Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hospital room is cold, but it’s as homey as they could make it given the circumstances and rules in the hospital. A family photo with a father, a mother, and a smiling little girl in a park stood on a bedside table near the bed. 

The family was the epitome of an emo nightmare. The heavily pierced, scruffy man with dark purple hair and dark clothes was holding onto a woman with the same style of dark clothes with black makeup and a big smile. The little girl shared the blonde hair of her mother, while wearing a red and purple dress with a spider web pattern. They looked happy, and most importantly... free. A happy goth family that didn’t quite fit in in the cold and unforgiving hospital room. 

Lawrence Betelgeuse Brightman has always hated hospitals for that reason. It’s almost like every time he’s in a hospital is when tragedy is going to strike. The last time he was at a hospital when someone got sick was when his grandma Opal passed, one of the nicest relatives on… her side.

Currently, he was sitting on a chair next to the bed, turning his head to look at his wife, Emily. Emily was lying down on the bed and she looked…tired. So many IV’s in her, a heart monitor on her finger, a breathing mask over her mouth, wearing a simple medical gown, a lot of her hair gone and her body so thin. She was asleep, so he sat in the chair next to her bed, waiting for her to wake up. In the meantime, he turned his head towards the photo of their little family by her bedside, and..how much none of them belonged in this hospital. The thoughts keep circling in his mind, not even noticing how much time passes while he’s stuck in them.

It had been an hour and a half when Emily woke up, and by then Lawrence was taking a nap, with drool coming out of his mouth. She lightly giggles through her mask, somehow waking up her husband.

“Guhhhh…aaahh…ahh…I’m awake! Here’s the first draft, Mr. Robinson….uhhhhh…” Lawrence shouts at his practical rude awakening.

“Hehehe…good morning, Lawrence..” Emily says, struggle obvious in her voice.

“Ohhh….afternoon, Em…..Do you..want me to call a nurse? The mask is a little…you know.”

“Sure.”

The red button on the bed is pressed. Thankfully, this hospital is good at nurses responding quickly to patients calling them. The nurse on staff, David, comes in and changes her breathing mask to the heavy breathing tubes.

“You feel okay, Mrs. Brightman?” David asks, wanting to make sure she was comfortable and breathing with the tubes.

“I’m good. Thank you, David,” answers Emily.

“Okay. Just push the button if you need anything.”

With this, he leaves the room quietly, leaving Emily and Lawrence alone.

“My parents couldn’t come today?” Emily asks.

“Nah. Chuck had to work and Deils is watching Lydia. I’m technically on lunch/PTO right now. They did say later tonight, though,” Lawrence explains.

“That’s good.…How has work been?” Emily asks, trying to see how Lawrence has been doing.

“I mean, same old, same old.”

“Did you need to turn in a first draft to Thomas today?”

“Yeah….Some sort of retrospective on the State of the Union and the protests in Venezuela.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. Riveting. ‘Specially about the guy practically ruining the country. He always needs more attention, especially by the centrist think piece writers of our time,” says Lawrence sarcastically.

Emily giggles again. Her husband has always been nothing if not passionate about the current political climate, even if technically, he himself is part of the biggest centrist think piece publishers of the modern day.

Lawrence smiles, glad he could cheer her up even a little bit.

“So…what’ve the doctors said now?” asks Lawrence.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. I have the plague, my time is coming, here comes the men in bird masks ready to do some bloodletting and bury my body in a pit,” says Emily. Of course, she was joking mostly, even if the time is coming comment is something the doctors have said repeatedly for the past month.

“Oh no, not the plague doctors! Here they come to tell us we need to balance our humors or we’ll all die! Where’s the quack leech treatments? I can feel the buboes on my body! Ohhh, goodbye cruel world! Turns out the plague doctor is a fucking monster and he’s gonna eat my body! Raaaaaaahhhhh '' Lawrence jokes exaggeratedly. One thing they have always shared is their dark sense of humor. It’s been one of the constant sources of joy and laughs throughout their entire relationship, especially since her diagnosis. Even if sometimes….it can get a little too real.

“Ohhh, goodbye dear Lawrence. I knew you somewhat well, supposedly!”

“Wooowww! I married you and you’re acting like I’m your middle school boyfriend that you dated for 3 weeks! Wow!”

“Nyeeehhh” She sticks her tongue out, reveling in the jokey mood of the room.

“Real mature there, Em.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Brightman! I try so hard to maintain my proper lady mystique but it’s so hard.”

“Implying you’ve ever been a proper lady.”

“Mmmmmm. You doubt my education, Mr. Brightman.”

“Yes.”

A moment of silence passes where they both stare at each other’s eyes before they burst into laughter again, almost certainly alerting the nurses and other patients of their presence.

Lawrence laughs so hard he starts to feel tears in his eyes, which he promptly wipes away in an imitation of the pseudo-laugh in movies and television.

"You most certainly still got it, Em!" exclaims Lawrence

“All those years at Juilliard are finally paying off,” reminiscing on the acting and performing arts classes they both attended.

“Yeah…….” Lawrence hesitantly says, before remembering what happened on his 3rd year of attendance, when his mother got him a job at the New York Times and told him he needed to quit his degree because she ‘wasn’t going to finance some fantasy about being a performer any longer. Look at you, you’re not even that good at it.’

“Lawrence?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Just remembering the good ol’ days back at the ol’ alma mater.”

“Hmmm…..how is Lydia doing, by the way? I forgot to ask that.” Emily muses.

“Fine. She’s still wondering when you’ll be home from the hospital. Guess she doesn’t really understand the meaning of ‘probably not going to recover.’”

“Awwwwww. ”

“Yeah. She’s adorable. You know, she’s really excited for Purim this year. She wants to go as Coraline and she wants me to be Frankenstein and you to be the Bride of Frankenstein. Or...was it she wanted us to go as Manolo and Maria? Something like that. You know, spooky/dead couples costumes”

“That’s our girl.”

“Heh, yeah I love her, too. She’s also super excited for all the pranks we’re gonna pull that day”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get you fired.”

“Yeah, yeah. Not after last year’s Purim. I swear Deborah still looks at me weird at work.” Lawrence says, trying to show her he won’t do anything….unethical.

“....When do you need to go back to the office?” Emily asks, hoping she’s not keeping him from work time.

“Meh. Salaried, remember? If I can thank Mom for anything, at least she got me a job where all I need to do is show up 35 hours a week and I still get paid no matter what. Not that I don’t enjoy the journalism gig. Just...you know, no more barely livable wages at McDonald’s.” Lawrence explains, remembering more from his time back in college when his mother cut her tuition payments by half and he had to get part time jobs to pay for the difference.

