Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Boys!”

Cleo’s voice echoes off the tall walls of the lighthouse.

With the place so devoid of any furniture or decor, he can easily hear Cleo. Their new house is empty, without any soul or comfort regardless of which corner he looks in. Scar’s new room doesn’t feel like it will ever be his, similarly to how this building doesn’t feel like it will ever be home. He can hear the waves crashing against the beach below, the only sound breaking the silence.

They wash over him in a soothing rhythm. It calms the sting of moving away from his past home, if only a little. All of his thirteen years of life were spent there, along with Bdubs’ eleven. He’s not too sure how he feels about it. Lots of confusing emotions swirl around in his brain when he thinks about it, so he tries not to.

A slight chill runs down his spine as a draft blows through the room. He’s still not sure if the place is fully insulated. 

“Boys! Get down here! ”

He jumps, Cleo’s voice breaking him out of his thoughts. She sounds more agitated, which is to be expected. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there thinking. Scar opens his door and begins making his way down the never ending staircase, bumping into his brother along the way. Cleo comes into view as they enter the bottom floor, smiling at them next to the front door. “Put your shoes on, we’re going down to the beach.” 

The two do as they’re told. “Why?” Bdubs asks as he nearly falls over, standing on one foot. 

“Bonding.” His mom replies. She leads them outside and closes the door behind them, making sure to lock it. Getting down to the beach is pretty easy. The hill is quite steep but old and cracked stairs aid them in not falling over their own feet. 

The waves are much louder out here, the smell of salt heavy in the air. It’s not a scent he hates, he’s just not used to constantly breathing it in. That’s just something he’ll have to learn to ignore. Bdubs speeds ahead of them, practically jumping into the water, which Scar’s sure he would have done if he was in the proper attire. Cleo laughs at his enthusiasm, and Scar giggles along with them.

Scar finds a large rock jutting out the side of the hill that he climbs up on. His mom joins him, sitting without conversation as they watch Bdubs splash around. Clearly he doesn’t care much for the wellbeing of his clothes, nor the poor machine that will have to dry them later. Cleo turns to him with a pensive look on her face. “Are you doing alright?” 

“Yeah,” He replies, “I’m alright.”

“With the move, I mean. I’m sorry you had to leave all your friends.” They say, sighing as they look back out at the ocean. 

He takes a few seconds to answer. “It’s okay. I know we had to for dad’s job.”

Cleo wraps an arm around Scar’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. She kisses the top of his head as he allows himself to lean against his mom, closing his eyes as the cool wind of the sea blows past him. Bdubs runs over and joins them up on the rock, sitting on the other side of Cleo. 

“I like our new house!” Bdubs exclaims much louder than necessary, making Scar open his eyes to glare at him. His feet kick back and forth against the stone. “When I look out my window I can see horse!” 

While his grammar is lacking, Scar knows he’s referring to the farm just a little ways away. They passed it on the many drives to the lighthouse and back to drop off boxes. His parents talked to the owners, Scar doesn’t remember their names – Dimple? Scazz? – but apparently they’re nice, according to Cleo, and he trusts what Cleo says. He’s sure Bdubs will drag him over there at some point to see the horses up close, so he can learn their names then. 

Chuckling, Cleo wraps their other arm around Bdubs and pulls him close. “I know you can, darling, that’s why you claimed that room.”

Bdubs nods enthusiastically as a silence falls over the three. 

Eventually, Cleo clears her throat and speaks once again. “You both know I’ll always be with you, right?”

The two boys nod in sync. 

“Even when I’m gone, I’ll still be with you, because there will always be a piece of my soul with the ocean.” She starts running a hand through Scar’s hair, because she knows it always relaxes him. She told him he used to scream at night when he got his own room, terrified of being alone in the dark, and the only way he would ever go to sleep was when Cleo would run her hands through his hair. He eventually outgrew that phase, obviously. 

Cleo tightens her hold on Bdubs. “So if you ever miss me, just go down to the water, and I’ll be there.” They have a far-off tone to their voice, like their thoughts have strayed far from here. While Cleo has never confided in Scar, he knows what she’s thinking of.

He knows the lines on her limbs aren’t just a skin condition like he’d been told, he knows her mind isn’t always the kindest place to be. He knows that sometimes, she’ll become more distant, and that’s not her fault. Cleo’s brain tells her things that aren’t true, and if she occasionally needs a hug that lasts longer than usual, Scar happily gives it to her. 

Scar loves his mom. He just wishes that she loved herself, too.

The conversation moves on and is soon forgotten. Bdubs goes back to running in the water, though this time both Scar and Cleo join him. They splash each other and collect seashells to do some sort of craft with later, Cleo insists she’ll come up with an idea eventually. Once Scar’s limbs begin to ache a little too much they head back to the lighthouse, clothes sopping wet and dripping everywhere. 

Etho’s new job isn’t the only reason they’d moved out here – there’s also a doctor that Cleo says can help with Scar’s pain in the area. Scar hopes that’s true, he misses running around for hours without stopping. 

When they enter the lighthouse again and Scar returns to his room, he finds that it feels slightly more homey than before. 

Somewhere around three years after they’d moved in, Scar and Bdubs walk home from school together. Usually Cleo picks them up, so it was quite the surprise to have one of his teachers inform him Etho had called, saying nobody would be able to pick them up today. He’s not sure what Cleo could be busy with when she had dropped them off just that morning, but it must be important. 

Scar shivers as the cold spring wind blows past him. Things are slowly starting to warm up, plants finally regaining their bright green. He’s excited for the winter weather to leave; all it does is make his pain flare up. 

The walk home is quiet. The only interruptions are from Bdubs idly speaking, more to himself than to Scar. He tunes his brother out, only replying when a question has been directly asked. 

They enter the lighthouse (which Bdubs had affectionately dubbed ‘the clocktower’ a year or so back) to Etho sitting at the dinner table with a solemn look on his face. Scar blinks in surprise, as his father isn’t usually home before they are, but Bdubs excitedly greets him with a smile. “Dad! You’re home early!” He shouts, making Scar flinch.

Etho smiles back, though it looks more like a grimace to Scar. “Come sit down, boys.” He takes a deep breath. “I have… bad news.”

“What is it?” Scar sets his backpack down on the floor and slides into one of the rickety old wooden chairs. Bdubs does the same, his smile only slightly faltering. Bdubs is like that – it’s hard to get that giant grin off of his face. Cleo says it’s endearing.

“Well, uh,” Etho stops to clear his throat. “Your mother, she– she passed away this morning.”

It’s funny, how one sentence can flip your world upside down.

“What?”

He feels the words leave his mouth, but he doesn’t register saying them. His heart sinks to his stomach. 

“I’m sorry.” Etho says. His voice rings in Scar’s head, bouncing around and echoing off the hollow walls of his mind. Bdubs says something, but he doesn’t hear it.

