I am so sorry, my following readers! I give you permission to metaphorically bash me over the head with an oversized hammer, for I have not written anything for this story for a long while. Thank oreoswithoutmilk for kicking me back into gear with funny interpretations of Dyed Bones. For those wanting to see some sign of Harry, there kinda is. More like the epic lead up. Anyway, read and review. Especially review. I like them nice and detailed, with plenty of information to draw from. Maybe even funny PMs with fun ideas. I often run out of inspiration here and there, so such things are very welcome. Enjoy!

P.S. If any of you are really drawing a blank on what kind of costume skeleton hoodie Death's wearing, check out my profile and there's a drawn diagram thing that I find to be fitting.

Chapter Four: The Grand Ol' Chase

Natasha Romanov is an assassin with a bloodied ledger. Her past is a haunting ghost, and all the innocent people she had to end in her life have stained each page in that book of kills. That's why she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place; to wipe away the blood from her ledger. And the beautiful yet skilled Russian woman had no problem with that. Her partner is the best shot in the world with a bow and arrow, what more can Natasha ask for? Sure, over time she's become some kind of participant in a superhero team, but it gives her a larger chance of wiping clean all the blood that lingers.

But then there was her newest mission with her fellow Avengers. The Grim; what many of the agents working with S.H.I.E.L.D. had come to see as a phantom menace that thoroughly pissed off Fury at the most unlikely of times. Yes, Natasha had heard of the mysterious woman before her new assignment. So did Clint Barton. But having seen her and heard her speak? Watch her run faster than their resident super soldier with the most bizarre array of personal possessions? Grim (or should she call her Death?) was toying with them, getting what she wants while also finding plenty of entertainment. But the question was, what was she gaining from it?

After having been quick enough to throw a tracker into the back of the woman's getaway vehicle, the Avengers had debriefed and filed away their report papers on the Helicarrier to return home. It had been a crazy day for them all, some more than others. With Rogers' plainly polite offer to have them all over at his apartment for the night, they had all wordlessly agreed to meet up there. Though there was a double-meaning to that offer by the Captain. Rest and discuss, assumed the female spy. And she wasn't wrong.

Every member eventually found themselves lounging about the super soldier's home, which he shared with Bruce as roommates would. The two assassins had claimed the couch, Bruce in his self-proclaimed armchair, followed by Stark and Rogers sitting on opposite sides of a desk area by a window, the genius holding a very large bowl of Mac n' Cheese in his hands. They all sat in a strangely companionable silence, until Steve broke it with a single question.

"Did anyone feel that Grim was trying to tell us to leave her alone?"

All eyes immediately fell on him, but a few looked away just as quick. Bruce seemed to consider his words, slipping off his glasses and wiping them off with the hem of his shirt.

"In a nonsensical way, she was really trying to tell us more than that," answered Banner.

Stark raised an eyebrow, swallowing an exceptionally large bite of macaroni. "Why do you say that, Brucey? From my standpoint, Death, or Grim, whatever suits your personal preference, was praising Cap and then threatening me."

The doctor shook his head slightly, at this friend's ignorance. "No, she was giving us a warning."

Natasha suddenly perked up at this, her eyes alight with a revelation. "It makes sense."

The team turned to her. "None of us fully trust Fury since the invasion," explained the Russian, "It's clear she doesn't either, from some of the words she said. Grim told us about maybe a handful of her abilities, and hinted at some of the things she has done. She's a weapon."

Tony stared blankly at her for a few moments. "I'm still not following." Hawkeye nodded, looking a bit puzzled himself.

Bruce rolled his eyes, "Death has reason to think Fury is up to something. She herself is not sure what, but she knows he wants her nonetheless. That's why she keeps playing games and skirting around S.H.I.E.L.D.'s advances; Death doesn't want to become his next puppet."

Clint's brow furrowed. "Why? If she's really Death, then couldn't she just threaten him or something?"

They all shot him deadpanned looks. The archer sighed hopelessly, "Fury wouldn't even bat an eyelash at a threat from Death herself."

"That may be true, but I have a feeling Grim's not exactly someone to mess around with," intoned Rogers.

Tony's facial expression seemed to harden, though more along the lines of exaggerated worry, "Especially when she personally walks up to you and gives you some cryptically bizarre warning about evading your 'Death Day.'"

Steve glanced over to the man, a slight frown on his face. Out of all of them, even Natasha and Barton, Stark wasn't exactly infused with a serum or enhanced in any way. He'd be the first of the team to go if he died of natural causes; Even with the arc reactor in his chest. But he knew Stark well enough now, and though the man seemed troubled by the woman, he was probably just thinking about her scientific significance. Tony openly admitted he didn't believe in God, yet here was someone very similar and not at all an alien from another place in space with power similar to a god.

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Natasha spoke up again, "We can't directly disobey the Director on this one. He'll suspend us and take matters into his own hands."

"And that means?" Urged Rogers.

"He calls on every strike team within his jurisdiction and arms them with some of the more questionable weapons S.H.I.E.L.D. has stored away."

"Sounds exactly like what I'd see Fury doing to us if we ever went rogue," commented Tony. Even though no one responded to his statement, they all knew he was probably right.

