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[Fic] The Right Words [Mar. 13th, 2011|07:15 am]
Dead Poets Society

dps_fans

[bombalurima1]
[Tags|, , , ]


Hello everyone! I'm long-time DPS fan, so I'm excited to find a place such as this! I'm also a writer, so I came up with a little fic.

It's set during Neil's funeral. Pitts doesn't say much...but when he does...

 

Out of the lot of them, Pitts is the one who says the least.

He stands, a quiet, looming giant in the background, too tall to be entirely unnoticed, but not loud enough to draw attention to himself.

He likes it that way.

He could never be Cameron, with his snitty words and pompous manner, constantly drawing attention to himself because he believes what he has to say is more important than anything else.

He could never be Meeks, smart enough to know when it isn't his turn to speak, and confident enough to do so when it is.

He could never be Knox, calm and easy-going enough, until something really riles him up. Something seems to break inside the other boy then, and a dam bursts. Knox is one of the most passionate people Pitts knows—there are few others he can compare him to.

He could certainly never be like Charlie, loud, obnoxious, brash…and blazing, bright, and glorious. Then again, there is no one like Charlie. It could simply never happen.

He could never be Todd, quiet and meek, until, just like Knox, something inside snaps. He could never be Neil, always brimming with a confidence that up until the very end, no one could have guessed was so dangerously close to spilling over.

Pitts is not a very big player in their world—he is observer. He is a constant, something that any of the others can always rely on to be there, no matter what. He is as indomitable and as unshakable as a mountain, and oftentimes, as silent as one too.

He simply feels no need to talk as much as the others (with the exception of Todd) at all times, preferring to sit back and listen, laugh when something's funny, frown when something's upsetting.

The other members of the group certainly like Pitts—but, with the exception of his science partner-in-crime Meeks, no one considers him to be vital, a crucial part of their little gang. He is there simply because he is Pitts, and that is what Pitts is.

There.

It is not until Neil's funeral when they realize how blind they were.

It is freezing cold outside, a light blanket of snow already dusting the ground and more flakes drifting down. A little man wearing black stands at the head of a shallow grave, droning on and on about Neil and what a remarkable young man he was, how he will be sorely missed, and so on.

Yes, he will be. And Pitts is grateful that he doesn't talk much—he cannot find any words for how much Neil will be.

Todd is crying, tears tracking down his puffy face, where Pitts is sure they will freeze. Meeks is polishing his glasses almost fanatically, blinking his eyes rapidly. Knox has his head bowed, his shoulders shaking slightly. Charlie stands alongside the rest, his face solemn, his eyes hard, and lets a single tear fall down his face before turning his head to hide any more that may come. Cameron is not here.

Pitts stands, a mountain, slightly behind the rest, looking at the coffin, inside of which is one of the most amazing people he has ever, or will ever meet.

The coffin is lowered into the ground, and it hits the earth with a heavy thud sound, causing Todd to hiccup. When the cold, frozen dirt is shoveled into the hole, the tears begin anew, and Knox wraps an arm around Todd's shoulders, biting his lower lip hard enough to turn it white.

The sounds of Neil's mother's cries eventually fade away as she and her husband depart for their car. All of the others in attendance trickle out and leave as well, until finally, only minutes later, the Dead Poet Society find themselves stand beside a freshly-turned grave, the snow beginning to fall thicker and faster now.

"We should…we should say a few words…" Charlie declares, obviously struggling to keep his voice from breaking as he glances imploringly at the rest of them. There is a nod of assent, and he steps forward.

One by one, they file up, each murmuring something in a low voice to the frozen ground, something that they alone want to share with Neil. Todd can't even speak, he is crying to hard, but he manages to splutter something out that no one can quite understand. Pitts is sure that, whatever it is, it means something to Neil.

Finally though, it is his turn.

He lumbers forward, and does what none of the others did—

He squats down.

He reaches his hand out and rests it on the frigid ground, the cold wind battering his face as he glances downward and says, in a loud, clear voice:

"Thank you, Neil. For everything."

Pitts then gets to his feet, turns, and walks past the others, not looking back one, but looking ahead, towards the blinding white and freezing cold of the future.

The others stand still for a moment, registering his words, and then, slowly, as a group, they follow him, silently wondering how Pitts of all people had the exact words none of them knew how to voice, simple as they may be.

What they do not know is this—

Pitts doesn't say much.

But when he does, he moves mountains of his own.

 


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