Originally posted on AO3
...
Donovan Galpin was never one to watch cartoons. But here he was, his ass on the couch, watching a cartoon about magic element benders.
It was stupid. He was too old for this. But he kept watching. Tyler had wanted him to once, with him, some time after his mom died. But he never got around to it. Because it was a cartoon, and he was too old for that crap.
It was hours until he finally shut the TV off, marching up the stairs with a heavy exhale. He didn't even bother changing out of his uniform before collapsing onto the messy bed. He already knew that he'd be late to work again. Damn it.
…
Donovan barely visited the Weathervane anymore, but today he did, because he wanted coffee. The barista who made his order was competent, but it was hardly as good as it was when Tyler made it. It was ridiculous, wanting to refuse a crappy cup of coffee he'd already paid for. But still, after stepping out of the café, he poured the drink onto the sidewalk. He tossed the paper cup away without another glance, deciding that he'd get jasmine tea instead. That stupid cartoon wouldn't get out of his head. Now he wanted tea. Stupid.
…
Donovan climbed the hill slowly, a small basket in his right hand. The sun was setting, and the air was bitingly cold. He exhaled through his nose in irritation and grumbled to himself.
Once at the top, he stood for a few moments, staring hard at the ground before finally kneeling down. He took off his hat, opened the basket and put out some flowers and a Weathervane coffee cup. He found himself humming quietly to himself that song from that stupid cartoon. He'd watched that episode more times than he cared to admit, but it was enough for the lyrics of that song to sear itself into his brain.
Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home
His throat stuck as he hummed, but only for a second. He harshly wiped his eyes, where tears were starting to form, and brushed his hand across Tyler's headstone, removing the dry leaves and dust that had settled on it.
There was no one else in the cemetery. And it was quiet, except for the quiet humming under Donovan's breath. He glanced at the headstone just a few feet away; another grave he had visited so many times before. Tyler would like that he was buried next to his mother.
He started humming again. The damn song had been stuck in his head all day. Stupid cartoon. It was hell watching that thing on repeat for months. But it was better than the alternative: waking up to nightmares of a gunshot, a garbled roar, and the mangled, bleeding, unmoving body of his boy. Holding his body, naked as the day he was born. It was a sour, cruel, twisted joke of the universe, he thought, having had the oh so wonderful pleasure of both watching his boy be born and holding his too small, naked body to his chest, and watching him die (at his hand)… while he held his naked body, still too small.
Damn it. It was all stupid. He could have been watching anything else, too. He wasn't even sure Tyler had liked that show anymore. But he still always found himself coming back to that stupid song, and that stupid episode, and that stupid, stupid cartoon. Damn it.