"So what? We just listen the the Director's orders and go out to forcefully capture Death, one of the most dangerous beings existing, and simply say, 'Sorry, this is better than option two?'" questioned Clint, albeit with a bit of agitation.

"I don't like it either, Birdie, but it may not even matter in the long run. That 'council' could overrule Fury and just send out the strike teams anyway. They tried to nuke New York with an old Stark Industries bomb; I wouldn't put it past them," said Stark.

Steve nodded solemnly. "Then I think it's time for a bit of research."

Tony sharply turned to Rogers, swallowing another heaping bite of macaroni and looking aghast. "What?"

The super soldier shrugged, "I've taken some history classes way back when, but I feel like I have no idea what I'm up against; I don't enjoy flying blind."

"There's not much to even learn, Steve," said Bruce, "I may not exactly be an expert on the subject, but there are barely any references to Death that make her out to be a stoppable force, except for one."

"And what's that?"

"Santa Muerte, Saint Death. It's a female saint that recently came back into the limelight of religious belief only in the past ten years or so. The whole idea began in the pre-Columbian era, but faded away due to the influence of the Catholic Church. It became something solely believed by the lower and middle class. And in all honesty, the depictions make it look like the Grim Reaper is trying out a "Saintly Woman's" clothes. Grants miracles to any who pray to her because of the thought belief she is a fallen angel, or Will of God, that hopes to return to heaven."

"...You know this why?" asked a perplexed Stark.

"I did try to hide from the government in Mexico and South America before I considered India or other third-world countries."

"That's great and everything," stated Clint," But how does that fit into any of this? Are we going to just pray to her while holding a bunch of colored candles and hope she'll yield? This conversation went from serious to just plain crazy." Barton, ever the skeptic.

"After the Loki fiasco, I think our jobs are going to always be a certain level of crazy," admitted Rogers, with a slight nod of agreement from Natasha.

"Alright, then remind me to have Pepper pick up a bunch of aromatic candles later tomorrow from Walgreens. So thanks for the macaroni Steve, but it's time for me to head along home." With that the conversation ended.

The others nodded in agreement, and shortly after, it was only Bruce and Rogers within the living area. The scientist smiled slightly to the soldier, retreating to his room for the rest of the night. Steve sat at his seat by the table and window, looking out with a dazed expression. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Fury back at the gym he wasn't against the rules and implications of death. All of his old friends were either dead or dying, and Rogers honestly couldn't deny the days when he wished to join them. Not the highest points in his life, though they happened. But what his team were inevitably ordered to do made him feel fear. The phrase, "Don't speak ill of the Dead, because Death will take her toll," kept running through his head like a mantra. Steve felt that in a way, planning the capture of an entity that Fury assumed to be nothing but another Asgardian was another way of speaking ill. And the super soldier had a sinking feeling in his gut that the woman wasn't just some Asgardian-like alien... She was actually Death.

Death never slept deeply. How could she? Nothing on the face of the Earth was as undying as her or the Master. If she wanted to, she could never eat or drink from this day forth and strictly smoke cigarettes for her diet. Then again, it left her chilled fleshy skin very dry and frail. Death had gotten over that old creepy hag phase a long time ago, so no need to look back now.

Rolling her shoulders, a groan slipped through her faintly pink lips. Blinking a few times, Drake shifted out of her uncomfortable position in the front seat of her beaten-down Jeep, glancing around the compartment in a slight daze. Nestled inside Anthony Stark's beanie was a very large white rabbit, which could barely fit its furry behind into the medium-sized woolen hat. Tipped to the side in one of the cupholders was the tall bottle of Smirnoff Whipped Cream vodka, while the other holder was overflowing with cigarette ash and leftover stubs. Sitting up, Death reached out for the rusty rear-view mirror, taking in her appearance.

Yep, looked the same but with a slight shadow under her eyes. Nothing new.

Drake reclined back into the seat, sighing. "I 'eally need to find a new flat," she muttered sourly, her cockney accent pronounced. She'd been increasingly irritable since she had to vacate her former residence, and her accent couldn't help but thicken.

Death honestly had no problems living in a rickety old vehicle for the rest of her days, but then again, the sleeping arrangements aggravated her bone structure. And since all her body consisted of was bone and a very thick layer of muscular epidermal tissue, her bones could easily be kinked. The hazards of being a Death God: Sore bones and the possible shriveling of skin. Well, that and having to deal with superheroes trying to capture her and gift her as tribute to their grand Ceasar, Nicolas Fury. Who would even have a last name that literally means anger? The whole situation Death's stuck in is both intensely suspenseful and ridiculous. Can't she ever get a bloody break?

Drake snorted, "Course, I know the depressin' answer to that question..."

There would be no rest for her until she found Harry Potter.

The mere thought of his name made her bones rattle in a torrent of chaotic emotion. Harry Potter, possessor of the three Deathly Hallows and Master of Death. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter, the greatest man and the purest soul she had ever met. Harry Potter, a wizard. Harry Potter, missing from her all-seeing sight. Harry Potter, Harry Potter, HARRY POTTER! All this change was because of him! His bright green eyes that seemed so such like the sea yet as fresh as the deepest forest. His hair as dark as her tattered black shroud that draped her bones. His skin pale like her own yet scarred with tales of bravery and sacrifice. His voice that seemed so relaxed yet mildly cocky. His everything! But that was an old flame in a corridor of fireplaces. The man was behind her, but that didn't mean she wouldn't stop looking for him. Harry was a great friend.

