Garry had never been to any funerals before, really. At least not ones that he could remember. His grandfather died when he was three, and he wasn't invited to his father's. He always assumed that it rained at funerals, just by what he had seen on TV. But the sun was beaming down on them with hot summer intensity, making him even more uncomfortably aware of how much black he and the rest of the crowd were wearing. He handed Ib a water bottle the funeral directors had handed out before they made the trek to the cemetery. "Try drinking something?" He coaxed. She shook her head, wiping her sweaty bangs to the side of her forehead. He stopped, kneeling down and pushing the bottle towards her. "Please, Ib," he insisted, "you need to drink. You've either sweated or cried everything out at this point."

She looked at the bottle, looked at him, and took it silently, pulling the cap off and chugging down half of it.

"Slow down, or you'll get sick," he fretted, attempting a small smile. She handed the water bottle back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before continuing her walk. He joined her, offering his hand for what felt like the hundredth time. She ignored him for another few seconds before grudgingly placing her hand in his. He sighed. He had done so much research on childhood grief after the accident that he knew that anger and acting out were common reactions to death, but after living with Ib for over a week, he knew it for a fact. Garry had never seen her act the way she had in the hours he spent with her – angry, tearful – terrified.

He didn't like to think about the gallery. But he didn't think that even once, she acted out her fear the way he had. She didn't want to get hurt, certainly, but she was just young enough that she didn't fully understand her own mortality. She was afraid sometimes, but never the anxiety-riddled, wild-eyed fear that she was exhibiting in the wake of her parents' death. It scared him more than anything that this was affecting her more than...that. When he, a grown man, continually had nightmares about women in crawling portraits, blonde girls with sharp blades, and wide paintings that had prevented him from ever entering an art gallery in three years, and for the foreseeable future.
Garry looked down at the thin brunette when she came to a sudden halt. "What's up?"

"...do we have to go back?"

Garry bit his lip. "Well...we're expected to be there for a little bit, rose."

"I don't want to."

"Me either."

"Then why are we going?"

He sighed again. He loved Ib, but...he had no idea how to handle a distraught, grieving twelve year old. He considered how his mother used to explain things he didn't want to do. His dark eyes met with her crimson, and he placed his hand on the top of her head. "It's expected, honey. We won't stay long, I promise. We can even start packing things up tonight if you want."

"Okay."

They continued walking in silence, and they were silent for most of the reception, beyond politely explaining their situation – Garry was going to have her move in with him, the family was going to sell the family house, and he was going to take care of her per the request of her parents until she was 18. He got a few strange looks, and even caught a few of her older estranged cousins whisper unsavory words regarding the type of relationship he and Ib had, but he tried his best to ignore them. After an hour or so, he politely bowed out, Ib in tow. She was silent as he drove away from the church, staring out the window but not really looking at anything. As they pulled up into the driveway of her family home, bigger and more spacious than he could ever hope to pay for on his salary, he turned around to look at her.

"Ib, I - "

She jumped out of the car and ran into the house before he could finish his thought, tearing into the house with more speed than he had seen her exhibit before. "Ib, wait!" He shouted, fumbling with his keys to turn off the engine and pull them out of the ignition before running after her, giving her time to unlock the door and rush inside. He swung the car door open and chased after her into the house, calling for her as he twisted his head around for signs of her. He heard her footsteps above his head, and ran up the stairs to her room as her door slammed shut. Garry stopped in front of the door, confused and, if he was being honest, a little angry. "Ib!" He called, knocking on the door. "Ib, please open the door!"
"No!" Her voice, muffled by the barrier of the door, sounded even angrier than he did.

"Ib, open the door - "

"You're not my dad! Don't tell me what to do!"

Garry's heart dropped to the floor. He stepped away from the door, pursing his lips before concentrating on preventing any of the sorrow he felt bubbling beneath the surface from showing itself. "Ib...if you need to talk, please...I'm right here..."

Silence.

