Disclaimer:
I do not in any way, shape, and/or form own Scooby Doo, its characters, or anything creepy that goes on in the series. I do, however, own the right to manipulate anything I see fit.

I also do not own the songs I happen to place in here. I like 'em though, and you should like 'em too dang it!

AN:

Before you get your panties in a bunch (men, yes I like that on you, stop with your judging), I was feeling a certain way. This isn't a copy of the original So Close, So Far, but a revised version that is a bit more mature.

Who am I kidding? Look, I wanted to revise it because I feel, personally, that my writing has grown since I first published it. Also, I was feeling a bit remorseful for losing touch with the woman who allowed this story onto her site in my attempt to get back into the writing game. I don't know where she is or how she's doing, but if anyone knows the person behind the Grey Law Database, let her know that this revision was done and dedicated with her in mind. Her challenge allowed me to stretch my fingers, and while my life is different from those days, I still owe a lot to her.

I will leave the original up for you to enjoy as well. Like I said, this is my progression in writing.

And...yeah, I tried to incorporate this better for the sequel. :)

The original So Close, So Far can be read here: s/5172913/1/So-close-So-Far

The sequel In and out of Reach (wip) can be read here: s/5517837/1/In-and-Out-of-Reach

Bold italics - 'thoughts'
Bold font - rhetorical questions
Italics- "Lyrics" /Lyrics/

Part 1: So far away

12:35 p.m.:

The tinny sound of the old girl rattled his brain and his body if he pushed her too hard. She was old and getting older with no foreseeable future in sight for how long she would last in the coming days. He hated not knowing. He hated it and the dry coughing wheeze like pop of the muffler when something stuck under the hood and had the insides smelling of whatever was burning. Some days it was coolant, other days it was oil, and most times the gas got more turn inside the cabin than in the tank.

Getting her fixed was out of the question. He fingered the handle he had in his hand and shook his head when the numbers came racing at him for parts and things of the like. Classic ladies like this one needed the finest parts from their day to keep running, and this old girl had seen her productions end long ago. The jobs used to maintain her were far and few now as their teenage lives had taken on the mantle of adulthood and put them in the real world where a steady paycheck was needed to keep things like her alive. Besides which, of the jobs they had taken on the road that was still addled with their youthfulness, these days it was much more common to run into something that left them wishing for that same ignorance they had before they ran into these things. There were some truly disturbed people in the world, and other things he would rather leave under the dark veil they'd been ripped from. Regardless of the world and its eccentricities, he knew that the old girl was a goner the moment she'd sputtered, coughed, and wheezed her way right back into Volkswagen heaven on the third attempt to get her up and running for a trip she just would not make.

The final touch was the handle that broke off the moment he'd tried to open her doors. It was a sign that it was time to move on and she was finally done with their adventures.

"You're still mourning her, aren't you."

It was said as more of a statement than a question, posed by a man who understood the seriousness of this. He nodded brusquely, clearing his throat and wiping at his face to keep himself intact. He bit his lip as a slender hand clapped him on his shoulder. He got a firm shake and he straightened himself up.

Allergies were so fickle these days.

"Like, are you all right?"

"Y-yeah." He coughed, cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. "Um, I'm fine. She was a beauty though."

"Yeah man...it does. But it's for the best. You've had her since your parents co-signed for it. They called her Junk on wheels I believe."

He laughed bitterly at that. "They still do. I had this girl for eight glorious years….I'm going to miss her."

"Me too, man...me too."

Like many who mourned properly of a death like this, he bowed his head. Well, he tried to, but it was hard when the snickers kept coming from the girls, keeping him from mourning too deeply like men should when their cars died. He spun, glaring at them trying desperately not to giggle but failing miserably.

In the end, his face proved to be too much. They cracked up and down on the floor.

"You girls have no respect!"

They laughed even harder. Bright blue eyes watered only by tears of laughter peered up at him before closing against an uncontrollable fit of giggles. "Please tell me you're not mourning the van," she wheezed. His solemn look only kept her holding her gut in hysterics. "Oh my god..."