Yet still the looming question hung over her head: Where could he have gone?

Death shook her head, dispelling her current train of thought. Straightening her clothes, she twisted the keys in the ignition, rattling the tin can into life. The rabbit jolted awake, but a stray hand patted its head. Drake smirked at the simple creature, thankful she had the little thing. It'd keep her company for now. Grabbing a lovely Red and White's box and ripping the packaging away with her teeth, her agile fingers slipped a fresh cigarette free. Snapping her fingers with her other hand, a wispy black flame lit the butt of the smoker. Death really was not in the mood to play nice. She blamed that on her bizarre form of senility and Harry Potter-oriented thoughts. Lit cigarette between her lips and her bunny rabbit companion sitting shotgun, Drake viciously stomped on the gas.

The car leapt forward, speeding through the alleyway and onto the streets, madly weaving through traffic. A symphony of honking horns and angry New Yorkers chorused in her ears, drawing a satisfied smile onto her face. Time to give Fury the ol' chase. I told him its what he'd get if he continued pursuing me. 'Course I also promised to serve them a bit of destruction, but that's nothing new, thought Death.

Just as there was a symphony of agitated traffic-goers in Manhattan, the bridge of the Helicarrier went ballistic within seconds of the movement.

"Sir, Grim's on the move!-"

"-She's heading towards the Williamsburg bridge-"

"-How is this woman speeding well over eighty miles an hour in traffic?-"

"-Local authorities have reports of at least fifteen non-lethal car accidents to have occurred in the last two minutes-"

"-Fuck, this whole Death-Bringer business screwed up my Gallaga session!-"

"-Iron Man's already heading towards her general direction-"

"-Grim doesn't take much of a breather before she tries again, does she?-"

"-Why do I have a feeling this will be a repeat of the Invasion, Harper, I swear to God-"

"-Ma'am, Agents Romanov and Barton are ready for immediate dispatch-"

"-Captain America's now requesting permission to move in with Dr. Banner-"

"-Wish we had backup from Asgard for this, it's going to get ugly fast-"

"-Permission granted, tell him we need to contain this situation without excessive damage to the surrounding area-"

"-Warn security for SS-04 to be on alert for possible hostile-"

"-Dispatch those two now!-"

"-T 'minus 54 seconds until engaging the target!"

They'd closed the Williamsburg Bridge.

Death couldn't believe how humanity could be so cruel to itself. Just because she was dangerous when provoked did not mean that she'd be forced to have the old-fashioned Western gun fight with civilians trapped in their cars. And Drake couldn't easily ditch her own car without leaving all her personal belongings to be equally destroyed. She wondered absently if Steve Rogers, that charmingly polite Avenger, would allow for something like this to happen. Or any of those other heroes for that matter.

"Lord this is goin' ta be a damn mess," she cursed, chatting to her rabbit, who inadvertently was her partner-in-crime. Funny, because she had only been flirting with her old flame about the bunny back at the strip club, and not at all serious. The creature of course did not respond to her, but at least it listened. Not that it mattered, since her heavy british accent really started to show through when she was frustrated.

...Maybe she could have her faithful little shadows hide her affects. Summon a few carrion birds to patrol the skies, and make like a tree out of this junkyard automotive. Yep, sounded like a real good idea... Should probably do that...

"Oh fuck 'dis pile o' rubbish!"

Grappling her rabbit Rainbow Dash under her arm and readjusting her cigarette, Death jumped out of her car and just ran. She sprinted in between the jammed traffic, moving just time before pedestrians began opening their doors in confusion. It probably was a very peculiar sight, a skinny woman over six foot pelting through the mess of vehicles on the bridge, holding a large white rabbit and a cigarette between her pink lips. Her outfit made the scene all the more ridiculous, followed by the fact Death realized she'd abandoned a perfectly good bottle of flavored vodka in her vehicle. Dammit! Seconds ticked away with the bunny under her arm shaking like a limp bag of rice, curling in on itself. Looking down, Drake skidded to a stop. Her face softened, pitying the preciously adorable animal.

"Aww, you poor lil' thing! I should 'ave considered your needs first be'fore I just barreled on like a thick-'eaded idiot. Can't 'ave you turn into a crispy critt'er in the midst offa' battle, no Sir."

Glancing around, she spotted a hybrid vehicle; A family-oriented automobile, for sure. Casually walking over, she knocked lightly on the window. The woman in the front seat turned in her direction, looking particularly puzzled. She had a nice head of bronze hair and pretty slate eyes, and a soul that wouldn't be dying anytime soon in the next few years. Death moved her free hand in a cranking motion, trying to convey her meaning. The feminine stranger furrowed her brow, but rolled her window down nonetheless.

"Hello! I'm Drake. Sorry ta' interrupt, but would 'ou mind 'aving a pet bunny by any chance?"

