My entry to the NaNoWriMo competition. : D It's going to be eating my time, so I'm sorry if it takes me forever to update elsewhere~ And it could be the tiniest bit blasphemous, if you're at all religious. :O Will be 'M' eventually.

Chapter Rating: T – Language, Blasphemy, Gay-ness

Chapter One: In The Dark Of The Night

You know that feeling you get, the one where you're being watched but there's really no one there? Yeah, I'm having it right now and to be honest, it's kind of freaking me out. I mean… it would be better if I was anywhere else but a cemetery, but at the moment, I'm alone in a graveyard, the sun going down and a chill wind sweeping through the graves, which isn't so bad for the middle of November.

I make my way over to the gravestone of my older brother, Jeremy, and sit down on it, running my fingers over the name engraved in the smooth marble, glancing over my shoulder and at the slightly overcast sky above me. I don't know why, but this feeling is oh-so-strong. I turn back to Jeremy's grave, lean forward a little, and automatically feel a sharp, searing pain in my chest.

My name's Nevada Matthews, I'm twenty-four years old, and I think I've just been murdered.

The feeling I was getting? I wasn't alone. There's currently a knife sticking out of my chest, my whole body tensed up with the pain of it, and before I can do anything, I'm on the ground, my pockets are being rifled through, and I can only lie here, unmoving, unfeeling, and hurting as I stare at the tombstone of my big brother, the reason I was here alone in the first place. Don't get me wrong. I know I'm dead because I can't move. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a son of a bitch.

After about fifteen minutes of laying there in infinite pain, I manage to roll over, although my body doesn't decide to come with. It just, you know, lies there, bleeding. It's all sorts of disconcerting and I just stare for a few seconds, pushing myself into a sitting position carefully and looking at it (me?) with a look of wonder. I finally stand up, looking around and running a hand through my auburn hair, looking for the guy who killed me and wondering what the fuck was so special in my wallet that he had to shank me for it. I'm a damn school teacher, not a government agent carrying spy papers in my wallet.

I take a few shaky steps forward and then a woman's voice comes from behind me, friendly and decidedly flight stewardess like. "Sir, I'm afraid you can't leave within five feet of your body until you come to the auction. Please, right this way."

I whip around and find myself looking at a woman in a bleach white uniform, blue stripes up and down the sides and her curly blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She's absolutely gorgeous and I grin, walking over and resting my arm on her shoulder. "Hey, there. I might be dead but I'm pretty sure I can still get it up, you know what I mean?"

Her fixed, obviously fake smile doesn't leave her face but her blue eyes flicker with disgust and she knocks my arm off her shoulder. "Mr. Matthews, please come with me. If you don't want to spend all of eternity standing next to your brother's grave, then you need to hurry to the auction."

I roll my eyes and allow her to take my hand. I blink and we're suddenly standing on the stage of an auction room, although there are only three people in it: a rather stuck-up looking man with black hair, an older, grizzled looking man, and motherfucking Death. I stare at the latter of the three for a while; he's just sitting there, one skeletal hand on his scythe, his hood up and his other hand, which at least has flesh, resting on his thigh. I think he's asleep but I'm kind of scared of him anyway, and I take a step back from the front of the stage.

Mrs. Barbie-Doll-Bitch-Stewardess shoves me back towards the edge and I stand there, feeling oddly naked beneath what I assume are fluorescent lights, although I don't know exactly why wherever I am needs fluorescent lights in the first place. The blonde girl steps up to a podium that's appeared out of nowhere next to me and I blink, glancing at her nervously and looking away before looking down.

I'm fucking naked.

I stare at myself in horror for a few moments, wondering when the hell that happened, until I realize another horrifying fact: there is still a gaping knife wound in my chest. Holy shit. I mean… I'm a good-looking guy. Six foot one, with auburn hair and a lithe, slim body kept that way from constant exercise, I cut a nice swathe, and girls love my green eyes. I'm not ashamed of my body. However, I'm standing naked in front of Death and what I assume to be God and motherfucking Satan, and that tends to make a person just a smidge antsy, you know?