Death means forever. Death means never seeing his mom again. Death means a heart has stopped, and someone is going to be buried in the ground. Scar’s experienced death before, his grandpa had passed away when he was young, but never did he expect to be confronted by it in the form of someone so close. 

Scar doesn’t know how to process forever, how to fathom living the rest of his life without hearing Cleo’s voice again, or feel her arms wrapped around him in a comforting hug. To never hear another “I love you” come from her mouth is devastating. Never another silly joke or heartfelt conversation, never another high five or handshake. How can you live without someone so ingrained into your daily life, into the very strings of your soul?

Bdubs’ voice brings him back to the moment with a single, dreadful question. “How did she…?”

The end of the sentence hangs in the air, the words not needing to be said for Etho to know what Bdubs means. “It- it was intentional.”

Etho’s answer might as well have been a punch to the heart.

He knew Cleo struggled with her mental health, that was never a secret – but he never in one million years would he have expected this. Etho says something, but again, Scar’s ears don’t register any of it. They ring loudly and block out any outside attempts at communication. 

His mom seemed so okay this morning. Cleo woke them up and made breakfast, drove them to school as normal, and said goodbye without a second thought. Did she know what she was going to do? Did she know that was the last time she’d say goodbye? Had this been planned in advance, did she wake up that morning knowing it was her last day on earth, the last day her sons would see her? Or was it a spur of the moment thing – did the urge to do so come on fast, out of nowhere, too strong to ignore?

Somewhere, Bdubs stands up and begins walking upstairs, and Scar follows suit. He doesn’t say anything as he closes his door, the wind of his open window greeting him as if his world hasn’t just ended.

Finally, as he sits down on the floor ignoring how his limbs ache, a tear sneaks out of his eye.

Then another, and another, until it’s like a damn has been broken and he’s crying uncontrollably. The crocodile tears start and refuse to stop. They take over his body, wracking him with sobs, rendering his vision uselessly blurry. Scar hiccups and hyperventilates and does his best to take deep breaths like Cleo had taught him – Cleo, who’s not here anymore, who is dead and gone and–

Scar coughs violently, hacking up nasty saliva and salty tears onto the wooden floor. He can’t breathe, his lungs feel as if they’re collapsing, and his head feels like it’s had a bag of bricks dropped on it. He stares straight ahead, not focusing on anything, allowing more tears to make the journey down his cheeks.

They run across his waterline and slip to the side, trailing down his face, hanging off his chin until they inevitably fall and land on his clothes, leaving a dark and damp spot in their wake. 

He needs to change into something more comfortable.

He can’t stand.

His legs are too weak, he’ll collapse if he tries to get up.

His mom would always help him up when he fell. She was always there to catch him.

But now she’s not, because she’s dead, and will never be there to pull him back to his feet again. It hits him like a truck all over again, another wave of tears pouring out of his eyes like an endless, terrible tsunami. 

Instead of standing, because he can’t bear the thought of not being caught, he shuffles over to his dresser and pulls open the bottom drawer. He grabs the first pair of sweatpants he can find along with a plain hoodie and closes the drawer behind them. Changing while sitting on the floor is difficult, but he manages to do it after a few minutes of pathetic wiggling and breaks to ease the pain burning in his joints.

Scar chucks the dirty clothes to the other side of the room. He’ll probably never be able to look at that pair of jeans and shirt again without thinking of Cleo. 

Cleo.

Cleo.

Her name repeats in his head over and over, a cruel reminder that she’s gone. 

Handling such vicious grief is something he doesn’t know how to do. He’s unsure how long he’s been here, crying on the floor, but it feels like an eternity. How is he supposed to go about his life with this horrible weight in his chest? With this squeezing of his heart?

Scar crawls to his bed and pulls himself up onto it. He ignores the pounding of his head in favor of pulling the soft blankets over his cold body. The blanket is green and fuzzy. He remembers going down to some store for room decorations, trying to make the best out of moving houses. Bdubs was insistent on getting an obnoxiously large horse poster that Scar’s pretty sure he still has hung up on one of his walls. Cleo had laughed, called him silly, then told Bdubs to put it in their shopping cart.

The memory hurts, physically hurts, something unbearable and cruel.

Scar shuts his eyes despite the tears filling them, willing his mind to stop thinking. Surely, this is all one bad dream. When he wakes up tomorrow Cleo will be there as they always are, ready to yell at him for being late to school.

She’ll make him a waffle like she always does, then drive him and Bdubs to school like she always does, and wish them a good day with a quick “I love you” attached to the end of it.

There are no dreams in his slumber, only a dark void of pitch black, hollowing out his bones until there’s nothing left.

When Scar wakes up the next day, he’s unsure what time it is. He can hear birds chirping outside, and the waves crashing onto the beach down below. It’s peaceful, for a moment, until the memory of the previous day comes back to him like a car going full speed down a highway.

Etho didn’t wake them up for school, which Scar appreciates. He wouldn’t have been able to handle going there and seeing everyone’s faces, seeing them all be okay, like nothing is wrong. Because to them, it is just a normal day – but to Scar? Scar’s world has ended, been flipped upside down and violently shaken. It’s missing such a crucial part that he doesn’t know how to carry on without. 

His blankets rub against his skin. It burns. 

Scar slowly sits up, despite the heavy weight in his chest. He needs to get up, brush his teeth, eat, do anything to get his mind out of this strange grief mode. 

So, slowly, he removes his blanket. He moves his legs and sits on the side of his bed slower than a turtle. Cleo always used to say that a little is better than none, so he figures that also applies to daily tasks. 

Void, Cleo, she won’t get out of his head. She’s etched into every little thing he knows, every corner of his life. 

And she would want him to keep going, wouldn’t she? She’d want him to get up and take care of himself, regardless of how horrible he feels. He can push through the growing lump in his throat and the ache in his joints, he has to, because what else is there to keep him going?

Scar nudges his door open as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the unusual silence that had fallen over the lighthouse. Usually, it’s a place where there’s always noise, whether it’s from Bdubs and his friends or Scar or Cleo or anything. It’s horrible for it to be so quiet, for it to feel so empty. It’s like Cleo took the soul of the clocktower right along with her. The stairs creak  and echo under his weight as he walks one floor down to the bathroom. 

It’s a nice bathroom, spacious, with all of the utilities you could need available. He and Bdubs share it. His brother’s room is one floor above his own, two floors above the bathroom, which is probably impractical but Bdubs never complains.

He does his business, brushes his teeth, even splashes some cold water on his face.

The tasks take longer than they should, but at least he’s doing them. He exits the room and carries on down the stairs to the kitchen, a small but homey room with wooden floors and old drawings hung on the fridge. Scar stands at the entrance for a moment, taking in the scene. Usually, when he’d come in here, Cleo would be at the stove or the table.

