Fear

Chapter 1: The Cold

It started with a cold.

Uriel Brandt was always prone to getting colds as the weather changed. Her delicate immune system, having trouble adapting to the cooler weather, seemed to give into the cooler temperatures every year. It was easy to tell when autumn was coming, as she would always get violently ill- so much so that Dr. Jeager would always stop by during the first week of September to check on her health. The only difference was that this year, the cold came on much quicker than expected. Unlike most summers, the weather began cooling in the beginning of August rather than September.

Of course, no one thought much of it- our mother still worried, though. She made sure that we dressed warm as we left to gather firewood, and forbid Uri from leaving her room. She herself decided to stay home after the sickness lasted more than a week, sending our older brother, Raphael to run the Bakery.

All in all it took about 3 weeks for Uri to recover, only for Mother to catch her cold.

"You worry too much, Gabe." A sudden slap to the back snaps Gabriel back into reality and away from the neat script of his journal. "Seriously, you need to relax. You're being dramatic. Knowing you, you're going to end up making a horror novel out of a little cold."

"Maybe you're not being dramatic enough, Michael." The younger twin retorts, running anxious fingers through messy red locks. "Every pandemic starts with a seemingly normal sickness, and no one notices until its too late."

"You spend too much time with Armin and Dr. Jeager... I just hope you become a good enough doctor that the girls will overlook how much of a worry-wart you are." The other red-head giggles, pushing his glasses up his nose. "And quit frowning, your face will get stuck like that."

Heaving a deep sigh, Gabriel stuffs his journal and coal into his satchel, messily wiping his hands on his pants and leaving black tracks behind.

"Big bro just washed those pants, Gabe I don't think he'll appreciate you getting coal on them." Gabriel rolls his eyes, grabbing a bowl of soup with steady hands. The soup is still warm, despite having been dropped off earlier in the day by Mrs. Jeager.

"It's not dinner time, yet Gabe, don't get greedy." Michael says, bumping his shoulder into Gabriel's, the soup almost sloshing over the side of the bowl.

"Careful, 1casse couille." Gabriel pins him with a glare, "It's for Maman. She hasn't eaten all day."

The two brothers go quiet, Michael opting to grab a few slices of bread and leading the way to their mothers room. The floorboards creak, but no other words are shared between them.

Their mother, Cyrille, lays still, even breaths leaving her lips. Sunlight pours through the open windows, showing the unnatural red tone to her usually pale skin and the greasy brown locks pasted to her forehead with sweat. Quietly the twins, place down their food items, the younger frowning as he places a hand to her forehead.

"Her fever feels worse than yesterday." He whispers, looking towards Michael.

"She hasn't drank her water either." Both twins frown, nodding to the other. Pushing up his glasses, Michael closes the window and curtain, bathing the room in relative darkness as Gabriel shakes their mother from her sleep. Bloodshot green eyes slowly crack open.

"2Cillian... C'est toi?" Her brows scrunch in confusion. "Non, ce n'est pas possible...."

"Non, Maman." Gabriel says quietly. "Je suis Gabriel, et Michael est ici, aussi."

"Gabriel et Michael... mon enfants. Ce n'est pas une rêve. Où est Raphael ou Uriel?" She looks around in confusion, moving to get up. Quickly, Gabriel grabs her hands, as Michael gently pushes her back down by her shoulders.