The girl starts talking, her voice still light and pretty but with a more serious note to it. "All right, God, Satan, Death, this is Nevada Matthews. Twenty-four, dead of a stab wound to the heart. He has no living family and at the moment all of his relations are in the possession of God. He has a tendency to be a player but at the moment his biggest sin was running over his neighbor's cat with his truck when he was eighteen because it knocked over his trash. He's a twelfth grade English teacher and most of his students like him, although the general consensus is that 'he's cool, but he's a dick'. Starting bid is two souls."

Holy fuck. I'm being auctioned for souls. God starts the 'auction' off with three souls, then Satan ups him by one, and I'm soon in a full-out bidding war, although Death hasn't said anything. I pipe up, looking around the room and pointing at Death. "Um… what about him?"

God stops what he's doing and looks at me. "Who, Death? Oh, he never bids. If he does, he automatically wins because we have to balance out the soul system with him."

"Oh, um… if he does win, where do I go?"

"With him," Satan says, twisting a piece of hair around his finger nonchalantly, like he's a schoolgirl or something.

I stare at him, because I know it's bad but Satan's really, really pretty. He gives me a scathing look and I take a step back before saying, all offhand like I don't really care, "Hey, if you win, are you gonna like, rape me or something?" I'm bisexual, although I usually go for the girls, and I mean… I guess I'm not above thinking Satan is hot. Because he totally is.

Satan gives me another dirty look and eyes me momentarily before shaking his head. "You're too skinny. More muscle and maybe."

Death sits up then and even beneath his hood I can feel him checking me out. He speaks up, and his voice is surprisingly young. "I bid one soul."

God and Satan look at each other and then at me, and the stewardess pushes me towards Death, who extends his fleshy hand and grabs me. I freak out and give Satan a look, although I highly doubt the Prince of Darkness is going to help me out at all. Satan gives me another glare and I sigh, looking over at Death, who tightens his grip a little.

We disappear and automatically reappear in a house that, well, looks totally normal. I look over at Death, who hangs up his scythe and starts pulling off his hood with his skeleton hand. I automatically cringe and back up into the wall, expecting some terrible, horrifying visage of pure evil or a grinning skull to be behind that dark hood…

Instead, I find myself looking at a tall blonde kid with bright blue eyes and the only 'horrifying' thing on his face a stitched up scar down his right cheek. He grins at me brightly, chuckling at my expression. "You were expecting something terrible, huh? Nah, man, I'm fucking Death. If I want to stay like this, I get to stay like this. Even God and Luci are afraid of me. It's fucking great." He offers his skeleton hand and I tentatively shake it, his grin kind of overbearing. "I'm Dean, by the way. I told some fucker my name way back in the day and he wrote it down wrong so now everyone calls me Death. But it's Dean. Just in case you're ever wondering what to scream."

Holy hell. Death, er, Dean is hitting on me. I stare at him and he pats me on the cheek none too gently before shutting my mouth for me. "Come on. I have to show you around. We're going to be living together from now on." He grabs my hand and pulls me into the rest of the house, giving me a tour. It's completely and totally normal until I look out the window and discover that we're resting in the middle of nowhere. It's just straight blackness from the sides of the house down and Dean comes over, looking down next to me and arching an eyebrow. "What?"

"There's… dude, there's nothing there."

He shrugs. "You're in limbo. There's supposed to be nothing there."

I stare at him and he pulls me into the living room. "Mmkay, the TV picks up all the Earth channels, but it also picks up one channel that you guys don't have. We use that channel to figure out who we're crossing over next."

I look between him and the huge TV, which is set up in front of the couch, just asking for me to watch the Superbowl on it or something. "What's crossing over?"

"I… We… We're in charge of helping people cross from one plane of existence to the next." He runs a hand through his blonde hair and looks towards the ceiling. "I picked you to help me so we can move people from being ghosts down there to head to Heaven or Hell, depending on their sins."

"No auction for them, huh?"

