His eyes were so dull.

His hands were shaking. I could tell from the trembling of his hand in my own.

Sweat protruded through his cup of a head.

Or should I say mug?

Thoughts racing, and my entire body shaking, I didn't know what to do or say.

There was nothing I really could say, I suppose. It wasn't likely he'd hear me through his pain induced state. His hand, though shaky, gripped mine as if it were some assortment of lifeline. His teeth were clenched as tightly as they possibly could be. An occasional moan would pass through his lips and sometimes a name. Names like Elder Kettle, my own name, and some that were quite muffled to the point of them being indecipherable. Whenever he'd utter my name, I would give his hand a gentle squeeze. Whenever he'd utter Elder Kettle's name I would wince. He had died some years ago. Maybe just a few years after us foolish teens had taken on the Devil's gambit. His death had impacted us both very greatly, but despite it all, we managed to keep pressing on.

But...if he died...

I shook my head. I don't want to think of that outcome. He would pull through. He had to pull through.

The steady beat of his heart monitor was typically anything but steady. There were odd intervals where his heart beat would spike up. Those were the intervals of which the pain was the most unbearable, I could tell. But then there were also the intervals of which his heart rate would slope down drastically and nearly be slowed to a stop. Those were the moments that scared me the most. Sure, I did not enjoy seeing him in the pain induced state to where he could hardly breathe, but at least in those instances I knew that he was alive.

It all happened so suddenly. At one moment he had been tugging on my jacket while pointing towards something he dubbed as amazing or cool, then the next he was on his side on the floor, struggling to breathe.

OoOoOoO

"I'm back, Mugs!" I had called from downstairs, bags of groceries in hand. I suddenly mentally slapped myself for shouting out through the household. Mugman had been complaining about feeling rather ill lately, hence why he stayed home whilst I was out picking up groceries. Mugs was probably asleep right now. After all, his fever was rather high. He had actually admitted to feeling unwell for nearly the entirety of the week, only now was he starting to feel horribly ill.

I thought it to be the flu based upon his symptoms. I grabbed a bottle of medicine that I had picked up for my brother at the store before reading the ingredients, wondering if any alcohol was in it. If so, it would more than likely be a very minimal amount. But Mugs often didn't enjoy anything alcoholic, even if it was in a medicine. If he had to ingest it, it would likely have to have absolutely no alcohol. After looking at the ingredients, I poured a small cup of the disgusting looking and smelling liquid medicine. I grabbed a few crackers as well to help with the taste of the medicine.

"I've got medicine, Mugs!" I called up, taking my first step on the first of the steps. As I slowly ascended the stairs, ensuring I didn't spill any of the contents of the cup, I heard a hard plop on the floor followed by a moan. I nearly stopped in my tracks. "Mugs?" I called, concern dripping from each letter I had uttered. Upon there being no response, my muscles practically flung me up the rest of the stairs. I nearly fell upon reaching the top step, but I quickly regained my balance, not spilling any of the medicine in the cup onto the hard wood flooring.

I made what may have appeared as a mad dash towards Mugs's room, nearly tripping over my own feet with how fast I was moving. My open hand reflectively reached for Mugman's door frame to catch myself from my sprint from the stairs. After my breath had been caught as well as my balance, I entered his room only to freeze for the second time that day. I couldn't move. I couldn't feel anything as the scene unfolded before me.

The only thing that I did feel was the cup of medicine slip from my fingers and spill all over the floor.

Mugs was on the floor.

Shaking.

Moaning.

My brain was slow to react, but my limbs weren't.

My legs ran as fast as they could to my thrashing brother, his head moving back and forth violently. His hands were above his stomach, frozen in their place, his fingers trembling and twitching. "Mugs!" I cried out, sliding on my knees towards him and my hands hovering above him as the thrashing continued to occur. I don't think you're supposed to touch someone in this state, I thought to myself. But what the hell do I do?! "Mugs, what's wrong?! What do I do?!" I heard myself call out, yet have no recollection of the words leaving the tip of my tongue, or even my brain conjuring up such unanswerable questions.

