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baby-beej · 4 years

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Hello lovelies!! I am finally bringing you the second and final part of my Dewey fic. I had writers block when I reached the ending which left feeling very unmotivated to finish it but finally it’s done and I hope the ending is satisfactory. I have some more stuff coming soon including something a little bit different. But please enjoy this for now!

Till the sun won’t shine part 2...

Slamming the door behind him Dewey enters your once shared apartment. Tossing his bags next to the door to be left there until Monday morning when he had to return to work again.

It had been three months since you had died in arms and the pain was still raw. The funeral was a blur to him being blinded by his grief. What he could rember was the faint music playing as he carried your casket and laying a single white rose on your coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Never to be seen or touched again. You were actually gone.

He received many sympathy cards but he didn’t display any of them, it made the situation feel more real. He lived in denial for days, almost convinced he’d find you dancing in the kitchen as you prepared dinner or that when he reached over your side of the bed he could pull you close.

Out of instinct the night of before your funeral he reached over only to be met with cold sheets. Opening his eyes it all came back to him, making him tense up and his eyes water.

He took a few days off work to grieve and Rosaline insisted he could take as much time as he needed. He spent the days sitting on the unmade bed just staring at the wall for hours at a time. Chores around the house went out the window and the house soon became unkept. The dust became thick, the laundry piled high and the dishes were abandoned. The fridge also seemed to be empty except for beer and a few microwave dinners which he’d didn’t have much of a taste for.

Eventually he had to return to work but he was not the same Mr Finn he had been before. This version was less patient, snappy and just overall annoyed at little things. Band practice ceased and lessons soon became less interactive and entailed of Dewey passing out question sheets for the students to fill in. He didn’t want to be there, infact he didn’t want to be anywhere because no matter where he went, you wouldn’t be there.

This day of work had been the worst yet. During lunch when passing through the busy hallway he heard some kid in a older grade tell a dumb cancer joke and he lost it screaming at the kid right in the middle of the hallway. Mrs Mullins came out of her office to see what the commotion was and was shocked at the sight of an angry Mr Finn yelling a fearsome pupil, surrounded by wide eyed students looking stunned at his sudden out burst.

Mrs Mullins drags Dewey in to her office and shoos the students out of the halls and off to their respected classrooms.

“Dewey, what an earth is going on?”

Deweys scoffs, “stupid little sh- kid made a completely inappropriate joke”.

“What was it about?”

Dewey hesitates before telling her, “cancer,” he mumbles.

Rosaline pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes out a sigh, “Dewey I know your going through a rough time right now and once again I’m very sorry for your loss, but this isn’t you. You not an angry teacher that everyone should be afraid of, your the cool helpful teacher that they go to for help and I would love for him to come back.”

Can he come back or did the Mr Finn she speaks off die with you? He remains silent so she takes this as a sign to keep going.

“I will speak to the student in question and makes sure disciplinary measures are put into place. But as for the remainder of the day I want you to return to your afternoon lessons and on Monday start afresh, ready to enjoy your week like you did before. Understand?”

Dewey stands up, “sure, whatever you say,” heading back to his classroom opening his desk drawer and searching through his stash of dvds before pulling one out and putting it on for the class. He spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to work so that no one suspected that all he was thinking about was you.

At the end of the day Mrs Mullins hands him a apology letter from the student but he scrunches it up and throws it in the trash can not bothering to read it. The student wasn’t sorry, no one was.

So here he was once again alone in the apartment. He heads into the bedroom strips of his vest, loosens his tie, unbuttons his shirt and removes his trousers. He pulls on a ACDC shirt knowing it was one of your favourites to wear. Entering the kitchen he opens the fridge and grabs himself a beer before flopping down on the coach and watching some trash on TV. One beer turned into two and two turned into three. Somewhere along the line he headed up one of the microwave meals but only ate a few bites deciding it was gross and he wasn’t that hungry.

He did however continue he to drink right through the pack of beer, it wasn’t enough he still felt the throbbing pain in his chest which at times would make him feel breathless. He needed something stronger something to knock out the pain which led him to the bottle of whiskey. He’d never considered himself a whiskey drinker but desperate times call for desperate measures. The burning he felt as it ran down his throat distracted him from the emotional pain he felt so it went down smoothly.

Soon his head was foggy and he had no control of his body or emotions, hot angry tears ran down his cheeks. He was angry at the worldfor taking you away from him, angry that the doctors didn’t do more, angry at himself because he couldn’t save you. Stupid cancer. Stupid, stupid cancer.