He stood for a few more minutes before sliding down to the ground against the wall. He sat quietly, his attention fully on sounds coming from the tween's room and keeping himself from making any of the sounds of grief he desperately wanted to let loose. It wasn't like he didn't have an idea of what she was feeling. When his father had passed, he cried like a baby. Of course, at that point, he hadn't seen his father in years and his new marriage had brought him further and further away from ever having a real relationship with him beyond a birthday card every year. But it still hurt. Maybe not as much as seeing his closest friend and confidante lose her parents, but it hurt. He could feel his heart wrenching in his chest, as if it was trying to rip itself out of his body to run away from the fear and anxiety that was crawling in his skin. He never thought of himself as a father figure to Ib in the first place, if anything, he considered himself a friend or a brother – not someone in a position to raise her, to lead her, or even help her the way her parents had. He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard a soft thump against the door, and a dark spot against the lamp light shining through the bottom crack of the door.

"That you, Ib?" he murmured.

She didn't respond, but he turned around anyway, pressing his back against the opposite side of the door to her. "I'm...I'm sorry for sounding demanding." He hesitated, trying to find the words he wanted to say. "I know I'm not your dad, Ib. I'm sorry for acting like I was."

Silence rang between them for several more minutes before her soft voice replied.

"...it's okay. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

He allowed a bitter smile on his face, gathering his stray bangs in a fist. "No, don't apologize. I started that one. I should have let you be for a while."

More silence.

"It's worse than the gallery."

Garry felt his blood freeze in his veins as she voiced his worst fear. He didn't think his attempt at a calm tone of voice succeeded as he managed to choke out, "Why?"

"Because this isn't something we have a chance to get out of." He heard her sniffle. "They're just...gone. That's it. There's no other world, there's no way that this isn't real or just an illusion, they're just - " The sniffles turned into sobs at this point. " - they're just gone. I'm never going to see them again. I'm never going to go shopping with my mother again. I'm never going to go to a dance with my father again. We won't have our family dinners – our vacations – our evenings together – I'm never going to have my parents!" By the time she reached her last sentence, she was screaming the words out.

Garry couldn't take it any more. At this point, his own tears were starting to stream down his face. This wasn't a pain he could heal. It wasn't something he could even begin to patch. "Ib..."

The only sounds between them for a few minutes were her heaving, body-racking sobs. As the minutes passed, feeling like eternities, she quietly knocked to alert him and opened the door as he pulled away from the barrier. Garry's heart twisted at the sight of her in her funeral dress, eyes red with tears and mouth open in a silent wail. "Eve..."

He gathered her in his arms, letting her cry out on his shoulder once more. He was painfully aware of how similar the situation was to when she first lost her parents, but hoped she was too distracted with her own grief to recognize it. Instead of saying anything, he simply rubbed her back and smoothed her hair.

Her sobs became deep breaths, and he gently squeezed her. "I'm not your parents. I know I can never replace your parents," he whispered, picking her up and becoming aware that she was not as easy to carry as she was when she was nine. "You're always going to miss them. I can't even...I can't even pretend that you aren't going to." He sat on her bed, holding her close. "But...but I swear we'll eat meals together, and we'll go to theme parks and beaches together, and I'll take you dancing, and I'll take you shopping to the prettiest and fanciest stores you can ever dream, and - " He didn't notice Ib staring up at him as he screwed his eyes up and squeezed her into another hug. " - and I'll love you, so much, Ib, enough for two people." He covered his tear-stained eyes and cheeks with the crook of his free arm, embarrassed that Ib had to see him in such a state. "I'm sorry, rose. I'm going to be strong for you. I promise."

Ib sat up from being held close to his lap and chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Surprised, Garry hesitated before wrapping his own arms around her middle, as if they were holding each other in the eye of a storm.

(Author's note: Mmm, that's enough doom and gloom I think for now. Sorry for such a sad chapter! It will get better for the babes, I promise. Thank you for your patience for a new chapter; I've had a pretty horrible writer's block with the chapter after this one and I didn't want to update without something halfway done afterwards. Thank you, and please enjoy!)