"Umm... What?" The bronze-haired female looked to her arms, where said creature looked at her with shining eyes. "Is that a rabbit?"

Death rolled her charcoal eyes, "Yes, Madame, it is indeed. Would you mind takin' him?"

She looked straight at the god-like being, the cigarette hanging from her lips, tattooed arms, black eyes, and wild clothing. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but Madame, I am a very seriously serious person. If I told 'ou tha' there would be an Avengers sightin' in... Let's just say sixteen se'onds, would you consider taking 'im?"

Staring a bit longer than needed, she responded. "Give me the rabbit."

Death grinned cheerily, "Fabulous, Darling! Ere's Rainbow Dash, and I really must go now. By the way, don't take highway 278 on your way 'ome. Very 'igh death rate 'ere today. Stay safe, Carla!" Before the slate-eyed woman could further question the unpredictably moody entity, the dangerous black-haired woman dashed off, rapidly picking up speed in her clomping heels.

Meanwhile, Stark had just arrived at the Williamsburg Bridge, flying over in his trademark suit. He had gotten over the whole 'evading your death day' ordeal, finding himself both faintly afraid and also extremely curious towards the tall woman creature that declared herself Death. Not in any way a sexual curiosity like most would assume, but more of a deep interest. Tony blamed it on Bruce, who was more of a humanitarian doctor-biology scientist-therapist than a techy goofball that he was.

Looking down, it was easy to spot the woman's skeleton hoodie from the mess of people on the bridge. She was running almost, if not faster, than he'd ever seen Captain run. And that was saying something. Steve, though appearing to be nothing but a heavy chunk of blonde muscle like Thor, could outrun any Olympic sprinter twice over. His dad hadn't been kidding when he retold stories of Rogers to him when he was little. But this chick? Who the hell knows. Just... Damn.

Picking up speed, Stark dove low, flying about ten feet above the mess of jammed-up cars and confused pedestrians. What was causing this kind of traffic? Curiously, Tony had JARVIS patch him into their team's radio signal.

"Uh, guys... Could someone tell me why we have well over two hundred innocent civilians stuck on the Williamsburg bridge?"

"What? Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't authorize any kind of block. The traffic flow should actually be better, since Agent Hill requested to have any vehicles wanting to cross detour through an alternate route to the Manhattan Bridge," responded Natasha, her tone slightly confused.

"Yeah, well, I'm not believing it until I'm seeing it. From all the hubbub that's going on, I wouldn't be surprised if somebody whispered a few words to the local authorities. Like say… the Council?"

"How is that possible? The Helicarrier had just picked up movement on her tracker minutes ago," commented Barton.

"It seems then at this point, it doesn't matter how it happened. If we don't act fast, we'll end up with dead local authorities instead of happily-listening-to-whoever's-orders local authorities, if that's what happened."

With an abrupt plunge in altitude, Stark leveled up to Death, matching her speed. She started at the sight of Iron Man, in full regalia, flying right beside her. "Jesus, 'ou crazy blighter, I'm not going to fight righ' now! Too many innocent souls, too much of a risk."

Tony blinked owlishly behind his mask. "Seriously?" That was unexpected.

"Well unless those police boys give me a reason ta' claim 'hem a bit early, Yea' I'm serious."

"Is it me, or did your accent get worse?"

"Shut it, Stark. I usually always 'ave 'ad a cockney accent, just it wore away since livin' ere in the Americas wit' you fuck'rs gettin' me angry. Now either race up a' head and make sure I'm to be let through, or there will be prob'ems between us."

The masked face stared at her emptily for a moment, her mind picturing Stark's face overcome with a conflict of emotion. Then the superhero shot ahead, not even speaking a word. Nice to know he has his priorities in the right places, thought Drake. The ticket windows pulled back their blocks just in time for her to leap over them all, landing calmly on the other side staring at Tony Stark, faceplate lifted.

"Come come, then!" She called, waving at the man, taunting. Quickly she turned away, pivoting on her heels and launching herself forward into a tumbling sprint. Stark cursed, his faceplate snapping back into place as he shot up into the sky to follow after the dangerous accented female.

Back down below, Death smirked. Now all I have to do is find a good spit of concrete and hold my ground. Probably got the whole crew out and about with my damned luck, she thought. Turning sharply, Death ran to the edge of the overpass, carelessly leaping down from a fatal height into a narrow alley. Her landing didn't go as expected, leaving her to crash into the pavement on her sorry buttocks.

A deep groan slipped out from her lips with the cigarette still hanging out, smoking. Layers of dust settled on her dark clothing, peppering her hair and lashes. She grabbed the crippled but smoking roll of tobacco, sitting up. "Tha' was wholly unsuccessful, yet ex'remely beneficial," Drake said to herself. Shakily she got up from her small crater in the alley, rolling her shoulders and eliciting a number of pops and cracks. There she quietly stood for a few moments, cherishing a smattering of seconds in brief silence.

"And tha' was a dull ex'cuse for a chase."

Death tromped wildly through the back roads, never stopping. She had an appointment with the Avengers, and the deity wasn't about to miss it.

Back on the Helicarrier, controlled chaos still reigned.

