this is such a selfish/self indulgent prompt but like.. could there be a prompt where you just found out you lost your grandfather and danny is there for you or something...mine passed in february but its been a hard ass week missing him and all that.. sorry to be selfish but...
A/N: Hey there lovely. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry your week has been so rough. I’ve absolutely been there with missing someone so much that it hurts, and sometimes there’s little else to do than just have it happen. This is not a selfish prompt at all, and you are more than welcome in my inbox any time to request anything that might help. I hope the prompt fill makes you feel better, even just a little, and know that I heart you. ♡
I also realize that this is one of my shorter fills; I hope that’s okay. I know this is a personal request for you, and if you ever need anything more, once again, just let me know.
A LITTLE TIME
Nine months, two weeks, three days. They told you not to count the days, do your best to ignore time, but it kept creeping back up on you like a chill. It was hard to ignore the lack of phone calls, the missing day trips, the absence that pushed against your chest like a weight. It doesn’t get easier, it just gets progressively less shitty, one of your friends said early on in the loss of your grandfather. You couldn’t help but take that sentiment to heart.
Nine months, two weeks, and three days had passed, and you were on the mend. Sometimes you were still hit with a wave of realization, knowing you’d never see him again or feel his presence or hear his voice. It happened during inconvenient times sometimes, like in the middle of work or when you were folding laundry, and that only made things worse. But you were an adult, and adults had to deal with things.
You were in the middle of washing dishes when it hit you again. Late evening, the sky a purple-black gradient, you were watching your hands scrub at a particularly stubborn bit on a plate when your chest tightened. At first you didn’t understand, and you thought you could work through it, but it was suffocating you suddenly, and you looked up, out the window and took a deep breath in through your mouth. Why? Why was this happening now? You didn’t have breakdowns at home, not when Dan was home, not when you were doing just fine…
Shutting your eyes tightly, you tilted her head back down, opening your eyes to see your hands all pruned up and damp from the water. That’s when you felt the tears. Your hands looked so much like your grandfather’s, and that hurt, it hurt so much that you’d never get to hold his hands again, give him high-fives or squeeze it in reassurance and love. Dropping the sponge and shutting off the water quickly, you braced yourself against the sink ledge, breathing hard, choking back on any noise that dared come from you.
Count to ten. Breathe in through your nose and our through your mouth. Think happy thoughts. Your therapist’s words were gentle in your ear, but they weren’t helping. It was just one of those things you had to work through, let it run its course and be gone when it was ready.
Footsteps approached, but you hardly noticed them. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Dan’s voice was concerned, as it should be. “Nothing.” It was strangled, like you were speaking through water. “I’m okay.” No you weren’t, he knew it as well as you did; more footsteps, then a hand on your hunched back. It was as gentle as his voice, and you fell apart, the sob finally busting through, a horribly sad sound that, in your humble opinion, would’ve won you an Oscar.
From your shoulders, Dan took you into his arms, prying you off the sink ledge and holding you close despite the wet hands. “It’s all right. I’ve got’cha.” You weren’t the type to just start crying out of nowhere, so he had to understand why. He let you cry it out, quiet, holding you while the sobs shook you. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t exactly something you were going to be proud of in a few hours, but it was a needed release. The past nine months had felt like a lifetime, and you felt like the time to cry and mourn had long since past. It felt like you only got a few days after the wake and funeral to sort yourself out and get back into the swing of things, then you had to go back to being an adult.
Slowly the crying faded into heavy hiccups. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was still watery, slightly garbled. “Don’t be sorry,” he replied simply, not letting go just yet. “You need to cry? Cry. I’ll be here for you when you do.” Yeah, he definitely understood.