What goes up must go down.

-Don't own Pixar. I'd mess it up.

Russel's POV:

Dug sat beside me at Carl's funeral. He'd been like a dad to me. We'd spent the best years of my life together, ever since our adventure seven years ago. I'd been eight, it had been the biggest thing to happen to me ever. I can't say I was handling Carl's death well, I was a wreck. I'd almost destroyed everything, yelled at my real dad until he left me alone, I almost kicked Dug. I was depressed and frustrated honestly. I couldn't handle it couldn't take it anymore. When I woke up this morning a suit was lain out, ironed nicely, along with a tie, my dad's way of making our fight up to me. I'd put the suit on and the tie and gingerly fastened the grape soda cap to my suit. I wear it everyday, and now that my idol and inspiration and best friend honestly is dead I will continue wearing it in his honor. Dug rests his head on my lap and we both sigh. Neither of us know what to do now. We're lonely and sad and directionless. Carl made every day of my life an adventure, but now that he's gone my life is dull and colorless and just depressing. I wish there was something I could do to get out of this slump but there isn't.

My dad sends a car for me. I set in the back stroking Dug's head as we sit in silence. Dug whimpers a little and I just stare out the window, tears leaking from my face. I finger the grape soda cap and sigh again. When I get home my dad glances up for a brief moment and asks if I'll be okay. I don't answer, I just go out to the garage.

Adventure was always Carl's passion, even after he lost Ellie. While I've never met anyone as great as he always made Ellie out to be, I do have a passion of my own, and I wouldn't have found it if it weren't for him. Inventing is something I can be passionate about, the only thing I have left other than Dug. I discovered my interest in it after seeing Dug's collar. I wanted to learn how it worked so I took it apart and became fascinated. I was able to put it back together and even improve it, but I also like working on other projects, not all of them are completely related to dogs, but a lot of them are because I have dog insight at my finger tips. Dug's getting pretty old but he still has the same energy that he refuses to give up. I'm glad that Dug refuses to give into old age. Carl had no choice to. He was really sick and dying. It couldn't be stopped. I spent every day with him as he died. I told him the stories of the adventures we had together and we looked at the Adventure book. It seemed to make him happy. At least he died happy.

That's the thing. People can die happy, but the people left alive, like me, we're not happy. I don't think I can be happy.

A few hours later my step mom comes to get me for dinner. I come but I don't eat. No one says anything to me and that's perfectly fine with me. Dug curls up my feet and I feed him some of my dinner, but he's apathetic too. Neither of us really care about things. I found a little pleasure in my tinkering on my projects, but it wasn't enough. I miss Carl. Carl was always there for me when my dad wasn't. Ellie would've been like a mom to me I know, had she been alive. My step mom isn't a good mom, but Dad never picks good women. My own mom might have been a good one, but she died when I was little so I really don't know. Ever since then its been step mom after step mom or between step moms its girlfriends, and I hope that my real mom was the one for my dad, or he'll probably never know real love. I have two half siblings, but their mom's got custody so I only see them at Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving... Oh thats coming up isn't it? One less thing to be thankful for. I can't take things for granted, that would be selfish of me. I guess I have a pretty good life. I just don't know what I'm going to do without Carl.

I don't know what I'm going to do at all.

The rest of the day drags on. I ruined the suit while I was tinkering but my dad says nothing about it. He doesn't care. He can by another one at the snap of his finger. That's what I am to him, something that can be dealt with with money and a finger snap. To him I'm not his son but a thing that needs to be taken care of for no real reason. I don't care though. I never used to care. I had no reason to care. I had a family. I still have Dug.

When I go to bed I don't know how I'll be able to sleep, I still see the image of Carl in a casket when I close my eyes. Still feel the weight of the words, "He's dead." I remember when it happened, it was awful. The nurses and doctors rushed in and pushed me out nad I watched from the window as he died and they could do nothing about it. I was panicking inside, my chest tightened up and I didn't know what to do so I just cried. I hate that memory.

I force myself to close my eyes and try to sleep, and reluctantly I drift off. And when I'm asleep the dreams come.

DON'T KILL ME I HAVE A PLAN.