Work Text:
Carefree giggles resound through the swaying plains of Giza, as Marche and Doned occasionally jab their fingers towards a cerulean sky. Clouds of various shapes and sizes slowly drift before their watchful eyes, each one a blank canvas for their vivid imaginations. Hours pass unnoticed, as they sit and paint pictures of what could be.
Marche’s favorite part is whenever Doned chirps happily. “Marche, Marche, look at that one!”
Eyes squinting up at the cloud in question, Marche scratches his chin in wonder. “That one – well, that one looks like a guy holding a huge sword.”
“Gah!” Doned blurts, his deep blue eyes alight with humour. “You’re always thinking about swords!”
“Why not?” Marche blurts back. “Swords are cool!”
Doned smirks, lifting an eyebrow. “Are they cooler than me?”
Grinning, Marche drapes an arm around his brother’s small shoulders, reeling him into a tight hug.
“Nothing’s cooler than you.”
Blowing out a sigh of relief, Doned snuggles into Marche’s shoulder. “Okay, if you say so.”
Doned briefly ponders the sky, before pointing at it again. Marche’s gaze follows his hand.
A low murmur leaves Doned. “That one looks like two people running, doesn’t it?”
Marche nods. “Yeah.”
“I bet I’d be even cooler, if I could run.”
Marche feels his heart abruptly land in his gut. He turns sharply, clutching his brother’s hands. They start to tremor, and Marche starts to plead.
“Doned, you’re already cool enough. Your illness doesn’t mean that you’re less than someone else. Don’t look at yourself like that!”
Sorrow squeezes Doned’s eyes shut, as he shakes his head. “But that’s how I feel, Marche. In this world, I can do whatever, and go wherever, without my wheelchair – but back home -”
He sniffles and fidgets. Heart palpitating in fear, Marche tightens their embrace.
“I know.” Marche begs plaintively. “But I can’t let you go, Doned. Not after how long it took to catch up to you. I promise that when we go back, things will be different!”
“But Mom can't afford the treatments!”
“I’ll help her,” Marche implores, his hands cradling Doned’s worried face. “When we get back, I’ll finish school and I’ll get a job. I’ll use the money to help Mom pay for whatever you need to walk again – but until then, I need you to believe in me, Doned.”
The corners of Doned’s lips begin to tilt upward.
“One day, we’ll run together. Maybe then, you’ll teach me how to be good at sports.”
That last bit finally teases out Doned’s grin. “So, you finally admit you suck at sports! I should run away from you more often!”
“Don’t!” Marche chuckles. “You mean a lot to me. Ugh, I sound so sappy!”
“Very sappy!” Doned gushes, his eyes twinkling once more with happiness. “But I believe you, Marche. I’m so glad you’re my big bro.”
Marche's shoulders slump in relief. “And I’m so glad you’re here, staring at clouds with me.”
They return to doing just that, resuming their joyous peals of laughter.