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As fitting as it could be, it was pouring outside in Coolsville, Oregon. The sky was covered in dark, heavy clouds and rain flooded the streets and peoples gardens. On days like these, Shaggy liked to curl up on the couch with Scooby-Doo with some snacks and binge watch their favorite shows. But he couldn't do that anymore, he couldn't even bare to step foot into his home.
"Shaggy, Fred and Daphne are coming over soon," Velma said softly.
They couldn't stay in the rain, so Velma guided the still somber Shaggy onto the porch swing and stepped inside to make some hot cocoa. She must have called the other two when she was inside.
She set two steaming cups onto the tiny rickety table next to the swing and dropped a blanket over his body before sitting next to him and laying her head upon his shoulder. Shaggy was grateful she didn't say anything, that she didn't try to comfort him with words because he knew if she did, he wouldn't hear a single thing. Even now, with as hard as the rain fell, he couldn't hear a damn thing other than the blood rushing passed his ears, the surprising emptiness in his head. Usually he was filled with such anxiety, his thoughts were like a train moving nonstop.
Shaggy could remember the day he got Scooby, but he couldn't remember anything before then. He was so small, couldn't even tie his own shoes, and his parents took him along to a farm. The farmer's dog had gotten pregnant and he was looking to sell the puppies. He wasn't allowed to go inside the dog pen to play with the puppies, but he saw potato sized lumps of brown fur that either slept or trotted around with tiny squeaks. They were cute, but he had his eyes on the smallest one with big paws and a big black nose.
It was love at first sight.
Shaggy was an easygoing kid if a bit shy and emotional, he wouldn't be surprised if it was the first time he acted like a little brat, demanding that dog and that dog only. The adults laughed and he didn't understand why, but the farmer picked up the pup from the pen and carefully handed him to Shaggy while telling him how to hold him. He held that tiny puppy like he was made of glass and burst into tears from how much love he felt for him. The puppy only whined and lapped at his tears, which made the crying worse, but his parents signed some papers, handed over some cash, and the farmer sent them on their way with some puppy food. Before they left, the farmer asked him what he wanted to name the pup and Shaggy didn't even have to think about it.
"Scoobert Doo, Scooby for short!"
Velma rocked the swing with her foot and pushed up her glasses. Her curly hair was messier than usual, pulled up in the messiest of buns instead of a somewhat uniform ponytail and her trademark orange sweater was missing. She wore an oversized shirt with her family's bookstore logo printed across the chest, the one with holes along the hem because Scooby liked to jump on him and his friends in greeting. He noticed goosebumps on her arm and shifted the blanket so it was covering them both.
"Thanks," Velma whispered.
Shaggy just nodded his head and reached for his cocoa. There was a half melted dollop of cool whip on top and some marshmallows sprinkled in. Not caring that it was still too hot, he sipped the chocolatey beverage and winced as it burned his tongue. It was horribly sweet, just how he liked it.
He pushed the swing this time and sighed. ". . . Thank you for coming with me, Velma."
"You couldn't be alone for that, Shaggy. Fred and Daphne would have been there too if they could have," Velma reassured him.
"I know . . ." He croaked and pressed the heel of his palm to his eye. "I-It just means a lot to me."
Through the pouring rain, the Mystery Machine came soaring down the street. It was Fred's baby since high school, spending years and thousands of dollars working on the old van. Daphne came up with so many designs for the van's paint job and Fred eventually settled on the blue and green monstrosity it was today. The side proudly proclaimed The Mystery Machine in bright orange letters and had a trail of orange flowers around the tires. It stuck out like a sore thumb but Fred loved every bit of it, even if he faced some teasing from his family.
The van pulled up into the driveway and it wasn't even in park before Daphne flung the door open and sprinted for the porch. She was still dressed in her work uniform from the country club, a simple blue polo with white shorts and beat up white tennis shoes. Fred came running up behind her in his navy blue mechanics jumpsuit, his orange bandana nowhere in sight. Daphne was full on sobbing, her makeup beyond saving, and Fred just made this sound that hurt Shaggy's soul.