"Give me a break here!"

"How about we give you a pill?" the other laughed. She wiped her eyes beneath those familiar frames; snickering all the while she managed to get up off of her knees. "Honestly Fred, it's just a car!"

"It's a Classic Volkswagen! You can't find vehicles like this anymore...and she brought us everywhere..."

"Looks like she got sick of us—"

"Daphne—"

"—And it's not like you didn't get another one," she pointed out. She managed to get back to her feet as well, dusting off the latest fashion ensemble with her perfectly manicured nails. Her svelte body spun on her three inch pumps and she pointed, showcasing the new machine with a gesticulated wave of her arm. She was waiting for them to get in it. She could keep waiting. He pouted at her and Daphne cackled. "You've had this one for a week now!"

"And?!"

"You didn't even paint it!"

"Hey, we don't say anything to you when you're mourning over the dryer that fried!" his best friend shot. "Have some respect!"

"Reah! Rome REPECT!"

She glared at the duo, hands placing themselves on her slender hips. "If I recall, I seem to remember you two trying to make s'mores with it."

"Hey, the commercial said it could do it! Besides...we were hungry!"

"REAH!"

"And you had nothing better to do than test out that theory on a blow dryer that cost me seventy bucks?"

Their resident hippie snorted and turned his nose up at the very idea of spending that much on a blow dryer. A meal that had all four courses and a dessert tray? Yeah, sure, every single time! That thing? "Pfft. Like, you need to get a refund, like pronto." The Great Dane aside him agreed, getting a bright righteous laugh out of their local all American jock. He smiled at the hippie, glad for the support and the attempt to make him feel better about this. "Like, you really shouldn't buy anything that says it can do something and it doesn't like, deliver!"

"Shaggy!"

"I was doing you a favor. And speaking of Deliver…"

Velma cut him off at the bit before he could salivate over the prospect of invisible food. "Oh no! We can stop on the way there," she instructed. She shoved her glasses up on her small nose a bit in mirth. "Besides, didn't you just eat an hour ago?"

"Yeah! But, like, that was an hour ago! Scoob and I are practically starving now!"

The Great Dane whimpered and threw himself on the floor. His owner would have joined him had Velma not pulled four snacks out of her pocket and thrown it at them. Those things didn't have a chance and would have been gone faster if they didn't have to chew things. They were back to life and on board with food a little later though, "But not more than a half hour, cause like, I have a fast metabolism," Shaggy joked, which only had Fred laughing at this little lot of theirs all over again.

It was always like this. Fred—who usually had plans of grandeur—would be pouting about something gone horridly awry, Daphne and Velma would mock his manliness openly, and it would be the resident Hippie of their lot and his goofy dog Shaggy and Scooby to come along and bring him out of his little funk. The girls would lighten up soon enough and the day would move on, though most days they weren't out on the road like they used to be looking for mysteries to solve on their own. No, that sort of died when the mysteries started coming to them. It didn't stop them from looking now and again, for the sake of nostalgia and to keep from settling completely in one place for too long. Settling had been something they had tried before and it hadn't ended well for anyone.

Fred took a last look upon the old girl. He placed his hand upon her rusted grill, reminded of just how many times she rammed into something or someone's contraption. It would surely fall off if he tried it now. It was one of many things about this old girl that made leaving her a little more bearable. Her paint was chipped and faded with rush spots beneath the many layers that had been painted over it, her engine beyond his magic touch, and her insides were old, tattered, and worn through to creak ominously at the slightest touch. The faded words on her dubbed name were still there, but the "Mystery" had now become how she'd managed to run this long.

Fred didn't want to think about it too much or wander back before the short two years before her death. He kept the tick out of his jaw and looked at the much newer model of the same brand that brought with it the comforts of today and left the option of roughing it in the dust. The newest member of their family sat pretty on the end of the drive way, revved up and ready to go toward wherever they would go. Her paint new, her insides flawless, and her engine a long ways from sputtering, she was in tip top shape.

But she wasn't home or even remotely broken in.

What was home anymore anyhow?

