Mose would often come over and whisper weird things in their ears about rats are carnivores or Harry Potter would use his wand before Mr. Schrute would chase him off. The twins were in their element, having built their own tree house when they were little, of course, before their father chopped down the tree a month later...for firewood. But the Halpert boys, while athletic and in fairly good shape, were not laborers. There were days they would come home sore and bruised and their mother would have to put Epson salt to relieve the pain. Mr. Schrute was a brutal foreman, always criticizing their weak arms, and girly-like grip of the hammer.

Once Jon was hammering nails into an anchor board, when Mr. Schrute snuck up on him like a ninja. "What are you doing boy?"

Jon jumped, swallowing audibly. "I'm hammering...like you said, sir."

A firm hand gripped his wrist. "Did I say give the nail a few love taps? My god, you have the wrist of a woman. If you had to build a bridge or home, it would surely collapse. Is that what you want, to be responsible for dropping a house on someone?"

Jon frowned as Mr. Schrute took the hammer and began slamming it against the wood with unnecessary malice. "See that? See how that sounds, and I'm not even putting effort into this."

Ben and the twins had stopped working to watch Dwight dramatically hammer the nail down.

"Dad you're going to hurt yourself," Kurt sighed, but Dwight gave him the evil eye before continuing to pound the nail in relentlessly. "Like you did with the mule."

"That mule had quick reflexes and I let it kick me, on purpose. Pain is a state of mind. Unlike your weakling friends over here, Schrutes do not possess a threshold for pain. There is no pain. It's all in the-" The hammer smacked down on his thumb and Dwight screamed out. "EEEEEFFFFFFFFFFFFF!"

"Father!" DJ cried, rushing over to the injured man. Kurt ran towards the house screaming for his mother and Jon looked over at a horrified Ben. They knew this project would be no picnic.

Dwight's thumb recovered. It had been a few weeks now, and the barn was almost done. It was the last day and the Halpert boys looked forward to using their weekends for more productive things, like sleeping and eating...and then sleeping again. It was a day of celebration, a day to rejoice. No more of Mr. Schrute screaming at them while holding a cross bow. No more of Mose throwing cow droppings at them. No more of Mrs. Schrute's long drawn out graces over the lunch table.  They were finally free and their debts were paid.

Of course the morning was busy; Pam was up making breakfast before they left. Ben was probably lounging in his room, ignoring his parents bellowing for everyone to get a move on. Jon searched frantically for a t-shirt he did not care about, because once the smell of manure sets in, it's hard to get off, as he learned with happened with one of his vintage tees. The phone was ringing off the hook and annoying Jon because seriously, with four people in the house someone should be answering it. He couldn't concentrate on his task with all the ringing.

"I'll be down in a minute!" he yelled, tossing clothes unceremoniously out off his dresser drawers. "Is someone going to get that?!"

"No one ever calls me!" Ben yelled back. "I'm not answering it!"

"What are you two doing up there?! It's time to go!" Their father barked from downstairs.

The phone was still ringing. Stupid telemarketers. Or maybe it was Chelsea, this new girl Jon had an eye on.

"I got it!" Pam yelled. "Hurry up guys! Dad's got one foot out of the door!"

Jon dropped on his knees to search under his bed, when Ben walked up and leaned against his door frame.

"What are you doing? Sewing a new shirt together? Come on! I want to leave early!"

Jon slammed his dresser drawer back in response as he slipped on the old t-shirt. "I'm not ruining another shirt. That Pink Floyd shirt was like...a classic...and I refuse to let anymore of my wardrobe smell like shit. Okay?"

"Such a girl," Ben muttered and Jon shoved him out of the way as they both made their way downstairs.

"Ready Da-" Jon stopped short as he saw his dad clutching the phone, his eyes red, his face pale. Their mother was sitting on the living room couch sobbing, rocking back and forth.

"No...yes...I understand...no, no...yes, we'll leave today...no....thank you," Jim said solemnly before hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath. He looked over at his wife and then up at his confused sons, standing on the stairs.

"Dad?"