“Mmmm..well, just wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking away from work time is all.”

“Em, you know time with you means more to me than work, right? I swear I need to beat that into your head sometimes.”

“Oh. like I used to do with you.”

“Hehe, guess I did learn some stuff from you. Besides, I got an hour and a half to ‘waste’ here, anyway.” Another giggle breaks out between the two of them. It continues like this for the next hour, back and forth conversations about Lawrence’s life and the life of their friends and family, before the smart watch on Lawrence’s left wrist buzzes to remind him to get back to the office.

She could barely talk at this point, eyes fluttering shut before him. She looked so fragile and...not like herself, only barely able to maintain the conversation any further. With this, he slowly starts to get up and gathers his things to leave.

A year ago, she went to the doctor to have some routine tests, then the next moment suddenly she was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer and she needed to have immediate surgery and chemo. They said she would only need treatment for a few months because despite it spreading to her lymph nodes, it didn’t look that bad. And for a while, the treatment worked...until it didn’t. Then it got worse, no matter what the doctors did: expensive treatments, multiple surgeries, hell, even Delia’s alternative methods. None of them worked.

It had become increasingly obvious to everyone except Lydia that she wasn’t going to get any better. The past 3 months, mostly every medical professional has abandoned all hope of her surviving past June. The only people who want to believe she’ll get better are her family: Lawrence, Lydia, her parents Delia and Charles, and Lawrence’s fathers BJ and Michael. But…even she knew her time was coming. 

“Whelp, time to go back to the Underworld. Wish me luck navigating the river Styx, Em.” he jokes, trying to keep her in a positive mood as he leaves. He almost completely walks out the door before Emily speaks up.

“Wait, Lawrence!”

“Hmmm? What is it?” Lawrence asks, now concerned about what she’s going to say.

“Come here just for a second.”

“Okaaayyy?”

He walks over to her bedside again, before she grabs his hand weakly, most of her strength zapped by the chemo and the illness.

“Look, I know you’ve been trying all these treatments and stuff to fix my illness and keep me...alive. And I know you’ve been coming here everyday to make sure I’m doing okay. But...well, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. But, right now, all we need to do is hold onto each other and move forward.” Emily explains.

“Ummm….okay. I’ll do that, alright Em?” He still holds onto her hand gently, then goes over to kiss her on the forehead and her lips. He lingers for a minute before he lets her go and goes through the doorway again. She falls asleep as soon as she sees him leave. And that was the last time she was awake.

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Right now, Lawrence is in the waiting room next to a sleeping Lydia, her head resting against her father’s left arm, gently sucking her thumb and holding onto her plush spider Dr. Arachnid. She’s...so peaceful when she sleeps, almost like... her. Sometimes, Lawrence wonders if she inherited anything from him until her sense of humor and her choice of movies and fashion kick in, and suddenly he’s reminded she’s a blend of both of her goth parents.

To his right is Delia and Charles, waiting patiently for any status updates on Emily’s condition. Today, they called them saying that an infection occurred the previous day and she had been under advisory since then, not helping with the coma she’s been in the past few days. The doctors said that her chances of survival at this point are...bleak. They came as fast as they could, trying to spend precious last moments with her, their daughter, his wife, her mother.

The hospital waiting room is cold, white, clinical, an obvious bad omen to everyone waiting in its lifeless halls and seats. Only bad things happen in hospitals. In Lawrence's experience, there was only one happy event that happened in a hospital: the birth of his daughter, Lydia. Of course, 13 hours of grueling labor, an epidural, and some complications on Lawrence’s part wasn’t exactly ideal, comfortable or even particularly happy, but when she was finally born, his beautiful baby girl, crying softly, and she was finally in his arms, he cried. It made it seem all that effort was worth it to let her be a part of his life. But that was then, and this is the bleak now. Doesn’t help right now especially, waiting for the doctors to come back on Emily’s prognosis, and…inevitable passing. Everyone had known this day was coming for month

Then, the doctor that was supervising Emily’s treatment, Dr. Jonathan Anderson, emerged from the hallway door. Delia, Charles, and Lawrence almost immediately spring into action. Lawrence gets up carefully so as to not completely disturb Lydia.

Dr. Anderson’s expression is grim and solemn. He’s had to tell families the terrible news more than once in his career, and every time he does so breaks his heart. The Deetzes and the Brightmans are no different, especially with the little girl waiting in the room.

“H-how is she, doctor? How is our little girl,” Charles asks. From the way Dr. Anderson walked into the room, he already knew the answer but, he needed confirmation. Maybe she pulled through and got out of the coma and somehow her body has started to fight off the cancer.

“Mr. Deetz I… I’m so sorry.” Dr. Anderson says. He doesn’t even need to say anymore; Delia and Charles have already started to break out in sorrowful cries. Lawrence, however, can’t believe what he just heard.

“W-what? Y-you mean Em is..no…” Lawrence feels ready to fall down and collapse to the floor, the sudden rush of grief feeling like way too much at that moment.

“I apologize, Mr. Brightman, but..Emily Brightman did not make it past treatment. Her condition rapidly deteriorated as a result of the infection, and the attempts to resuscitate and heal her failed. I am..so sorry for your loss. You and your daughter.” Dr. Anderson explains sympathetically, a twinge of sadness and regret in his voice.

“Em...she’s..gone. Forever.” Lawrence says, still trying to process it all.

“Yes, Mr. Brightman. However, the staff and I have agreed to let you all say your goodbyes in her room. Just..please be careful. Cadavers are..sterile, but we still do not want you to accidentally catch something. I..recommend getting your daughter to see her mother one last time before the funeral." Dr. Anderson recommends.

Lawrence decides to slowly walk over to his daughter to wake her up, or at least pick her up from her seat so he can bring her to the room on the third floor. He shakes her briefly and very carefully, trying not to disturb her that much. He knows how grumpy she can get when her nap gets interrupted. 

“Hey, Lyds? Time to get up. Please, sweetheart.” Lawrence asks her, gently.

“Nnnnggg...papá? Can we see mamá now?” Lydia asks, still waking up from her nap.

“Yes...but…”

“Is she gonna get better?” Lydia slowly gets up from the lying down position she was in, now wanting to hear what her father has to say about her mother.

“...I think it’s better if you saw it with me, okay?”

“Okay…..”

