Sitting in the old van, Scooby-Doo thought about all the miles he had gone in it. He thought about how many meals he had, the songs he sang, and the laughs he had. But it wasn't always good times, there were many times when the dog felt like he was alone in the world. When the obvious and inevitable coupling of Fred and Daphne, and then Shaggy and Velma happened, Scooby-Doo knew that Mystery Incorporated was dead. On top of this, it had been seven years since they had a case and with a significant lack in paranormal activity in the last couple of years, business it seemed would remain down.
If the Gang ever did get back together, Scooby-Doo decided that he wouldn't be a part of it. They had caused him too much pain over the years, too much heartbreak, and failed promises for him to simply pretend that none of it happened. But that was the least of the dog's worries. Scooby-Doo was near the end of his life. He had been sick for a long time, violent coughing fits were common, and he was often plagued with cold spells. In addition to his physical state, his mental health was also in decline, his dreams were haunted with the ghosts of his past, both in the literal and figurative sense, when he wasn't asleep, Scooby would see things that weren't there-mostly they were visions of his own death, these he welcomed, if only to be rid of the pain that the world had caused him.
Scrappy-Doo walked up to the van, appearing down the small path that led up the cliff, which presented a million dollar view of the port and, if the weather permitted, a perfect sunset. He was now as big as his uncle, and his voice finally filled out, forever losing that childish persona he had carried for so many years. Scooby-Doo lifted his head and smiled at his approach.
"You're getting too big" Scooby-Doo said, his voice raspy and fighting a cough.
Scrappy returned his smile, and laughed, shaking his head, for his uncle was always saying things as if he were still the annoying and irrational puppy that he was.
"And you're getting too old" Scrappy replied, "What are you now, 150?"
Scooby-Doo laughed, amused at Scrappy's morbid sense of humor. As he laughed he coughed, bit of blood and mucus came out of his nose, he didn't mind it, for it was a side effect of his sickness, something that he had long enough to ignore it and fight through the pain.
"You alright?" Scrappy asked, concern showing in his voice as he climbed in, sitting next to him, "You look whipped."
Scooby-Doo nodded and gently placed his paw on the nape of Scrappy's neck.
"What did you expect, I'm dying" Scooby-Doo said bluntly, "It's not like it's not going to be painful."
Scrappy nodded and stared at his uncle, noticing the way his breathing slowed as his lungs fought for air.
"I just want to thank you" Scrappy began uncomfortably, "for everything you did."
Scooby-Doo rolled his eyes and huffed, in his mind Scrappy was thanking him for no reason, for he only did what any sensible person would do in his situation. It wasn't really worthy of praise as far as Scooby-Doo was concerned.
"I didn't do anything" Scooby-Doo replied
Scrappy shook his head in complete disagreement and disbelief at his uncle's modesty.
"Bullshit" Scrappy exclaimed, "No one told you to take me yet you did anyway. That means something Uncle Scooby whether you want to or not."
Scooby smiled, liking the fact that Scrappy still loved and respected him enough to call always call him uncle before his name.
"Scrappy" Scooby-Doo replied, slightly annoyed "call me Scooby."
Scrappy shook his head again, stubbornness running in the family when it came to opinions and showing respect to the people who brought you where you are.
"You're too important" Scrappy defended, "Now stop talking, you're making things worse for yourself."
Scooby-Doo rolled his eyes and scowled, secretly laughing to himself that he was being troubled over when it was more than likely he was going to be dead in a few hours.
Across town in a small and slightly dilapidated house Shaggy Rogers was sitting on his porch. He had been trying to find a job for the better part of the past two years, only managing to hold one for as long as a week before getting fired. This was mostly because his various bosses found him in conditions ranging from sleep deprived to using illegal drugs excessively to the point of serving a few years sentence in the California state prison.
The house phone that Shaggy kept by the bench suddenly and without warning began to ring startling him out of a half sleep. Picking it up and wiping his eyes, Shaggy sighed, believing it to be the sheriff's office giving him another warning.
"What do you want from me?" Shaggy asked, whining a bit, "Can't you just let me live my life!"
A short pause followed, giving Shaggy enough time to have enough sense to look at the caller ID and see that it was not the sheriff or his father, who would've been his second guess, but Velma.
"When are you ever going to learn Norville?" Velma exclaimed, an air of disappointment in her voice.
Shaggy huffed, insulted and folded his arms as if it made a difference in the conversation.
"When people start accepting me for who I am" Shaggy replied viciously, "When are you coming back from California?"
"I came back last night" Velma answered immediately, "The question you should be asking is where Scooby-Doo is."
Shaggy smirked as he opened the door to his house, walking through the living room and the kitchen to the back door which led out to the front yard.
"I know where he is" Shaggy declared, "He's in his dog house like he always is."
"Are you sure about that?" Velma continued, "Because Fred just texted me an hour, the Mystery Machine is missing."
Shaggy nodded indifferently as he listened to Velma's blabbering. Reaching the dog house, which like the regular house, was in disrepair and in desperate need of replacement, Shaggy leaned down to discover it completely empty.
"Did you find him?" Velma asked.
Shaggy shook his head despite the fact that Velma was on the phone and without a second thought hung up the phone and quickly made his way through the house, tripping over his own feet on the way out.
Scooby-Doo clutched his chest tightly, the pain was getting worse. Scrappy did the only thing he could do and comforting his uncle, laying his head on the dog's back and simply deciding to be there for the sake of being there. Scooby-Doo let out a long and heavy sigh, his face, in addition to being riddled with pain, was guilty and full of shame, it was obvious that he was hiding something. A small tear was beginning to fall from his eye, he dared to let it fall, it stayed within the well for a few seconds and then gracefully ran down his cheek as if it were telling him that everything was going to be okay. Turning towards his nephew, Scooby sighed again and gently shoved him off his back.
"There's a few things you should know" Scooby-Doo began hoarsely, "it's not exactly easy to tell or to accept but-"
Scrappy groaned and gave a slight laugh.
"Tell me" Scrappy replied, "Not like you got a lot of time you know."
Scooby nodded, ignoring the joke and simply cutting to the chase.
"You were born a bastard child. Ruby abandoned you at the train station, but it wasn't because she didn't love you. She just couldn't find the means."
Scrappy nodded in understanding, for he had long suspected that his mother left him for financial reasons, the bastard child part though, was new information. Scooby-Doo wheezed and coughed, more blood and more mucus, at the same time his chest became inflamed as his heart slowly gave out, the beats becoming distant and few and far between.
"You can sleep now" Scrappy urged, "Just close your eyes and to go sleep."
Scooby-Doo did as he was instructed and closed his eyes, smiling a bit as he felt his nephew's nose brush against his cheek.
Several minutes passed before Shaggy and Velma pulled up in an old beat up Lincoln. Looking upon the scene, they both knew without saying that Scooby-Doo was dead. It was all Shaggy could do to not start balling like the kid he was, and it was all Velma could do not to call everyone she ever knew to them know about it, but they did nothing, the only thing they could do was stare at the back of the Mystery Machine.
Scrappy lifted his head and jumped out, shaking himself off.
"It's funny" Scrappy said to no one in particular, "He always said that he was going to die in the back of that van. Guess he was right."
Shaggy blinked a few times, still trying to process everything. Scrappy laughed as he walked past, making his way down the path that he had come.
"What's the matter Shaggy?" Scrappy replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "It's not like you knew this wasn't coming."
Shaggy wanted to say that he did, for not only was inevitable, but the signs had been there for years before today they just remained relatively ignored. But instead of this, Shaggy did and said nothing simply staring at his dead dog and the setting sun behind it.