A/N: I like this song… It's Maroon 5's Secret. And I understand it has an innuendo, but you know what? I DON'T CARE! AHAHAHA. Anyway, I was working on another fic tonight, when I just couldn't be shat finishing it. Maybe I will one day. Maybe I won't. But if I do, I'll post it up. Because I can.

Anyway, song-fics are fun, song-fics are easy and I just damn like them.

Jason Voorhees movies are cool.

WOW "FUNNY" DISCLAIMERS ARE HARD TO WRITE: And writing in capitals is annoying. I own nothing. Not even these pajamas that I'm wearing are mine.

WOO warning: I got a warning by the cops once. Word of advice: Never dance in freeways.

Info: Johnny is a sad, sad poor little fella. Gotta love him. So when someone close to him passes on, despite his murderous ways, he must feel compassion being as they were close to him.

I like chicken with sweet and sour sauce.

Watch the sunrise,
Say your good-byes,
Off we go.

The snow below his feet crunched as he adjusted his weight, the cold air kissing his cheeks. His flushed skin, prickling from the cold, stood out from his bleak, dark clothing. Although the shade of black was his usual colour choice for his attire, for once, Johnny C. wouldn't stand out from the crowd. Many other people stood around him, patting their noses with tissues, holding onto loved ones, and generally shedding a tear when a wave of grief came upon them. Although the male comforted no one, he still gave a slight glance up at them, his lips pressed tightly as he, too, felt his somewhat stable emotions beginning to buckle from him. The passing of someone was always a sad experience.

Some conversation,
No contemplation,
Hit the road.

The service seemed to drag on, but that may have been because Johnny wasn't used to being in a large group of people for such a long time. People sobbed occasionally, others just collapsed on the cold ground in a wave of anguish. Death was nothing new to Johnny. He dealt with it literally everyday. And yet, it still intrigued him into how devastating the passing of someone could be on someone. Although Johnny didn't seem affected by the death of this particular person, although they did play a somewhat major part in his life, he still felt the grief, the woe. Yet he had learnt to control it. The people around him were new to the experience. They had never had someone die- at least someone who was close to them.

Car overheats,
Jump out of my seat,
On the side of the highway baby.

The service ended, and people began to leave, most of them dropping a flower into the ground, the petals scattering over the lid of the coffin. Johnny didn't have a flower, but he did stop to gaze upon the mahogany lid, his cheeks still pink from the cold. Finally, he turned his back and retreated to the edge of the graveyard. He loitered around the iron ore gates, hands clasped in front of him. He saw a few people he knew leaving, yet he didn't stop any, nor did any stop to talk to him. A few of them nodded a hello, yet nothing more. Perhaps they could sense he didn't want company. Or maybe they were ignorant. Most likely the latter.

Our road is long,
Your hold is strong,
Please don't ever let go; oh, no.

The gates were cold against his back, the small flakes of snow upon them melting through his clothes and sliding down his back. The wet coolness upon his back seemed to relax him, his lips finally relaxing. The cars began to leave the parking lot, driving off to their destinations. Most likely to the wake that was being held. Johnny had, somehow, received an invite, yet he declined. More people meant a larger possibility that he would cry. He didn't want to cry. Not now. He could cry later.

I know I don't know you,
But I want you so bad.

Finally, all the cars left. No one was left to linger, save Johnny. He wondered why he was so affected by the death. They hadn't been around him for so long. He rarely even saw them anymore. Maybe it was because he wouldn't be seeing them again. He bit his lip, and turned, his forehead now pressing against the gate, his fingers almost freezing to the bars. He drew in a shaky breath, staring at the new tombstone. He could barely read the words written upon it, but he knew what they said. He had studied them when he was standing up there, upon the trodden snow, the peacefulness of it disrupted.

Everyone has a secret,
But can they keep it?
Oh, no they can't.

Did the dead like being walked upon? Johnny didn't know the answer- after all, he hadn't been buried when he had died. He doubted he would remember. A smile played upon his lips as he remembered his own death. Hell, he could even vie with Jesus- he, Johnny, had been resurrected. He didn't know how many other people had died and come back to life, via Heaven and Hell. The smile soon faded, however, as his eyes suddenly focussed back on the tombstone. They wouldn't be back. Never.

Driving fast now,
Don't think I know how to go slow.

Silently, Johnny re-entered the graveyard, and made a slow journey to the gravesite where had previously been. His hands were shoved firmly in their pockets, trying to warm them, cursing himself for not wearing gloves. A chilly breeze circled the area, picking up snow as it did so, blowing it into Johnny's side, some of it entering his boots. Ignoring his now-wet socks that were beginning to soak his feet, Johnny crouched by the open grave, and stared at the coffin. It suddenly scared him so much to think that someone he cared about was in there, so close, yet so far. They were six feet underneath him. Soon, they would be nothing but a gray lump of matter, eyes sunken into their head, flat, rotting slowly. Literally dead meat.

Where you at now,
I feel around,
There you are.

Johnny caused corpses every week. It was like his day job. And yet the person below him, although they didn't live life to the fullest, they worked at a slower pace than Johnny did. Took time to smell the roses. Well, maybe not all the time, but occasionally. A lump formed in his throat, and he forced it down. He loved them. He didn't truly realise it until that very moment. Sure, he knew he was fond of them while they were alive, but now he realised that he truly loved them.

Cool these engines,
Calm these jets.

Finally, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. It lingered for a moment, threatening to fall. Then, like a raindrop, it dripped down, and skimmed along the line of his cheekbone. It stayed upon his cheek, like an itch that wouldn't disappear. Finally, Johnny raised his hand, and pushed it away. The now wet mark on his face caused that part to be stung with cold, the wind not prevailing. Soon, he couldn't handle it anymore; Johnny cried. He cried a thousand tears, maybe more, crying for all the families that he had caused grief to, all the lives he had taken, and would take. He cried until he felt he had not a drop of water left inside of him, and when he thought he would stop, he cried again.

I ask you how hot can it get,
And as you wipe of beads of sweat,
Slowly you say, "I'm not there yet!"

Finally, he the wind stopped, as did Johnny's tears. He breathed shakily, wiping his running nose with the sleeve of his shirt. That bothered him, but he didn't think much of it. He then wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, and blinked rapidly. He stood, slowly, and wiped the snow from his pants and the tail of his shirt. He felt odd, a grown man sobbing over someone. But he reminded himself that men and women alike, some much older than him had cried at the funeral. He wondered if they were crying now.

I know I don't know you,
But I want you so bad.

Johnny paused, and gazed up at the photo that was placed in front of the wreath of the memorial. The lush, green plant that was intertwined in the frame would be taken before the week was out, and then he probably would never have anything to remind him of the deceased person. Glancing about, and seeing no one, he stepped forward, and grabbed the photo frame. Turning it over, he pulled the back off, and slipped the photo out. Replacing the frame, and setting it back in place, he pocketed the freebie, and wrapped his jacket around him. Looking down at the grave one last time, he blew a kiss, and exited the cemetery, and began the walk home. When he finally reached his home, he ignored the screams from the voices inside his head, and found a somewhat broken photo frame. He placed the photo inside of it, and placed upon one of the crates the dotted his home. Another tear shed, and he let his shoulders fall. It was a sad day when someone's grandmother died. Even for Johnny.

Everyone has a secret,
But can they keep it?
Oh, no they can't.

A/N: I really don't like my grandmother. But I think Johnny would like his.