"Isn't it interesting that I'm alive in this time? I could pop over to England just now and see him; see me. We would meet in the middle of the street. He'd be on his way home from work, of course, this time of day. I'd be thinking about stealing some of his money. It's technically mine, after all.

"He'd stop in the middle of the road. I'd stop, too. We would look at each other for a while. And we'd both know what it meant. Why I was there. How I was there. I would see the realization in his eyes. And the sadness. He'd look at me with a question, unspoken, because we know each other so well. I'd shake my head. No, I would think, but not say. No, not till after. After we die. He'd nod, relieved. Good, I know he'd be thinking.

"We'd stand in the middle of the street some more, just looking. Him looking at me, the physically representation of what he looked like the day he died- the first time, at least. Me liking at him, trying to remember a time I looked my age. Trying not to think about how long it's been since I was him.

"After a while longer, we couldn't bare to look at each other anymore. We'd nod and move to go our separate ways. We'd both stop and look back. He'd look toward where he's going. His house. My house. Our home. He'd look back at me, and nod toward the house. I'd stare at it for a while. Would I go in? Would I see the inside of a house that used to be mine? Would I see her, my wife, one more time?

"I don't know.

"I would look him in his green eyes, eyes exactly like mine. He would hold out his hand. He would know. Somehow, he'd understand, even though it's been so long since I've been him. So very long.

"I'd reach for his hand. But would I make it? Would we be disturbed by a wife running out to meet her husband, her man. The man who isn't me anymore. I would hesitate, I'm sure. Was I ready to see her again? Would I ever be? Could I walk into that house and look at all those pictures of a happy family? See what isn't mine anymore? Could I take that?

"He would know if I could. Because he always knew. He was very decisive all his life. Never hesitant. But he would understand that I'm not him anymore. That I'm different. He would grab my hand and force me to see them again. To meet my wife- to see the house and everything in it- as a stranger, because I was. I wasn't him anymore."

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. Then, he looked across the table. His companion stated at him disgruntled. Harry couldn't keep his lips from lifting into a small smile. He was like Ron when it came to food. Very annoyed when distracted from it.

"My apologies. I was day dreaming out loud again."

"Yes, you do so love to do that, " answered Death. He went back to eating his pizza. "You're very nostalgic when we're in a time you're alive. Most of the time I can ignore it."

He looked up. "This time was different."

Harry meet his eyes, then looked away. "Yes."

When he didn't elaborate, Death huffed. He still wasn't used to his Master. Even after he'd sent him through time and space to learn. He still came back almost the same. But not quite. Before he had known death was inevitable, that it happened to everyone. But now, after his traveling, he could sit here among the dead and eat pizza. Death, amazingly, enjoyed having someone to talk to now he was topside.

"What is taking that guy so long?" Harry interrupted his thoughts. "What's his name again?"

"Dean Winchester."

"Ah, yes. Shame I'm not technically your Master yet. Can't do anything to help you out of dear old Lucy's thumb." He propped his combat boot clad feet onto the table next to them, paying no heed to the dead person sitting there. "Still, it's strange, you lowering yourself to talk to a human. You sent Dumbledore to talk to me instead of seeing your Master yourself, but you're going to talk to this Winchester, no problem? That's rather rude of you."

"My apologies, Master."

Harry didn't appreciate the sarcasm. He also hated it when Death called him that. "Stop that. I feel like we're in a BDSM relationship every time you call me that."

Death stopped eating. "Oh. Yes, I would see how that would make you uncomfortable. Master." He smirked.

"Merlin, you're a chore. Why do I even hang out with you anyway?"

"I wouldn't know, Master. I certainly don't encourage it."

Harry was about to reply something along the lines of 'you know you love me' when they felt it. Dean Winchester was across the street. He was heading this way. They locked eyes.

"I'll make myself scarce, shall I?" He didn't wait for the nod of agreement before disappearing from view. Death knew he was still there, just cloaked with something even he couldn't see through. Blast that bloody cloak. Harry giggled off to his right when he scowled.