"Reports from Agents Romanov and Barton, Sir! Someone had set up a blockade at the entrances to the Bridge-"

"WHAT?! Sitwell, search for any possible reasons as to what compelled some idiot to block the Williamsburg Bridge with a hostile still on it!"

"Yessir!"

"Director, Iron Man reports that he had briefly located Grim. Sighted sprinting across the Bridge and demanding the blockades be taken down."

"And?"

"He made the ticket staff take them down, along with security."

"Get back Stark, and have him explain exactly why he decided he could make those kind of decisions on his own."

"Yessir."

"Ma'am, Captain America and Dr. Banner think they have found Dea-I mean Grim's trail."

"Where?"

"Debris along the backroads of Wythe Avenue, heading north in the basic direction of the piers."

"How fast do you estimate she's going?"

"I can't give you exact numbers, Ma'am, but her speeds overmatch Captain's by about 30 mph."

"Shit," Agent Hill muttered to herself.

"Hill!"

"Yes, Director?"

"What is the status of SS-04 as of now?"

"Full security details, all on high alert. The scientists are nervous, but still working."

"What about the subject?"

Maria inwardly balked. "Sir?"

"I want to know if the status of the actual subject has changed in the last 72 hours."

"Since we've been in contact with Grim?"

"Affirmative."

"...I'll get to it, Sir."

"Report to me as soon as you know."

Death was waiting for them.

She was used to waiting, being a deity that had to have patience when hoping to collect a deceased mortal soul. It wasn't anything personal, of course not. It was just her job, as it had been since the beginning of everything in the universe. Not that a single universe was really the very start, since Death actually had rule over all universes, be them alternate or parallel. Lord was there a shit ton of religions gabbering on about her. Each and every one make her out to be the bad guy. Always. It'd be nice for a change if somebody actually knew she was the goodest guy in existence. Death made sure their souls left their bodies, and a chance to reincarnate, go to the magical land of Heaven, and all that fun stuff. Some even got to get a trip to Valhalla, which is pretty nice. She lived in what the Asgardians called Nifleheim, the icy wastes meant for the dishonored dead with an army of undead warriors (Military, specifically. From any time or place on Earth and beyond, forced to suffer for their shitty personalities, actions, etc.) and mangled wolf-hounds. It was one of the worlds on Yggdrasil, located on one of the lowest branches, farthest away from the golden kingdom of Asgard. But Death enjoyed visiting, being called Hel or Hela by anyone she met and well respected for her abilities.

But then again, that was long ago. Nifleheim was left for the shadows to take charge, watched by her mangy wolf-hounds, and inhabited by undead sinned warriors. Right now, Death was leaning against the railing of a smaller bridge, found in Bushwick Inlet Park not that far from the wetlands. It gave her a lovely view of the water, and plenty of quiet. Nobody ventured out as far as she did, and if they had, it was for the sole reason of eating at the restaurant up the trail. It was good food, it that counted. Unfortunately, Death didn't have any spits of concrete to stand her ground like she wanted.

The wind chose to make its presence known, rustling Drake's pitch black tresses and the fabric of her clothes. The water rippled with the wind's beckoning, swirling and licking up against the small bridge where the death deity stood. Her hand dipped into her pockets, withdrawing a cigarette from yet another box of Red and White. She held the roll close to her lips, snapping her thumb and middle fingers together and igniting a flickering black flame. The tip burned, and with a careless wave of her long hand, the infinitesimal black light disappeared. Taking an easy drag, Death sighed, bowing her head and watching the smoke drift out of her open mouth. The heat it gave her bones felt nice. Better than feeling the chill of the wind, and the emptiness of her body. Drake closed her eyes. Seconds later, she smirked knowingly.

"I see you found me at last, 'gents and lady."

"Oh," spoke Stark, the sounds of his faceplate lifting up from its place, "You know. Just follow the painfully obvious trail of debris and minor public disruption."

She chuckled, opening her abysmal night eyes and tilting her head up into view. Before her stood the whole ensemble of the Avengers, armed with their signature weapons, aimed point-blank. Rogers stood in front dressed in his full Captain America outfit, stance commanding with the famous shield on his arm. She'd seen a lot of beautiful mortals in her life, but damn did he look good in that tight suit. Those pectorals of his are probably as solid as modeled granite for fuck's sake! He took a few sure steps forward, staring at Death right in the eyes. Drake raised an eyebrow appreciatively. The man was wise to respect her, she'd give him that. But the strength to stare into the very eyes of Death? The super soldier had more guts than she ever thought.

" 'Ello Rogers. I hope your Caesar didn't give you too much shit for failing in capturing me earlier. Our chat was nice at least," She amended.

"Not exactly the time and place for this conversation, Grim."

Death blinked in surprise. "Oh? So you people gave me another nickname? 'Been watching too many cartoons, I think. Though, I am flattered by the fact S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks I'm a Jamaican death god on Cartoon Network for Saturday mornings. Or have you named me after the large black dog that's regarded as an omen of my will-"

"Cut the monologue, Honey. Come quietly with us to the Helicarrier, and nobody gets the shit end of the deal," interrupted Tony, short on patience as ever. Captain restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"I'm good, Kiddies. Run on back to the teeter-totter and sing me a few nursery rhymes."

