replied. He stepped closer and leaned down as if he were sharing a conspiratorial secret. "But I do believe it's time to start breaking some rules of my own."

The door opened and Death vanished. Dean almost questioned whether the entire exchange took place. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if he had imagined it, his grief-stricken, guilt-ridden mind having concocted it to drive him towards madness. He couldn't let that happen. He didn't have the luxury of insanity. He had to save his brother. He had to get revenge for Kevin.

Kevin. He had to bury Kevin. He died as a hunter would. He deserved a hunter's burial. Resolute in his new self-imposed mission, he stepped through the doorway to begin his duty. Immediately he felt the sensation of another presence. He looked to where he had left Kevin's body.

Standing in its place, disheveled as always, scruffy and uneasy with intelligent dark eyes staring back at him, stood Kevin Tran.