Usually, she’d greet him with a smile, and tell him to sit down. She’d ask if he slept well, and then he’d ask the same to her. 

Sometimes Bdubs would already be there, sometimes he wouldn’t. His brother always wakes up at the crack of dawn but it’s anyone's guess if he’ll be ready on time or not, like the flip of a coin.

Something wet is on his cheek. Scar wipes it away, only for it to come back immediately.

Oh, he’s crying again, isn’t he?

Because now he has to make his own breakfast. He’ll never get one more waffle from his mom, and he’ll never get to hear about her dreams again. Now he’ll have to make his own waffle, and his own syrup, and put his own sprinkle of cinnamon sugar on top, just as Cleo always added. 

His limbs do  little to help as he practically collapses onto the floor. 

The tears return with full force, rendering Scar unable to see through the blurriness. Not that he really wants to see the kitchen, see all of the reminders of what he’s lost. His joints ache in this uncomfortable position, but it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before, so he ignores the way they scream to be moved. Why should he be able to move when Cleo can’t? He can breathe and walk, but Cleo can’t, because they’re dead. It’s not fair that he can still do what they can’t, because they’re his mom and deserve to be up and about instead of being in whatever the afterlife is.

Scar’s not too sure what happened after that. He feels too nauseous to eat, just the thought of food making him sick to his stomach.

Somehow, he manages to get back to his room. It all passes him by in a blur of heartbreak and sobs and headaches. Scar collapses back into his bed, tear-stained pillow greeting him with a sigh. His room is too bright and his blanket is too scratchy and everything is just wrong.  

But it’ll never be right again, will it? It’ll never go back to how it was because he can’t raise Cleo from the dead. She won’t magically walk through the front door, or call him down for dinner, or take him on a walk by the beach.

He drifts in and out of sleep, some dreams full of misery and some full of nothing at all. At some point he wakes up to the muffled sobbing of Bdubs, his cries echoing through the floorboards. It just makes Scar cry harder. Bdubs is only fourteen, he shouldn’t have to go through such horrible grief at such a young age. (Scar ignores how he shouldn’t be at sixteen, either. His own feelings aren’t important – he cares much more for his little brother.)

Regardless of how awful he feels, the ocean’s waves continue crashing against the sand. The beach has no care for the way Scar’s world has stopped. 

Scar doesn’t know how much time passes until Etho knocks on his door. 

It all feels the same to him. Every minute is just another without his mom, every hour bringing him further from the alive Cleo he knew. It’s hard to fathom that each second is making Cleo drift away from him, completely out of his grasp. 

“You and Bdubs have the week off of school.” Etho says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Scar only nods in reply. He doesn’t trust his voice enough for a verbal reply, his throat far too dry and painful to manage words. He must be incredibly dehydrated from all of the crying, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up and fix it. His dad leaves without another word, clearly understanding Scar is not in a conversational mood. 

Etho closes his door, leaving Scar alone with his thoughts yet again. He doesn’t want to be by himself, but he also doesn’t want to be with anyone else. He just wants to be with his mom.

The worst of the grief tends to come and go like the waves of the ocean. It washes over him unexpectedly with the wind, drowning him. It sucks all of the air from his lungs until he’s choking, gasping, clawing at his throat for even the littlest bit of relief. He barely manages to surface before it’s back again, pulling him down into the depths of grief once more. 

It’s what he’d think being stuck in a whirlpool feels like. Spinning, dizzy, like he’s being thrown in circles with no escape near. 

There’s no break from it in sight. Of course there isn’t, because there’s no break from death. His thoughts are going in loops – it always comes back to Cleo, and how much he wants his mom back. There’s no escape from her, not when she’s so prominent in everything he knows. She’s lurking in every shadow, sewn into the fibers of his clothes, surfing every wave of the water he can hear just outside his window. Void, the ocean, he doesn’t want to think about it. Cleo loved the ocean, loved walking along the beach, loved bringing him and Bdubs down there.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to step foot there again, or even spare the sand a quick glance. Just the thought of it chokes him, brings tears to the surface that threaten to spill over, like a sink that’s been filled a little too much. 

Instead of thinking about all the things that are horrible, Scar closes his eyes.

His dreams are those of large and deadly tsunamis. They tear everything down, sweeping Scar right up along with it. He drowns, and drowns again, and again.

Scar’s not sure when he wakes up, or how he finds himself on the lowest floor of the lighthouse. He doesn’t remember walking there, but he must have at some point. What time of day is it? He doesn’t know that either. He hasn’t bothered keeping track. It all seems rather pointless. He doesn’t want to know how long it’s been since his mom was alive, or how long it’s been since he last spoke to her. It’s just a terrible reminder that she’s gone and out of his grasp. 

A quick, loud knock rings out from the front door. 

It echoes off the walls and around Scar’s mind. It takes a few seconds for Scar to remember that a knock means somebody is out there, waiting to be greeted. He doesn’t want to get up and open it, or face the real world for the first time in days, but another impatient knock urges him off the couch.

Bdubs is somewhere upstairs, so he can’t get it. Scar has no clue where Etho is, probably making funeral plans somewhere. It’s nothing unusual for his dad to be gone, so he’s not worried.

Slowly, carefully, he stands up from the couch (the couch Cleo picked out) and makes his way to the door. Being stationary for multiple days nonstop hasn’t been kind to his already achy joints, which isn’t a surprise. 

He’s sure he looks awful, his hair tangled from neglect and his eyes red from crying, but he doesn’t care. It’s probably just a mailman he’ll never see again, or a salesperson. Whoever it is clearly has no patience because another knock comes from the door right as Scar reaches it, making him huff. His expression is unamused as he opens the door, but shifts to one of surprise as he’s met with an unexpected face.

Grian stands on their porch, bright sun behind him, fresh air hitting Scar’s lungs.

The boy smiles, but he can tell it’s forced. “Hi, Scar!”

“Oh– Grian? What are you doing here?” Scar asks, tilting his head. 

Instead of answering, Grian pushes his way past Scar and walks into the lighthouse like he owns the place. This is normal Grian behavior, but it still shocks Scar. He closes the door and turns around as Grian speaks again. “I heard about Cleo. I’m so sorry, Scar.”

“It’s – um…” He stammers out. His voice is rough against his throat, angry from going unused for a few days. He shrugs in place of words, because he’s not sure what to say. He could say thank you, or maybe return an “I’m sorry” but neither of those feel quite right. Grian seems to understand, thankfully. “Yeah. How are you holding up?”

“...I’ve been worse.”

That’s a lie. 

“Why don’t I let some light in?” Grian asks, but starts pulling open the curtains anyways. Scar doesn’t answer and lets Grian do his thing, because it doesn’t matter all that much to him. The sun is harsh against his eyes that had grown so used to the dark, making him rapidly blink to adjust to the change. They get watery and he’s not sure if that’s from the lighting change or a sudden onslaught of emotions.

