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[personal profile] jasmasson
Title: Like they used to
Rating: PG
Genre: Supernatural, gen with some suggestion
Warning: It isn’t about death, but someone is dead
Archive: Now also at AO3
Notes: Post-series fic
Summary: Where we are when it's all over...


The guy drives her home after saving her from that thing. She’s got no clue what it was, only that it was enormous, and slimy and had way too many teeth.

She twists at her sleeves as they drive in silence. The car is old – vintage – but sweet, still black and shiny.

There’s something hanging on the dash, and her fingers go to touch it. It's maybe a necklace? An amulet...?

“Don’t touch that!”

She jerks back in her seat, heart pounding.

He seems to realize he’s frightened her, and speaks again, softly this time.

“Sorry. It’s my brother’s.”

“And where's he?” she asks. The words are out before she really thinks, and she bites her lip. He may be very handsome, but he just killed something awful with more-or-less his bare hands, and she's not really sure she wants to get into small talk.

“He’s dead.”

So much for small talk.

"I'm sorry."

“Don’t be. He’s in heaven, with his angel.” She can see a slight twist to his lip; maybe a smile, maybe a sneer. “They’re probably fucking on a cloud right now.”

She frowns, “Are people allowed to fuck in heaven?” she asks, before realizing what a stupid question that was.

A definite smile this time, a flash of white in the darkness.

“I doubt Dean would think it much of a heaven if they weren’t.”

He pulls up outside her house.

“Still,” he continues. “I’ll never know for certain. If I die, unfortunately I’m going the other way.”

“You mean when you die,” she corrects, a prickle of unease creeping up the back of her neck.

He turns to look at her, the first time he’s met her eyes since checking she was OK. His eyes are dark, almost black, in the night.

“Sure,” he says.


She gets out of the car and watches him drive away.

The road is empty, and even the hoverstreet above their heads is empty too, at this time of night. She can hear the faint whine of jet engines in the still, silence of the night, but that’s from a long way away – over from the hoverway east of here.

She watches the car turn the corner and disappear. Old cars are just way cooler than the efficient, soulless hovercars like her father has, but very impractical. She wonders where the guy even finds fuel for it.

She thinks she’ll tell her boyfriend tomorrow about the car - you rarely see cars more than 200 years old these days - but not about anything else.

He wouldn’t believe it, anyway.

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October 2013

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