inactive

The boy trips over a strayed branch; he’s barely breathing, fingers grasping on his chest as if he was trying to pierce it, rip his beating heart out of his lungs.

“Kid—kid, stop!” she’d yell, and she knows she shouldn’t have because it would damn well scare him even more, but she couldn’t help it. He’s going to hurt himself. And Eda has enough of everything trying to pry her children away from her in one night. “Hunter!”

He’s crawling on his knees now, a torrent of tears dripping down his chin as he chokes and gasps and flails his arms around with little to no coordination as she pins him down, gathers him into her arms and settles his waist on her lap. Just like she had with King, all those years ago, refusing to be bathed or tucked into bed. Just like she had with Luz months ago, the first night she came back from the petrification ceremony, fresh off the trauma she’ll have to carry her whole life.

“Don’t touch me! ” the kid screams, weak arms hitting on her again and again, but Eda has a hold of him. The two drop on the ground, and Eda cradles him like she’d cradle a wounded animal. He might as well be, for all she knows. There’s no telling what it was that they’d seen in that bastard’s mind, but whatever it is…

“It’s okay, kid. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you—you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Let me GO! ”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” she says firmly, “you have to breathe. Look—look at me, look at me,” she tilts his head gently to look up, crimson eyes dilated to almost pinpricks, “you’ve gotta breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re upset, I know, but you have to breathe.”

He stops flailing, replaced by gasped breaths and choked out sobs as Eda pressed his head against her chest, strings of shushes cascading down her lips. “Easy, easy,” she murmurs, shaking her head, “you’re going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.”

Her bony palm gently wipes away the stream of tears staining his pale face. And when he finally looks up, straight into her eyes—she’s never seen a kid so broken before. She’s never seen a kid so dependent on what she was going to do to him, like a wounded rabbit in the grasp of a hunter.

“Breathe,” is the first thing she says, because the kid is still not breathing right. Every breath he takes is strangled, and she’d pressed her palm flat against his chest to encourage him to breathe right. “In and out,” she tilts his chin up, nodding slowly, “in and out. You’ve got it, thatta boy.”

More tears spill out of his eyes. “He’s—he, he knows, he—”

“Hey, hey,” she shakes her head, “breathe, now. Just breathe. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re going to get you back home—”

“I can’t ,” he wails, “I can’t, I can’t , he knows—”

“ Shhhh , shhhh , I’m not talking about the Emperor, love,” she explains gently. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But I—” his eyes widen, “I don’t, I can’t—I don’t have anything to give you—”

“I don’t need anything from you, Hunter,” Eda tries to ignore the way her heart is ripping to pieces. “Don’t worry about that now, ‘kay? We’re gonna get you back, we’re gonna get you a bath—”

“No, no baths—”

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head gently, “no baths. Just bed. We’re gonna get you some water and then we’ll get you to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t have the strength to do anything else except nod defeatedly.

He had let her carry him back home, bridal-style in his arms, because his legs were too weak when he’d tried to stubbornly stand up and he’d started crying all over again. Luz was still standing on the doorway when they got back, eyes as hollow as before, and she’d locked the door shut behind her. Hooty wordlessly knows to keep their lockdown defenses up until further notice. King had pulled out a dusty mattress all on his own from the attic, lined with fresh sheets by the time Eda had finished running Luz a bath. The boy is still frail, still curled up in a ball on the corner, still trembling.

She’d coaxed him in some tea. Fluffed the pillows, then coaxed him again to bed.

Luz stayed by his side. She did not say a single word.

And now she’s here, between the mattress and the couch in the living room, watching the steady rise and fall of her children’s breaths as the world spins on. Three. She has three now. The realization dawns rather quickly, gently murmuring it’s okay, I’m here and thatta boy ’s while she cradles the boy back to sleep when he’d woken up screaming throughout the night, over and over.

Dear Titan. Three.

Three children to look after. Three children she’d have to protect with her life. Three children feed, tuck to bed, wrap jackets over their cold shoulders when the weather gets colder.

But. Three children to fall in love with. Three children who’d call her Eda with drawled out a’s when they want something. Three children to wrap her arms around and have their heads on her lap and three children to live for and the house will never be quiet ever again.

Eda sighs softly, muffling her breaths with a kiss on top of Luz’s head. In her sleep, the girl squirms and frowns, but her bony hand is laced onto hers, and she eases back to sleep once she feels her presence there with a light squeeze. Her other hand is inches deep in Hunter’s hair—she’d learned a long time ago from King that having a set of fingers gently massaging his fur—now hair—is all the trick she’ll ever need to calm a child.

Three children.

Three children she won’t allow the world to lay a finger on ever again.

But Eda will find a way to manage with that, somehow.