"We have to go, you guys!" Daphne called. She was already by the doors, tapping her watch restlessly when she saw the time. "We were supposed to be on the road fifteen minutes ago!"

"And WHY are we ALL going to see Dear Uncle Liam?" Shaggy groused tiredly. "Like...it's not a ghost or anything else, is it?"

It was an honest question, and they were genuinely shocked when she shook her head and said, "No silly! I was invited to my cousin's wedding, and you're my added guests."

"Oh. Wait, what WEDDING?!"

"As in, tuxedoes?" Fred murmured. "None of which we have?"

"And dresses?" Velma inquired irritably holding the bridge of her nose, "Which we also don't have?"

"Hey, I'm all for it if there's free eats!" Shaggy exclaimed. "Weddings are only second best to buffet tables..."

"Why'd do you say that?"

"At a buffet table, I don't have to worry about stains!"

She held her head a little more. Fred snickered, "You asked for that one."

Daphne cut them all off with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about all that," she said. "All of that is taken care of. All we have to do is show up. Besides," she said flipping a bit of her long hair back, "We need a weekend to relax."

And they did. It was a point of tension within their group after two years of things in the dark making themselves known and rocking their known world of masks and crime so far to the left that Shaggy still twitched from the last misadventure. Driving from place to place and stumbling into god knows what half the time was giving Shaggy honest to god gray hairs. Why he wasn't white haired and paler than he was, was beyond Fred. Scooby was no better. The Great Dane jumped at the smallest thing these days. It could have been anything, and he would still run scrambling for a way out.

Their genius was no better. Velma looked like she could use a couple of nights where this thing called thinking just didn't exist. She was always immersed in something, and lately it had been in the books of her bookstore to balance them outside of trying to unravel what was real and what wasn't. The light bags under her eyes couldn't be overlooked with the coffee she quickly finished off. They were noticeable when she rubbed her face under the rims of her glasses reflecting the early hour of today. Her sleepless nights were catching up to her.

"Come on! Let's get going already!"

As for Daphne, she was as refreshed and eager to go as ever. She was the picture of perfection, which was a testament as to just how much effort she put into keeping anyone one from noticing just how tired she was of being the chick chased down by perverts and sexist pigs thinking she was the easy target. Her black belt in karate told those idiots a different story, but the running and monotonous crap wore her out as well despite her fresh appearance. Daphne was a Blake after all. She couldn't go anywhere looking like anything less that Daphnesque, which in turn was part of the reason they were late now. She still motioned for them to get a move on. It was a long drive.

Fred sighed and reluctantly nodded. A break would do them some good.

"Are you driving?"

Well, SOME. Once again he was the driver of their merry little bandwagon and cranking the new still unpainted mystery machine with little more than a twist of his wrist. There were bags in the trunk and a couple on the roof tied down with some cables, those up top another reason why they were running late. Daphne was in the center seat aside him and Velma in her respective seat on the passenger side. He head fell against the window as he put the car in motion. He checked the rearview mirror. Shaggy and Scooby were already making themselves comfortable in the backseats, prepped to snore their way there if possible. Velma was already half gone, so it was just he and Daphne in the front as he pulled onto the road.

It was until she pulled her headphones out and sat back to zone out herself.

Looks like it's just me and you brain...

3:49 p.m.:

"I know sorries just wouldn't do it...
Her heart is obliterated,
I'm trying to travel through
but it's like
Moving Mountains..."

The smooth baritone voice singing a piece of pop's entourage from a mixed channel stirred Shaggy from his sleep. He'd been out like a light from the moment his head hit the back cushions of a seat that hadn't been in the other vehicle, which was akin to sleeping on clouds in the most expensive hotel money could buy. His tiredness was owed more to late shifts and other odd jobs piling up before the lull usually happened and he was free for a little while to veg out. Of course some of these odd jobs placed him in the modern world of teen melancholy, forced to manage or teach those zit faced brats that moaned more about serving their fellow peers than learning what a decent wage could do for a person. Then there were the ones he didn't readily brag about, mainly because it involved fast paced movement behind a florescent lit bar, pouring drinks of plenty down the throats of those who would gladly run up their tabs as he was deafened by the DJ of the night with their chosen mix of whatever came to mind. Spiraling lights would come to visit from time to time to place a handle on the rowdy crowds getting too liquored up to think about why accosting the bar tender was always a bad idea, but at his age things like that were welcome and normal like they should be.