Lydia starts to do grabby hands with her free hand, signaling to Lawrence that she wants to be picked up. He crouches down, stretching out his arms so his hands can pick her up under her arms. She easily slides into the space above his right shoulder, as he holds the rest of her with his arms. He starts to hum a little bit of “I see the light,” one of her and his’ favorite songs from Tangled, as he walks back towards the Deetzes and Dr. Anderson. She slowly starts to fall back to sleep, so maybe she won’t be as distressed at the sight of her grandparents bawling their eyes out.

“Okay, Doctor. We’re...ready.”

“Follow me, then. I know you all know where her room is but..”

“Standard hospital procedure. I get it.”

The group walks over to the elevator meant for staff, as Dr. Anderson pushes the button for the third floor. It only takes a minute for the elevator to get off at the floor before he leads them to the right hallway, down a few doorways to her room.

Almost immediately, Charles and Delia run up to hug and kiss her body, somehow crying out more tears than they had before. Lawrence himself can feel his own tears start to form in his eyes, seeing, well, the cadaver of his wife. His amazing, hilarious, beautiful wife, just lying there, no longer on this Earth. In his own grief, he only just now noticed the singing that Delia and Charles were doing, their voices choked up and almost incomprehensible to anyone who doesn’t recognize the song they were singing.

Cuando dos almas se quieren

Por más que se alejen

No se pueden nunca olvidar

Por eso cuando yo muera

Cielito lindo nunca me dejes de amar...

(When two souls love each other,

even if they are away from each other,

they can never forget each other

That is why when I die, my sweetheart, 

Never stop loving me.)

 The singing becomes a little bit more clear, though still slightly hard to understand due to the crying. Even in their grief Delia and Charles are able to maintain a surprising amount of vocal harmony with each other, Delia' sweet mezzo-soprano mixing extremely well with Charles' bass-baritone.

Si vas al campo

Donde los muertos reposan ya

Busca en las tumbas

Y ahí la mias encontrarás...

(f you go to the graveyard

where the dead rest

Search the tombs

And there you will find mine)

Llevale flores

Muchas gardenias

Y un rosal que sean violetas

Y no me olvides y nada más…

(Bring many flowers

Many gardenias

And a rose bush that has violets

And never forget me and nothing else….)

“Cuando Dos Almas.” A fitting song for the two of them to be singing. It was one of her favorites growing up, her and her pr"ents singing it whenever it came on. In a way, it was one of their songs, despite it’s sad tone and lyrics. It makes Lawrence thankful that he knows Spanish. Meeting her family, a pair of Mexican Jews who happily and frequently spoke Spanish with her and him, gave him more practice than Rosetta Stone or the high school Spanish he barely remembered by the time he was in college ever could.

Hearing the choked up singing and crying of her grandparents woke up Lydia again, though this time it seems she’ll be staying awake.

“Papá, why’s abuelito and abuelita crying?” Lydia asks, still unaware about what has happened.

“Lydia….your mamá, she….” Lawrence can feel himself starting to get choked up with having to say the words. ‘Your wife is dead, the mother of your child is dead. You’re all alone now. No...you still have your family. You can get through this. But...Emily...she was always the better parent…’

Lawrence breathes in and out, trying to hold back the tears for at least a little bit, before he says to her, “She..didn’t make it...”

“Whatd’ya mean?”

“She’s gone, Lydia. She passed on. She’s no longer with us, She’s…”

“Dead?”

That just threw him through a loop. Hearing her, of all people, say the word that he himself was having trouble saying just surprised the hell out of him.

“Yes….I’m….” Now he can really feel the tears flowing now, he can’t hold it in any longer. “I’m so, so sorry, Lydia.”

“I wanna see her. Please?” Lydia pleads, her adorable sad eyes convincing Lawrence almost immediately to let her see Emily.

With this, he puts her on the ground so she can face the body of her mother lying on the bed, the color already flushing from her. She runs as fast as her legs will let her to the seat unoccupied by her grandparents, then tries to climb up it so she can truly face her mother.  Only then was the finality and reality of her mother's death starting to take hold. She goes to touch her cheek and kiss her, her own tears starting to come out of her. She then hugs her neck as tightly as she can, as her crying truly begins, joining Delia and Charles with saying their goodbyes and apologies to her.

Lawrence himself walks over to join his family in their mourning, himself joining the tear filled song with Delia and Charles, as well as hugging and kissing her body, as he knew that this would be the last time he would see her like this. Likely, there won’t be a showing at the funeral, which... oh Gd, it’s going to tomorrow, isn’t it? Does he still have that suit his grandpa Jupiter gave him? Is it still any good? It’s been a while since it was cleaned, so who knows? He doesn’t. Oh, and then there’s calling his dads and all their friends on such short notice. Would they even be able to attend or would it be a family only event? Ugh, he hates having so many questions and anxieties swirling around in his head.

In the background, even Dr. Anderson can’t help but shed some tears at the scene laid before him. In his 20 years as an oncologist, deaths at the hospital always get him choked up, especially when the families are there to see it and they break down immediately on seeing the corpse of their loved ones. This job just..never gets easier, even if he knows that he can save just as many people with this job as he can with losing them to their illnesses. That’s the gamble he took in medical school when he made the decision to help people treat and prevent cancer, a skill he wished he had growing up when his own father got sick and passed.

It just goes on like this for almost an hour, nobody wanting to leave Emily’s side until Dr. Anderson announces that they have to move her body. They slowly remove themselves from her side, just wanting to get one last look at her before they have to go back home, all of them stewing in their grief.

Lawrence picks Lydia up again, remembering that her stroller was in the waiting room. Hopefully, they hadn’t taken it to lost and found, yet. Lydia’s favorite blanket is in there and she would be very upset to see that go, too. The both of them don’t say anything on the elevator ride back to the waiting room; not to each other, and not to Delia or Charles. Lawrence just strokes Lydia’s dirty blonde hair and her back and kisses the top of her head, trying to soothe his daughter and calm her down again after the emotional roller coaster they both have experienced.

When they all got back to the waiting room to collect their things that thankfully hadn’t been taken by security, they merely said their goodbyes, and went off on their separate ways. The Deetzes walk over to the bridge connecting the hospital to the parking lot, not wanting to say anything to each other, either. Lawrence and Lydia, meanwhile, get back on their coats for the train ride back to their apartment.

