Chapter 9
Everything but Dean stills in that moment and he can feel the shock ripple through the Hydra agents and the Avengers. Dean’s eyes meet Von Strucker in front of him; the man no longer amused as he stares back at Dean, face devoid of color and dripping with fear. The metal hand is still grasping his neck, but Dean easily shakes it off and steps away. He tilts his head over his shoulder and finds himself face to face with Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. Dean snorted, apparently the assassin programming knew how to make a strategic retreat.
“Well, I think we’ll just be on our way. Captain, I’m sure you and the Avengers can take care of Hydra,” Dean shot Steve a mocking smile as he twirled the scythe in his hands, the weapon elongating and losing its rusted weathered look.
“Dean you don’t want to do this,” Steve tried to reason, hands held up in a placating gesture and shield strapped to his back.
Dean grunted with a small chuckle, eyes still trained on Von Strucker. The Hydra leader had some color back in his face but the man’s eyes were still wide and frantic. Although, they seemed to glow with a more manic glee than fear. Dean was just going to have to fix that. He could still feel Bucky breathing down the back of his neck, the metal plates of his arm shifting ever so slightly causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Dean hesitated, he didn’t know how the Winter Soldier would react to Dean gutting Strucker and even though he still had the Mark, Dean wasn’t to inclined on getting his spine ripped out anytime soon.
“Dean,” Sam’s voice echoed through the room causing Dean’s shoulders to lock at his brother’s tone.
“You honestly think I should let this man live? C’mon Sammy,” Dean growled as he shifted the scythe in his hands.
“We need him alive Dean, we need the information he has on Hydra’s operations,” Coulson voice was calm over the comm link.
“You honestly think a man like this would ever give up any information he has?” Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“Dean, we are very good at our job. If he has any information, we would get it,” Romanov’s voice rang with certainty. Dean cringed internally at the casual assumption that torture would always work and have no consequences.
“Torture’s rarely justified,” Dean murmured, loud enough for only Bucky to hear.
“How’d you get the scythe?” Dean asked louder, drawing all eyes to Strucker.
“We found it here. Hydra has scans constantly running looking for unnatural occurrences and we found this one a few months ago,” Strucker’s voice was proud as his eyes slid over the scythe in Dean’s hands.
“How long did it take you to figure out that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up and use it?” Sam asked. Dean heard the unspoken question, Sam wanted to know how many people died trying to pick it up before Strucker decided to just run tests.
“A month. We lost quite a few good men and some prisoners in that time,” Strucker answered after a beat, “it wasn’t until I recalled the story of Excalibur that Hydra switched to just the scientific scans.”
“Yeah, but the sword didn’t fucking kill all the people who tried to remove it from the stone,” Dean’s jaw was grinding in disgust.
“I must admit I am curious as to how you are able to hold it?” Strucker’s voice was smooth as he took a half step closer to Dean, hand raised as if he made to stroke Dean’s hand on the scythe. Dean’s knuckles turned white around the handle as Strucker’s hand paused in midair.
“Gotta admit, I’m curious too,” Clint’s voice piped up from behind.
“It’s a long story,” Sam huffed as he sidled up next to Dean. His little brother’s body turned slightly keeping Strucker and Bucky in sight.
“Why do I get the feeling everything is a long story with the two of you,” Stark’s mechanical voice somehow conveyed his sarcasm.
“Cause it is and unfortunately it still isn’t over,” Sam gave a weary sigh.
“How Dean?” Bucky’s voice was strained and Dean pulled his eyes away from Strucker to glance back over his shoulder at solemn grey eyes.
“There’s three ways or rules, I guess, for someone who isn’t Death to be able to hold the scythe. Death has to give you permission, you have to have been Death, or be the vessel for an archangel,” Dean’s shoulders drooped as he pulled his eyes away from Bucky.
“And which category do you fall under?” Strucker’s head was tipped curiously to the side.
“All three,” Dean shot the man a cheeky grin, hands smoothing up the handle as he ignored the startled and questioning sounds of the Avengers.
“You knew all along that you were going to be able to pick it up, that’s why you told us not to worry,” Wilson’s voice was incredulous.
