Blood drips from the body in the back seat. Green eyes stare sightlessly ahead.
Dried tears itch on cold cheeks. Red clings to ghost white hands.
A silent horrified scream is still lodged in both brothers throats.
He can't bury him yet...he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to.
Maybe he'll just drive with a slowly decaying corpse in the back seat.
Maybe he'll let Bobby bury them both.
For now, he doesn't figure out what to do.
It has only been a few hours...
It's already been a lifetime.
Dean is dead.
And Sam might...
as well be.