Fic: Cold
Title: Cold
Fandom: Bunnicula
Rating: K+
Warning: character death
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: Yes. I wrote Bunnicula deathfic. I don't know either. With apologies to your childhood.
Notes: Don't get too excited, guys-- I wrote this one quite a while ago, back when unsettledink had her massive commentficwarofDOOM.
Cold
Chester rolled his eyes as he walked into the living room. “Come on, Harold, it's nearly noon! Get up.” Receiving no reply, he raised his voice. “Get up, Harold! Come on. Just because you're getting older, are you going to sleep through lunch?” He started to prod Harold in the ribs, and froze.
Harold's body felt stiff and cold. Chester jerked backwards, stumbling over himself. “Harold?” he asked weakly, regaining his footing and coming closer slowly. “Harold?” He put his nose up against Harold's. He didn't feel any breath. Chester wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at Harold. He realized he was meowing weakly when Toby came in to see what was the matter.
For the next few hours, the Monroes were a whirlwind of tears and sobs, explanations and comforts. Chester didn't remember much of it later. Howie ended up asleep in Toby's bed, cuddled close to each other in grief. Chester sat in his armchair, where he had been for the past five hours, desperate for sleep, but unable. He slowly turned to look at Bunnicula. The rabbit was pacing in his cage, waiting for Harold to come say hello as he did every night. Chester dully realized Bunnicula didn't know. He hopped limply off of his chair and slowly walked over to the rabbit's cage, ears back, tail down.
“Harold's... gone,” Chester said quietly. Bunnicula didn't seem to understand. “Dead,” Chester added, voice breaking. Bunnicula's eyes widened, suddenly bright. Chester couldn't bear to look at his own grief and anger and confusion and loneliness reflected in the rabbit's eyes, but he didn't want to be alone. He jumped up on the table and made short work of the lock on Bunnicula's cage. The rabbit looked at him, puzzled.
Chester walked back to his armchair and looked plaintively at Bunnicula. “Please?”
Bunnicula seemed to understand. With a twitch of his nose, he hopped down from the table and across the floor. He couldn't quite make it onto the chair, but Chester caught him by the scruff and helped pull him up.
Chester couldn't help but think of the time Harold knocked him off of this very chair, the week Bunnicula came to live with them. He laughed hysterically, and almost immediately he was wailing, letting his pain overpower him. Bunnicula curled up with him, rubbing his face gently against the cat's as he shivered quietly.
Together, each in his own way, the two friends mourned.
Fandom: Bunnicula
Rating: K+
Warning: character death
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: Yes. I wrote Bunnicula deathfic. I don't know either. With apologies to your childhood.
Notes: Don't get too excited, guys-- I wrote this one quite a while ago, back when unsettledink had her massive commentficwarofDOOM.
Cold
Chester rolled his eyes as he walked into the living room. “Come on, Harold, it's nearly noon! Get up.” Receiving no reply, he raised his voice. “Get up, Harold! Come on. Just because you're getting older, are you going to sleep through lunch?” He started to prod Harold in the ribs, and froze.
Harold's body felt stiff and cold. Chester jerked backwards, stumbling over himself. “Harold?” he asked weakly, regaining his footing and coming closer slowly. “Harold?” He put his nose up against Harold's. He didn't feel any breath. Chester wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at Harold. He realized he was meowing weakly when Toby came in to see what was the matter.
For the next few hours, the Monroes were a whirlwind of tears and sobs, explanations and comforts. Chester didn't remember much of it later. Howie ended up asleep in Toby's bed, cuddled close to each other in grief. Chester sat in his armchair, where he had been for the past five hours, desperate for sleep, but unable. He slowly turned to look at Bunnicula. The rabbit was pacing in his cage, waiting for Harold to come say hello as he did every night. Chester dully realized Bunnicula didn't know. He hopped limply off of his chair and slowly walked over to the rabbit's cage, ears back, tail down.
“Harold's... gone,” Chester said quietly. Bunnicula didn't seem to understand. “Dead,” Chester added, voice breaking. Bunnicula's eyes widened, suddenly bright. Chester couldn't bear to look at his own grief and anger and confusion and loneliness reflected in the rabbit's eyes, but he didn't want to be alone. He jumped up on the table and made short work of the lock on Bunnicula's cage. The rabbit looked at him, puzzled.
Chester walked back to his armchair and looked plaintively at Bunnicula. “Please?”
Bunnicula seemed to understand. With a twitch of his nose, he hopped down from the table and across the floor. He couldn't quite make it onto the chair, but Chester caught him by the scruff and helped pull him up.
Chester couldn't help but think of the time Harold knocked him off of this very chair, the week Bunnicula came to live with them. He laughed hysterically, and almost immediately he was wailing, letting his pain overpower him. Bunnicula curled up with him, rubbing his face gently against the cat's as he shivered quietly.
Together, each in his own way, the two friends mourned.