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TRACES OF HIM

NELLY WAS HOPING THAT PAINT COULD BE WASHED OUT OF CARPET EASILY.

"Shit!" she had grumbled out the minute she put a little too much green paint onto the brush in her hand. It dribbled onto the ground at her feet in ugly splotches, and she was mentally cursing herself for being so reckless.

The mountain range that was displayed before her was almost complete, she just needed to shade certain areas of the grass a darker green. Hence why she was staring at the evergreen blobs of it on her carpet.

She grabbed a wet sponge from the box to her left and began to scrub at it, but to no avail. Deflated, she sunk fully to the floor with a huff before her gaze switched to the murks before her.

What started as a pipe dream was now a fully fledged, almost completed summer project. A familiar mountain range was displayed before her, one she recognized from her many weeks of patrol. Nelly brushed her thumb against the small wolf-like creature near the baseboard, the paint having dried a while ago. It was the first part of the mural she painted, and the rest just fell into place.

With her bedroom door open, Nelly heard someone's footsteps thumping around the home. Huffs of stress soon followed, following by more thumping.

The sound was grating on her nerves, so she started off in the direction of the ruckus. Though, it led her somewhere that she hadn't been near in a while.

She paused in the doorway of Tate's bedroom, the door having been sealed off since the morning Grandma Greene found the two of them there. Something awful washed over her as she looked at her mother, the woman stood in the middle of the room that was untouched with her back to Nelly.

The blankets were still ruffled, his comic books were still splayed on his little desk, the blinds were drawn. The indentation of a head on his old pillow case made her avert her gaze to the floor for a moment, but that was no use.

There was a stray piece of cereal on the floor that she recognized, and she physically had to shake herself from letting those thoughts consume her. She cleared her throat, effectively garnering her mother's attention.

Mary–Anne turned to her, a noise of surprise leaving her lips. "Oh, hi honey."

"What're you doing?" she asked as soon as her eyes landed on some cardboard boxes that were near his bed. "Are you... packing his stuff up?"

Her heckles were raised at the clear insinuation at hand. Her mother was getting rid of his things, there was no other explanation. Had she truly moved on that quickly, while Nelly was simply content to let his room remain sealed as it was? At least if his things were still there, she had proof that he existed before all of this. Before everything.

Her mother looked at her before sparing the boxes a glance, her lips downturned. "It's like a crypt in here," she murmured, but it rang clear in Nelly's ears. "All this dust makes me anxious."

Nelly's standoffish energy faltered when she heard the waver in the woman's voice. There was a tightness to her shoulders, an antsyness in her demeanour as she erratically gazed around the room— kind of like she was overwhelmed.

No, it seemed like she didn't want to start packing up his things; but the dust, the decay, was gnawing away at her.

"I know what you mean," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. She took a tentative step closer, further into the room, feeling the weight of the unspoken grief between them.

They never really spoke about Tate, the sudden nature of his passing, the fact that he was no longer walking this earth. It was like some sort of unspoken rule that they'd let his memory be, no need to dwell on it. Plus, her mother was the strongest woman she knew, and she'd put up a solid front this entire time. Hell, she tolerated Nelly's outbursts like a champ, never prodded or anything.

Unhealthy? Potentially. And yeah, maybe that was why Nelly could barely think about her brother without feeling an all consuming emptiness.

Mary–Anne sighed heavily, her eyes flickering from the empty boxes to the untouched remnants of her son's belongings scattered around the room. "I used to complain about the mess, the endless clutter that he never seemed to wanna clean up," she said as she went toward his bed, grabbing a stuffed giraffe he'd had since he was a baby, "but now I don't want to touch a single thing because this is how he left it, even though I know I have to."

A lump formed in Nelly's throat as she fought back the pressure building behind her eyes. She wanted to hold onto everything, every little piece of Tatum Sequoia that still lingered in the room despite his prominent absence.

"We don't have to get rid of anything," she said, clearing her throat slightly as she toed one of the boxes away from them. "We could just clean, dust— open the blinds... 'til we're ready."

Her mother nodded, breathing out through her mouth and putting her hands on her hips, a stabilizing movement. One that inevitably faltered when the giraffe fell from her hands and onto the floor.

"I miss him," Mary-Anne finally confessed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Everyday, how I miss that boy."

Nelly squeezed her mother's hand gently, a single tear escaping her eye that she wasn't quick enough to brush away. It was nice, hearing her mother express the same feelings she felt. "I do too."

They stood there, mother and daughter, holding onto each other tightly as they faced the daunting task of moving forward without him.

And it was a journey that would have to start with grabbing a damn dustpan, and maybe a vacuum too.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚⋆

[ wyn's note ]

bro I miss baby tate like??? next chap will be a little more uplifting as a treat (and then who knows... but rlly i know... and it won't be fun....)

57k on this fic is insanity yall, thanks a bunch!!

all my love xo