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It’s a cold, bitter day in New York, so Lawrence made sure even before they left that Lydia had extra layers on to protect her little body from the cold and upcoming snow and rain. Even if their building was a block away from the subway station and the hospital was only two blocks away, Lawrence doesn’t want to take any chances with his little girl’s safety. The rain started to fall again, as it had stopped when they arrived at the hospital. It’s almost as if the sky itself shared their grief about Emily with them. He takes out the green golf umbrella he was keeping near him on the walk over to the hospital, and tries to walk over to the entrance of the station. Thankfully, this station had an elevator down, in opposition to the station near their house, where he has to fold it and hold Lydia while he goes up the, admittedly, small amount of stairs, the stroller and holding Lydia making it more of a challenge than it is when he’s alone.

When they get home, back on the second floor of the building, Lawrence merely closes the door, takes off his coat and shoes along with Lydia as she gets out of the stroller, and says, “maybe it would be good for you to go to bed. Can you do that, Lyds?”

“But,...don’tcha wanna talk about mamá?”

He...doesn’t have an answer to her request. He wants to talk about her, wanting to say so many things about that amazing woman. But..he feels the words die in his throat before he can even say them...He really is bad at this, isn’t he? No, that’s not what Emily would want you to say about yourself, would she? But she’s not here anymore. She’s dead. But...

“¡Papá! Please…”

“I’m...sorry, Lydia. Do you..wanna go sit on the couch? We can talk there.”

He doesn’t even hear a response. He just sees her run to the couch and sits down immediately. He follows suit, though at a much slower pace than his daughter. Somehow, it surprises him not that she was more ready for this conversation than he was. 

He has always had..problems processing and expressing his emotions, especially depressing emotions such as grief. When Opal died back in 7th grade, he was absolutely crushed for weeks, but..he didn’t know how to tell anyone about the grief and sadness he was experiencing. It..didn’t help that his mother kept chastising him for crying or expressing any emotion because he needed to “toughen up. People die all the time, Allison. You can’t get hung up on one grandparent dying and become a sobbing mess. You just gotta move on.” He just..withdrew from everyone for weeks, his friends, his teachers, his family, everything. He just..stopped turning in assignments, stopped playing his video games, stopped doing anything, really. He just..sat alone, stewing in his thoughts, afraid of what might happen if he even so much as told someone what he was feeling.

Eventually it came to head when a light teasing from a bully in class caused a shouting match, a black eye, and a busted nose. Somehow all of his emotions that he had been suppressing had come to the surface from one person’s joke about his recent silence. He ended up with 4 days detention, a consequence that resulted in more chastisement, yelling, and even a few empty beer bottles aimed at him from Juno. Needless to say, it was only after high school that he got better at expressing his emotions, but he is still not...great at it. Emily was always the person who helped feel more comfortable being emotional. Now….no, you can do this on your own, Lawrence. You’re a grown man. You can talk about your feelings with your little girl, it’s fine.

Lawrence goes on the couch with a loud plop as he just collapses on the seat beside his daughter. He is truly exhausted, from the crying, from the grief, from everything. All he wants to do is go to bed, not even wanting to eat anything. He would turn on Netflix or Disney+ and watch something, but somehow it doesn’t feel appropriate. Instead he just...stares at the blank TV, occasionally side eyeing Lydia to see what she’s going. At the moment? She’s just fidgeting with her dress, a purple and red one, and the little bows in her hair. Eventually, she speaks up.

“So……….” Lydia asks hesitantly.

“So……….” Lawrence responds in kind.

Nobody says anything for a while again. It’s just…….awkward. Until the both of them can’t take the awkward silence anymore and speak up, though it’s unintentional. Lydia feels tears coming back to her eyes. Lawrence was looking away at his phone when in his peripheral vision he saw the red, puffy eyes and her shaking, as well as hearing her sniffles and sobs.

“Hey, hey, Lydia, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay-”

“No it isn't! Stop acting like it is!”

Whoa. He’s never heard her be this angry in a while, not since three weeks ago when she refused nap time after she was done playing zombies with her toys.

“I-Lydia, is there something you want to say?”

“Is there something you wanna say? Mamá’s gone and you just wanna act like nothing happened! You don’t wanna say anything about her right now-”

“BECAUSE IT HURTS TOO MUCH, LYDIA!!” Lawrence shouts. before he covers his mouth, so, so horrified he raised his own voice like that at his daughter. Oh shit, this really is grandma Opal all over again, isn’t it?

Lydia looks...scared, and sad, and lost. Almost like him right now. Huh. They really are alike right now, aren’t they? Lawrence goes back to looking at the TV before he takes in a big breath, then lets it out before speaking again.

‘Look, Lyds. I’m..sorry for yelling at you. That was super uncalled for and I should never, ever raise my voice at you like that ever. There is no excuse for what I just did.”

Lydia just gives her father a more pained and sad expression. It seems..she accepted his apology. Then again, it’s not like she wouldn’t. She loves her papá, and they’ve always gotten along. This is the first time she’s even heard him yell like that at her.

“It’s..okay, papá..”

“No, Lyds, you’re right. It isn’t okay. Look..” he shifts his position so he’s looking directly at her. “The truth is..I’m sad, too. About mamá passing away. I’m sad, and angry at myself, and at the situation and I just..feel so lost right now. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, what I’m gonna do, and I hate it so much. But none of that means I have the right to yell at you, my little spider.”

He moves his right hand to hold the left side of her face, her closing her eyes in response to this kind gesture. Even with her eyes closed, she can hear Lawrence start to sob himself, quietly at first, then slowly increasing in volume. When she opens her eyes again, she can see him holding his forehead with his left hand.

Almost immediately, she lets her face fall from his grasp, then goes to hug his right arm and ample torso, herself trying to copy the soothing techniques he practiced on her back at the hospital and when she was younger. He momentarily stops when he feels the pressure of the hug, then looks down to see Lydia holding tightly. He lets the arm out of her grasp just for a second so he can pull her deeper into a hug.

The two of them cry into each other’s arms, letting out all of the grief and despair that they didn’t get out of them at the hospital. It continues on like this for 10 minutes, both wanting to hold to each other’s warm embrace and not wanting to feel alone right now. Eventually, they let go, getting the snot and tears off of them with their sleeves before Lydia points of the box of tissues on the coffee table.

“Oh yeah…..” Lawrence suddenly remembers.

They both use the tissues, Lawrence blowing loud, but Lydia blowing louder. “Ah, a nose blowing contest, I see? Well, little lady, you’re speaking to the Nose Blowing Champion of 2010! Ya can’t beat me!”

“Really? Prove it, old man!”

“Wow! I’m not that old, Lyds!”