There’s lots of windows on the ground floor, so there’s plenty of curtains to be opened. Scar sits back down on the couch and watches Grian open them one by one. Eventually when Grian decides the room is properly lit, he turns back to Scar. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No,” Scar confesses, “I’m too nauseous.”

“I’ll be right back.” Grian runs up the stairs before Scar can ask where he’s going. 

He leaves Scar alone with his thoughts again, which is not the most ideal situation, but Scar trusts Grian. They’ve been close friends for years, ever since he moved here and started going to the same school. They clicked like two peas in a pod (that’s what Cleo always called them) and hadn’t left each other’s sides since. 

Scar would be lost without him. Not just figuratively, but literally too. Navigating their school is incredibly difficult and Scar struggles to get around to his classes without Grian’s help, his dyslexia doing no favors by making signs difficult to read. Whatever way he looks at it, he appreciates Grian and knows him like the back of his hand. Grian tends to barge into the lighthouse so it’s no shock he’s already made himself at home. He’s not sure how Grian took the news, as he often referred to Cleo as his second mom. He just hopes Grian’s not neglecting his own feelings for Scar’s.

He comes tumbling back down the stairs, snapping Scar out of his thoughts and into the waking world. A cup of water is balanced in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. Scar would’ve giggled if his throat wasn’t rebelling against him.

Grian sets both things down on the coffee table in front of him (Cleo had made Scar come with her to pick it out) and then flops onto the couch next to Scar.

“Water, because you’re definitely dehydrated. And bread, because it’s plain and good for nausea if you think you can manage eating it. No pressure on that, but I will shove the water down your throat if you don’t drink it.” He threatens, though Scar knows there’s no fire behind it. Scar nods and picks up the cup, taking a small sip of water. It flows down his throat like it’s the most refreshing thing in the world, soothing the painful scratchiness that had been steadily getting worse the longer he left it alone.

To some, maybe Grian would be seen as overstepping, but to Scar he’s like a lifeline. 

Calm in the midst of a storm, the eye of the hurricane, or whatever else they say. A lifeboat while the ship is sinking, the bandage that doesn’t heal the wound but helps stop the bleeding. He’s here, he’s alive, and just his presence keeps Scar grounded in the world instead of in his thoughts.

He talks, and Scar doesn’t respond, but he keeps going anyway. Grian says whatever comes to his mind while Scar slowly sips his cup of water, each little drink earning Scar an encouraging nod. Grian rambles about whatever he wants to, and Scar doesn’t really process any of it, but it’s nice to have something in his ears that’s not just his inner voice. He even manages to take a few bites of a slice of bread before the nausea becomes too overwhelming.

At some point Bdubs joins them. He cautiously walks down the stairs, at first just sitting on the floor nodding along to what Grian says. Eventually he starts speaking, engaging in a proper conversation. 

Scar can tell Bdubs isn’t doing the greatest either. 

The bags under his eyes are dark, the eyes themselves not as wide and bright as usual. He has a brown hoodie on instead of his classic moss one.

(Cleo had given him the dark green, fuzzy hoodie for one of his birthdays. They said it looked like moss, and Bdubs didn’t take it off for weeks. He still wears it around the house despite its age as pajamas. Him not wearing it now is just another reminder of the hole Cleo’s left in their lives.)

Regardless of his attire, Bdubs seems to be doing better. He doesn’t smile with his teeth like he always does, but a small occasional grin shows on his face whenever Grian cracks a joke. 

Scar’s glad he seems to be doing at least slightly better.

Unfortunately Grian isn’t able to stay forever. He gives Bdubs a quick hug and his brother disappears back to his room as soon as he lets go. Grian wraps Scar up in the tightest, most comforting hug he can manage and Scar squeezes back just as hard. (It’s not the same as Cleo’s hugs, which will only ever be a memory, but it’s still nice.)

Grian closes the door behind him and Scar’s chest feels a little less heavy, his lungs sucking in a little bit more air.

It’s been a week, or somewhere around that long. Scar hasn’t been keeping track of time.

It doesn’t really matter how long it’s been, not when he finally has to face everyone else. Going to school is a terrifying, horrible ordeal that he can’t avoid any longer. Etho’s even home today, making sure both him and Bdubs make it to class at least somewhat on time. He’s barely seen his dad this week, even less than usual – and that’s saying a lot, because Scar didn’t see him much in the first place. 

He thinks he might puke as he puts proper clothes on for the first time in however long. The fabric scratches his skin and makes him feel itchy, like he shouldn’t be wearing it. But he has to, because there’s not any other option. He’s missed far too much school and will probably end up failing half of his classes, but he finds he doesn’t really care about that anymore. 

Scar leaves the front door with Bdubs right behind him. Tears prick his eyes at the sight of the beach, which he quickly turns away from. Every step feels impossible, like he has weights tied to his ankles while climbing up a tall mountain. 

Bdubs seems to feel the same. He’s not chatty like he used to be when they’d have an occasional walk to school, not as interested in the world around him. 

Eventually they get to their destination. People run past him, laughing and smiling without a care in the world. Scar wishes he could be them; be so joyful without any worries. They all have their own problems, sure, but they probably don’t have a recently deceased mom they’re grieving. 

Or maybe they do and Scar’s just selfish for even thinking this way.

He and Bdubs part ways as they enter the building, each going to their own respective lockers and classes. The walk through the hallway almost doesn’t feel real. He’s never had an out of body experience before, but this is probably close. The hands that unlock his locker don’t feel like his, the legs that make him walk don’t feel like his own, and the voice that comes from his mouth doesn’t feel like it’s been made by his vocal cords at all. 

Grian’s the first to notice when he walks into class. He calls Scar over and gestures to the desk next to him, says their teacher rearranged the seating chart so he can have support. Jimmy comes over and gives him a hug, as does Mumbo and Lizzie and everyone else under the sun who knows him or Bdubs. Cleo was well loved, and he’s glad, but the constant reminder really isn’t helping him feel any better. He’d prefer if they all acted like everything was normal and nothing happened at all, but his tongue won’t say the words. 

Multiple teachers pull him up to their desks throughout his classes, granting him extensions and condolences. None of it makes him feel as grateful as he probably should. Extra time on assignments and no amount of sorry will bring Cleo back so none of it matters – even if that’s an unhealthy way to look at the kindness he’s being given. He still says thank you, because Cleo always cared about having good manners.

Things pass him by in one nonsensical blur. 

Hello, assignment, homework, sorry, notebook, paper, goodbye, sorry, time, break, hug, sorry, sorry, sorry, everyone is just so sorry–

Scar leaves school as the bell rings feeling no better than before. He hoped getting back into routine would do something, anything, but of course it didn’t. Why would it?

