disclaimer: nah son
prompt: hero
summary: AU. He's wilting, slowly, and all she can do is watch. - 20/?
dedicated to:my best friend, who's uncle, aunt, and now her mother, have returned home to the angels in heaven. your courage gives me strength to hope for a better tomorrow.
It begins like this:
She is a girl of ten, of stars in her eyes, a twine of red around her neck, flowing freely in the cold, winter air. Innocence flows in her veins, and calm is built in her bones.
He is a boy of ten, hot-headed and brash, but with a backbone made of steel. He is a fighter, she knows, and for the last two years of her life, he is her entire world.
They're huddled in his mother's house, sipping on hot chocolate in front of a fire, when he breaks the news to her: "I'm sick."
She pauses mid-sip, "What? Like a cold?"
He shakes his head. "No, it's something way bigger than that. My mom said.. it was cancer."
She stiffens; even at the tender age of ten, she knows the heavy severity of the word. She doesn't know what to say, so she settles with, "Where?"
He points to his neck. "I.. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow. For a long time."
She stares at him for a while, lip quivering, and asks: "You'll be okay, right?"
He doesn't answer. Mikasa feels her blood run cold, and the light in her eyes fade.
x
She is there, two weeks later, after his first major surgery; one hand holding her mother's, the other holding a power rangers band-aid.
And when he's wheeled back to his room, she runs up to him, ignoring the protests of her mother, and sticks the band-aid on the new scar on his neck.
"Feel better, Eren," she whispers to his sleeping form, and leaves.
x
It's summertime, six years later, when she finds herself in the hospital, again.
It's spread to his chest, the doctors tell her. It's so unfair, she thinks; he was so healthy for so long, so much so that she almost forgot he was sick—and it suddenly comes back, invading his body and wreaking havoc all over again, putting him through more pain and suffering.
She never once leaves his side during his first round of chemo; she holds his hand, tightly, when he cringes in pain,rubs his back when he vomits uncontrollably, over and over again. She stays in the room when his mother needs a breather, wipes the sweat from his forehead when the nurse comes in to take his bin away and inserts yet another IV into his arm, and puts yet another bag of medicine on his stand.
"Sorry," he sighs, wiping his mouth, "that you had to see this."
She takes a shaky breath, and shrugs. "It's not a big deal. Besides," she gives him an once-over, "that hospital gown is incredibly flattering on you."
"Funny," he snorts, but it makes him crack a smile anyway. Mikasa's heart trembles.
X
When he loses his hair, it's her that breaks down first.
It's not for any superficial reason; it's a reminder that this is real, and she can't try to live in ignorant bliss, anymore. She can't say she wasn't expecting it— but when she sees dark tuffs of hair littered across his pillow, her throat tightens.
"Here," he hands her a pair of hair clippers, "Cut it for me?"
She blinks, and then: "Okay."
She flips the on switch, and without thinking, runs a hand through his hair. Huge clumps gather between her fingers as she pulls it out, and she recoils and gasps, staring in shock as the excess drifts to the floor.
He glances over his shoulder, and asks, "You okay?"
"Y-Yeah," she stammers, shaking off the hair on her hand.
She steels herself and sets to work; it gets easier, she decides. Most of it falls out anyway, but she still feels her heart leap into her throat every time the strands come loose a little too easily.
x
"There," she announces, plucking a compact mirror out of her bag and handing it to him. "All done."
He opens it and, upon seeing his reflection, frowns a bit and parts his lips in surprise.
"Don't like it?" she asks.
"No, it's not that," he murmurs, turning his head to the side, "It's just… different."
She hums and, despite herself, lifts her lips in a small smile. She's a bit envious of him; he's different, but he's still her Eren—still a fighter, still so, so strong.
The clipper is still on, she notices. Her hand tightens around it and, in a swell of courage, grabs a handful of her long, dark hair, shuts her eyes—and runs the clippers through it.
Eren sees her in the background of the mirror and whips his head around, eyes wide, "What are you doing, Mikasa?!"