“Oooooooolllllddddddd!”

“...Okay, you’re on.”

The ensuing nose blowing competition lasted for 5 minutes, only ending after a tie between the two of them due to exhaustion and a lack of snot to expel. Even the constant laughing between could sadly not sustain the mucus necessary to let it continue any longer. The high of their ridiculous competition, though, begins to fall, their laughter faltering before they stop completely, looking at the wall.

The awkward silence returns, but not for long. Lydia speaks up again,, asking Lawrence, “Can you..tell me about mamá?” Hesitation, sadness, curiosity, and excitement in her voice when she asks the question.

“Well, what do ya wanna know?”

“Everything! Even about Abuelita and Abuelito!”

“Heh heh. Well, it all started back when your abuelito and his family came here to the United States….”

The next hour is filled with stories about Emily and her family’s story. Charles and his family came to the United States as migrant workers, working long hours picking fruits and vegetables, until eventually they got enough money to settle in Brooklyn, New York, in the apartment next to Delia and her family. Delia, Charles and their families became fast friends, being one of the dozen Mexican Jewish families in the neighborhood. 

"Whoa….how did Abuelita Charles get here, anyway?" Lydia asks, intrigued by how they got to the US in the first place.

"If I'm remembering correctly, your Mamá told me they came here in the back of your great grandpa's truck. Them, your great grandma, and his siblings. You know, your tía Elena and your tío Lalo," Lawrence explains.

"Cool…..Then, Abuelita Delia?"

"What was it…? I think her family came here a little bit earlier. Like, 1930s in...Texas, I think. Almost around the same time grandpa Jup came here, actually. She was born here, though"

"Ooooooo…. Then, maybe they could've met, and've been friends!" Lydia exclaims.

"Yeah. I guess so." Lawrence says, slightly amused by the possibility of Delia's parents and his grandparents meeting earlier than they did. 

The idea of a younger Delia meeting Lydia starts to fill his mind as well. If Charles is to be believed, Delia was somehow high energy and eccentric than she is now. Even more than Lydia is, and Lydia is able to be friends with even the weirdest, grossest kids on the playground.

Lydia, and Emily by extension, have always been able to see the strange and unusual like it was the most normal thing in the world and he loves her so much for that.

He spends a couple of seconds just thinking about how much he loves and adores his little girl, how she's able to see the world in a way he wished he could've at her age-

"Papá! Continue the story!"

"Right, right! So, anyway…"

Lawrence then describes their awkward yet close friendship throughout the years. It started almost immediately when they met, and it developed and blossomed throughout elementary, junior high, and high school. Of course, they both had crushes on each other but neither of them wanted to admit their feelings for each other because they believed that the other didn’t reciprocate them and didn't want to ruin their friendship. That is, until one fateful prom dance invitation confession led to a very, ahem, prolonged makeout session between the two of them, thus starting a long, loving, passionate relationship between them that has lasted for nearly 5 decades. 

“Ewwww, papá…” Lydia complains, not wanting to hear anymore about her grandparents’ romantic exploits.

“What? You know I’m right, Lyds! Have you seen your grandparents? Ya can’t keep your eyes off of them for 5 seconds before they have another makeout session!” Lawrence answers indignantly. ‘Emily always had that exact same response to her parents,’ he thinks to himself.

“Can we move on, please?”

“Fiiinnneee. As you wish, your majesty.”

The story continues. Charles eventually went into real estate after high school, becoming one of the most successful real estate brokers in Brooklyn, helping similarly impoverished families like his growing up find excellent homes at affordable prices. Delia became an artist known for her..eccentric pieces and passionate personality. Then on March 18, 1991, the two had a child that they would later call Emily, though they initially knew her by a different name. She did correct that early on, though.

"Ohhh, like you, right, with grandpa BJ and grandpa Mikey?" Lydia asks.

"Yeah! Exactly! Basically like with your grandpas!" Lawrence exclaims trying not to dwell on how badly she reacted.

A creative, dark humored, intelligent young woman who brought lively death to everything and everyone she ever interacted with. One who dreamed of being a famous cinematographer, filmmaker, and special effects designer ever since she first watched movies and musicals as a girl and thought “I could do that, too!” And it was because of that passion that she became so heavily involved in the theater and TV production clubs at her high school, becoming known for her borderline professional setups, techniques, and set designs. 

"Oooooo…." Lydia says, amazed, as Lawrence shows examples of some of the sets she designed in high school. 

"Yeah. Your mamá had a real talent for this sort of stuff." Lawrence says.

That passion would lead her to the Juilliard School after high school where, by sheer coincidence, she meets a person in her performance class. A person whom she would later know as Lawrence, becoming fast friends due to a shared interest in performing arts, theater, and a passion for the “strange and unusual.” Someone she would eventually call her boyfriend after a year of being friends, and her husband after 3 years of dating.

By that point in the story, Lydia had long since fallen asleep, her head lying peacefully on her father’s lap like she had done earlier in the day. Lawrence just looks down, gives her a gentle smile, then picks her up gently again. Maybe now she can get some proper sleep. She’ll need her energy for tomorrow, anyway. Just before he goes into her bedroom, he grabs Dr. Arachnid. She can’t sleep without that thing.

He walks carefully to her room, illuminated by the dimming sunlight and her ghost-shaped nightlight. She wasn’t really afraid of the dark. More, according to her, the nightlight was because she “wants to catch monsters when they show up in my room so we can be friends!” Heh, might as well start the monster appreciation early, Lawrence thinks to himself. He pulls back the purple and red bat printed sheets, places her on the bed so she doesn’t wake up again, and places Dr. Arachnid in her hands. She immediately grabs and hugs it tightly. Seeing this, Lawrence smiles, tucks her into bed, then gives her a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Good night, little spider. Sweet dreams.” Lawrence whispers sweetly, placing a hand on her head one last time. He walks out of the room, looks around to make sure she’s completely asleep, then closes the door behind. Once he’s out of her room, he sighs a massive sigh of relief. At least she’s asleep now.

The couch frankly sounds more appealing than his bedroom at the moment, so he goes to sit down on it. It just feels...weird without her there beside him, being the big spoon to his little spoon. He decides to turn on the TV, lowering the volume so as to not wake Lydia up, and turns it to...something. Video games, maybe? He did need to finish San Fransokyo in Kingdom Hearts III, and he definitely wants to get to the Keyblade Graveyard. Hmm….Red Dead Redemption 2? Or maybe Spider Man? Or even Let’s Go Eeeve? Uggh, there’s so many options right now.