Everything feels like it’s nothing, and so is he, and before he knows it he’s walking back home with Bdubs by his side. Bdubs seems a little more cheery, probably because he finally got to see his friends, and Scar is glad he’s doing better. (He ignores the jealousy that brews in his stomach, because he wants to be doing better too, but he’s not despite all the support he’d gotten over the day. Bdubs is more important, he deserves to feel better more than Scar does. He’s barely a teen, after all.)

He returns to the lighthouse and avoids looking at the dreaded ocean as he pushes the heavy wooden door open. He works on autopilot, dropping his bag on the floor and walking up to his room. He doesn’t bother thinking about the homework he needs to do, or the late assignments he needs to catch up on. 

Once he gets his pajamas back on, Scar lies down on his bed and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to eat dinner, far too nauseous to even consider it. Scar closes his eyes and pulls his blanket up to his chin. 

The dark, endless void of sleep pulls him back in.

He seems to be all out of tears.

Despite everything, it seems to be getting a little easier, day by day.

It’s the nights that are the worst. When he’s surrounded by the dark with nothing to occupy his thoughts, they wander, often to Cleo. The crushing loneliness returns – and all he wants is his mom again, like a little kid hiding in the corner of daycare, scared to venture out without his mother. 

The only thing filling the silence of grief is the unending crashing of waves against the beach. 

He wishes the ocean would stop. That it would pause and go away, stop giving him the horrible reminder that he’ll never look at it the same again. But the fish keep swimming, and the sun still rises despite how badly he wishes it wouldn’t. 

Cleo loved the ocean. He knows a piece of her is in there, down in the deepest depths. They’d told Scar themself; they’ll always be in the waves and the salty taste of the water. The cool breeze that blows under the sun, the sparkles against the skyline that taunt him, knowing he’ll never be as bright as them. She’s the horrible tsunamis that destroy and she’s the calm waves that wash over him like a cool refreshment on a hot summer day. 

That’s the thing about grief. 

It doesn’t matter how good you are at swimming or how long you can stay afloat; you’ll still end up on the seafloor, choking until you’re blue and hopeless.

You could be the greatest swimmer to live, but an unexpected current will still drag you down within seconds. Just like the ocean, grief is unpredictable, and you can never truly know when it’s going to take you by surprise. You can try your best, but even scientists can’t always warn you about an incoming storm. 

He can’t bring himself to face the ocean, not when his mom’s very soul is there. 

Scar just can’t face it, face her, face the reality that she’s never coming back. There’s still a small part of him waiting for Cleo to walk back through the front door and announce that this is all just one big misunderstanding, that they’ve been fine this whole time. He knows they won’t, that they can’t do that, but what if they do? What if they show up and he’s able to throw his arms around Cleo once more? Wouldn’t that just be so lovely? 

One month. 

Or thirty-one days, or a little over four weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Scar’s mom died. 

But he’s never been a numbers guy. Who’s counting, anyways?

He tries not to think about it too hard. Distractions are a valuable thing, whether that be a book or a friend or lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, completely zoned out. Anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the loud, gaping hole that’s been left in his heart. 

Bdubs greets him as he exits the school doors, just as he always does. Bdubs has gotten a bit of his smile back — it’s not as wide as it once was (Scar doubts it ever will be again) but it’s close, and that’s enough. Seeing his brother doing a little better than before makes the weight around his chest loosen, if only a little. It’s relief, like how he’d imagine it feels to realize you’re in the eye of a hurricane. A moment of peace while the storm rages on. 

It’s a bit of a colder day, spring rain had stopped only a few hours before. He and Bdubs exchange hellos and begin filling each other in on the interesting parts of their days. Scar passed a test he didn’t study for and Bdubs nearly got into a fight. He’s been doing that more; letting his anger get the better of him more often. Scar doesn’t blame him. Scar has a feeling it’s similar to his own sadness. 

A particularly cold breeze flows past and makes him shiver. There’s nobody to drive them to and from school anymore, so they have to journey home through the harsh weather. 

They walk through the rows of shops and businesses. The nice thing about living in the lighthouse is that they’re a ways away from the main town, where there’s less hustle and bustle to disturb them. The bad thing is that it takes longer to get there. 

Scar pauses in front of an alleyway. A small, high pitched sound comes from it, echoing off the brick and concrete. It takes Bdubs a few seconds to notice his brother has stopped moving. He turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Whatcha’ stop for?”

“Did you hear that?” He asks, turning to face the damp alley. 

Some more seconds pass before Bdubs replies, waiting to hear something. “...No?”

Pursing his lips, Scar steps forward. “I swear I heard something. It sounded like a little animal.” 

Another squeak comes from the alleyway, urging Scar forward. “So? We gotta get home.” He steps closer and grabs Scar’s arm, attempting to nudge him away. Scar understands why he’s scared, it is a dark and damp alleyway. Scar’s curiosity gets the better of him, though, not allowing him to leave the strange noise alone. What if it’s an injured animal in need of help? Scar can’t just leave the poor thing to die, all alone and cold! 

“You can go on without me, I’ll catch up.” He brushes Bdubs’ hand off of him, moving closer, officially crossing the entrance of the alley. Bdubs hesitates, but backs off. He shivers with another gust of wind. 

“Okay, but if you get murdered, I’ll be really upset.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.” Scar waves as he walks further down the alley. Bdubs says something but Scar doesn’t pay attention, focused solely on his new mission: track down the source of the noise. His footsteps are loud against the grey stone flooring. Water drips off a roof somewhere, creating a steady beat of droplets hitting a metal trash can lid. 

He searches in old cardboard boxes and in the little cracks between objects and walls. The high pitched sound slowly gets louder as he gets closer, only making him move faster. “Where are you, little buddy?” He calls out, getting only another squeak in reply. He’s not sure what else he was expecting.

Eventually, Scar peeks into yet another cardboard box. This one is different — this one has two little grey kittens in it.

Scar gasps, and the two kittens meow loudly at him as he lifts the remaining flaps of the box open. They both immediately try to climb their way out, but fall back down. Their fur is mostly well kept with a few small knots. They don’t look too skinny, which is a sign they haven’t been here too long. There’s nothing else in the box aside from a small, bright orange blanket that’s definitely seen better days. The wind grates against his ears, but he pays it no mind, all his attention directed towards making sure neither kitten is severely injured. 

Thankfully neither of the two appear to be hurt, if them continuously trying to claw their way up the cardboard is anything to go off of. He coos, a poor attempt at comforting them. 

“Oh my goodness! What are you two doing here?”

They don’t answer him with any english, which he should have anticipated considering they are animals. 

