Work Text:
Homerun
Zeke Yeager couldn’t tell you why he purchased an alarm clock that woke him up like a military trainee. Nevertheless, he woke to its obnoxious auditory assault anyway, and all the night’s anxious tossing and turning lingered like the aches in his body. Still, the day was beautiful despite him feeling anything but, evident due to the warmth of his blanket and the welcomed quiet of the early hour.
Zeke turned to lay flat on his back. His hair splayed across the pillow beneath him like a sea of blonde locks after a storm. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered how long he would be able to hold back until he--
Oh. Oh. Yup. He did not have to wait long apparently , because Zeke’s head fell to the left before he could stop it.
His sleepy eyes began to focus on the calendar that was posted on the opposite end of his room, looming above his dresser. The calendar was ordinary, with his cat-scratched, colour-coded notations here and there that indicated Zeke’s tests and friend’s birthdays; however, nothing stood out more than the intense red circle around today’s date. He remembered tracing that circle with a permanent marker long ago, back when the mere thought of what he wrote there brought him excitement instead of insurmountable dread. He’d avoided it ever since, looking anywhere but at it in his attempt to ignore it, just hoping it’d disappear from his schedule; however, there was no more running. The big daunting circle was placed on today’s date and, unless he knew how to shift the space-time continuum, right there, on the calendar, encircling tomorrow’s date in blood-red marker read:
Baseball Tryouts: Today @ Noon
Those words-- that sport --the prospect of that tryout that once made him ridiculously happy (his father said he practically born a pitcher) now caused him immense sadness. For you see, Zeke is a senior in high school. A senior who, despite being told to have come out of the womb with a baseball arm, has tried out for Paradis High’s baseball team every year and has made it a total of 0 times. Zeke swore he had PTSD from checking that list by the cafeteria and never seeing his name on it, but on each of those occasions, at least one of his friends (in first year it was Erwin, Pieck, and Levi… the second year it was Hange and Miche.. and last year it was, well, all of them) stood next to him supportively which softened the blow a little.
Just a little.
Zeke grimaced, he felt his stomach churn as he frowned at the schedule.
He couldn't put himself through that again, could he?
With a heavy sigh, Zeke mustered all the effort in his limbs to sit up on his bed. He looked at his calendar, then at the baseball glove sitting haphazardly on his dresser… then again at his calendar.
After what felt like an hour of back and forth, of team list reminders, of thoughts of shattered dreams… Zeke decided to leave for school without his baseball glove. The chilling feeling of absence from parting with half of his heart remained on his shoulders when he left both his bed and glove behind.
After showering, brushing his teeth, forgetting to shave, and dressing himself, Zeke jogged down the stairs and ran to the back so he could yell goodbye to his mother, Dina. She waved, yelling some other motherly reminders at him that Zeke didn't care enough to listen to because he was already out the door. Luckily, the fact that he was running late gave him a reason not to think about his upcoming deadline which helped his anxiety some.
Zeke rode his peachy red bike a few streets over. It was early morning and the sky will reach its peak brightness in about thirty minutes, meaning he should be at school very soon. The wheels of his bike slowed to a stop in front of a humble home, and Zeke climbed off, letting his bike fall on its side on the lawn.
He ran up the steps and let himself in, removing his shoes and immediately helping himself to the breakfast his stepmother was in the middle of making.
“Thanks Carla,” Zeke grinned in between chews. He scarfed down his food while standing up.
“You’re welcome, Sweetie.” Carla smiled warmly at her stepson. She took it upon herself to lift another serving into the bowl to help Zeke save time, and Zeke was about to speak with his mouth open again when his father speed-walked into the kitchen area, late, but not late enough not to greet Zeke with an embarrassing kiss on his hair. Zeke made a face.
“Yuck, dad,” He wanted to tell his father he wasn’t a kid anymore, but he had gone out the front door with his keys, having already kissed his wife.
Always tardy. Like father, like son, Zeke thought. Though, he wasn’t referring to himself.