Oh! Maybe he can play Netflix like he wanted to when he got home. But, Netflix also has a whole bunch of options. Maybe pick something to binge that he’s already watched like…..The Next Generation? Yeah, that could work. And it’s not excessively loud and he’s watched it several times.

He just picks a random episode from season 2 and starts playing, the familiar voice of Picard narrating where the Enterprise was currently heading and their mission. He focuses on the screen, putting his right arm on the couch arm and his head on his hand. His eyes focus less and less on the screen as sleep begins to overtake him, the lids of his eyes lowering more and more before he just...falls asleep.

Chapter Text

His dream is…odd. A weird mix of the TV background noise mixed in with his own memories. Somehow he was the main character focus of the current episode, Riker and Worf. The events just keep bouncing around with little rhyme or reason, some of it not even matching what actually happened in the episode. It felt more like Lawrence’s subconscious trying to piece together a semi coherent plot from the auditory stimuli in the background. Characters doing actions they didn’t do, going to locations they’ve never been in, weapons completely and utterly wrong. It’s all slightly.. off-putting, not helped by the Enterprise itself looking so bizarre, even if he did look snazzy in a Starfleet uniform.

Then, he turns a corner on the deck, entering the holo…hospital? Wait, why was he in this dark hallway? What’s up with the horror movie hospital aesthetic? 

Lawrence feels his heart pounding loudly for some reason. He’s… scared, and grief-stricken, and ill, almost. He feels himself struggling to walk down the hallway, his steps laborious like his legs didn’t want to listen to him. Even his arms aren’t much help getting him to…where was he going? The door on the side creaks open to reveal…EMILY!? But she didn’t look like herself, not anymore. Her unconscious body lying on the bed started to rapidly decay; putrid fluid, flesh, and hair falling off of her. Her upper torso started to get up from the bed, before snapping her neck towards Lawrence with an audible crack, a crooked skeletal smile visible on her face. She starts crawling towards him, the decaying parts falling off of her, revealing maggots and disgusting flesh.

He couldn't breathe, anxiety and fear overtaking his thoughts and lungs like a boa constrictor. As her rotting body gets closer to him, flowers of all kinds begin to crawl where the flesh fell off. It was almost like a weird and frankly disturbing flower garden was taking over his wife. The disgustingly wide smile she was sprouting did not help his quick breathing. And then, without warning, she begins to pick up her pace and, like a horror movie monster, runs and lunges herself on him, pinning him down.

Suddenly he's hyperventilating, feeling the strangely hot breath of a creature who once used to be his wife next to his left ear. But before he even manages to move, the creature is whispering with a gravely, low register: “what we need to do is hold on into each other and move forward” 

Just as he tries to get himself free from her grip, she turns her face to his stomach, pointy teeth and a long inhuman tongue revealing themselves from that creepy smile of hers. A screeching noise comes from that mouth, high pitched enough to make his ears bleed. Before she's able to bite his face off and eat his entrails, however, she fades away completely in a spectacle of flowers and darkness. 

The only thing remaining was what she said to him the last time he saw her echoing through his head, the sound of his rapid breathing and the pounding of his heart. 

'This is just a bad dream, okay? None of this is real. It's just your brain trying to process your grief. Wait, grief? Oh right, your wife just died. That grief,' Lawrence thinks, trying to reassure himself. 

Then.., a different voice begins to whisper as well. It's definitely not his own, nor is it Em's. It's… raspier and cacophonic. He hears it say, “You let this happen. You let her die. Now look what will happen to Lydia,” enunciating every syllable carefully and slowly.

No, no, no!! He turns around to see Lydia screaming for him, yelling “Papá, help me!”, before being taken away by dark, shadowy figures. He tries his best to grab her but fails to do so before collapsing on the floor. And that, and an encroaching darkness, was the last thing he saw in the dream before…...

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When Lawrence wakes up again, it’s nighttime, the watch on his wrist indicates that it was currently 8:54 PM EST. The “Are you still watching?” menu was visible on the screen, so he goes to press no and turns off the TV. Uggh, his head hurts so much right now, his heart is pounding and...were those tears streaming down his face? What happened in his dream, anyway? Jesus that was terrifying, and not in a good way. Also, somehow, his absent hunger from earlier suddenly came back at full force. 

Realization suddenly hit him. He forgot to alert two of the most important people in his life about the tragedy that befell their family today. Maybe…now’s the time to tell his dads what happened, assuming Delia and Charles hadn’t already told them.

He moves his hand through his pocket to get his phone, then unlocks the screen and dials BJ’s number. It only takes a few dial tones before he hears the familiar gruff shrill of his father’s voice.

“Yeah? Somethin’ wrong, Lawrence?” BJ answers, slightly groggy. More than likely, he just woke up from a nap.

“Hey Dad. Um...is Pops there? There’s something I need to tell you both and...you know ...” Lawrence answers, hesitation clear in his voice.

He only hears the shuffling before he hears the low drawl of his stepfather.

“I’m awake, I’m awake. Why’d ya wake us up, kid?” Michael says, slightly annoyed.

Lawrence takes in a big breath before he says anything again. He...doesn’t want to immediately cry when he gives them the news.

“Guys...Em...she...she didn’t…” Lawrence stutters, still nervous about telling them what happened.

“...She died, didn’t she?” BJ says, a hint of sadness in his voice at the apparent loss of his daughter-in-law.

“...Yes. I’m so, so sorry, you guys!” Lawrence says,

He doesn’t hear anything for a few seconds. Then, quiet sobbing was heard through the speaker, clearly coming from the both of them. BJ’s sobs quickly become more audible, shaken by this loss while Michael shushes him, trying to reassure his husband.

“There, there, it’s okay, מאמי.” (Sweetie)

“Why are you saying that to me? We should be saying that to Lawrence.”

“Guys, you don’t have to-”

“Lawrence, we are so sorry this happened! I can’t even begin to imagine how hurt you and Lydia are by this!” BJ frantically says to him.

“Yeah. I know when Opal died you were, well…” Michael says before tapering off, not wanting to remind Lawrence of another family tragedy.

Lawrence mildly seizes up at the mention of Opal’s name. He’s gotten a lot better at being reminded of her, but right now, with Emily’s passing, maybe his body is just having a bad reaction to the mere mention of more deceased family members.

“Yeah…”

“How is Lydia, by the way?” Michael asks, trying to at least see how she's starting to handle it.