"How about no?" quipped the billionaire, hands out turned with the repulsors glowing in warning.

"How about yes?" Death shot back, pulling herself away from the railing and staring the man down. The cigarette smoke concorted in the air violently around the crown of female's head.

The other members wanted to desperately facepalm. Why couldn't Stark just keep his mouth shut?

"Hold on here," reasoned Rogers, stepping between them. "We don't need to fight about this," He looked to Drake, "Please, Ma'am."

She glanced at him, searching his face. The deity knew he didn't lie, couldn't lie, and there was no falseness in his voice or his heart. But what about Fury, the dark Caesar behind the heroic Avengers?

The female shook her head, "As much as I want to trust you mortals, I can't. Unlike your team, Captain, I fear what your leader has in store for me. And though I may be Death, I'm not always able to free myself of trouble. Not anymore, anyway."

Banner, who had been safely behind the assassins watching, spoke up. "What do you mean?"

They stared at Death, who smirked, but only slightly at the corner of her lips. She took a quick drag of her cigarette, breathing out tendrils of smoke shaped like serpents. "It is not very simple to explain, my good green man. Nor can I reveal it to you or your companions without your Caesar learning of it. I am aware that some of you are bound by orders to tell him of what transpires. I repeat, he cannot know."

"Why are you so afraid to tell us, but not afraid to fight us?" questioned Natasha.

"If I told you my weakness, I show weakness. There is no weakness in the powers of Death."

"But you're a person too! You have as much a right as anyone else to be human," argued Cap.

She laughed, "Ha! Have you not been listening to my words, Captain? I'm not human! I'm an undying God!"

"I wonder where I've heard that before," muttered Hawkeye, glancing at Natasha. Both thought of a certain Asgardian of lies and mischief.

"Why do we have to hear this-You know what, come with us now, or I'll blow shit up. How's that?"

"Stark!" reprimanded Rogers.

" 'Snot like you weren't going to threaten me too. Most mortals eventually do when they meet me."

"I really should leave before the other guy decides to join-"

"-Oh, don't leave Dr. Banner! I do fancy your company and that interesting dual-soul body of yours!"

"What is life to you, a toy?"

"When all you do is harvest souls of the dead for the last thousand-quadrillion years, your sense of humor often ends up all sorts of whompy."

"Whompy-?"

"-Not the right time, Bird Brain-"

"-I don't think you should be calling him that, Star-"

"-Is anybody defending me here besides myself? C'mon, Brucie, a little help here-?"

"-Don't get me thrown into this. I just want to remove myself from this situation before the other guy decides to come out-"

"And why shouldn't he?" Tony finished. "Maybe you should blow off a bit of steam on goth girl over here-"

"Stark, you are not helping!" cried Natasha.

The bickering quickly dissolved into an all-out argument, the volume becoming louder and louder. Death watched, a bout of abrupt equanimity overcoming her. She had said she was moody, and it wasn't a joke. None of them were watching the deity, the slight quiver in her limbs going unnoticed.

Humans, that's all they ever do when nothing can be resolved. Arguing, bickering, name calling. Inner annoyances, hunts for revenge, a desire to get even. War, conflict, blood. Death, so much death. Throughout all of time and space, it was something that was always in abundance. Everything ended, nothing lasted. Her quivering increased, becoming a short but constant shake. Except her, and the Master. But the Master wasn't here. Nobody to reel in her leash, the chain keeping her in check. She was disciplined with morals, bounds that had been ingrained within her so long. But there was no Master to remind her of those morals, those boundaries of character. Death was simply death. An action, a phase in life that would eventually claim everything. Killing everybody and anything. What had been shaking, erratic quivering moving her limbs, morphed into violent twitching. A sharp nervous but unconscious tick in the deity's bones. The argument still progressed, soon approaching blows.

I-I… Wan-Want… To...To...kill...KILL. I want to KILL… W-who?...Kill who? E-ever... Every… Every and one… EVERYONE. I WANT TO KILL EVERYONE. DEATH! KILL THEM. SPREAD DEATH.Steve finally glanced Grim's way, taking initiative and ignoring a furious billionaire Stark. But it was too late.

She screamed.

It wasn't any average kind of display, be it anguish or fear. There was no weak body language, none of that at all. It was a scream that tore through a man's soul, leaving braver men than Captain America on the ground cowering with tears in their eyes. A sudden straining of nerves and muscles, reaching the climax, the breaking point. Its pitch was unearthly, that abrupt outburst of destructive noise; The constant screeching pitch with a thousand different feelings bundled into a single terrifyingly cry. Drake's were wild, countenance hysterical with her mouth widely ajar. That cry instilled a sense of fear so primal, even Natasha flinched away with a jerk. An explosion sealed inside Drake's marrow setting off, generating strong audio vibrations.

Blink.

The deity stood in the middle of them all, the distance between them gone, her eyes eroding into dust. Stark yelled, stumbling back in his clunking suit. Her teeth discolored, turning to a dull gold with deviously sharp points. Her skin paled yet darkened further than it already was, hands thinning. A skeleton, a terrifying golden skeleton. Screaming like a banshee after their blood.