Shaggy quickly set his mug back down before it could get knocked over. Daphne fell onto him in heap, fiery red hair obscuring her face and his shirt muffling her sobs. Fred stood to the side and, unable to hug him, put a hand on his shoulder.
"I am so sorry I couldn't be there, Shaggy," Fred said and his voice cracked heartbreakingly so. He was the leader of their group of friends and he liked to be strong for them, but this was too much for all of them.
"It's not fair!" Daphne wailed.
"Guys, guys, it's okay," Shaggy began, only to be cut off by a teary glare from the red head on his chest.
"Norville Rogers, if you tell me that it's okay again, I will hit you!" She threatened and straightened up. "Nothing is okay, Shaggy! Scooby's gone!"
The floodgates Shaggy desperately tried to keep closed burst open.
Scooby lived a long, good life. He grew to be a decent sized dog with unusually big paws and nose, curly chestnut fur, and crooked ears that bounced with each step. He was so expressive with his movements and his big brown eyes that Shaggy felt like he could understand him and vice versa. He was such a goofy dog, scared of everything like him, and man did he love fast food. Shaggy took him everywhere, even on some cases once they started up Mystery Inc as preteens. Scooby was like their mascot and he loved Daphne, Fred, and Velma almost as much as him.
Being a mutt, Shaggy wasn't sure how long his dog would live. But they had a good twenty-one years together. When Scooby was sixteen, Shaggy didn't take him out on cases as much but still walked him around town. When he couldn't jump on the bed or couch anymore, Shaggy would carry him. With every vet visit, Shaggy worked double time to make sure he could afford Scooby's medications. Despite all the bad things that came with old age, Scooby was such a happy dog. It almost felt like he could live forever. But that morning it became clear that Scooby couldn't go on. He couldn't walk, he refused to eat, and he refused to drink.
Shaggy called his parents in tears. They were on vacation in Cabos and were in the midst of a nice lunch when he called. His mom did most of the talking, she was always the level-headed one. She told him what to do, to call his friends, and to get ready to say goodbye. His dad offered to come home early with a telltale warble in his voice, but Shaggy told them to enjoy the rest of their vacation. They only had three more days until they came back home anyway. Mom told him that was silly, her own voice breaking, and that they'd be home as soon as possible.
Shaggy called the vet next and they would have everything done by 11 AM. With just a few hours left with his dog, Shaggy curled up next to Scooby on the bed and called the groupchat with his friends. Predictably, only Velma answered. Daphne wasn't allowed to have her phone on her at work and Fred probably couldn't hear his phone over all the noise at the auto shop. Velma, woken up by the ringing, was still half asleep until Shaggy started bawling. Scooby halfheartedly licked his hand and it only made it worse.
Velma made it over in a record ten minutes, barely dressed, and joined them on the bed until it was time to take Scooby to the vet. Shaggy carried Scooby in his well loved dog bed that they kept in the living room and Velma drove the car in silence. Shaggy never stopped petting Scooby, from the ride all the way to the waiting room. He was a regular, practically knew the entire staff by name, and they were so gentle with him. When it came time, they asked if he wanted to be there when it happened. Every part of him wanted to say no, he didn't want to see his best friend die in front of him, didn't want to feel his heart stop beating, didn't want to see him stop breathing, but that wouldn't be fair to Scooby. It wouldn't be fair to leave him alone with a stranger in his final moments. So he said yes and Velma came with him.
Shaggy never let go of Scooby the entire time. Through his tears, Shaggy told him what a good boy he was, thanked him for all the years and for putting up with his incessant worrying the last couple years.
When it was finally over and Scooby was gone, Shaggy and Velma cried loudly and in abundance. The vet gave her condolences and let them mourn together.
