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They'd had a brief conversation after Kurt and Ram's funeral. Veronica didn't know why, and she had regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth, but she had asked about his Mother's funeral.
She knew better than to mention his family, especially at a time like this, but, after a brief moment of silence, he answered.
He told her how him and his father had taken a quick trip to her hometown so she could be buried with her family. How that had never made sense to him seeing as the coffin was empty and out of what little family she had, barely any even turned up. How it had just been him and his Dad and couple of distant Aunties and Uncles he'd never even met and hadn't even seen since, in a small church, in another town he wouldn't stay in, watching an empty coffin being lowered into the ground.
"Maybe she thought that if she was there he wouldn't blow it up? Or maybe she was just... She waved, she knew what she was doing..." She'd placed a hand on his cheek to stop him. She'd ask about the funeral, not this. She didn't want him to talk about things he didn't want to.
Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him. After a moment he leaned his head into the crook of her shoulder, breathing her in.
Over the few weeks, since they had met, their bodies had become so familiar with each other. Maybe he had sensed that. Maybe that's why they stayed like that, sitting on the grassy bank of the cold graveyard, holding each other for way longer than they should have.
She wished he was here to hold her now.
She'd convinced Martha and the Heathers to come with her but it hadn't helped. They barely even knew him.
Big Bud Dean had paid for everything, of course, but had to move to the next job in a new city a few days ago, so he wasn't there either.
So now she felt alone. Sat in a small church, mourning with people who had barely even met him, watching an empty coffin being lowered into the ground.
At least he gets to stay in one town.
She laughed at that thought. He would have laughed as well. He would have found it hilarious that he was now splattered on the sports field of the school he hated so much.
Now they were painting him as a saint, just like they had with the rest. He wouldn't have wanted that. She wanted to scream. Wanted to get Father Ripper to shut up.
She never really knew him as well as she wished she did. Yes, she still knew him better than almost anyone still alive. But she never really knew why he did what he did. Was it really about the school? Society? Heathers and Marthas? Was it just destruction? Was it all for her?
She went to the usual place after. The 7/11. He would have liked that. Martha, McNamara, and Duke didn't come with her. They knew she needed time alone.
After everything he had done she still wished he was here with her. She wished he had just dropped the bomb and ran with her. She wouldn't care why he did what he did if he had run with her. If he was still here to hold her now.
It's funny really. If he could see, now. Armed with a Slurpee and wearing his signature trenchcoat. She almost looks like him.
The Slurpee wasn't having the numbing effect he'd promised and the coat was a spare, not the one he'd always wore. Bud Dean had found it while moving and knew she needed it more than he did. It almost smelt like him and that was a comfort. Almost. It didn't smell like him actually, but cigarette smoke still clung to it and it still felt like the familiar fabric she was so used to clinging to.
Maybe one day she would see him. Like how she saw Heather Chandler and Kurt and Ram. Figments of her imagination, of her guilt. It was sad really how she felt more guilty about him than she did them. They had all been murdered in his sick and twisted game But she wanted him next to her.
If only she had held his hand and not let go. Then they would have both been gone. He wouldn't have let that happen though.
If only she'd been faster.
If only she had managed to reach the center of the field.
If only he hadn't caught up and took it from her. She would have died. She would have paid for what she had done. And he would still be here. He was a monster but he could have learned. Or would he be stuck like she was now?
Eventually, the Slurpee was gone and she was forced to make her way home. It wasn't good for her to be acting like this. The constant what-ifs and whys in her mind. A funeral is meant to be goodbye. She signed, throwing the empty cup into the nearest trash can. "Goodbye J.D." She whispered pulling the trenchcoat closer to her. No, it never was going to be goodbye, not really, but at least it was a start.