Another blink.

Drake was bent down over the billionaire, empty sockets staring at him. Her mouth was ajar still, slightly unhinged. Boney golden hands shot out, crushing into the curvature of his Iron Man suit. Bullets shot through her clothes, an arrow sticking straight through her arm in the gap of the bone. Banner was turning a light shade of emerald.

One more blink.

With startling ease Drake picked Stark up, those skeletal hands crushed into the metal alloys of his suit. She roared, then threw him away off into the distance, where the open grass of the park lay. Steve, full of courage as ever, threw himself forward with his shield faced towards her. Drake was crashed flat to bridge, screaming again. The Captain's ears were ringing. Banner was transforming, growls echoing through the air.

Just another fatal blink.

Drake was no longer Drake, a human that seemingly claimed to be a godly deity. Only the true nature of Death remained, a skeleton glimmering in the afternoon sun with a dull golden luster. The clothes were nothing but shreds, hanging off the frame of the moving corpse like an after-Halloween movie special. A vicious yowl ripped through Death's shining canine teeth, the head appearing inches from Rogers' neck, mouth agape. Blood was soon to be drawn from his flesh. Steve would finally greet his deceased friends.

Rapid blinking.

A gunshot rang out, hitting Death's jaw point-blank and cracking it. Natasha thanked some kind of god for having a high-powered gun. The golden monster let out an ear-deafening screech, retreating faster than a blink of an eye could catch. Steve had been spared from having his main arteries ripped out, but the skeleton quickly refocused on another target. Hawkeye.

"Oh SHIT!"

Blink.

A roar, unlike Death, rang out. The angry corpse stilled for a few moments, the archer forgotten. Its sockets were staring blankly at the green behemoth it was presented with.

"Quid pecus, cum oculos cæcorum videbunt," it whispered in the breeze.

As if thinking better of it, the skeleton threw itself into the air, dodging a large green fist, and landing on the other side of the bridge, rushing towards the grass field where Stark had crash-landed.

"Go!" yelled Captain, throwing himself forward into a breakneck run. The rest followed, Hulk barreling forward the fastest.

More screaming filled the area, pedestrians witnessing the sight of a beat-up tincan named Iron Man and a moving golden skeleton staring each other down. They could see the rest of the Avengers coming their way. A number of them immediately whipped out their phones.

"Straight to Youtube with this!" declared a random college student standing at a fair distance, iPhone live streaming directly to the web. Stark rolled his eyes in spite of the situation.

Death was growling, all of the fabric gone from its person. It stood bare, shining in the light. And it was after the Avengers. All of them.

"So Deathey, babygirl," Tony started, "How are you today? Polished your jawbone recently?"

A sharper growl rose up from the deity's ribs. Stark flinched behind the faceplate. "Alright, so maybe not. Why don't you just forget about this fight, yeah? I mean, I could pull some strings, and you'll be scot-free from S.H.I.E.L.D. Nobody has to die here."

A dark chuckle grounded out of the golden teeth. "Festive tu es, humana ferrum-missum. Mors autem non audimus, nam nulla aures."

Tony raised a questioning brow behind the faceplate. "Jarvis, what is she saying? Translate for me."

Her voice replayed, creepy as it was now, but in English. "You are amusing, Iron-cast human. But Death does not listen, for she has no ears."

"Just what language is she speaking in, Jarv?"

"Latin, Sir. Old Latin."

"Duly noted." He thought for a couple of seconds.

"So I'm not speaking to Drake then, huh?" Stark said aloud, hoping the deity would answer.

"Draconem? Quæ est hic. Sed est liberum. Semel in anno centesimo quinquagesimo et liberi esse."

"Dragon? She is here. But she is free. Must be free every one hundred and fifty years."

"Can I talk with her by any chance? You know, friendly conversation?"

"No ferrum non loqui possunt cum Draco. Liberata est. Abiit magister longum des libero. Se continere non potest sine magistro. Pars non capit nisi."

"No. Iron cannot converse with Dragon. She is free. Master has been gone too long, must let free. Cannot contain without Master. Cannot contain without other half."

"O-kay then. How can I get to her then, if not through you?" Tony was desperately trying to puzzle this out, and since Drake had a thing for driveling, maybe this side of her would too? Though it didn't make sense. This was Drake. Drake was Death in all forms of the word. But, she lost control? Master? Was she referring to that time in the strip bar? Whatever was going on, it was more complex than he thought it was.

The metallic corpse grunted deeply. "Ora eam. Orabitis me. Praesent in ipsum. Mors sum."

"Pray to her. Pray to me. We are one in the same. I am Death."

Oh God, Banner was right after all, thought Stark. He wished he had made Pepper buy those candles, not joke around about it.

The billionaire didn't have the time to do much more, as the rest of the team finally arrived. Death growled at them in challenge.

"Stark," addressed Rogers, "Do you have any ideas?"

"Other than whip out a few candles and start praying in Spanish? Nope, I'm fresh out."

"What has she been saying?"

"Death is, as we established before, Drake. They're the same, just one has morals and a brain of a ninety year old like you while the other just wants to fuck shit up. Supposedly she acts out like this every one hundred and fifty years."