"She's...fine. Asleep at the moment, but fine. I don't know if she's handling this better than I am, if you're going to ask."

"Okay…" Michael responds.

An awkward silence starts, lasting for all of 30 seconds before BJ, suddenly remembering Jewish funeral traditions, mentions, "...the funeral is going to be tomorrow, right? Do you know where it's gonna be held?"

….Oh. Oh yeah. The funeral tomorrow. The one for his dead wife. The one that's less than 18 hours away since she died around 3 PM earlier today. That funeral. The one he hadn't thought about since he was in the hospital and has actively avoided trying to think about since. The one he's gonna have to invite all his friends and family to. Jacques, Ginger, Kevin, Monty, Sean, Jupiter, his dads, Donny, Lalo, Elena, Tziporah.

The number of people starts to make him dizzy. He hasn’t seen many of these people in years and now all of them are gonna be here for this. Jesus why did Jewish funerals have to happen so fucking quickly after death..

'Why is the world spinning?' Lawrence thinks, the thoughts about the funeral flooding his head all at once. His breathing rapidly increases, as does his heart rate. He feels dizzy, and…..scared? Shit, a panic attack? Seriously?

On the other end BJ, who up until now was trying to keep the phone in his shaking hands from falling, starts hearing hurried, short breaths from his son’s side of the conversation. He looks at Micheal in alarm.

Micheal gives his husband a worried look, as BJ takes a big breath to calm himself down. He needs to calm himself before he can even begin to help Lawrence. 

“Mike…I think Lawrence is having a panic attack,” BJ whispers, to which Michael only nods in agreement before BJ goes right back to the phone.

"Lawrence. Lawrence, listen to me. Breathe. Deep breaths. Can you do that for me?” BJ asks, trying to calm his son down from his panic attack.

“C-can’t….hard…..” Lawrence manages to squeak out, not really hearing the shuffling of clothes and blankets on the other end.

"That's okay, just...listen to my voice. Are you able to do that?"

“The funeral tomorrow…”

“Yes, there is a funeral tomorrow…can you listen to my voice?

“Emily…is….”

“Emily is what, sweetheart?”

“She’s...dead…..”

“I know that, sweetheart"

“She…oh god…Dad!”

“Honey, I know. Please, can you take a breath for me?”

“She’s gone…"

“Yeah…we know…”

BJ knows exactly what Lawrence is going through. His panic attacks act similar: repeating sentences, breathing heavily, heart pounding, not being able to focus on anything else but the stressor. Unfortunately for him, the stressor in this case is one that he has to face very soon because of its imminent, almost unavoidable nature. The best thing that they can offer him right now is their support through all of this.

He turns to Michael, who was already texting the Deetzes in a hurry, the both of them knowing that Lawrence needs more from them right now then just a phone call. Though, in all honesty, they need it as well. Staying alone in a time like this was not the best thing for either of their psyches.

Michael sighs as he looks from his phone to see his husband, a pleading, desperate look in his eyes.

“Fine…” he sighs, still waking up. “I’ll drive the car. We’ll get to 'im. I promise.”

“Thank you...” said BJ in a shaky voice, grasping Michael's hand for a brief moment.

Michael just looks back at BJ for a couple of seconds before going back to focus on getting on the road. He will be there for his partner and stepson no matter what. And that falls to Lawrence as well.

They go to the car, while BJ is still on the phone with Lawrence, whose breathing is only getting faster. Shit, the panic attack is getting worse.

As they drive, BJ’s focus is entirely on the phone. Michael keeps on glancing at his partner as he becomes more and more frantic. There's almost a few too many close calls with some assholes on the road that he decides he just needs to focus on the road and drive.

Suddenly, an idea pops into BJ’s mind. There was a song that he used to sing to Lawrence when he was little, when he got scared by Juno getting in one of her moods.

He takes a big breath for himself and goes back to the phone.

“Hey Lawrence? Try and listen to this, okay? You’ll remember it. We used to sing it all the time when you were little.”

Just then, the soothing, calm high baritone of BJ came from the speaker of the phone. Being the son of a famous singer from the 50s did have its benefits. For instance, having enough vocal training to calm people down with his voice alone.

"Va'ani raiti brosh

shenitzav betoch sadeh mul pnei hashemesh

bacham'sin, bakarah

el mul pnei hase'arah".

(And I saw a cypress

that was standing in a field against the sun

in the hamsin, in the frost

against the storm.)

The soft Hebrew filled the car. God BJ hopes this works.

He could hear Lawrence gasp at the end of the verse. Was it…. surprise? Understanding? He couldn't tell from the other side of the phone, so he waited for an answer.

It's...quiet. Then, quietly, a soft “...אבא?" (...dad?) is heard.

BJ gives a sigh of relief. Okay, at least that caught his attention.

“Right baby! Can you repeat after me? Please?” BJ pleadingly begs to his son.

Michael takes BJ’s hand and squeezes it firmly again. “Calm down! You got his attention already, now all ya gotta do is just... keep calm and carry on , okay?!”

"Michael…that is like, the opposite thing that's needed for this situation.”

“What?! I’m tryna help, ya dingus!”

From the other line, a small laugh from Lawrence was heard. ‘Guess the kid still likes my jokes even if he’s panicking,’ Michael thinks.

BJ laughs a bit as well. Michael always manages to make him laugh when he needs it the most. It's one of the innumerable reasons he married him. He continues, going into the next verse.

"Al tzido natah habrosh

lo nishbar et tzamarto hir'chin ad esev."

(On its side a cypress hung

it didn't break its top, it bowed to the grass)

“........Al....tzido ….natah….h-h-habrosh …….," could suddenly be heard from Lawrence's end. Frail, forced, slow, and careful. 

BJ holds the phone closer to his ear, a nervous smile spreading over his face. It's working! Sort of.

”That’s good, Lawrence! Just take a big breath and try to sing along with me, okay? You’re doing so well already!"

"Lo n-n-nishbar et tzam-ma-rto hir'chin ad," Lawrence gasps for air before continuing, "e-esev!"

At this point, they start to sing together, finally starting to harmonize. Lawrence’s low, though slow, tenor and BJ’s baritone compliment each other as the singing continues.

"Vehineh, mul hayam kam habrosh yarok varam" could be heard from each side of the phone call, the combined singing from the both of them working surprisingly well despite Lawrence's slow, forced singing.

(And here, against the sea/the cypress gets up green and lofty.)

It's a bit slower than either BJ or Michael likes, but it's a start. And even if they need to pause every couple of seconds for Lawrence to take one strained, wheezing breath to continue singing, it's worth it.

