Title: a funeral in the end
Ficverse: SPN (in-universe AU, again)
Series:
SPN comment!ficRating: Angst / PG
Length: 100 ish
Characters: Dean
Prompted and posted: from 1.06, Skin
Dean: How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?
Notes: huh, almost a drabble, although I didn't plan it. Maybe I'm learning concision. Or maybe I just don't want to dwell.
Warnings/Spoilers: 5.04, The End
Feedback: let's hear it. The good, the bad, the ugly....
It was there in her eyes. Everyday, in her dead and constant eyes. She kept the faith as a gravemarker; she’d always kept the faith.
Each day he saw her rot, he knew what it meant. Knew it should twist the knife. Knew it should revolt wild within. A lifetime ago, it would. A lifetime ago, he scorned Heaven and flipped off Hell and laughed at the idea of his own funeral.
But he didn’t look anymore, and he didn’t say things like that anymore. And he didn’t care anymore. He knew what it meant; knew his rusting baby was his own mute funeral, everyday.
But he didn’t care.