He was always glad to come home and drop in his matress and die a little for a few hours, and he'd fully expected to snore all the way to wherever they were headed. However his sleep was being pulled back by a voice he hadn't heard sing in a while…and it was a good reason to crack open his eye.

The vehicle was still moving, steady and flawless in her motion. There were no bumps, cracks, that loud popping of something breaking, or that smell of fumes coming from the inside of the car. A part of him missed it, but the other part—his back—didn't quite care. He noticed the sun had gotten past the highest point and settled midway into the west, the heat of the day waning and making him wonder how long he'd be able to tolerate the unfamiliar coolness of circulated air. It felt heavenly but foreign; so used to the windows being rolled down as a source to cool off or a couple of ice packs resting on his back to keep him from balking at his own sticky discomfort.

Before, he may have been openly roasted and willing to ride up on the old girl just to get some air. Now he enjoyed the luxury of not having those windows open, bugs flying in, and smelling the outside and whatever was buried in the air. He sat up a little further and spied Scooby lying across his favorite spot, his head pressed in Daphne's lap with her hand draped over his head and his rear pushed against Velma's hip as the brunette slept soundly with a small smile on her face.

Shaggy, realizing he was looking backwards rather than forward, realized he was in the front.

How…did I get up here?

"But I keep climbing
and hoping things will change;
When the sky turns grey
and the water from the rain
washes progress away...
It's like
Moving Mountains..."

He stopped looking into the rearview and tilted his head to the left. Fred was in his direct line of sight, reclined in his seat with one arm on the wheel and the other fiddling with tapping his leg. His mind was on the song, his soft crooning accompanying the sound of the Volkswagen moving. He didn't even look to press something on the dashboard—a button. The song ended and something else popped up, the bright blue of the station flickering as the system grabbed another station; another song from wherever its digital database lie.

The familiar pluck of a chord against the bass made him fully aware. He wanted to hit his head a little bit on the window but resisted, smiling ruefully at nothing and everything. What was his life right now? He chose to lean back instead and let the length of his hair fall with him as he sung the way he tended to when it was just them back then. "Cause I've run a mile...In my head..."

Fred smiled quietly, turning onto the next patch of dirt leading them further out into the country. Like the turn, he didn't miss a beat of the song. "Didn't listen to...a thing that you said..."

"But it's the simple things...that make you smile..."

"...It's the simple things...that make you smile..."

Shaggy nodded. He loved simple things; simply things like singing a song in that corny manner that made them brethren of a type that could be close without being uncomfortable about it in the view of others. Singing like this kept him mellow, though the words coming from him next were an honest question that he thought about in the privacy of his own company. "So what went wrong?"

"Was it me that let you down again?"

Shaggy didn't know. Some piece of him bartered that question but he could only sing, "So what went wrong?"

Fred sighed but didn't miss a beat. "How could I ever, lose my best friend?"

That was a topic he wasn't quite ready to broach again, not even two years after coming back from his "sabbatical". Fred didn't call him on it and Shaggy was grateful. He slouched a little more and nudged Fred lightly with his green eyes. "Hey...did I sleepwalk into the front again?"

"Yep."

"Good. I'm tired of getting the backseat."

"Why don't you try hopping in the front from now on?"

He shook his head, almost leaning forward enough to place his head on the dashboard. His shaggy head of brown just barely covered the beginnings of his face, giving him that youthful uncaring look of rebel sitting back without a troubling thought to share. His smile lit up the cabin, and Fred couldn't keep himself from smiling back. "Are you, like, serious man?" he laughed softly. "Daphne would beat the tar out of me...then you!"

"You could outrun her any day and you know it."

