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Day 4 Year 139 - Remembering Troy Urban (1)

The living room at 106 Central Park South was dimly lit, filled with murmurs and the scent of brewing coffee. Troy had died just two days earlier, and the family gathered in the space that seemed to suit him best: overlooking the city, watching everything.

Darcy sat in his favorite armchair, her hand wrapped tightly around a handkerchief. Her white hair was pinned neatly, her frame smaller now than it used to be. She stared at a photograph on the coffee table: Troy at his desk, arms crossed, the hint of a smirk on his lips. That was the closest he came to smiling in photos.

Jensen stood near the window beside his uncle Parker, his hands in his pockets, while Hudson leaned against the fireplace. Shea, barely speaking, sat cross-legged on the floor by her step-grandmother, her eyes red. Max leaned against the wall, as quiet as ever, observing. Gwen and Clint stood off to the side, speaking in low tones, while Troy’s sisters - Natalia, Chelsea, and Maddi - huddled on the couch together.

“It’s strange without him,” Jensen finally said. “Even when he wasn’t talking, you always knew he was in the room.”

“He was always watching the door,” Hudson added. “Like if something came for us, he’d be the first to block it.”

Shea gave a weak smile. “He once stared down a high school principal who tried to suspend me for a dress code violation. Didn’t say much. Just raised one eyebrow. That was enough.”

Parker nodded, “He was always the one cleaning up after Dad and Oliver. Didn’t matter if it was debts, broken promises or just… general douchebaggery. Troy took them all and built something out of the mess.”

Max lifted his head. “When I got promoted, he sent me a whiskey bottle with a note: ‘This is who Urbans really are.’ That was his way. The way he stepped in when my dad was being shitty. He really was so much more than an uncle. When Inara and I were choosing family members to name the boys after, there was no one else that came to mind but him.”