“Yeah, it’s not the first time I’ve wielded something of Deaths’,” Dean shrugged, privately he knew it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Movement caught the corner of Dean’s eye as Von Strucker made an aborted motion towards Dean, Sam’s gun now pressed firmly against the man’s forehead halting the Hydra leader in his tracks. Dean glanced down and noticed a small canister with a needle tucked in Strucker’s hand. Before the man could move against his brother, Dean brought the scythe up with a smooth sweep of his arm. Sam let out a curse as the warm splatter of coppery blood gushed out of Von Strucker. The man’s body dropped to the ground with a dull thud, the canister rolling out of his hand with a small clink.
“What the hell Dean,” Sam snapped after a moment of silently staring down at the body.
“Oh, what, did you want to find out what was in that thing he was about to jam in you?” Dean rolled his eyes as Sam shook his head in exasperation.
“So what do we do with the scythe now?” Steve asked, cutting through the tense silence. Dean turned away from his brother to face the Avengers, blood dripping off the scythe in an arc around his feet.
“What do we do with it now? We give it back to Death and I find out why he didn’t have it in the first place,” Dean grumbled, lips turned down in annoyance as he glared down at the weapon in his hands.
****
It was the early morning, pre-dawn light that greeted the Avengers and Winchesters as the quinjet landed on the platform of the Avengers Tower. Bucky was sitting at the back of the jet, closest to the exit ramp and yet he waited for everyone to pass before getting up and walking off the quinjet himself. Dean was a few feet in front of him, blocked in by Steve and Stark still in the Iron Man armor. Bucky watched the slow roll of Dean’s shoulders as the hunters and Avengers walked through sliding glass doors.
There was an elderly man in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and wool coat sitting on the couch with a bag of greasy take-out food was crumpled up on the coffee table in front of him. The man turned his head slightly, sharp features cast in profile of the rising sun as the Avengers cautiously made their way into the room.
“Who are you, how’d you get in here?” Steve’s voice rang out into the tense silence, shield brought up into a defensive position as the rest of the Avengers spread out, battle ready.
Bucky watched the man on the couch brought an oversized cup to his mouth, slurping through the straw. But it was Dean who eventually drew everyone’s gaze as he moved forward.
“Bought time you showed up. After all, this is all because of you,” Dean grumbles as he stalked over to the couch.
“Watch your mouth,” the dark suited man’s voice was calm and measured as he cocked an eyebrow at the hunter.
“Dean, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?” the question brought Dean up short. The elder Winchester casting a quick glance towards his brother. Bucky followed his gaze and almost startled at the drawn look and clenched jaw Sam was sporting.
“Well, as I am sure you already know everyone,” Dean started after a beat as he glanced around, “uhh, everyone, this is Death.”
Bucky stiffened, blood leaching from his face as the man placed the cup on the coffee table and stood facing the team. In the back of his mind, Bucky felt the Winter Soldier curl in on himself, his instincts screaming to run and run far. But Bucky knew, he knew there was nowhere he could run that would escape the being in front of him. Bucky shuttered as Dean stepped in front of him. The hunter’s broad shoulders turned protectively towards Bucky. Dean turned towards Death, holding out the scythe as the omnipotent being gave it a cursory glance and a slight smile.
“You are going to need it,” Death’s eyes flashed with something Bucky didn’t understand.
“What? Why?” Dean clearly didn’t either.
“To kill Amara of course, unless you had another idea,” Death’s voice was patronizing as Dean stared grudgingly ahead, “no, didn’t think so.”
“Why not just give it to me then, why go through all this?” Dean’s hands waved, the scythe slicing through the air.
“Dean, you know I can’t just take sides,” Death sighed, head tilting as he indicated to the other Avengers “also, I figured it was about time you all should meet, after all, they’re going to need you and Sam.”
Steve’s eyes widened ever so slightly at that announcement and Bucky could sense everyone’s body coiling ever so tighter. Dean, if anything, just seemed more disgruntled while Sam looked troubled, a small crease forming between his eyes. Bucky couldn’t understand it, he couldn’t fathom how the brothers could stand here and face Death like it was an average occurrence.
“What about the Mark of Cain?” Sam inquired as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother.
“The Mark is connected to Amara, kill her and you are free of it,” Death tilted his head in acknowledgment.