Now, Scar’s only had one cat before, but he was so little he doesn’t really remember her. He definitely does not have the knowledge or items to take in two little kittens, but he can’t just leave them there. Maybe it’s their sweet little eyes or desperate mews messing with his judgement. Only someone cruel and evil would leave them there, especially on such a cold day. The poor things must be freezing!

His mind is easily made up. Scar carefully picks the box up, doing his best to not jostle the two around. They both meow but they don’t sound distressed, so he assumes they’re okay and he’s good to move. 

Slowly and painfully he begins the walk home made a considerable amount longer with the giant cardboard box blocking half of his vision. His arms ache, but they always do, so it’s not too bad of a hindrance. He knows the way home like the back of his hand, so he’ll be fine. Though maybe Bdubs would have been handy to use as a box-carrier. 

The bright red and white of the lighthouse greets him eventually along with the salty beach air and the sound of waves. He does his best to ignore the last two of those. There’s no time for grief — he’s got two shivering kittens to warm up.

Opening the door proves to be difficult, but he manages. Scar sets the box down in the middle of the living room, then drops his bag on the couch. He pulls his jacket off and tosses it to the side, kneeling down to get a better look at the little felines now in his home. Their meowing gets louder when his face comes into their view again, if that’s even possible. Quiet reassurances leave his mouth. He reaches one hand into the box, allowing the kittens to give him a good sniff. They seem to approve of how he smells and quickly begin rubbing their heads against his skin, asking for pets, and he complies. 

Their fur is cold and slightly damp. Scar’s hand is also cold, so that probably doesn’t help them warm up at all, he realizes. 

Scar pulls away and does his best to ignore the sad cat sounds that follow. “I’ll be right back!”

He walks to the fireplace and grabs a match from the box they keep on the mantle, lighting it with practiced ease and tossing it into the logs below. He smiles as they get set aflame and turns his attention back to the kittens. 

“Bdubs!” He shouts, “Get down here!”

(He yells, just like how Cleo used to. Oh how he misses it.)

“What?!” 

His brother comes rushing down the stairs, clearly happy to see Scar still alive. “Come here, I found something in that alley.” He says, beckoning the boy to come closer. 

Bdubs complies and walks up to the box, peering into it with a gasp when he realizes exactly what’s in there. “Scar! Kittens?! Really!?”

“Really!” He nods rapidly, unable to keep the small grin off his face. Bdubs smiles as well, despite the confused and slightly annoyed tone to his voice. He reaches in to pet one of the kittens, who immediately accepts and leans into the hand. Scar’s pretty sure the thing starts purring, an incredibly adorable sound. “Wh– what are we gonna do with them?”

“I’m… not sure.” Scar shrugs, sheepishly. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

The two sit in silence for a minute or two, Scar now petting the other kitten. The fire crackles behind them. It mixes surprisingly nicely with the sound of purring. 

Scar’s chest feels lighter, somehow. “Dad’s not gonna want them here, y’know.” Bdubs breaks the quiet, shattering the peaceful atmosphere. Right. He’d forgotten about Etho. His dad isn’t a big fan of animals; especially ones brought into his home with no warning. 

He shrugs. “We can keep them in my room. Dad’s barely home anyway, it’s not like he’s gonna see them.”

Thankfully Bdubs agrees to this plan. Scar makes him carry the box up the many flights of stairs to his room. He’d carried them all the way here, it’s only fair that Bdubs carries them now. He also isn’t constantly in pain, but Scar didn’t have to play the chronic illness card this time, as Bdubs agreed without too much of a fight. Scar follows behind, grabbing his backpack. Though his homework doesn’t feel as important as these kitties. 

Closing the door, Scar watches Bdubs set them down on the carpeted floor of his room. He kneels down and carefully picks up one, smiling at how it practically goes limp in his hand. He puts the kitten down in front of him and his brother does the same with the other. They’re curious little things, immediately wandering around to explore the new area. 

They watch as one crawls under his dresser, and the other sniffs at a small pile of clothes tossed into the corner. (The clothes he’d tossed there when he found out about Cleo. He hasn’t found the strength to pick them up yet.)

“Tomorrow after school we could stop at the store and buy them some food, and maybe a toy?” Scar suggests, looking back at Bdubs. 

The boy nods. “That sounds good. What should we name them?”

“We? I found them, I get to name them both.”

“What?! Then I’m not helpin’ take care of ‘em!”

“Oh, fine, you can name one.” Scar huffs, rolling his eyes with fake annoyance. He was always going to let Bdubs name one, it’s just fun to mess around with him. He wouldn’t be a good older brother if he didn’t tease Bdubs occasionally. It’s like, his number one job. 

One of the kittens walks up to Scar, looking up at him and sitting down. He smiles and gives it a head scratch. “I’m naming this one Katy Bee.”

The other little guy emerges from under the dresser looking much more scruffled than before. Bdubs stares at it intensely, clearly looking through his mind for the best possible name. Eventually he turns back to Scar with a large, bright grin. “I’m naming mine Mr. Finnegan. He looks like a Mr. Finnegan.”

Scar furrows his eyebrows but decides not to question it. He’s long gotten used to the strange names Bdubs seems to pull from thin air. He’d named a toy horse “Climb Ten” once, whatever that means — Scar doesn’t get it, and honestly he doesn’t want to. Whatever goes on in his brother’s mind is none of his business. Bdubs probably feels the same about… something Scar does. But Scar’s completely normal so there’s not much to question here. 

The rest of the day is spent in Scar’s room, watching the kittens explore and play. One of them (he’s pretty sure it’s Katy Bee, but they look incredibly similar. He lost track of which is which right after they were named) tried to jump up onto his bed but was far too small to manage it. Katy tumbled onto the ground, making Scar giggle. 

She made Scar laugh, a genuine laugh that he didn’t have to force out like when his friends make jokes during lunch. 

It occurs to him that… he hasn’t laughed like that in so long. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have his lungs heave, breathless from laughter, and how the ache of his cheeks from smiling so hard felt. It’s a wonderful thing he didn’t realize he was missing. 

Bdubs laughs along with him. And for a moment, in the sanctuary of his room, everything feels okay and his chest doesn’t have heavy weights wrapped around it.

He can breathe, he can smile, he can just enjoy the moment. 

A small bubble where it’s just him and Bdubs enjoying things forms around them. 

Maybe, in the future, he’ll look back on this memory and feel okay. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly be okay again, but this must be close. For once, he doesn’t notice the waves loudly crashing against the beach, and he doesn’t see Cleo in everything. These are two kittens, brand new to the world that need his full attention; so that’s what he’ll give them. He forgets, for now, about the thirty-one days without his mom. 

There’s a small voice in his head that tells him he should feel guilty for being happy, for creating new memories without Cleo, but it’s just quiet enough he can ignore it for now. It’ll creep up on him later, he’s sure, but that’s for future Scar to deal with. 

For now, he can just exist, and breathe a little easier. 

Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan are possibly the best things Scar has ever found. At least, they are according to Bdubs. 

Hiding them from Etho is easy, because the man is never home. Scar keeps them in his room while he’s at school, but occasionally he’ll bring them down to the living room if he’s sure his dad won’t be arriving any time soon. They love the fireplace, so he always lights it when they’re all downstairs together. Who is he to deprive them of warmth?

Over the course of a few weeks, Scar and Bdubs slowly accumulate everything they need to care for two kittens. They start with the essentials of course – cat food, litter trays, that kind of stuff is their top priority. Thankfully the kittens aren’t picky about what they eat and happily munch on the first type of kibble Scar buys them. He’ll get them wet food later, when they’re older and he has more to spend. He and Bdubs had to pool their money just to have enough for the bag of kibble. 

Then they move onto toys and treats, because Scar’s clothes and Bdubs’ horse figurines can only be fun for so long. They might go a little overboard; purchasing feather toys, wands with strings on the end, little balls that jingle, and quite a bit more. 

He regrets none of it. Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan are very grateful for the new entertainment, which makes it money well spent. 

He also might have pocketed a few toys, but can you blame him?

(Cleo always used to say that stealing is okay if it’s occasional, with purpose, and you don’t get caught. Scar hopes she would think the kittens are a good enough reason to take a few things.)

It’s fine as long as he doesn’t tell Bdubs.

Scar absolutely adores the two little rapscallions. They’re great at keeping his mind occupied when he needs it and make him laugh while nothing else can. He’s pretty sure he read somewhere that animals can sense human emotions, and he thinks it’s safe to say that’s true. They always seem to know when he needs a kitty hug or when to make him giggle. 

Bdubs visits them often as well. Multiple afternoons end up spent doing homework in his room while his brother sits on the floor with the kittens, attempting to do his own assignments with the help of their feline friends. 

The small orange blanket he’d found in their box now has its own spot at the end of his bed. Most nights, the two will cuddle up on it together and fall asleep. Though some nights Bdubs will sneak into his room to spend time with them, and Scar never objects as long as Bdubs stays quiet and lets him sleep. He much prefers the soft giggles and meows over muffled sobs coming from his brother’s room. 

Where the waves used to crash against sand, there is now purring and claws scratching his bed frame. The silence Cleo left has been filled with new life. 

Unfortunately, things can’t always last. 

“Boys,” Etho says (just like how Cleo used to say it), “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Scar stops in his tracks in the doorway, Bdubs just behind him. The last time Etho was waiting for them when they got home from school they were told that their mother had died. His heart immediately drops, because what if something bad happened again, what if what if what if–

“Huh?” Bdubs asks, now in front of Scar with his backpack slung half off his shoulder. It thankfully snaps Scar out of that horrible train of thought. 

His dad takes a deep breath, a frustrated look appearing on his face. “When were you two going to tell me you were hiding cats in here?”

Oh.

Actually, this is probably the best case scenario. 

“W- what cats?” Bdubs tries to feign innocence, but it doesn’t work, his voice cracking gives him up immediately. Scar stifles the chuckle that attempts to escape. If this were any other situation, he definitely would have mimicked it to tease Bdubs; but he’s pretty sure that would not help the kitten’s cases. “Listen, I know you’re mad, but–” Scar tries to reason but is cut off as Etho speaks.

“Look, I’m not mad, I’m just – do you two really think it’s a good idea to have animals in here right now?” He crosses his arms. Usually Scar wouldn’t believe the “not mad” but he can tell this time Etho is being truthful. This sparks hope in his chest, that maybe he can reason with Etho and keep their new pets. “How long have they even been here?” 

“...A few weeks.” Scar admits, looking down so he doesn’t have to look into Etho's eyes. 

He sighs heavily. “You two are something else.”

“Please don’t make us get rid of them! They’ve helped so much, dad, and maybe they could help you too!” Scar pleads. 

Etho closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing. They stand in silence for a few seconds that feel more like hours until Etho finally speaks. “...As long as I don’t have to do anything for them.”

Both Scar and Bdubs cheer. His brother gains a grin much wider than usual and runs up to give Etho a hug, who in turn awkwardly pats Bdubs’ head. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah. What are their names?”

That night, Etho properly is introduced to Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan. Scar feels closer with his dad more than he ever has before. They laugh, and he knows Etho was smiling under his mask. Once again, after their dad leaves, Bdubs turns to Scar and tells him that the kittens are the best thing he’s ever found, and Scar can’t help but agree. 

Scar wakes up one night to the quiet creaking of his door opening. 

He already knows it’s Bdubs coming for a nighttime visit. He sits up, rubbing his eyes with his fists, trying to adjust to the darkness. Bdubs stands awkwardly in the middle of the room until Scar pats the mattress next to him, a motion telling him it’s okay. 

The bed dips as he sits down, alerting the two kittens he’d come to see of his presence. They wake up much quicker than Scar, who is still half asleep. “Everything alright?” He asks his brother, voice scratchy against his dry throat. He blinks rapidly in an attempt to get his brain going faster as it’s not yet in the state for a proper conversation. Bdubs seems to understand this and waits a few more seconds than normal to reply. “Yeah. Just can’t shreep.”

Scar nods slowly and yawns. He watches Bdubs pet the kittens, both fighting for attention despite the fact Bdubs has two hands both perfectly capable of giving scritches. 

Bdubs takes one hand away to scratch his arm, which is deeply upsetting for Katy Bee, who loudly meows in protest. Scar’s about to make a terrible joke about it but his voice dies on his tongue when he spots something where Bdubs’ sleeve had rolled up. It makes his heart sink into his stomach. 

Angry, red marks line Bdubs’ forearm just above his wrist. Bdubs pulls his sleeve down but the damage has been done and they both know it. 

He might be half asleep but he knows those marks. They’re the same as the ones Cleo used to wear on her own skin, marks that aren’t able to just be passed down with genetics. Wounds that were purposeful, injuries made by one’s own volition. He swallows the tears that are threatening to spill and asks a question he already knows the answer to. 

“Bdubs… what was on your arm?”

Instead of a verbal answer, Bdubs shrinks into himself, as if he could turn into a turtle and hide away in his shell from the question. This only confirms it more, and Scar can’t help the tear that falls down his cheek. “Oh, Bdubs…” He whispers, voice cracking. Holding his arms open, he allows his brother to fall against his chest. Bdubs begins crying his own tears. They soak into Scar’s shirt but he doesn’t pay attention to that, much more focused on the problem at hand. He can always change later. 

“Bdubs, please,” He mutters into Bdubs’ hair, “Please don’t. You– you can come to me any time. Please, Bdubs, I can’t lose you too.”

Maybe it’s selfish to say, but he can’t, can’t lose someone else. 

