Author's Note: I love Courage, an absolute sweetheart and so pure of heart. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Courage the Cowardly Dog © Cartoon Network


A violent shiver ran down Courage's spine like an electrical current, a shiver so powerful he was practically hyperventilating, yet he knew the rush of coldness had nothing to do with the bitter chill in the air on this crisp yet sullen fall morning. His oblong eyes were glued to the clumps of dirt that covered the sleek, mauve casket six feet below. He swallowed, his body refusing to stop trembling. Would he ever feel warm again?

The past few days were a blur of tears and helpless whimpers and restless sleeps that were anything but peaceful. He slept only out of sheer necessity when his excruciating grief gave way to collapsing in exhaustion. He'd dream of her smiling face, her warm voice, her kind demeanor, only for the cold, hollow feeling to grip his heart in a merciless chokehold the second he opened his eyes and saw her empty rocking chair.

In the back of his mind he always feared this day most of all. It was inevitable for everyone, of course, but it didn't make the pain any less unbearable. This was his new reality, a departed owner for whom he'd risked his life and pushed past his terror time and again because he loved her more than anything, and now, she was nothing but a memory.

A grunt from Eustace pulled him out of his sorrowful thoughts.

"Let's go," he said in his gruff voice, more of a grumble than a command. He turned away and headed off to his truck.

Courage took one final look at the casket. Soon it would be entirely covered with dirt and become like every other burial plot, indistinguishable from all the rest. Even leaving a bouquet of flowers would be pointless as they would eventually wilt and die. Everything felt pointless now. Without Muriel, they were no longer a family. They were merely an angry old man and a scared little dog having no choice but to coexist until they, too, met their end.

A weak moan escaped his throat as he finally turned away and trudged after Eustace's retreating form.


Home didn't feel like home anymore.

It was eerie and quiet, but not the typical eerie quietness that came from living in the middle of Nowhere, when they didn't have any unwelcome visitors, that is. This particular eerie quietness brought forth a stark sense of emptiness. The house was a shell of what it once was. All of Muriel's belongings—her apron and boots, hair curlers and rolling pin—were no longer hers anymore. They were just objects, relics of a life that was now gone.

They'd both hardly been upstairs since she'd passed. Eustace had taken to falling asleep in his armchair, while Courage would lie on the rug. Presently, Eustace dragged his feet along the hardwood floor and collapsed into his chair. He didn't turn on the TV to mindlessly watch, nor did he pick up the newspaper to read. He didn't do anything at all. He simply sat there in the overwhelming silence, staring out at nothing.

Courage stood in the center of the room, clenching and unclenching his paws, too restless to lie down right now. He looked at Eustace with uncertainty, though the farmer didn't bother to look at him. He groaned under his breath.

"Muriel deserved better than me," he said out of nowhere. The vocal musing startled Courage at first, but he stood there patiently, waiting for him to go on. "Don't know why she chose me. Even me own Ma only ever saw me as a good-for-nothing. On her deathbed, Ma said, 'You were a lousy son, but I was just as much a lousy mother, so it wasn't all your fault.' Nicest thing she ever said to me."

His bony fingers tightened around the arms of his chair, sunken brow and thin lips pressed into his forever hardened sulk.

"I was a lousy husband, too. 'Course, Muriel never thought so, but that's only because she saw the good in everyone. That's why she went before me. She'd've been too lonely if I was the one to go first. And she wouldn't have survived at all if you'd have gone before either of us."

Courage flinched when Eustace looked in his direction. It was a knee-jerk reaction, as anytime Eustace paid even the slightest bit of attention to him, his instinct was to shrink back in his ever-present fear, as if doing so would somehow make the old man take pity on him if only for a fleeting moment. But that never happened. Even now, the farmer's furrowed brow didn't falter. He suddenly rose from his chair, stepping toward Courage, who drew his paws over his eyes and felt his entire body shaking yet again. Was Eustace about to grab him and toss him outside?

When he didn't feel any hands forcefully grab him by the back of his neck, Courage willed himself to peek out from beneath his paws, only to see that Eustace was staring down at him, not in a menacing way, but certainly with his usual air of impatience.

"C'mon, let's go to the kitchen and see what I can make for us to eat. We both gotta eat, don't we?"

And Courage, unable to hold it together any longer, threw himself around Eustace in an act of both weakness and strength. He hugged his lanky legs and cried hard into the fabric of his overalls while Eustace stood there like a rock, not saying a word, not getting fed up and kicking Courage off of him, instead allowing him to weep against him for a long while.

It was only when he felt a solitary pat on the head that Courage finally glanced up at him with reddened eyes, his tears having soaked through Eustace's knees. The farmer's permanent look of agitation didn't waver at all, but surprisingly, it didn't make Courage slink away in embarrassment, either.

At last, Courage eased his iron grip, though he didn't let go entirely, so Eustace simply headed into the kitchen with Courage still clinging to him. He opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients, the sound of Courage's occasional sniffling being the only break in the silence. It no longer felt like an uncomfortable silence, instead something far more tranquil.

Somewhere way above beyond the clouds, the sun broke through, as if beaming down directly on them, and it almost sounded as though Muriel's sweet voice could be heard in a warm whisper of the wind.

How lovely.