"Maybe...doesn't mean I want to. Too much effort," he said before Fred could call him on that open-ended response. He grinned in triumph, running a hand through his shoulder length locks. Growing up meant change, and part of that change was to rid himself of that shaggy bowl cut that he'd kept because it was appealing to a certain someone. He'd stopped grabbing the scissors and just let it be, and it had turned into a massive sheen of rugged silk old men of the chopper would die for. One would swear—and Daphne often did—that he'd purposely gone out and done something to it. He hadn't.

He could swear she was muttering in her sleep about stylists, and Shaggy laughed. "She'd murder me for my hair, and my love of s'mores!"

"...did you honestly—?"

"Yeah man and it was awesome! That'll teach her for not telling me about my stove."

Fred knew there was a story behind the s'more incident. Shaggy wasn't as simple as just being blatantly curious, which got a laugh out of him as he reached to nudge Shaggy on his shoulder in play. "I told you not to let her cook!"

"Man, she's a chick! I thought she could!"

"Riiiight. Who are we talking about now?"

"Tch, whatever. I got my s'mores."

Fred's laughter was something Shaggy missed more than he let on. He didn't laugh as often as he used to, or smile. He certainly didn't sing much anymore, and Shaggy could only wonder at the reasons why aside the blaring obvious lump sitting between them metaphorically. The joking was muted and careful, the touches stilted and plotted, and if that tick in Fred's jaw appeared Shaggy would shut down and just sit and not talk. Growing up meant change…but this change wasn't something that was welcome to their once easy camaraderie. They weren't like they used to be.

The only thing they did that was the same now was drive.

How did it all go so horridly wrong?

He lifted his head at the end of the song, and tried not to think about it. He knew where they had gone wrong, and it was partially his fault. The steady strum of another guitar singing away through the speakers, kept him from going down that road, and kept him from his best friend's worried gaze. His brooding always had Fred's attention, even if they were driving wherever the road took them.

"I know I've been mistaken...
but just give me a break
and see the changes that I've made..."

Fred wanted to roll his head forward but he was driving. Shaggy...

At least they had this; these short conversations that ended with them singing things that were relevant enough to know their meaning without directly talking about it because feelings? Dudes? NO. It was just messy outside of the death of a beloved car and Fred wasn't ready to think about it like that. Shaggy certainly wasn't and neither man would push the other to "share" their feelings like the girls demanded at times.

They liked these short conversations with words littered between each verse, a calling that they knew and understood better than anyone. Fred could hear the unsaid question lingering in the air when he opened his throat to the next song verse.

"I've got some imperfections...
But how can you collect them all
and throw them in my face?"

Are you still mad about that?

He answered slowly and strongly, startling Fred with the power behind his voice. Shaggy never sung like this...not when he could help it.

"And you always find a way
To keep me right here waiting..."

Does it matter? I'm here...you're here. It's enough.

It had to be. This was stable, them, and normal and Shaggy wanted to hold onto this and just not remember that THING that kept wondering why he hadn't just come home sooner.

He kept singing…sure and true, unaware of the waking girls behind him until Scooby let out a soft whine and brought everything crashing back down.

"...Shaggy?!"

He let out an emphatic "Fuck!" that had the girls gasping and Fred laughing so hard he almost drove off the road.

5:53 p.m.:

The girls, as lovely as they were, were annoying by the time they got to where they needed to be. They had not stopped hounding Shaggy until he caved in and sang ONE song with them which had them asking more about his hidden talents, which were his and hidden and never to be unveiled thank you very much! He could sing when he wanted, and he didn't sing in fear of people pestering him like this.

Fred parked the car and turned off the engine, stalling long enough to see Shaggy flee the confines of the passenger seat. Velma, Daphne, and Scooby were out seconds later leaving him alone with the sudden face of an attendant perched on his side. He smiled sheepishly at the young man, scooting out of the car in time for it to be swarmed with a bunch of people he hadn't seen come or go. He should have been used to it by now.

