There were lots of black umbrellas.

Too many black umbrellas.

In a way, it was great how many black umbrellas there were, but in a way, it was horrible as well.

He wouldn't have wanted black umbrellas, Russell knew this.

He wouldn't have wanted black umbrellas, or bloodshot eyes, with tears running down said bloodshot eyes, mingling and mixing with the rain falling from the sky. He wouldn't have wanted it to rain, either - the rain always made his joints ache, or so he complained about to Russell (before, of course, Russell would drag him off on some spectacular adventure).

That's what he would have wanted, Russell knew this. He would have wanted people to remember the adventurous, yet cantankerous old man he was, not the cold lifeless body lying in the coffin. It was, just a body, after all.

The soul of that body hadn't appeared wrinkled, at least not the last time Russell had seen him. That soul had been young and vibrant, had looked out the window at the great blue sky and spoke well into the night when the sky was as black as all those umbrellas. He spoke about everything and nothing, giving Russell that last feel of that thing he lacked.

He spent his last moments acting like Russell's father. And Russell felt guilty, because he let him - he let him waste those last minutes on him (what selfish person would do that? he would ask himself).

But then, maybe it wasn't a waste.

Maybe it wasn't Russell's fault he spent those last moments rambling on and on about properly inflating a balloon, about saving money in mason jars, about dealing with loss and heartbreak, about getting married and thinking about starting a family, about how loss and heartbreak can happen even when your at your happiest.

It was then, when Russell was standing in the middle of all those black umbrellas, a plain purple balloon held in his hand as the rain began to clear, that he realized that somehow, those last minutes had meant something to the man. They meant as much to him, as they did to Russell.

When he was alone, and his tears had dried, and his lips pressed hard together broke into a small and sad, but peaceful smile, he let go of that balloon.

"See you later, Mr. Fredricksen..."

A/N Why do I do things like this? Why?!

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