He awakens the next morning in a fog. Taking several minutes to come around from his alcohol induced sleep. He grumbles as he feels the throbbing in his head, pulling himself off of the coach he goes to the kitchen filling himself a huge glass of water to quench his extreme thirst and throwing back some pain killers in the process.

What to do this weekend? When you were alive Saturdays were for fun. Shopping, rollerblading, picnics, road trips and Saturday nights were for music, drinking and dancing. Sunday mornings were his favourite, slowly waking up and cuddling close, coffee in bed and either snuggling on the coach to watch movies or he would play his guitar with your head resting on his lap.

His weekends were now lonely spent just trying to get through the days. He goes into the bathroom turning on the shower to the hottest setting. He stands in the heat for longer than he should then changes into sweat pants and a clean shirt. Standing in the shower made his headache worsen and drained him of the little energy he had when he woke up, so he gets into the unmade bed and just slept, well into the afternoon.

When he woke up he was at a loss of what to do, was it to early to start drinking again. Noticing his laptop on his bedside he knew he was falling behind in his work, sighing he opens it up and begins to work through his ever growing list of tasks.

After around 15 minutes he has almost finished his first task with all he had left to do was to paste a file into the document before emailing it. He opens up and begins to browse through his files in search of the correct one. As he scans the selection of files he notices one he hadn’t opened for months. It had a very specific file name. Y/N.

Hesitantly he clicked into it to be revealed with a selection of videos from throughout your relationship. Most were from Deweys point of view as he was a big fan of randomly filming little moments.

In one your were laying outside enjoying the sunshine in a light doze. Only for Dewey to come out, water gun in one hand and camera in other spraying the water gun over you causing you to jump out of your peaceful sleep and Dewey to laugh hysterically behind the camera at your shocked state. “Dewey Finn!”, you exclaim before getting to feet to chase him until he falls over still giggling as you take the water gun out of his hand and take your revenge.

Another entailed of you attempting to bake with Dewey hanging around in the background filming. “Hand me the flour Dew,” you say holding out your hand. He complies by throwing a handful of flour at you. Your face now covered in the white powder is a mix of shock and amusement, “your gonna pay for that!”, you say already grabbing a handful of flour. Deweys smiles remembering that day, the two of had a flour fight that left the kitchen looking like a winter wonderland. It’s took almost two hours to clean up but it was worth it with fun you had.

Many other videos followed. Even though Dewey was the main prankster of the house you’d pulled a few of your own over the years. Drawing on his face whilst he was asleep, the old shaving cream on hand, switching the sugar with the salt.

There were many videos of Dewey singing at gigs taken by you, he laughs at you cheering louder than everyone when he was finished. He’s in hysterics at the videos in which you’ve come from a girls night drunk, claiming when he gave you water he was trying to get you drunk and that how you kept complimenting his apartment saying, “you just have suuuuchh gooood vibes with your interior design”.

Videos of you dancing made him sentimental as these were some of his favourite moments spent with you. How he wished he had said yes every time you’d tried to pull him up to the dance floor, that was possibly his biggest regret. He even took some videos of you in the hospital, dancing around still attached to your IV, randomly visiting other patients and forming friendships, one thing he loved about you is how easily you could talk to be people and how you could rope anyone into a conversation.

He thought that was the end but was surprised when another one appears. He clicks play, and there you are on the screen, your beautiful eyes that’s he swore were looking into his. Your sitting in the same bed that he was in now, wearing his ACDC T-shirt , your head is bald from chemotherapy but your eyes still have that sparkle they always have.

“Hey rockstar, it’s me. If your watching this there is a very likely chance that I’m not around anymore. You my dear husband have left my side for a few minutes for groceries, which I’m not going to lie feels quite strange considering we haven’t been more than six feet apart in weeks.”

Dewey still can’t believe he’s watching you, it almost feels like you are in the room with him.

“ I wanted to make a few videos to talk to you and tell you things I couldn’t say to your face. I know what your like with emotions, Mr stick it to the man but I know sometimes you forget to take your own advice and prefer to hold all those feelings in until they eventually knock you out.”

You knew him better than he knew himself, “your a good man Dewey and I don’t want grief to change you, so please listen to what I have to say and take it with you. Now before I begin, I want you to put your hat and coat on and go for a walk around the city, just like we used to. And don’t you dare watch the next video before you do it. One step at a time is good walking”.

The screen then went black. He hadn’t walked around the city for at least six months when you became to weak to walk so far. He wanted to turn the next video on, and see your face again but you made it clear. He gets up throws his hat on and zips up his coat, the air is icy and he feels it hit his cheeks as reaches outside. He begins to walk not in any particular direction just where his feet wanted to take him. He ends up waking for 45 minutes just all over taking in the sights of the city.

