Author's Note: the angst continues for a good while, I'm afraid. The characters insisted on taking their time.


The priest droned on, but Jake's attention was fixated on the slide show to his right. He was a little surprised at how fat his friend was in some of the earlier photos: he'd only ever known the other boy when they had both been going through chemotherapy. Despite this, Tim's smile was the same as it always had been. The images blurred as tears filled his eyes, and he felt grateful for the arm that snaked around him, pulling him closer to Dad.

The priest made to sit down, and Tim's parents stood to go to the stand. Mr Saunders was sobbing, but Mrs Saunders seemed strangely calm as she took the paper from her husband after two aborted attempts to speak.

"Jake," a soft voice touched his hand, and Jake looked across Dad to see Grace offering him some tissues. He wasn't sure how he felt about Grace being there: on the one hand, she wasn't his mum and it wasn't like she really knew Tim. Jake couldn't really build up the energy to be angry at her though. He was too busy being mad at Dad for cutting his time short with Tim.

Everyone in the church was crying, now, halfway through Tim's sister's story about him falling out of their treehouse. Jake looked up to see his father's face set, lines carved more deeply than usual. He was surprised to see the faint sheen of tears in Dad's eyes, and noticed the way his knuckles were white as he clutched Grace's hand. Grace herself was crying quietly, reassuring Jake his own tears, falling more thickly now, would go unnoticed.

"In his final days," Mrs Saunders' calm was fracturing now as she stepped forward again as Tim's sister rushed to her dad's embrace. "In his final days, Tim was so brave. He loved life, but he faced the end with a dignity..."

Jake felt the weight of the dreadful secret he carried grow, and to his shame, tears fell faster and faster. Looking at Tim's parents, in pieces as the small coffin began its slow journey out of the church as O Danny Boy sounded tinnily from the speakers, he knew he couldn't add to that pain. They wanted to remember Tim as being brave and everything.

"Thanks for coming, Jake," Mrs Saunders smiled tearfully at him outside the church. The entire process was a bit weird: everyone seemed to be hanging around. Jake had just followed Dad's lead.

"I'm really sorry about Tim," he said quietly, feeling angry at himself for not saying anything better. Sorry wasn't going to help.

Except it seemed like it did, a little.

"Thank you," Mrs Saunders dabbed at her eyes.

"You know, Jake," Mr Saunders began hoarsely. "We're very grateful for you for being such a great friend to Tim. He drew...he drew a lot of comfort from your visits. He counted you his best friend."

"He'll always be my best friend," Jake mumbled somewhat awkwardly but truthfully.

"You're a good boy, Jake Manson," Mrs Saunders told him vehemently, bending down and kissing his cheek.

"Can I –" Mr Saunders choked a little, eyes wavering between Jake and Neil. "Can I give you a hug?"

Jake wasn't sure whether the question had been directed at him or at Dad, so he looked up. Dad gave a little shrug as if to say, up to you. Jake nodded cautiously.

The older man knelt down and wrapped his arms around Jake tightly. Mr Saunders smelt of cigarettes and tears, some of which dripped down into his collar. Just as Jake felt his discomfort skyrocket, he breathed out heavily and released Jake, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You're a good lad," he said quietly, resting his hands on Jake's shoulders and looking at him directly with bloodshot eyes. "Take care of yourself and your parents."

Jake nodded mutely, feeling bad for feeling relieved as Mr Saunders finally stood up. The adults made their farewells, then the Saunders headed off to the next knot of people.

"Can we go, Dad?" Jake suddenly couldn't take it anymore. Everyone standing around solemnly, dressed in black, talking in low voices – what were they all waiting for? Tim wasn't going to be coming back.

"Yeah, son," Dad looked down at him and nodded sympathetically, draping an arm around his shoulder again.


The rest of the day after the funeral was weird. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Grace went back to work, with a quick kiss pressed to both Neil and Jake's cheeks. He and Dad had taken Casper for a long walk around the neighbourhood.

They'd only discussed Timmy once.

"You can take off as much time as you feel you need, Jake," Dad had said, looking stressed. "I'll work out something with work."

"No," Jake had replied quickly. He couldn't think of anything more depressing than sitting around at home, doing nothing.

"Okay," Dad had replied. The rest of their walk had been in silence.


"Are you okay?" Grace asked, sliding under the sheets and wrapping herself around Neil.

"Shouldn't you be asking Jake that?" Neil couldn't help himself, regretting the words the instant they left his mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap at you all the time." Grace remained silent.

"I'm scared," he admitted quietly, toying with her sleeve. "Tim was doing just fine too. He did better through the initial therapy. You saw the photos; he was a much sturdier kid then my Jake's ever been. He's always been a skinny and small for his age."

"That doesn't necessarily mean unhealthier," Grace pointed out quietly.

"I know," Neil sighed. "It's just...this is so real, now. I mean, it was real before, you know, I did understand there was a chance – a not insignificant chance – but now I know Tim, knew Tim."

"He was a good kid," Grace commented quietly.

"And that's part of what makes this so... I'm sorry he died, but it's just, the main thing his death has made me feel is scared for my son - that Jake's going to not cope with this, that he's going to, you know," Neil trailed off, still unable to say it.

"Relapse," Grace finished the thought almost absently. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking him in the face. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. There's nothing wrong with you being worried about Jake. Not that that will help with the guilt."

"Yeah," he exhaled slowly, sounding entirely unconvinced. "Can we just cuddle, please? I just..."

His words trailed off, and he gestured helplessly. It was with no small measure of relief that Grace nodded and acceded to his request, snuggling closer to him. All this talking was draining for them both, and she felt sick of being constantly useless to reassure him. Like Neil, she wished that she could assure both her boys that everything would be okay.