Bdubs’ breathing violently hitches, making him cough against Scar. “I won’t. It’s just… hard.”

“It is. But we’ll get through it, okay?” Scar pulls away to look Bdubs in the eyes, trying his best to get the message fully across. Bdubs’ eyes are wide as they always are, but it doesn’t look right when his smile has been replaced by tears. He squeezes Bdubs’ shoulders with what he hopes in reassurance. 

“Okay,” Bdubs whispers, unspoken words being swallowed in his throat. Scar can tell he wants to say something more, but hesitates and instead wraps himself back into Scar’s arms. Scar doesn’t push him about it and squeezes him tight. He reminds himself that Bdubs is here, he’s not going anywhere, not following Cleo to the grave under Scar’s watch. “Can I stay in here tonight?” Bdubs asks, voice barely audible. 

“Of course.” 

They pull away from each other again, but are interrupted by a sudden loud meow. Both heads look down to be greeted by a very grumpy looking Mr. Finnegan. He meows again, clearly upset about the lack of attention on him. 

Katy Bee on the other hand has already gone back to sleep on her orange blanket. The thick tension the brothers had fallen into lifts as Scar giggles and gives the upset kitten some pets. 

Eventually they lay down and Bdubs drifts to sleep next to Scar. 

Scar lies in the dark for a while, listening to the slow breathing of his brother. Bdubs is alive. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

With a deep breath, Scar closes the lighthouse door. Mr. Finnegan almost manages to bolt out after him, but Scar thankfully stops that from happening by putting his foot in the way. It’s bare, he doesn’t need shoes where he’s going. The cement is rough on the soles of his feet as he turns around and begins walking down the cracked stairs. 

His eyes fall to the ground as he walks straight towards the sound that’s been haunting him. Water against wet sand, a cool breeze brushing the little bits of broken up sediment onto grass. 

The first step onto the beach feels like stepping in tar. The grains of sand get in between his toes. Every fiber of his being wants him to turn around and go back to the safety of his home, but he doesn’t listen. He takes another step, sinking deeper, he has to do this. 

Scar pauses when the sand turns darker and damp. He hesitates. 

Slowly, he looks up. He stares the ocean straight in the face, eye to eye, squaring up as if he’s about to fight the water. He crumples to the ground. 

His knees hit the sand, burning against his skin. 

“Even when I’m gone, I’ll still be with you, because there will always be a piece of my soul with the ocean.”

But why can’t she be here with him instead?

He can hear her words clear as day, he remembers it like it was just a week ago. Cleo will always be with the ocean, buried deep inside every wave and broken up between every grain of sand. The beach is here, but she’s not, but she is because she is the beach. It’s all too much – he doesn’t want to have to look for her in every droplet of water. What he wants is to be held in her arms again and have her fingers run through his hair like they used to. 

The waves don’t stop, they don’t give Scar the relief of not hearing them. They grow louder as if they’re washing over him repeatedly with no regard for his wants. There’s only one thought in his mind as the water continues to splash; why?

Why, why, why, why? He’s asked why countless times, asked and asked and thought and cried wondering why. The word ‘why’ barely sounds real anymore, why has become a feeling he holds deep inside his chest as it constantly beats with his heart and breathes with his lungs against his ribs. Why couldn’t he save them? Why could Cleo leave on purpose?  

How could they go and die knowing they’d be leaving Scar and Bdubs, disappearing from their lives like they meant nothing to her. Were they not enough to keep her going?

Scar’s drowning, still drowning, forever drowning without Cleo save him and pull him out of the water. 

His eyes cry salty tears, salty like the ocean, salty like the awful taste on his tongue that won’t go away. He’s angry, and sad, and numb and everything all at once. But now he doesn’t have his mom to run to when all the feelings become too much – if he tried, he’d run straight into the ocean and never surface. He’s scared that once he gets a taste of drowning, he won’t be able to leave it, and he’ll let the choking and suffocation consume him without putting up much of a fight. But he can’t do that, he can’t put Bdubs through that again. 

Time passes by in blur just as it always does. He doesn’t know how long he’s out there, crying his heart out watching tears on the sand get washed away by the endless onslaught of waves. It’s long enough for the sun to set and the moon to rise. 

The only light comes from the stars reflecting off the ocean. It’s cold, cold like the day he found Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan. He wonders if they were a gift from Cleo, or just a coincidence. 

He shivers against the sand but doesn’t get up. The spring wind blows frigid water at him. Scar pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, ignoring the way it reminds him of the day Cleo died. Footsteps slowly make themselves known as someone walks towards him. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is – only one other person would know to find him here, find him crying in his one-sided fight against the ocean. 

Bdubs sits down next to him, legs crossed. He throws a blanket around Scar’s shoulders, wrapping the soft fabric around both of them. 

Scar rubs his knuckles against his eyes, trying to dry his tears, but once he turns to face his brother he stops. Bdubs stares out at the ocean and the moon reflects off his wide eyes. He’s wearing his moss hoodie, the one he hasn’t put on since Cleo died. It still looks the same green it always does even in the dark. 

Neither of them say anything, they don’t need to, the silence is enough. The quiet is filled with all of the words spoken through water crashing against the beach, little droplets hitting his feet and getting the blanket damp. Even with the cool water and harsh wind Scar feels a little warmer; whether that be from the blanket or Bdubs’ presence, he’s not sure. Whatever it may be, it makes the freezing grief just a little more bearable, and that’s enough. It’s enough to keep him from storming into the deepest depths and staying there as long as he needs to see his mom again.

His head falls onto Bdubs’ shoulder without him realizing, but Bdubs doesn’t seem to mind, so Scar keeps it there. He pulls his side of the blanket tighter around him, as if the moment will be broken if he drops it even just a little bit. 

Looking up from the terrible ocean to the sky, the stars greet him with a smile. It’s a beautifully clear night, not a single cloud near to block his view. They twinkle and gleam and Scar thinks that maybe one of them is Cleo making sure he’s safe like she always used to. 

He yawns, closing his eyes, almost missing the little star that makes its way across the dark blue sky.

It fades away as soon as it comes, disappearing from Scar’s vision as it continues its way through the seemingly endless galaxy. 

Scar decides to take it as a message from Cleo. 

A message saying it’ll be okay. A message letting him know that he’s okay, and so is she. One little star containing so many words that will never be spoken aloud. 

It’s a message saying it’s okay to go on without her. To live his life, to not let grief control him. That the bereavement will pass as long as he pushes through. Scar can tell Bdubs hears it too. He scoots a little closer to his brother, just enough to let him know that they’ll get through this together. That even if Cleo isn’t physically here, she’ll always be with them in the waves of the water. 

Always be with them, in the moon’s reflection off the sea.

Always be with them, in the sand that sticks to their limbs. 

Always be with them. 

Always be with them. 

Always be with them.