Dean and Sam exchanged a heavy look, tension bleeding out of the pairs shoulders. Bucky hadn’t even realized how much weight had been grinding down on Dean until some of it was lifted. A crinkle of paper brought his gaze back to Death. He had reached down and grabbed one of the take-out bags and gently passed it to Dean. Bucky watched in shocked awe as the hunter opened the bag, an elated smile stretched across his face.
“No way, you brought me pie,” Dean was grinning as his brother rolled his eyes. Bucky and the other Avengers watched, shell shocked as Dean quickly sat on the couch and opened the pie container.
“Yes, I was passing through a little mid-western town which boasted the best pecan pie,” Death sat down next to the hunter.
“And you couldn’t pass it up,” Dean chuckled.
“Obviously,” Death’s voice was fond. Bucky swallowed, Death was fond of Dean.
“You don’t really look like Death,” Bucky blurted out, eyes wide as he snapped his mouth shut. Dean snorted into his pie.
“I appear to you as I first appeared to Dean. It seemed for the best,” Death gave a slight smile and Bucky repressed a shiver.
“Ummm, right, well, should we just...leave?” Bucky cringed as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
“You stay, the others can go,” Death gave Steve a straight look as Bucky’s best fried began to protest. Stark grabbed Steve and Bucky silently thanked the billionaire as the Avengers filed out.
Bucky stood stock still, unsure what to do. He startled as Dean rose from the couch, empty pie plate in hand and motioned for Sam to follow him. Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before he headed out the door. Bucky turned to face Dean, the green eyed man coming back from the kitchen. Their eyes met briefly before green eyes slid over Bucky’s shoulder, hardening for a split second before softly turning back to Bucky.
“I’ll meet you in your room,” Dean spoke softly as he left for the elevator.
“They live very complicated lives; I don’t advise getting too invested. Although, something tells me it’s already too late,” Death’s voice was soothing as Bucky watched the numbers on the elevator descend.
“He understands,” Bucky turned, metal arm whirring as his fists clenched.
“Yes, and he’ll never pity you or hold you back,” Death nodded for Bucky to sit. Bucky sat.
“How screwed are we?” Bucky asked after a moment.
“Well, that entirely depends,” Death’s eyebrows raised at the abrupt change.
“On what?” Bucky’s voice wavered, eyes steel.
“On you and Dean,” Death gave him a small smile before blinking out of existence, the smell of take-out the only thing hanging in the air.
****
Dean was sitting on Bucky’s couch, nursing a beer when the soldier returned. Bucky flopped down next to him, the couch creaking under the weight of the metal arm.
“So, Death,” Bucky cocked his head towards Dean.
“What? Not what you were expecting?” Dean snorted into his beer as he leaned into Bucky, “the first time we met was in a little pizza joint in Chicago. He was gonna wipe out the city. It was just part of the Apocalypse and all.”
“I take it he didn’t,” Bucky’s clear blue eyes encouraged Dean.
“Nah, it was Lucifer’s plan, not Deaths’,” Dean shrugged as he took another sip, “you have to understand something about Death, he’s all about balance. Sure, different sides can use him but, he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.”
Dean titled his head, eyes intent on Bucky. The soldier reached out and took the bottle away from Dean’s lips and placed it on the coffee table before moving his fingers to curl around Dean’s hand.
“I’m sorry for attacking you back at the compound,” Bucky murmured.
“It’s alright, I know it wasn’t you,” Dean squeezed Bucky’s hand.
“That’s just the thing, he is me, or at least, a part of me,” Bucky removed his hand from Dean, dropping his head to his chest.
“You were a brainwashed assassin for 70 years, I was tortured in Hell for 30 and the torturer for 10,” Dean lay a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder, turning the man to face him.
“You can honestly say that it wasn’t you. You didn’t commit all those murders. I, I can’t,” Dean choked on his words.
“Dean, you and your brother have done so much good for this world. It’s still turning because of you two,” Bucky turned to face Dean, grabbing him by the back of his neck as their foreheads met.
They stared at each other, breath ghosting over each other’s lips. Dean didn’t want to ask what Death spoke with Bucky about, it couldn’t have been anything good. At best, it was probably some cryptic bullshit made to keep everyone on their toes.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Bucky stated as Dean stared into clear blue eyes. Yeah, cryptic bullshit. Dean sighed as the soldier gave him a tiny smirk before soft lips were pressed to his.