As per usual you were right, his thoughts felt clearer and the fresh hair helped to shake his headache. When he arrives back he goes straight back into the bedroom and fires up the next video and you appear before him once again.

“Hey there, I’m hoping that walk was helpful, sometimes you need some time to cool of before you hear what’s to come. Mr Finn I know you don’t see yourself as a typical house wife but please keep the house from falling apart. If I had a nickel for every time that you argued that there is no point in making your bed when your going to get back into it later then let’s just say we wouldn’t still be living in this shabby apartment.”

He smiles remembering, “so get off your butt of the bed and make it. I know for a fact that it’s hasn’t been made in months let alone days. Another life hack is that if you do dishes as you go along you won’t run out. Oh and you know that little closet next to the bathroom, I know you don’t really go there but that’s where we keep the vacuum, please use it.”

To be fair to you he can’t remember the last time he opened that closet, “So please once again don’t watch the next video until you’ve done a little bit of cleaning up”.

It felt weird to obey someone who wasn’t even there but he found himself getting to his feet and pulling out the vacuum.

After several minutes of struggling to turn it on he gets there and goes through the whole apartment, he washes through the stack of dirty dishes, makes his way through the every growing pile of dirty laundry, cleans the bathroom which has become increasingly gross, dusts and disinfects the counters and not only makes the bed but changes the sheets.

You didn’t actually ask him to do so much but he wanted to make you proud. So with the smell of disinfectant fresh in his nostrils he hits play on the next video, smiling as you reappear on his screen.”

“Now my love, I hope you feel fresher after that. Now I know your no Gordon Ramsay when it comes to cooking although when it comes to food criticing he may have met his match.” You wink at him making him chuckle.

“But try and cook something nutritious. You do make a mean plate of nachos but please eat something other than that. Maybe something green a few days a week. So have fun chef Finn you idiot sandwich.”

Another order, he hadn’t eaten since well his few mouthfuls of that awful excuse of a microwaveable meal. He rummages through the kitchen cupboards in search of ingredients. Despite hardly going shopping in the last few weeks he manages to hunt down a packet of spaghetti, a tin of tomatoes a some dried basil. Not much but it would do.

He boils the pasta, heats up the tomatoes to act as a sauce and adds some basil. Overall it wasn’t that bad and he would eat it again. Of course he washes the dishes up when he’s finished at your request before going back for the next video. Your eyes in this video are teary and dread fills him.

“Dewey, I’m so proud of you for making it this far. You’ve accomplished so much in the last few hours, and I want you to keep it up.”

He never thought about this, he’d done more in those few hours that he’d done in weeks.

“I wanted to make this last video to say goodbye and to remind you to keep living your life. Do the things you love, play music, teach music, laugh, dance, sing! And please keep being yourself, your unique, funny, caring self.”

Keep living. It sounds so simple, but it’s easier said than done. He hadn’t played his guitar since the night before you died, could he start now.

“Don’t blame the world for what happened to me, it’s no ones fault. Please don’t remember me as being sick, remember me how I was, happy. I’ve had a good life made even better by your love. If I could go back I wouldn’t change anything, I am so grateful I met you and even though we didn’t have long together I wouldn’t trade the short time I had with you for a lifetime with anyone else.”

Tears stream down his cheeks. He knew you had loved him but hearing this just reminded him that you still did.

“This isn’t goodbye Dewey, it’s a see you later. I hope someday I’ll see you again, but until then I will be with you. You may not always feel it but I will be. I love you Dewey Finn and I hope you never forget that.”

You slowly fade away into a black screen. Thinking it’s the end he begins to slowly close the screen until he hears your voice again, he scrambles to push the screen back up and your back again.

“Oh and before I go, I got you a little something to help with the keep on living thing. Have a look behind the towels in the closet. I think you’ll be surprised.”

You wink at him then giggle shutting of your camera. Dewey rushes to his feet he goes directly to the closet and begins to pull all the freshly folded towels onto the floor. He’d clean them up later but for now this was more important. Eventually he sees it. A brand new red guitar, still shining as if you’d bought it that day.

He takes it out and brings it back to the bedroom sitting on the bed holding it in his hands like he’s holding a new born infant. Attached by a bow is a small box, which when opened reveals a customised guitar pick with the words “don’t stop believing” carefully carved.

Your karaoke song. Your wedding song. Your favourite song.

Taking a hand he wipes away the fresh tears which have fallen before taking the the pick from the box and carefully strumming his first chord in months.

The gentle music fills the room. He can almost feel you smiling down on him.

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