"Hineh brosh, levado mul esh vamayim.

Hineh brosh, levado ad hashamaim" 

(Here the cypress, alone against fire and water.

Here the cypress, alone up to the sky. )

Together the two of them sing the chorus, allowing Lawrence to become slowly more aware of his surroundings. Just enough to keep going until they got there. They weren't far away now, at least.

At this point, Lawrence’s singing gets more confident, words sliding off his tongue more easily. The father and son duo focus so hard on the song, that they don’t even notice soft singing coming from the driver’s seat. Michael’s soft singing. An odd rarity to behold. Indeed, hearing Michael sing without sarcasm was like waiting for Halley’s Comet to show up on Friday the 13th during a lunar eclipse.

"Va'ani k'mo tinok

shenishbar velo yachol mul pnei hashemesh"

(And I'm like a toddler

that's broken and unable in front of the sun)

With this line, BJ makes sure to sing it with as much purpose and care into Lawrence’s ears as possible. Focusing intensely on the meaning of the words. Trying to remind Lawrence that, yes, he is BJ’s baby, and right now, he is breaking under the hot sun and he needs help.

It's been almost two decades of work, trying to repair the divide in and strengthen their relationship after the divorce. He just…needs to remind Lawrence of that effort, that love and caring that he's put in from then until now. He'll protect and support him, no matter what.

‘The lyrics actually match the situation well. Good job BJ , ' Michael thinks as he sighs, letting his singing become clearer and more pronounced. His baritone is much deeper than his husband’s, and it shows. At times, it almost reverberates through the phone and car to the point that Lawrence and BJ feel it physically.

BJ turns his head to Michael and smiles. His husband is always full of surprises.

"Bacham'sin, bakarah

Umul pnei hase'arah."

(in the hamsin, in the frost

against the storm.)

This part of the fourth verse is one they all manage to sing together. It's still extremely slow, but it's getting there, little by little. BJ didn’t expect the wave of nostalgia to wash over him like it was, but it's a welcome sensation all the same. He wipes off the few tears that fell from his eyes earlier.

Only a few more blocks. Just gotta make this chorus last as long as possible. 

On the other end of the phone, Lawrence was trying so hard to catch his breath. He kind of knew what was happening… this is a panic attack right? His dad used to get those all the time… still does. He thinks…but, for some reason, he can’t really grasp what they are. 

Every time he starts to feel more centered, he fails to take another breath, and suddenly he’s spiraling out of control again. He thinks he is in his apartment, he was here earlier! But… for some reason he can’t keep his thoughts straight…He is...Is he sitting down? He’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything right now. 

He turns his head weakly to the phone again. Seems like Pops is singing, too. That makes him happy. For a second he thinks 'the gang's all here! Everyone, except for her because…she was…'

Ok, focus on the song. We're on the right course again. Okay, okay, he can do this. He did it up until now. Just focus and-

“Papá? What are you doing?...I heard you singing…”

Lydia came up behind him, Lydia! Oh, he loved Lydia so much he-

“Papá? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Lydia asks, obviously concerned for her father's well-being.

Before Lydia manages to put her little spider plushy off the ground, Lawrence picks her up, holding her close to his chest and burying his face in her nighty pajamas. Softly crying into them.

“I'm sorry Lydia…I’m so sorry..." Lawrence sorrowfully muses as he hugs her, more trying to reassure himself than Lydia.

Right now he just…wants to focus on something, anything other than the bundle of thoughts in his head that kept screaming at him. Those fucking thoughts that keep saying everything, his entire life up until now, is over. That somehow, even a simple childhood song won't help get rid of the emptiness and despair he's feeling now that she's gone. She is never coming back, and there is no point in lingering on the past, because…because the future is so bleak, and there isn't enough tear-jerking moments with his family that would make the world right again.

“...Papá? Please. You’re starting to scare me.”

"Lydia, I'm sorry. I don't...wanna scare ya. It's just….. I'm scared..."

His grip on her gets tighter again as his sobs grow louder. It takes him a little bit before he registers that she's speaking up again.

“Papá? I think that grandpa BJ wants you to hand me over to him”

“...Wha?”

“Hey there, sport. Did you notice that we were here? Probably not: we just got here. You want to hand over Lydia to me? I think Charles and Delia want to give you a big hug right now” BJ says, hands on his hips with Michael next to him.

Lawrence is...confused to say the least about how his dads got into his house without him noticing. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes scowled in visible confusion. If it could, there would be a visible question mark over his head just to drive home how baffled he is by what's in front of him.

Of course, BJ and Michael, as well as the Deetzes, had been given a key to the apartment around the time that Lydia was born so they could go in and babysit her.

At the same time, Lawrence has to fight within himself to let go of one of the only stable things in his life left. He knows he should give Lydia to his dad but……

Still crying softly, he manages to take a short breath, and releases Lydia from his clenched fists into the warm yet kind of disgusting embrace of her grandfather.

The Deetzes suddenly burst in through the door, tears on both of their eyes, yelling, "LAWRENCE!!" They immediately grab him into a tight hug, wrapping themselves on all sides. Delia buries Lawrence’s face in her clothes, letting him cry, while Charles hugs him from the back, letting out a light sob of his own.

They’re simply holding each other, taking in each other's presence. They all lost her today.

Somehow, with the Deetzes and his dads here, it becomes easier to breathe and to just let it all out. He feels the Deeztes crying with him, letting out their own grief at Emily's loss. Right here in the middle of their--no, his living room.

He knows where he is, he knows what he’s doing, he can breathe now, he knows…no, they know…that she is gone, but there's still people here to support him. Charles and Delia, his kooky inlaws, who are holding him tightly in their embrace, and BJ and Michael, his cranky old dads, who are standing a few feet away, not wanting to disturb them or Lydia. Seems that as soon as she went into BJ's arms, she fell back asleep. 

For the first time that day, he feels like someone is there to catch him.

He notices something smells...good. Really good. Not quite homemade food, more like...takeout Chinese from the place two blocks away!

Lawrence’s long neglected stomach begins growling loudly, prompting a soft laugh from Delia.

“Hungry, aren’t you?” Delia asks.

“Yeah…guess I am...Whatcha got?”

“We’re glad you asked!” Charles shouts to everyone in the room.

“Ooooo, ya got some grub? I want some! I’m starving!” BJ retorts, before Michael gives a “same” in agreement.

‘Hehe. Guess tonight is family grief dinner night,' Lawrence supposes.