She ignores him and continues, and doesn't stop until she's finished, the tips just barely brushing her shoulders. He stares at her, open-mouthed and bewildered, and she struggles to smile.
"If you can do it, I can too," she says, thumbing her hair. "Short hair looks better, don't you think?"
"Mikasa," he chokes out, his sea-glass eyes watering, "you idiot."
He stands, takes her face in his hands, and smashes his lips to hers, mumbling stupid between kisses. Mikasa can't help herself; she winds her arms around his neck, and laughs.
x
"Do you want a scarf?" she asks him, one day.
He raises an eyebrow. "What for?"
She shrugs, looking pointedly to the worn-out beanie covering his head. "You know, something else to wrap around your head. Here," she starts to unravel the red scarf around her neck, but his cold hand stops her.
"No," he says, firmly, eyes strong. "That's yours, and yours only."
She swallows and drops her gaze, covers his hand with hers, and nods.
x
He's getting thinner.
She tries not to notice, but it's impossible; the peak of his collarbones becoming more prominent, the slimming of his wrist, the way his clothes seem too big for him, now. The patient wristband slips down to his forearm, and his skin is no longer a healthy tan, but a pallor white.
He's coming undone right before her very eyes, and she hates it. He's wilting, her strong, strong Eren—and there isn't a thing she can do about it, but hope for a better day tomorrow.
"Do you want to take a walk?" she asks, quietly.
He shakes his head. "Not today. I," he glances to the folded wheelchair in the corner, and sighs. "I can't."
She nods, expecting this; but she feels the sting, anyway.
x
Summer ages into autumn, and the air is crisp when she opens the window, allowing the fresh air to waft out the sickeningly sterile smell of antiseptic.
The afternoon sun warms her skin, and she's staring at the striking yellows and oranges of the trees when she blurts out: "You're going to survive, right?"
Eren looks up from his book, frowning. "What?"
"You heard me," she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. "You… You're not going to die, right?"
She watches him bite his lip and look away, silent. Her stomach drops.
She stands, tugs on her bag and grabs her keys, and walks over to him, placing a light kiss on his cheek. Her throat is tight as she makes her way to the door, voice shaking as she mumbles: "I'll see you tomorrow."
She doesn't wait for his response; she slips out and closes the door behind her, and only then, allows herself to sink to the ground and cry.
x
That night, Eren's counts fall dangerously low; so low he was hurriedly hooked up for an emergency stem-cell transplant, two weeks earlier than planned.
When she rushes into his room at three in the morning, he's unconscious, shivering uncontrollably, his pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He tosses and turns, and the rare moments when he's actually awake, he vomits up nothing but bile and saliva until there are tears running down his cheeks.
She wonders if this is what it's like to watch someone die.
x
"Go home, Mikasa," he murmurs, rubbing the dark circles under her eyes.
She shakes her head, and reaches up to thread her fingers through his. "I'm staying. Until the end."
She looks tired, but her eyes are strong, unwavering. He understands, and nods.
x
By some sort of miracle—perhaps magic, Mikasa thinks—Eren's tumor shrinks to nothing a month after the transplant, and one more cycle of chemo takes care of the rest.
When she visits him two weeks later, she finds him standing, leaning on the windowsill, his hat abandoned on the tiled floor. There's a thin layer of dark brown fuzz on his bare head.
She drops her bag, walks up next to him, and leans her head on his shoulder.
x
After:
She helps him move back into his old life. It takes time, but slowly, he grows stronger. He soaks up the sun like water, and builds himself up again. Soon, Mikasa notes proudly, he can fit into his old clothes again.
He swims in the ocean that summer, and goes back to school a survivor, and graduates with both her and Armin; all things he wasn't sure he would live to accomplish, years ago.
"You're my hero, you know that?" she tells him one night, eyes bright and full of life again, after so long.
His lips spread in an easy smile, murmuring, "You're mine, too," before leaning down for a kiss.
x
.
.
.
fin.
note: i'm not sure i like how this turned out, but i hope you guys liked it. it's hard for me to open up as a writer, and i hope this reached you, somehow, someway.