Welp, never written for either of these fandoms before. First time for everything I guess.

I know the timelines don't add up. Just work with me on this one. :P I had no idea where I was going with this. I don't even really know what it is or what's going on; I just kind of wrote on the fly. Hope you enjoy it all the same.

Essentially what I was trying to imply was that Harry became the "Master of Death" after defeating Voldemort, and that the SPN Death basically had him take over as death. How? Why? Don't know! This kind of just happened. Also, the different fonts in the beginning are supposed to represent SPN Death, Harry, and Dumbledore respectively. I don't know, it worked in my head. I'm also sort of trying to imply that all these different versions of what happens - Dean and Death's conversation in Chicago, Harry getting rid of the Hallows - still exist, and that there are a hundred different variations of these worlds and people, all existing at the same time. Death kind of exists above it all.

Written for Bite Sized Bits of Fic. Prompt was from tigriswolf, "Harry Potter/Supernatural, Harry + Death, The Master of Death".

Listen to me, now.

He greeted Death as a friend, and together they departed this life, as equals.

There is a man, and a bridge, and a wish.

You could board a train.

There is a man, and a table, and a conversation.

You want me to go back?

There is a man, a cloak, and a children's tale.

Do not pity the dead, Harry.

There is a man, his brother, and the end of the world.

I open at the close

All of these things are true, or have been true, or will be.

I have to go back.

You are not the first, and not the last.

I don't understand.

You will.

Pity the living, Harry.

(~-~-~-~-~-~)

Dean blinked slowly, trying to open his eyes. The light was too bright and he inhaled sharply, sluggishly raising his hand up to block it. Sound returned to him, and he could taste dirt and blood on his tongue. He blinked again, opening his eyes this time.

He could see pale sky, tall trees almost hiding it from view. The tops of the trees bent down a little, heavy with the weight of their branches.

"Damn," Dean muttered, sitting up with difficulty. "Sammy?" He called. Whatever'd left him in this - forest? It looked like a forest - had really done a number on him. Now that he thought about it, though, his limbs were feeling less heavy, his senses sharper.

"Hullo." Came a voice from behind him.

With a yelp he'd never admit to, Dean whirled around, one hand reaching for his gun, a knife, anything -

Only to find himself facing a kid and what looked like a horse from hell.

For a second all he could do was stare at them, one hand still looking for some kind of weapon. Were these creepy-ass horses supposed to replace hellhounds now? It was black, with leathery wings folded at its sides, it's skin stretched tightly over each and every bone. It looked like the kind of thing Lucifer would have summoned to fuck with them.

The kid standing next to the horse was another story. The first word that came to Dean's mind was scrawny. He couldn't have been older than eighteen, and had messy black hair that stuck out in all directions. He was wearing glasses, too, round ones, and Dean had the faint impression that his green eyes were glowing slightly. He was wearing long black...robes?

Well. Dean had seen weirder.

"Okay," he said, keeping his eyes on the kid and the goddamn horse. "What is going on? Who are you, and why don't I have any guns?"

The kid shrugged. "Wouldn't make much sense to have weapons here." He had an English accent.

"Where is here, exactly?" Dean asked, staying tense and ready. Okay, so he had no guns, but his fists had gotten him out of more scrapes than he could count.

The kid looked around, reaching one hand out to stroke his horse. "The Forest of Dean," he replied after a moment.

Dean blinked at him. "Wait, what - "

The kid rolled his eyes. "It doesn't have anything to do with you. Not everything does."

Dean scowled. "Look, whatever the hell you are - "

"My name is Harry," the kid - Harry - interrupted. "And you're the one who wanted to talk to me."

"I did?" As he said it, though, it all came rushing back. Apocalypse. Sammy in danger. The usual. "Oh. But wait..." Dean stared at him. "That means you...but you're - "

" - just Harry. That's what I used to say." Harry shrugged.

At a loss for what to say, Dean's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds. "I thought it was supposed to be a pale horse," he managed.

Harry looked confused for a moment, and then laughed, patting the horse's neck. "Oh - no, he's just a little something from home." He turned back to face Dean. "People have called me a lot of things. Now I am Master of Death."

Dean slowly relaxed a little. It didn't look like the kid was going to do anything to him, at least. "I thought you were Death."

"Er - " Harry made a face. "Kind of."

"Kind of?" Dean repeated incredulously. "What do you mean 'kind of'?"

"Well, it's not all cut-and-dry as that, but that's not the point. The point is this, right?" Harry reached into his robes and pulled something out. It was a ring; it had been cracked, but the red stone on top was still intact.

"If you ask for this," Harry went on as Dean stared at it, "I have to give it to you, since you escaped the trap."

"Trap?" Dean asked, but already he was remembering it: a river. An old bridge. It had fallen apart underneath them, but they'd managed to get to the other side. Then he and Sam and looked back and the bridge had still been standing there, like it hadn't broken at all.

"Seems a bit mad, doesn't it? I didn't make these rules, though." He was still holding out the stone, and Dean reached for it.

"Hang on," Harry said, his voice getting a bit of an edge.

Dean glared at him. "Now what?"

"I'm supposed to give this to you, but you can refuse it, or you can ask for something else. And...and if I were you, I would refuse." Harry was still holding the stone, but he was looking at Dean, now.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you would - "

"It won't give you what you want." Harry spoke over him. "I knew a man once, who wanted this stone, who wanted all the Hallows that I have. He wanted to see his dead family again."

For a second there was silence. "What happened to him?" Dean asked finally.

"He died," Harry said shortly. "Anyone who's used these has died, and so will you."

Dean watched him for a moment, and then held out his hand. Harry watched him for several seconds before reluctantly slipping the ring into his palm.

"S'okay," Dean replied. "I've died before."

Harry nodded, looking a little sad. "And you'll die again," he said, and then he was gone.