He glances at me and shakes his head, taking my hand again and starting to lead me upstairs. "Nope. You're only bid for if you're a reincarnation because your soul has seen too much to waste. If God had won, you would be an archangel, if Luci had won, you would be one of his head demons, but since I won, and I only get one bid like every couple of millennia because I have to win if I use it because I can only have one soul in my house at a time." He gives me this heartbreaking wink and draws close to me, pressing our chests together momentarily. "And I picked you because you're awfully cute."

I smirk and tug at a strand of blonde hair. "So are you… for a dead guy."

He sticks his tongue out and continues walking, although he's swinging his hips more, his robe accentuating his feminine hips and his slim body. Death is fucking hot. We reach a bedroom and he pushes the door open, the light coming on immediately. His eyes drift down my body and he smirks. "There're clothes in the closet. You're still naked, Nevada."

I look down and realize that yes, I'm still naked, and yes, unfortunately, I'm sporting something that means I'm quite happy at the moment. Let's say I'm wagging my proverbial tail and I honestly shouldn't be, especially since I'm standing in Death Dean's house with the Grim Reaper standing a foot away from me. He smirks and I slide inside the room, slamming the door and turning red.

Holy fuck, I have a hard-on for Dean. Does that make me a necrophiliac? Was Dean actually ever 'dead' to begin with or has he just been hanging around forever, bringing dinosaurs and monkeys over to the other side? Ugh, these are way too many questions, and I don't even know why I'm here or who killed me on top of that.

I make my way over to the mirror, glancing in it and checking out the room behind me. A queen-sized bed is behind me, made up with unobtrusive burgundy and black covers and a couple of pillows, along with a small plush doll of the Grim Reaper. I arch an eyebrow at that little touch and smile; there's a nightstand alongside it and a dresser on the other side, the closet on the far side of the room; I'm standing in front of a vanity with a mirror. The whole thing is quite nice, a hell of a lot better than the studio apartment I'm living in. Dean has some nice digs.

I slide a finger in my chest wound experimentally, looking at myself in the mirror as my finger slips into the hole easily. It feels… icky, I guess I should say; I mean, I can't say that I thought sliding my fingers into a hole in my chest would be a 'pleasant' experience, but it feels really, really grotesque. I look down at it and wiggle my finger around carefully; it doesn't start bleeding, but it doesn't exactly look like it's going to heal anytime soon, either.

The closet, I discover upon opening it, is filled with clothes roughly my size, and I arch an eyebrow, wondering if Dean was expecting me or something. Maybe I was supposed to be murdered? I don't know how all this shit works, but it seems kind of lame if I was supposed to be murdered at my brother's grave. I mean… I'm not that important, you know? At least not important enough to warrant my murder and subsequent bidding at the hands of Satan and God.

A pair of jeans and a black tank top is enough for me to pull on and I check myself out in the mirror, running a hand through my hair absentmindedly and smiling. Even dead I'm damn hot. A knock comes at the door and Dean's voice comes through the door. "You done fingering your hole yet?"

I roll my eyes and walk over, finding myself face to face with Dean, who's changed into a pair of boxers and a super tight pink t-shirt. I check him out and smirk. "I don't know. You want to do it now?"

He ghosts his fingers over my chest, where the wound is, and smiles at me. "Nope. I'm not interested in sex. Sorry, honey. Thousands of years of life make you less horny, not more, despite what vampires would have you believe."

I stick my tongue out. "I was talking about my chest wound, pervert. I don't know what hole you were thinking about." I walk out of the room and glance over my shoulder at him, biting my lower lip. Damn… Maybe I should have died a little sooner, you know? He's ridiculously hot.

We stand there and look at each other for a few minutes, Dean eying me indifferently, me wondering what the hell he looks like naked, and then he walks over, grabbing my hand and leading me towards the downstairs.

Is it wrong that I want to bone Death?

There. First chapter up. :D 2500 words a day, roughly, and it should be done in twenty days. :D All right, if you read it, review, please~ Love you guys! :D