Arrangements were made to have Scooby cremated within the week and they left with the lumpy dog bed and Scooby's bright blue collar. The long ride home felt empty and Shaggy barely managed to stop crying by the time they pulled into the driveway. The dog bed remained in the car but the collar was tightly clenched in Shaggy's hand, even now.
Daphne slid to the ground and Shaggy hunched forward, tightly fisting the collar, and cried with all the force of wretched, broken man. His howls echoed through the empty neighborhood, not in the least bit muffled by the rain. His breathing with choppy and he cursed inexplicably. With his elbows on his knees, Shaggy pushed his free hand up into his bangs and the other holding Scooby's collar hung low, the golden tags jingling and jumping with every little movement.
"Shaggy, I think it's time we go inside," Velma said.
"W-we swung by my house and I brought Dad's favorite vodka," Daphne sniffled, standing up and dropping a kiss atop Shaggy's head. "Oh hon, you are absolutely freezing. Fred, help him inside."
Fred slipped his hand under his arm to help him up, but Shaggy had no more strength in him. He was miserable and he missed his dog. Not for the first time in their lives, Fred crouched in front of Shaggy and picked him up like a little kid. Despite being shorter, he was built like a brick house and worked out at least four times a week ever since high school. He came in handy many a time when someone was too drunk or too high.
Shaggy wrapped his arms around Fred's neck and buried his face in his shoulder. Fred walked into the house with little trouble, the girls trailing after them. He walked into the living room and deposited Shaggy on the couch, taking the spot next to him. Velma sat on his other side and Daphne sat next to Fred. They pressed themselves close to Shaggy until he was enveloped in their warmth.
It was a long time before their crying stopped and when it finally tapered off, they sat quietly, unwillingly to move away from each other.
Shaggy glanced down at the color in his hand and couldn't tear his eyes away from the old, worn tags.
"Are you ready for the vodka?" Daphne asked quietly, as though she was afraid to break the peace.
"Yeah . . . I'm ready," Shaggy rasped.
She squeezed his one last time before looking at Fred. Somehow without letting go of Shaggy, he handed over the keys to the Mystery Machine and Daphne ran out into the pouring rain.
"How're you feeling now?" Velma asked, combing his hair back.
"Tired, sad . . . what am I supposed to do now?" Shaggy bit the inside of his cheek and twisted the tags between his fingers. "I just . . . I don't remember a life without Scooby, he was there for everything. What do I do now that he's gone?"
Neither said anything, just shared looks over their broken friend. The silence lingered even when Daphne returned with the nearly full bottle and divvied up shots for each of them. She pressed the tall shot glass in the shape of stacked skulls in Shaggy's hand, Fred chose the shot glass that looked like a mushroom, Velma the one that looked like a mini pint glass, and Daphne kept the one that looked like a cactus.
Daphne raised her glass. "To Scooby, the goofiest dog who could talk."
"To Scooby!" Fred and Velma cheered half heartedly and all of them down the vodka.
Shaggy normally sipped his vodka, he was never much of a fan of alcohol preferring to smoke, but he knocked back the shot with relative ease. He hated the way it burned his throat all the way down to his gut for supposedly being smooth.
He set the glass down on the table, licking the vodka off his lips with a grimace, and let himself be wrapped in the warmth of his friends and their shared grief. They would drink and cry and get drunk in Scooby's memory for the rest of the day, but Shaggy still wasn't sure what to expect when the clock struck midnight and he was pulled to a new day. It was impossible for a day as important as this to just end, to just close his eyes and have the rain go away, the collar leave his hand. It felt unfair that life had to move on and wouldn't stop to let him grieve as long as he needed. Life expected him to wipe his tears and swallow his sobs and put on a smile and carry on day after day, to continue with his life when such a big chunk of it was gone.
"To Scooby," Shaggy said belatedly under his breath and closed his eyes when he felt Velma card her hand through his hair.
Life wouldn't let him grieve as long as he needed, so he would grieve as much as he needed today on this horribly fitting rainy day.