They knew something was wrong. Jim rarely cried and Pam was in near hysterics from the looks of it.

"Um..." Jim stumbled over his words, looking down at his feet. "Boys, I have really bad news. Grandpa Beesly died this morning from a heart attack."

"What?" Ben asked, his breath ragged. Jon gripped the banister tightly, feeling weak suddenly. Ben sank down on the steps, sitting in a slump. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Jim replied. "Um...they just called. Um...are you...?"

Their father looked between the boys and over to his wife who was crying hysterically. "Oh, Pam."

He walked over in the living room and sat beside her, taking her crying form in his arms, rocking her back and forth. Jon closed his eyes, tears threatening to come out. They had just seen their grandfather a week ago and he was fine. He was laughing and joking around with them, and promising to take them to an Eagles game one day. Everyone said having the grand boys softened Mr. Beesly up over the years; he was no longer the hard edged man people knew. He was proud of his grandsons. He was excited to see Jon graduate. But now he wouldn't. Because he had slipped away in the blink of an eye.

So instead of spending a day on the Schrute Farm, the Halpert boys were in the back of the SUV, heading towards York, Pennsylvania where their grandparents live...lived...

The car ride was unusually quiet, especially with four Halperts in the car, but that was because they were all anguished and shocked, and confused. Ronald Beesly wasn't a sick man, and he had planned on being around to watch his grandsons grown up for awhile, he proclaimed. The boys adored him and vice versa. He would come down and attend the boys' games or he would invite them to go fishing with him, which they enjoyed. He was an awesome grandfather.

Jon looked out the window, watching the trees as they drove by pastures and fields on the highway, trying to figure out how to deal with the loss he felt. Truthfully, neither boy had to really deal with death, their paternal grandfather died a long time ago, a year before their father started dating their mother. And while they wished they could have gotten to know him, the loss felt different. It didn't hurt like this. This would be the first time someone close to them passed away, and they didn't know how to deal with it. In the passenger seat, Pam sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Jon could see his father glance over at her, before resting a hand on hers, and rubbing it to soothe her.

"I'll call in Monday; let them know we'll be here until after the funeral. Okay?" Jim said softly, moving his eyes back to the road.

All Pam did was nod.

"Mom? Are you alright?" Ben asked quietly. He'd never seen his mother like this, devastated. His parents were always so joyful, always laughing, and happy. Content. He'd never seen her totally stripped and broken up before.

Pam turned in her seat, her cheeks stained with tears. "I'll be...fine. It's just...he loved you boys so much. You know that right?"

Ben and Jon nodded but said nothing. They didn't want to push their mother. They didn't want to face the fact that the next time they would see their grandfather he would be lying still in a casket. Finally they arrived in York, pulling up in front of the modest home where their mother grew up. No one moved. No one said anything as they all looked solemnly at the front door. He would never open that door again and tell the boys to come in and help him build the entertainment center. Or ask Jon to toss the old pig skin around because an old man has a few tricks up his sleeve. Ron Beesly could no longer tell Ben he looks just like his Uncle Paul. He wouldn't do any of those things he had come to do.

Jim was the first to unbuckle his belt, and he glanced around the SUV, smiling feebly. "Come on, let's get the bags. See if your grandmother needs any help around the house."

They all piled out and Jim quickly went around to Pam's side, helping her out as the tears came again. The walk up to the porch was slow and torturous. When Grandma Beesly opened the door, she tried to smile, she tried to act happy to see them, but they all knew, this was bittersweet.

"Look at my boys. So tall and handsome," she said, kissing them both on the cheek. "You can stay in Paulie's old room. When he gets here, he's sleeping in the basement."

"Mom," Pam started to protest but her mother threw her hand up. Clearly, she needed to do this, to make decisions, even if it was just sleeping arrangements. "Paulie doesn't mind. He won't be in until Monday anyway."

"Monday? Why?" Pam frowned, as she followed her mother into the kitchen. Their uncle Paulie had a habit of not exactly around. He might show up on a holiday, might not. They were never quite sure when he would show up. One would think he would at least be here for his father's funeral.

