A/N: So… I try to write something remotely light hearted due to recent circumstances, and this comes out. My subconscious is a cruel mistress. In my mind's eye, I saw this as Molly, and Fabian and Gideon.
She watched as the snowflakes fell softly against the smooth texture of the marble. Everything seemed as if it were wrapped in an impenetrable bubble, where everything was silent and frozen. Freezing everything. Freezing time. Freezing sound, freezing air, feelings. Frozen. And white.
Which was wrong. Completely, and wholly wrong. Nothing was supposed to be white. It wasn't supposed to be so blinding, so pure and beautiful. White is everything good, everything wonderful. Everything right. This wasn't right. It should be raining. Pouring buckets, a torrential downpour where everything was washed and beaten down upon. It was supposed to be dark with loud, cracking bursts of thunder, barely heard over the surrounding sound of the rain sounding as if it were breaking the asphalt it fell on. Harsh and without mercy. It was supposed to be miserable and dark. Not beautiful. Not white.
Everything seemed so soft. Even the hard, cold slab of stone in front of her. As the white fell on the white, it all looked like a cloud, within her reach. Beneath her feet.
Which was, yet again, wrong.
But this was all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. She shouldn't even be standing here, she shouldn't be mulling over how everything should be bleak and dreadful. She should be embracing the white, the pureness of it all.
They shouldn't be gone.
She wished that seeing the white would only bring back happy memories. That she would only be able to see snowball fights outside. Laughter, and the painful but welcoming, joyous feel of just being happy. Being alive. She wished she could only see herself, staring out the window as the first flakes of the season fell, grinning and laughing as they bounced on the bed behind her, wanting to go make snow angels in it. She wished she could see all of them, sitting in front of the fire, drinking cups of hot chocolate, cocooned from the icy wonderland outside. She wished she could see the snow as it was. As it won't be again.
Now she'll see the white, barely visible beneath the smoke, tainted with rubble and ash. She saw the charred, broken pieces of homes, of limbs and bodies straying across the endless sea. She saw, through the gently falling snow, shadows, human beings descend. She heard shrieks and bellows, panic-filled cries. She saw them. Together as they always were. She saw them both fall. She saw their bodies depress the soft cloud beneath them. She saw the white darken, turn a horrid, deep red as their lives bled together, like everything else they did. She saw them fade away, she saw them darken and grey. She saw their light die.
That's all she saw now. There was only dirt, and awful flesh and horrible coppery smells beneath the white. Under the soft clouds. Under the snow. It was all red. And filthy.
She felt the snowflakes on her cheeks melt, waterfalls fell down her face. Her mouth parted and bursts of breath poured from her, ragged and broken. Her breath appeared in the cold air. It was also white.
The snow wasn't falling any harder, though the flakes seemed to be melting faster and faster, still. The water droplets fell past her lips, and she tasted salt.
And the bubble burst. Everything sounded deafening, her sobs coming forth, loud and unwelcome. The crunch as she fell on the white. As she grieved for her brothers. Her big brothers. Her protectors. She fell, as they fell, on the clouds.
She didn't know, but she was in her own bubble. No one heard her muffled cries. To them everything was quiet, soft. Beautiful and welcome.
In front of the crumpled figure, the white flakes fell softly on the white marble of the two headstones, placed side by side. Together.