And They WeptAuthor:
I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of this.Fandom(s):
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/SupernaturalRating:
Buffy Summers/Dean Winchester, Angel, SpikePrompt:
Table #3 prompt 07. Bound by LoveSpoilers:
SPN preseries, BtVS post “The Gift”Summary:
Three men are bound together by love and grief.Author’s Notes:
This is another idea I had right away but I never managed to get in the mood for it, that was until I spent a whole day on youtube, great place for inspiration. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.
They had held the funeral at night. The body had been buried for a week already but it had taken some people a little longer to get there than others and everyone needed to pay their respects.
It had been a week and they still looked broken, shattered, jagged little pieces fluttering among memories so bittersweet the tears weren’t enough to cleanse their pain. They had each other though, her family, arms clung around their lovers and friends.
United in their grief.
They stayed late, lighted candles and then drifted off to their beds, cheeks wet.
But the others stay, in the shadows they kept edging closer to her grave until they stood only mere feet apart. They had been alone during the service, on the edge of the family separated by what they were or who they weren’t.
Angel hadn’t been a part of the group for a long time. He had slipped in the back, unseen but felt, because they knew he would come. To see the way he had failed her, to say goodbye.
Spike was supposed to be a part of the group but he didn’t fit and had no desire to without her there, he came to watch over Dawn, because he had promised and even though he couldn’t have saved her then he would protect Dawn
They were both monsters.
But the other man wasn’t, he was a human, a Hunter.
But he was just as much as hers as they had been, a part of her collection of the men who had loved her, who had let her die, who hadn’t been able to save her.
Angel and Spike stood side by side and the anger and hatred was gone, too overcome by grief, by loss, to remember that they loathed each other. Dean stood beside Angel and there were no sidewards glances, no suspicious questions.
Dean stepped forward and kneeled in the grass. His cheeks were dry and the stems of the flowers he held her rough in his hand. He gently placed it on the freshly dug grave and closed his hands into fists so he wouldn’t trace her name.
A solitary tear slipped down his cheek and he didn’t wipe it off.
He just turned to leave.
Angel’s voice stopped him “You loved her.” He had’t lived for over 200 years to miss the obvious.
Dean’s lips slipped into a smirk that was a ghost of its former glory “Yeah, didn’t you?” he didn’t wait for an answer. He was already reaching for the keys in his pocket and heading towards the black car he had parked down the street.
He could feel their eyes on his back and the slow trickle of his blood on his hand from were the thorn of the rose had dug into his skin.
They were still connected, bound by their love for a fallen soldier.