The boys looked over at their father as the three stood in the foyer, allowing the Beesly women to be in the own solace. Jim cleared his throat. "Are you alright?"

They nodded but said nothing. Jim bit his lip, his eyes sweeping over the two teenagers. "If this is hard for you...if you want to talk-"

"We know, Dad," Jon said quickly, grabbing his bag to head upstairs. It was weird, how when someone dies, people get sentimental, mushy almost. Sure it was a sad occasion, but it was awkward sometimes, the condolences. They knew their father was looking out for them, as fathers do. As their grandfather probably did.

The teens walked up the stairs to Uncle Paul's room, a room they had stayed in before for Christmases and holidays. When it was a fun trip or a family gathering that brought about smiles. Except this time the family gathering was about a tragedy, a loss that will bring the Beesly bloodline together.

They both flopped down on the twin beds in the room and stared up at the ceiling, neither saying a word. The day was passing and neither knew how long they had been there, what conversations were occurring outside of Uncle Paul's bedroom door.

"Hey Jon," Ben whispered, like someone was listening in on them.

"Yeah," Jon replied.

"This sucks," Ben sighed, wiping a tear from his eyes.

Jon didn't reply back, but Ben knew he was crying too.

An hour later, they heard a knock on the door, and their mother entered the room. Her face was flushed again, she had obviously been crying.  "Hey guys..." she said softly, shutting bed room door behind her.

They both sat up and trying to hide the fact they had been crying too. She smiled at them, their mother's smile, but it was twinged with sadness.

"Are you guys hungry? Because I need you to go get some things from the grocery store so I can make dinner."

"Mom...you don't have to explain...just give us the list," Jon teased lightly and she tapped his shoulder, smiling a real smile for the first time since they left Scranton.

The boys got in the car, with strict instructions on how to drive and a grocery list. They drove silently to Giants and Jon pushed the basket lazily while Ben got the stuff off of the list.

"She's making meatloaf," Ben grimaced. Their mom's meatloaf wasn't the best.

Jon shrugged. "Let her. And act like it's the best meatloaf you ever tasted."

Ben thought about it and nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

They picked up the required items and head back to the house, the miserable quiet still settling between them. Pam told them people would be stopping by, to give condolences and bring cakes and casseroles. This was going to be so weird.

That night, DJ texted Jon and let him know he was in his prayers. Jon didn't reply back, what could he say to that really? Prayers couldn't bring back his grandfather. The boys settled in, and over the next few days, they watched the cakes, casseroles and condolences filter in and out of their grandfather's home.

Tuesday came, and Uncle Paul did arrive late Monday. He was helping Ben with his tie and Jim was telling Jon to run a comb through his hair. They wore new charcoal gray suits their father felt he had to go purchase just the day before. Some people they knew, the others...not so much.  Their grandfather looked as if he were asleep, like he had just eaten thanksgiving dinner and fell asleep watching football. It was hard not to expect him just to get up. People kept coming over to them, patting their backs, or pinching their cheeks, telling them their grandfather loved them, as if they had to be reassured. It was hard to watch them lower his casket into the ground, even harder still to hear the sobs of their mother, grandmother, and uncle as the reverend said "...ashes to ashes and dust to dust..."

And here Jon only thought they said that in movies. The repass was at their grandmother's house, and it was filled with same people from the funeral. Ben was becoming annoyed with the older woman ruffling his hair, his Uncle Paul like hair, so he found an excuse to go refill the ice bucket in the kitchen. That's when he saw Coach Anderson there.

Ben stopped dead in his tracks as Roy was leaning against the kitchen counter, alone in the kitchen as if he was in deep thought. Maybe he could slip back out into the living room unnoticed.

"Hey...Ben," Roy replied, his voice sounding as if he himself might have been crying.

"Hey,"  Ben waved, walking to the freezer.  Just get the ice and get the fuck out of dodge. He put the ice bucket near the ice dispenser and tried to act casual. Just getting some ice, nothing to see here.

