Running For Freedom

Chapter #2

 The ride home is impossibly tense. Eren sits in the backseat beside Mikasa, whose head is turned so that she's looking out the window. His mother hasn't uttered a single word since they got in the car - and they've been riding for at least fifteen minutes now. The only sounds about are the crumbling of the road beneath them, the soft purr of the engine, and the occasionally honking by an impatient asshole stuck behind them. Eren tries, once, to get a conversation rolling - he taps on Mikasa's shoulder and makes a comment about something frivolous, the fact that their neighbors, the Hoovers, still have their Christmas decorations up from last year. It's at least the fiftieth time that Eren's mentioned it, but he'd like there to be some sort of talking going on. Even if it's a repeated lecture by Mikasa about how he "shouldn't make fun of them, she knows their son, Bertolt, and he's not a bad guy."

Eren had been stuck at the hospital, lonely in a painfully white room for at least another hour before anyone came to talk to him again. He'd tried, multiple times, to escape, but whoever had put to tubes in his arms did a damn good job of it. He'd bleed to death if he ripped them all out himself.

             After he'd served his due time in Hell, a nurse came to his room, her strawberry blonde hair bobbing with each step forward she took. She - what was her name? Was it Peter? No, no, it was definitely Petra - she pulled the injections from his flesh, carefully placing a bandage over each hole in his skin. She then insisted on helping Eren up, and despite Eren's protests, had managed to throw Eren in a wheelchair and roll him down to the waiting room, where Mikasa instantly stood to attention and tried to help him up. His mother moved the hair from his eyes and smiled at him, though she didn't say much.

             Eren doesn't like it when his mother's silent. It almost always means that something's wrong - she's usually all for a long conversation. But now she can't even bring herself to teach Eren a lesson about minding his own business. And Mikasa, she isn't much better - she's not as talkative, but she's not one for ignoring Eren's attempts at communication. In fact, it's usually the opposite - it's Eren who tries to push her away.

             Eren grows increasingly nervous with each passing second. At the hospital, he might've been able to doubt that there was something wrong. He'd convinced himself that there was a problem, but in reality, he didn't truly believe that it was so severe. Now, however, sitting in the dead silence of his mother's unspoken voice and his sister's reluctance to flash her soft gray eyes at him, it's harder to think that everything's alright.

             They arrive home, and Eren immediately throws open the car door, ready for an explanation. He stumbles out, still a bit disoriented from having to sit for so long - Mikasa whips her head his way, worry stretching across her features. She hurries over to his side, and though Eren lets out a yelp and tells her that he can walk, she easily tosses him over her shoulder and carries him inside.

             She sets him down on his favorite couch again, and he runs his fingers over the fabric as a subtle way of letting out his nerves. Mikasa sits beside Eren, just a tad too close for comfort - her arm brushes against Eren's side, despite there being at least two feet of unoccupied space on the couch around them.

             Eren's mother shuffles in last, face grave like a military officer about to deliver a death notification. She takes a brief moment to adjust her hair before looking down at Eren, eyes glassy and downcast. Eren waits for her to speak.