"A hundred and fifty years?" Rogers was not convinced, even if the situation didn't exactly have a domestic enough setting.

The skeleton tilted its head, bones clinking against one another around the neck. Puzzlement. "Olfaciens saeculi."

Natasha blinked, turning the Captain. "I smell age." Her tone hinted a confusion.

Rogers himself raised a brow, looking back at the standing array of human anatomy. "Excuse me?"

Death tilted her head the other way, "Olfacies aetatis. Vos sunt longævi. Contra me pugnare." The skeleton fell into a defensive stance.

"You smell of age. You are aged. Fight me," translated Romanov.

Tony threw up his metal-plated hands. "Alright! I give up! She's been spinning us in so many circles, it's driving me nuts! And the point she always seems to settle on? Capsicle."

"Me?"

"Who else is a thawed-out spangled dinosaur, Monty Python's gravestone? Yes, Rogers, you! She seems to be very chatty around you, both as a punk-goth model and a bling skeleton. May I also mention we're trying not to make all of Manhattan a battle ground again?"

Rogers didn't look pleased. Why did it always come down to him? He sighed. "Natasha, get S.H.I.E.L.D. to set up another perimeter. The rest of you, get the remaining civilians out of here."

Hawkeye and Stark looked ready to argue, but kept quiet. They dispersed, silently praying for their Captain as he mimicked Death's stance. If a skeleton could smile, the deity was doing so at that moment. She lunged.

Captain America immediately reacted, he threw up his shield again, just like before, bracing his defense with his broad right shoulder as the golden bones piled against the vibranium. A growl rumbled in his ear, a freezing breath of air slithering down his neck. Death was trying for the neck for the second time, but couldn't fully reach. Rogers pushed out, throwing her away to the ground. The bones fell to the grass in a jumbled heap, resting there for a few moments. But within seconds it was reassembled again, barreling towards the super soldier yet again. He slipped the shield further up his arm, fists balled. As Death closed in, Steve threw a sharp left hook into the fracture in her jawbone. It splintered to pieces. A scream filled the air. Now it spoke in very clear but gravely English.

"MY BONE! HOW DARE YOU, AGED ONE, SHATTER MY BONE?!" Only half of the once entire jawbone was left, broken and now wickedly sharp at the edges. The dull golden pieces were strewn across the grass at her feet. She screamed again, and with a swipe of her arm, smoke erupted from her hands, shooting up her structure and draping down to become a flowing black cloak. Captain held his ground, keeping his stance firm. Death snatched up her bone fragments, crushing them together into her hands angrily. She growled at him like a mangy dog, snarling with she was nothing but a damaged but shining skeleton of a human woman. The deity threw out her arms, and dust filled the air. It compounded, and laying in her hands was a devilish sickle, long handled and wicked sharp. This was one of the truest forms of Death.

"FACE ME NOW, AGED ONE. DRAGON KNOWS OF YOUR STRENGTH, YOUR ANGUISH WITH LONG LIFE! LET ME SEE YOUR FINAL DANCE, AND MAY I GRANT YOU YOUR WELL-EARNED REST!"

Faster than before, Death flung herself at him, weapon upraised to slice him in two. A clash of metal rang true through the open grass field, heard even by the other Avengers hundreds of yards away. The Captain felt trapped, for all he could do against this furious god was block each swing of her sickle. He danced away from each blow, hoping to gain enough speed over the deity to maybe have a chance to throw his shield at her head. It was one sure-fire way to stop her, even if breaking her bones further was the only way to cease her fighting.

A roar escaped Death, her scythe throwing out an exceptionally hard swipe. It lodged itself into the dirt, hooked on a sprinkler pipe beneath the turf. She growled fumbling for a perchase on her lengthy sickle. But Steve was fast. The edge of the shield slammed into her skull, cracking it up the nose cavity and along the cranium structure. If her jaw still was attached, it would be gaping with a silent scream.

The diety crumbled, tumbling away from Captain America with such speed that the man had half a mind to wonder if she was afraid. Maybe she was, after all, who had the balls to stand up to Death? Very, very few. The sickle dissolved into a puff of smoke, the shards of her jawbone reappearing in their proper place, shakily mended. Magic, Steve thought. The cloak was drawn closer, the boney arms tugging at the strange fabric until it was pulled skin-tight against her ribcage. From Rogers' distance, he still wondered about this strange being. Her moods were so chaotic, and so many variables, pieces of the puzzle that was Death itself, to truly comprehend.

The rest of the Avengers arrived, followed by teams of agents. Death, her pose broken and weak, didn't move. Dust rose up from the ground, crawling along her golden bones and returning the flesh that had made her Drake. That had made her human in the face of other humans, and not a glorified skeleton that stood in the face of humans as a omen of ultimate fear. Beneath the cloak she was naked. Drake laid down onto the grass, closing her abyssal eyes with her arms crossed over her chest like a woman ready for her burial.

And thus was the day Death gave up her grand ol' chase, taken by the organization that was in fact in possession of what she thought dear. Not that she knew that just yet. And not that she was going to stay ignorant for long, as SS-04 wasn't just some experiment.

It was her Master. It was her Harry.