Roy was frowning, twisting his hands. Please don't say anything to me, Ben thought. "How are you handling all of this?"

Shit.

Ben shrugged. "I'm okay. I'm going to miss him."

Roy nodded but mostly to himself. "Your grandfather taught me how to throw a football. And how to drive. He even taught me how to dance...for our wed-"

His voice dropped and he cleared his throat. "He was a good man. He was a really awesome guy."

Ben stared at the blotchy weepy man and agreed. "Yeah he was. He was...awesome. And funny. And smart. He was my granddad."

And Roy gave him a small smile as Ben took the ice back into the living area.

It was wicked boring until Ben saw his dad hiss, "You have got to be kidding me..." as Michael, Phyllis, Kelly, and Dwight walked into the house. Michael approached Jim, a saddened look on his face, way too overdramatic for a person he met briefly once at Jim and Pam's wedding.

"Jim..." he extended his arms, but Jim shook his head. "Wow, I feel...it wasn't his time. Young Benjamin, how are you? Devastated? Depressed? Tell me."

"Um..." Ben stammered, staring at his father for some guidance.

"Hey Michael. What brings you here?" Jim asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Dunder-Mifflin support team. Active as of eight am this morning. We're here for you," Michael replied. He handed Jim a bowl of potato salad. "It's been in my car though. It wasn't hot today, so it might still be good."

"Michael..." Jim sighed. "Thanks for the support, but-"

Pam walked up, confused. "Um...hey Michael...wow, you brought food and everything. And you drove two hours."

Jim leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and she nodded. "Jim's gonna take it in the kitchen. Okay?"

"Pam...if you need a hug...or a shoulder...or an ear to..." Michael began to get choked up to Pam's horror. "We're here for you."

Kelly chimed in. "This funeral is just as sad if not sadder than my sister's."

"Let's give Pam a group hug," Michael suggested.

"Oh no...I'm fine Michael. But thank you."

Dwight looked around and his eyes landed on Ben. "I have delayed work on the barn until you have worked through your grief. No one can put up shingles while crying."

Ben and Jim looked at each other, and rolled their eyes.

Jon was out back, swinging on Mom's old swing.  He was watching the people dressed in black walk in and away from the house. He was already over the casseroles and the pasta salad, and the memories people kept having of him that he couldn't even remember. He just wanted to be alone, to deal with this alone. His grandfather was dead. Gone. He wasn't coming back. Ever. He wasn't going to show up on graduation or give him some tips to woo his date on prom night. He wasn't going to ask him what his major would be in college or did he get a haircut yet. He wasn't going to be around anymore and that really really sucked.

"Aren't you too big for swings?" his dad's voice said as Jon turned to see him standing there, emptying a bowl into the garbage. He set the bowl down and walked over to the swings.

Jon snorted. "You're never too big to swing, Dad. And if I am, it's these impossibly lanky limbs you've blessed me with."

"Touché," Jim replied, taking the other swing. "Hey...how are you...doing with all of this?"

Jon sighed looking down at his feet. "I'm fine, I guess. Everyone keeps asking me that. It's kind of annoying. And I don't even know who half of these people are."

"Well, they are concerned. It's a sad day."

"I know. I mean, he was fine, last week. He was joking, laughing. We made plans."

"Yeah, I know that's scary. But he didn't know what the future held. I'm sure he wanted to do all those things with you. Maybe he didn't know he was sick, maybe he did. No one can ever predict what's going to happen tomorrow."

Jon frowned. "I know, that's why it's scary. What if...it happens to you? Or Mom?"

Jim nodded, understanding Jon's question. "Hopefully it won't. But if...if it does, know that I love you guys. And I'm proud of you. I plan on being around to annoy you for a long time. T embarrass you in front of your girlfriends and everything. And your mom...god. You were like the best thing that ever happened to us. She...loves you guys more than I've seen anyone love someone."

They both stared out at another group or mourners heading to the front door. They were quiet for awhile, before Jon smiled and looked over at his father. He was alive now, here with him. Jon would forever appreciate his father. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you know Mr. Schrute got kicked by a mule?"