Every time they went to visit one of Daphne's relatives they wound up surrounded by all kinds of hired help paid well to do their jobs. Butlers, Maids, Valet; if it could move to help it did and service was always given with a smile. He'd learned not to get in their way, despite his tempted motions to unload his new baby and stow her away like he should have been. He forced himself to sidestep and leave it to the butlers, knowing that they wouldn't see the car until it was time to go and their bags would vanish until they found their rooms tonight.

It probably was a good thing it was going on six.

"Uncle Liam!"

"Daphne my dear! Welcome, welcome! We've been expecting you!"

Fred ignored the sound of his car being parked somewhere else. Velma stopped tugging on Shaggy's arm, and Scooby stopped sniffing her out for those hidden snacks she kept. Fred parked himself on Shaggy's free side in time for 'Uncle Liam' to stand before them.

He was a man of a good build, muscular in his arms and tall, a trait of the male Blakes that couldn't be overlooked literally. Fred had filled out himself with a late growth spurt and stood just a smidge higher than Shaggy, but Liam was taller than the both of them. However, his girth was one of a well fed man, jolly in and out of the home. A thought of Santa passed, but Liam was too slender for that role and much too far south. He did hold his belly as a deep rolling laugh greeted them, amused at how they'd stopped frozen in their steps to properly gawk at him.

It was then that it all went to pot with Shaggy's sudden stumble over his own foot, Fred's dive to right him and falling right alongside him and Velma letting go too quick to stop her own flailing butt from hitting the floor. Add Scooby running to help Shaggy and getting caught in the mess and it was a heap of bodies on the floor.

Fred stared up at the skies. Shaggy moaned sideways with his face panted somewhere hard. Velma shoved her skirt down and blushed and Scooby sat down like he'd planned this, snickering as his tail wagged back and forth.

"Rorry Raggy..."

"Oh, goodness!" Liam rumbled deeply. A large hand covered his red beard; a subtle stroke keeping the laughter at bay. "Are you lads and lass all right?"

A little dirt didn't kill anyone. Concrete did...and it smart. Shaggy sat up long before Fred, rubbing his aching elbows and wincing at the scrapes he'd gotten. 'Another set to add to the collection...'

"Shaggy?"

"I'm fine Fred...nothing I can't handle."

"Nonsense my boy," Uncle Liam said. "Come now...we'll get this looked at and cleaned properly. No use in getting hurt before the party!"

Party? What party?! The boys and Velma looked at Daphne shrugging at them. "I forgot," she said. "We usually throw a party the night before the wedding to loosen us up." The baleful looks they gave her were not lost on the redhead who ignored them and chirped, "Oh come on, it'll be fun!"

"Fun? I thought relaxing was fun," Shaggy muttered. He started to get up, only to have another set of hands lifting him faster. Fred stood as his support, pulling him to stand upright.

"…oh…fu—crap!"

"...Shags...are you okay?!"

Shaggy hated his feet at times. They always landed him in awkward positions. He was looking up this time, cheeks redder than ever and his arms grabbing hold of the back of Fred's shirt as he tried to right himself. Of course this was NOT how it looked to anyone that thought this was funny. It looked like something out of a bad chick flick, with his arms locked around Fred's shoulders, his body pressed flush against the stronger body with his own back bowed from the way he'd tripped right into those arms draped right around his waist.

That was DAPHNE'S thing, NOT his! Her laughter was so not helping him right now. She was supposed to be the helpless one here, clinging to Fred and hoping to God he wouldn't move because her foot hurt like hell. Shaggy tried to place it back down but that foot wasn't having it and his wince only made Fred hold him tighter to keep him from hopping away.

"FRED!"

And of course the jock would somehow maneuver him to land right on his back and carry him like he wasn't heavy at all. "Just sit tight."

"What do you mean?! I can—"

"No you can't so shut up."

Shutting up was good. Burying his face somewhere where no one could see him was even better. He groaned pathetically into his hands and was carried off into the Estate everyone was too busy to awe over.

His emphatic cursing this time had the girls laughing and Fred keeping his eyes on his path this time.

I miss my Zune.

R.I.P.

Head for the next part while I mourn.