(Archived) Poth Short Stories and One-Shots

A Brewtiful Beginning - Chapter 6

Chapter Warnings: Discussion on embalming and dead bodies (in case people are squicked out by that stuff)

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"My parents worked as funeral directors, probably still do," Goth began quietly, gripping his mug tight, "Mom handles the living, dad handles the dead. It's a family business of sorts... one I was supposed to join once I came of age. I read all the books, took all the classes, graduated, and got my certification. I felt like I was ready to join my parents and follow in their footsteps... but I wasn't prepared for the real thing.

"One of their jobs as a funeral director requires embalming the deceased. In other words, preserving the body. It's mostly for families that plan on holding an open casket memorial. The body would need to be cosseted."

"Cosseted? What's that mean?" Palette interrupted, tilting his skull.

"It means the body is prepared for display. Draining fluids to diminish rot, applying cosmetics, manipulating the facial expression to look natural, dressing the body and placing it in the casket... things that make them more pleasant to look at," Goth clarified, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Stepping into that room... biology lab dissections couldn't do the smell justice. Formaldehyde couldn't hold a candle to the stench. The body had already begun to rot, yet I tried to ignore the smell. This was going to be my profession, after all. I figured I would get used to it.

"Except it only got worse as we made the incision to drain the blood and administered the embalming fluid in its place. One second I was reaching for the trocar to clean out the corpse's chest cavity while trying to ignoring my growing headache, the next I was waking up on a couch in Mom's office. According to him, I fainted."

Goth reached forward to place the mug of lukewarm coffee on the table, fearing his grip would break it. Palette watched him quietly as he pulled up his knees, hugging them tightly to his chest in place of the mug, "After that, going near the prep room or even seeing a body made my stomach flip and caused dizzy spells. The one thing I worked so hard for, spent so much time and money to accomplish... my place in the family business... and I couldn't do it. It got to the point that I couldn't even look at my parents. I felt so ashamed.

"Not long after that, I moved away from my whole family. I got this apartment and found a job at Mona's shortly after... it's been eight years since I've spoken to any of them."

Palette softly interjected, "Have they ever tried to get in contact with you?"

"... They did at first, for maybe the first two years or so," the smaller muttered, rubbing his face against his upper arm, "They started with calls, sent letters... but I never answered, didn't even open the letters. Eventually, they stopped calling and the letters stopped coming."

"Why didn't you answer? It sounds like they wanted to hear from you," Palette asked, moving a bit closer.

Goth chuckled, his expression forming a forlorn smile that held no cheer, "That's the funny thing about fear, it throws logic completely out the window. In my mind, I was so sure they were disappointed in me. Disappointed their oldest son couldn't handle being around dead bodies. Disappointed that I couldn't face them. Disappointed that I ran away.

"I was so scared that they would confirm my fears if I answered their calls or read their letters. And now that they've stopped trying... I feel like it's been too long to fix the bridges I burned. If they weren't disappointed before, they definitely are now."

Heavy silence permeated every inch of the apartment. Goth looked away as his sockets burned, feeling like he made a huge mistake when Palette spoke up, "... Do you still have the letters?"

Goth sniffled, turning back toward him, "Yeah... why?"

"I'd like to read one," the taller stated, placing his mug down with Goth's as he continued, "I know it's really intrusive, but it seems like your family missed you, maybe even worried about you. You sound like you miss them too, and I want to help. I think reading a letter would prove they care. If they went to the trouble of trying to contact you for two years, that has to mean something.

"And even if things don't work out with them, I plan on sticking around. For what it's worth, I don't think you're a bad monster. Everyone has things they can't handle and starting over fresh is nothing to be ashamed of. It's up to you what you want to do, though."

The small skeleton stared at his companion, their starry eye lights filled with a deeper comprehension; as if Palette really knew what Goth went through. After an indecisive minute of silently turning over the words in his mind, weighing the pros and cons, and trying to overcome his doubts, he eventually left the couch with a shaky sigh and returned with a stack of unopened envelopes clasped between his trembling fingers.

He set the letters down upon the table, returning his clenched hands to his lap. Palette took one from the top of the stack, tearing open the top and unfolding the paper within as Goth watched, worrying the hem of his hoodie in trepidation. A minute passed by in silence. Two minutes passed. As they were coming up on the third, the starry-eyed skeleton looked up with a warm smile, "I think you should read this, Goth."

Goth took the letter with some lingering hesitation, reading carefully through each line as tears traced their way down his face.

Instead of disappointment in his choices, there was understanding of his feelings. Instead of anger for his cowardice, there were wishes for his happiness. Instead of resentment for his silence, there was hope that he would let them in again one day.

Above all, there was an outpouring of unconditional love with both his mom and dad's signatures at the bottom. The postmark was dated six years ago... it was the last letter he had received before they stopped coming.

"They... they still...," Goth clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob as tears poured down his cheeks through clenched sockets. Palette wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug. The smaller curled into them, pressing his damp face into his companion's shirt while clutching the letter to his chest. His body shuddered and heaved as eight years of remorse and despair finally began to dispel.

Palette said nothing as he wrapped another arm around their back in silent support, a sad yet hopeful smile creeping onto his face.

---

Later that night after work, Goth sat on his bed with a copious amount of open letters spread across the comforter and his cell phone resting in his palm. He'd been staring at the typed in number for a solid ten minutes. Finally, with a deep inhale, he pressed the call button and held the phone up to his skull. It rang once... twice... maybe they got a new ph-

*click*

A shaky voice answered, "Goth...? Sweetie, is that you?"

The hooded skeleton swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking, "Hi mom."

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Word Count: 1,207

I decided to have Geno and Reaper be funeral directors so they still had a connection with death that fit the more down-to-earth style of the AU. Plus, I know from personal experience that the smell of rotting meat and/or formaldehyde can be pretty unpleasant.