I'm doing Cancer Sciences at college, and I dreamt this story after watching Over the Hedge. I wasn't 100% sure why I decided to write it, but I am slightly delirious with COVID, so why not.
Disclaimer: I don't own Over the Hedge, not the characters, the comic or the movie. TRIGGER WARNING for character illness and character death.
If you want to listen to the song which inspired the fic: 'Dear Agony' (Aurora Version) – Breaking Benjamin
Unwritten Goodbyes
Prologue
They say that the real troubles in life are often the unexpected ones. The ones that blindside you on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday. And it's precisely on such a day that our story unfolds. The sun had ascended, casting its gentle light on a day that initially seemed unremarkable in every way. The Hedgies, a band of resourceful critters, were busy preparing for a heist they had meticulously planned the day before.
It had been a little over two years since the fiasco involving Vincent, Gladys and the Verminator. RJ and Tiger had found their place within the family, ushering in a period of relative tranquillity – or as tranquil as things could be when you were causing mayhem in the suburbs!
Verne no longer fretted about securing enough food for the upcoming winter. If anything, the pursuit of sustenance had turned into more of an amusing pastime than a necessity. RJ and Verne shared a co-leadership role, or, as RJ liked to put it, 'co-parenting'. RJ took charge of heists and general amusement, while Verne handled the tasks which required a shred of responsibility. Although RJ had matured considerably over the past two years, there were times when he still needed Verne's calming influence. Even though he had entered his early twenties, RJ had never lost his lust for life and devil-may-care attitude, causing him to act more like a mischievous teenager sometimes.
And today was one of those days. Verne impatiently tapped his foot, glaring at the clock on his phone.
"He said we should leave by 10 sharp. Its nearly 11."
"Hardly! It's not even half-past yet!" Stella the skunk chuckled. Verne shot her a disapproving look.
"You know Mrs. Wilson leaves to drop her kids off at daycare at 10. The whole point was to have enough time to make this heist worthwhile, and now he's decided to sleep in!"
"Aw, cut him some slack, Verne. We all oversleep occasionally." Stella replied, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, we do. But not all of us play video games into the early hours! He was completely comatose this morning! He didn't even stir when I dangled a Twinkie under his nose," Verne grumbled.
"Huh, I didn't hear him. I thought he went to bed around the same time as us," Stella replied thoughtfully.
But before either of them could continue the conversation, they were interrupted by a loud yawn.
RJ appeared, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His fur was dishevelled, and he was nursing a mug of black coffee.
"I know, I know. Please accept my most sincere apologies." RJ mumbled, stifling another massive yawn. "Geez, I swear this stuff used to have more of a kick to it." He gave the coffee a disgusted look.
"Or you've just consumed your body weight in the stuff over the years and become practically immune to it." Verne retorted, earning an eye roll from the raccoon.
"As always, my morning is never complete without a lecture. Now, if you've quite finished, let's get on with the task at hand shall we." RJ grinned as Verne looked mutinous.
Everything was set for the morning heist. As the Wilsons kept their dog outside, the task was made slightly tricker as they couldn't simply cross the yard. So, a fishing line stretched from an upper tree branch to an upstairs window of the Wilsons' house. The plan was straightforward: RJ, Verne and Hammy would zip-line over to the Wilson's and enter through the open window. Stella would move the fishing line to the bottom of the hedge to allow Hammy to return with the stolen items, as his climbing skills made him ideal for the task.
As heists go, it was simple. Routine.
RJ, Verne and Hammy climbed up the tree, with Hammy eagerly zipping down the makeshift line. RJ moved his head from side of side, cracking his neck.
"Gotta limber up in my old age."
Verne rolled his eyes. "Or you're just really unfit."
RJ shot him a mock look of deep hurt. "You wound me Verne, you truly do," before he hooked a coat hanger on the fishing line and followed after Hammy.
Verne was about to join the others when he felt a sudden tingle in his tail, which caused him to halt in his tracks. His tail hadn't caused him any trouble since Vincent was sent up to the Rockies. He was tempted to call RJ and Hammy back and ditch the heist for today. However, as quickly as the tingle arrived, it disappeared again, leaving Verne wondering if he'd imagined it.
"Hey! Hurry up, slow poke! Me and Hammy are going grey over here!" RJ shouted, his head protruding from the open window.
Verne sighed and hooked himself to the zip-line, joining the others inside the Wilsons' house.
From there, everything proceeded like clockwork. RJ and Verne consulted their supply list, rummaging through the cupboards and the fridge to pass the items down to Hammy. When everything on the list was checked off, RJ hopped off the counter to join Verne. The raccoon was clutching his side, panting slightly.
"As much as I hate to admit it, maybe you're right. I seriously need to work on my cardio," he wheezed.
"May as well cut down on the Twinkies as well while you're at it," Verne replied sardonically, earning a scowl from RJ.
At that moment, they heard the key in the lock. Mrs. Wilson was returning.
"Time to go!" RJ urged Verne up the stairs ahead of him.
RJ followed close behind Verne up the stairs, but then came to an abrupt halt at the top. The stitch in his side had tightened painfully, causing him to gasp out in pain. As the raccoon clutched his side, he felt the blood drain rapidly from his head, leaving him feeling dizzy.
Verne climbed the chest of drawers and reached the open window but noticed that RJ hadn't followed him. He turned to see the raccoon frozen at the top of the stairs.
"RJ?" he called, concern in his voice.
However, the raccoon remained oblivious to Verne's call. An unrelenting whooshing sound filled his ears, bearing down on him like a heavy weight. His sight oscillated between clarity and distortion, while stars danced on the periphery of his vision. Desperately, he blinked, attempting to regain focus, and took a staggering step backwards. Yet, the darkness enveloped him entirely and the raccoon was falling… falling.