He chatted warmly with his stepmother Carla who walked around him to pack the lunch she made for him in his backpack. Carla told Zeke with a giggle that he’s going to have to shave his beard soon, it grew abnormally fast, but he had to hear that every day from two mothers, so Zeke petulantly rolled his eyes and ignored her, too. He checked the time. He was not finished eating, but there was nothing to be done, as it was getting too late and he could only pedal his bike so quickly across town. He has never been the fastest, hence never making the team and only being good at one position when others could do several. Sighing, the blonde placed his bowl down and cupped his mouth so he could yell for his little brother.
“EREN! COME ON OR WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL! I’LL LET YOU STAND ON THE BACK IF YOU HURR--”
“COMING!” called a small voice followed by the aggressive pitter-patter of tiny feet.
Around the corner came Zeke’s rambunctious 5-year-old little brother Eren, looking every bit like his mother with his big green eyes and dark hair. He was panting from having sprinted down the steps, a perpetual determined look on his post-toddler features. While Zeke wouldn’t admit it, that little boy was his pride and joy-- he wanted everything to turn out great for Eren’s future so he wouldn’t turn out a wimp like himself. Unlike him, Eren was brave. Always up for a challenge, always the daredevil and the one who broke the ties on family game nights and made them fun. He was always a breath of fresh air despite being someone Zeke made an effort to travel to see every day; so it sparked his curiosity immensely when Zeke noticed the mischievous look on Eren’s face.
“Hey, little brother. Whatcha got there…?”
As his frame was so tiny, Zeke immediately noticed his little brother was hiding something behind his back. A rascally smirk came to Eren’s lips, and Zeke mirrored that amusement as the little boy continued to hold out on him.
The blonde kneeled so he was only a little taller than his brother. His eyebrow quirked when Eren only beamed at him before exploding with excitement and presenting the hidden treasure that behind his back.
Zeke’s jaw dropped.
“No matter how many times we asked,” Carla explained from her position behind the brothers; her soft voice dripping with tenderness. “All he wanted for his birthday was money so he could get his older brother a new baseball glove.”
“W-what?” Zeke's voice was barely audible, and he realized his hand was shaking a little when he reached for the glove, so lovingly and clumsily wrapped and tied with a red ribbon so both Yaeger brothers were touching it.
Eren nodded enthusiastically. “For your tryouts! They’re today, don’t tell me you forgot–?!”
‘My…” Zeke frowned and cast his eyes downwards, and Eren immediately slapped him across the face.
“Hey!”
“I don’t want to hear that you aren’t trying out, big brother!” exclaimed the boy, his eyes growing wide like he was daring Zeke to put himself down so he could tell him why he’s wrong. “--You have to try! You have TO!”
“But...” Zeke chuckled, cradling his cheek for dramatic effect. “You know I have never made the team before, Eren…”
The 5-year-old dismissed him without skipping a beat, jumping into a motivational-speaker-like speech that this year was different because he will use the glove he got him. Eren exclaimed that he’s put all of his energy into getting it, so that glove is special because it will give Zeke his powers, too. That meant Zeke will be twice as strong at the tryouts. Twice as strong because Eren would be present—right there on his hand.
“I’m counting on you,” added Eren at the end.
The younger boy grinned toothily, releasing the glove so he could leap forward and hug Zeke. Eren tackled him to the ground by Carla’s feet. Both boys beamed, and Zeke couldn’t help but feel as though his heart was soaring out of his chest from the speech.
Touched and unable to refuse his little brother, Zeke accepted the gift. He reached a hand up to mess Eren’s hair as thanks, and the two brothers left their home to ride Zeke’s bike to school.
As Zeke pedaled, wind flew through his hair. He realized he had a little brother who trusted him to get him to and from school by the grip his waist, one who believed he could succeed with every ounce of faith on this earth whether the feat was big or small; triggering something to occur to him.
There was no way of knowing whether he would make the team that year.
However, as long as he had a brother behind him who had his back in more ways than one; then, well then none of that would really matter, anyway.