Not Like Other Funerals

by An Eleanor Jane

"The funeral was not like others, there wasn't a priest trying to sound rousing, nobody had bought a new black dress or suit for the occasion and nobody even thought about playing a song or reading out a poem."

Hi. So, first things first, I own no Supernatural characters, though I wish I did. Secondly, I locked myself out of this account and haven't been on it for centuries, and I'm so so so sorry about that. Now that's out the way, please enjoy my little drabble.

The funeral was not like other funerals.

There wasn't a priest trying to sound rousing, nobody had bought a new black dress or suit for the occasion and nobody even thought about playing a song or reading out a poem.

A bonfire had been built, and buried somewhere under a sheet was a casket with a man in it, a bullet hole in his heart.

A man with a greying beard and sad eyes bowed his head to the rising flames, his face mirroring that of a man that had seen too much pain to ever smile again. Tears welled in his eyes but didn't fall.

One woman had tired eyes, mascara smudged down her cheeks, silent tears running down them. Her arms were wrapped around the younger woman, her daughter. The young woman sobbed into her mother's arms, every gasp racking through her whole body.

The last of the small congregation stood, his back against the shining 67 Chevy Impala like it was the only thing anchoring him down. His face was contorted with the type of pain that didn't belong on his young features, and his eyes were bloodshot and dark. He looked like he would tear the world apart with his bare hands to bring back his brother, but there was a hopelessness there that made him stay. It was like his life had ended the day the man in the casket's had, like the bullet had pierced two hearts instead of one. He didn't cry. He was in too much pain to cry. He had the look of someone who had spent all his life trying to cling to something to stop himself from falling into an abyss, but had just let go. He was hurtling through time and space as his feet were planted on the ground.

The man in the casket wasn't like other men. And his funeral wasn't like other funerals.

I hope you enjoyed my tiny little drabble, I promise there's some longer stuff on the way soon. I deliberately didn't say whether it was Sam and Dean who died so you can decide. I'll love you forever if you review, and I love constructive criticism.