Shaggy Rogers couldn't remember the last time he'd had to tie a tie.

His high school prom? His sister Sugie's wedding? He had no clue.

It took three more tries in front of the mirror before he cursed and threw the tie to the floor. What he had on would do: A black suit with black pants and black dress shoes. Perfect for a funeral.

Scooby was at his side, whining as he saw his owner so frustrated and upset. What was on Shaggy's mind? Scooby didn't know. It was subtle, but Scooby thought that Shaggy smelled off – like cedar. He cocked his head in confusion.

Shaggy looked down at his best friend, who was now sniffing his pants. "Like, what's wrong, Scoob?"

"Rou smell runny," Scooby said.

Shaggy frowned. "I smell funny? It's cologne, buddy. You gotta smell decent when you go to a funeral."

"Rhoh," Scooby nodded, looking down, as though thinking of what to say next. "Rhat's a runeral?"

Shaggy felt a lump form in his throat. He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He didn't think he could bear to tell Scooby what it meant. Who it was for. Not yet.

"Look, Scoob, you'll just stay here for a couple of hours, okay? I've got some errands to run with Daphne and Velma. Just . . . Just stay here. Like, I've even made you some snacks." Shaggy went to his small apartment kitchen and grabbed a pile of sandwiches off the counter. "Here."

Scooby sniffed the sandwiches eagerly as they were placed on the floor. "Rhanks."

"Of course, Scooby-Doo."

Shaggy bit his lip. Wet hot tears stung his eyes. Without saying another word, he grabbed his keys and walked out the door, not ready for what was to come.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Daphne Blake sat on the edge of her bed, tears flooding down her cheeks. It had been less than a week since Fred died. Less than a week since her world was destroyed. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, looking at the photo in her hands. It was of her and Fred. They were smiling. Laughing. Happy.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

Daphne knew it was probably her mother. Or father. They never liked Fred. But even so, they had sympathy for Daphne, who they knew loved him. Daphne was twenty years old and still lived with her parents. She felt she should have moved out long ago. With Fred. Now she would never get the chance.

"Come in."

The door slowly opened to reveal not her parents, but Velma Dinkley.

Velma was wearing a long, plain black dress. Her eyes looked red and puffy from under her horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hey, Daphne . . . your parents told me you were up here . . . mind if I come in?"

"Sure," Daphne said flatly as she found herself staring at the white and pink vintage designs of her bedroom wallpaper. Pink and white were her favorite colors. And purple. What was Fred's favorite color? She'd never asked him.

Velma came forward, sitting tenderly next to Daphne. "I really don't know what to say in these situations . . ."

Daphne sniffed. Velma looked down.

"But I know Fred wouldn't have wanted you to suffer like this."

Daphne laid back on her bed. "I know." She looked up at the bright chandelier on her ceiling, hugging the photo. She wondered, for the hundredth time, what Fred experienced in his final moments. Did he see a light? Darkness? Did he suffer? Feel scared?

Daphne felt Velma lie down beside her. "Fred died protecting us, and I know you know that."

"But he didn't have to."

Velma turned to face Daphne. "But he did. If he didn't, you'd be dead . . . that bullet came too fast."

"WELL, MAYBE IT WOULD'VE BEEN BETTER IF IT WERE ME!" Daphne cried, bolting from the bed, the photo ripping in half. Velma winced at the sudden outburst. Daphne felt shocked herself. Ever since Fred's passing, she'd been so angry.

Daphne looked down at the torn photo in her hands, shock and grief engulfing her as she realized what she had done. She began to shake as she fell to the floor.

"I – I didn't mean that," she whispered, voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Daphne –

"It's fine. Everything is fine." Daphne said through her hands, quickly wiping away her tears. She stood and placed the torn photo onto her dresser. She then grabbed her phone and looked at the home screen with blurry eyes. There was a text from Shaggy.

"Shaggy's here . . . Let's just go."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Shaggy stood on the Blake's mansion estate doorstep; the cold winter breeze rustled his carefully combed hair so that it became tousled – its usual state.

The freezing air cut through his suit coat, making him shiver. Snow began to fall. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the icy ground, trying to fight off the chill.

It took about five minutes since he'd texted Daphne before she and Velma were at the door. Velma had her arm around Daphne. Both women were in black dresses, their faces pale. Shaggy never saw them like this before. So vulnerable. Hollow.

Shaggy saw Velma a few days ago, but he hadn't seen Daphne since the night Fred died. Even though it had only been several days, she looked thin. Frail. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Shaggy knew Daphne took Fred's death the hardest. She loved him, after all.

He also knew Daphne blamed herself for Fred's death. Fred pushed her aside when their latest mystery went terribly wrong. The criminal had escaped Fred's trap, aiming his gun at Daphne. Fred didn't hesitate to jump in the way. Scooby had been out sick that day. He didn't know anything had happened.

Velma's eyes met Shaggy's, as though expecting him to say something.

But he didn't know what to say. What to do. Before he could open his mouth, Daphne spoke.

"Where – Where's Scooby?"

Shaggy looked down at his feet. "I couldn't tell him . . . Not yet."

Daphne nodded swiftly, clutching Velma's arm. "Okay."

"You'll need to tell him soon, Shag," Velma said seriously. "He's a part of us, too." But she knew Shaggy wasn't ready. From the look on his face, she could tell he felt guilty.

After a long moment, Shaggy spoke. "You guys . . . ready? Like, I've got the Mystery Machi – Van. I've got the van ready."

He stopped himself. He knew they weren't ready to talk about the Mystery Machine yet. They would never see it the same again. Fred's family told Shaggy to keep the van, despite his refusals. He couldn't take something so important to Fred from them, but the family couldn't stand to keep it. Shaggy tried to paint over those forbidden words; they now had messy black splotches covering them along with a dent from one of Shaggy's breakdowns.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Shag," Velma said quietly. She looked over to Daphne. "Ready?"

Daphne nodded as she shivered with cold. Velma did the same as a new gust of frigid air and snow brushed the women's legs and arms. Their dresses were long, but not long enough to withstand the freezing temperatures of the darkening January evening.

Shaggy stepped between them, putting his arms around their shoulders as he led them to the van, all three shedding silent tears along the way.