It was like watching a scene in slow motion, knowing that something was wrong, yet feeling so small and helpless as you sit in the center of it all. My brain was a jumbled mess of thoughts, asking a million questions a minute. What felt like two hours was, in reality, four minutes. Watching his trembling body come to a halt was both a relief and a horror story. Was he alive? Was he breathing? Should I perform CPR? Should I call an ambulance? Check his pulse? Did he just have a seizure?

The wave of relief that came upon me when his blue eyes finally opened. Though, I was relieved to see him alive, his eyes were glazed over and disoriented. I waved my gloved hand in front of his face, too scared to touch him just yet. "M-Mugs?" I stuttered, fear dragging my words down with it. "Mugs, c-can you hear me? Are you o-ok?"

He looked up at me, his eyes rolled towards his forehead, looking me in the eyes. He looked as if he could see me, and he knew that I was present, but as if he couldn't hear me. And as much as his mouth trembled as if he was working up the strength to speak, he was unable to do so.

I could feel sweat drip from my forehead. I looked around his room, searching for his cell phone for mine was down stairs in the kitchen. And it would crush me and scare me too much to even consider leaving him alone in this moment. Once my eyes spotted his cell phone which was set on his end table I looked back down at him. "I'm going to call an ambulance." I put a lot of emphasis within my words and lip movements to ensure that he understood the message. Once he looked like he understood, I dashed to his cell phone.

I input his password and quickly scrolled to his dial pad on the phone's screen, panic coursing through my veins. I shakily dialed the number I haven't had to call in a few years ever since Elder Kettle's passing.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

Suddenly, it was like every emotion spilled out of me as thick, burning tears began to fall from my eyes and down my cheeks. I didn't know what to do or say anymore. "P-Please!" I pleaded to the one chance of my brother receiving help in a quick amount of time. "My...My little brother! I...I think he just had a seizure! P-Please, damn it, please, help him!"

"Sir...sir, I need you to calm down. What is your address?"

I took in a shaky breath, tears still falling quite fast. After telling her our address, she asked a series of other questions after she had called an ambulance out to our house.

Has he had other seizures in the past?

No.

Has there been illnesses within your family that could be passed down through heredity?

No.

Does he have a high grade fever?

Yes.

Has he had a loss of appetite?

Yes.

Has he been feeling dizzy?

I...I don't know!

After the series of questions that were enough to make my head spin, I was finally greeted with the now welcoming sound of ambulance sirens.

They had never sound more welcoming.

They had been quick to come up stairs, stretcher being towed by two paramedics. They had knelt down next to my precious little brother, shinning a light withing his eyes, nearly stopping immediately upon the wince they had seen him do. I watched as they picked up his body onto the stretcher. They beckoned for me to follow them and to accompany him in the ambulance, to which I completely agreed to. But for a moment, I was absolutely frozen within time.

His side had been all bruised up from the fall he took.

OoOoOoO

The diagnostic hadn't been difficult. I had had quite a strong hunch of what he had from the sight of his side after he took the fall. I knew that the fall wouldn't have been hard enough to bruise him, especially not as much as it had bruised him.

So when the diagnosis came back as Leukemia, I wasn't too shocked.

But I demanded a retest.

They wouldn't take a new one.

"There's nothing else it could be," The doctor had said, his face holding a grim visage. "Your brother has Leukemia."

And never will I ever forget Mugman's face when he was told that he had cancer. He had been heart broken. Scared.

"I'm not ready to die," He said, tears falling from his eyes, arms wrapped around his abdomen. "C-Can't die! D-Don't want to leave you! C-Can't leave you, Cuphead!" And for the first time in years, I saw my normally cheerful blue clad brother break apart in front of me, breathing growing rapid and ragged.

That was the first time I ever had to coach my brother through a panic attack.

"You're not going to die," I soothed, unsure of the truth. Despite my lack of knowledge of the future, I responded as if I did know. "You're going to get through this. And I'll be here through every single step, I promise, Mugman." I said as I took my gloved thumb and rubbed it underneath his eyes to wipe away his tears.

"R-Really?" He asked in his childlike voice, sniffling a little.

I smiled sadly. "Really, pal."

"C-Cup!" Mugman cried through clenched teeth, his hand restricting around my own. Though, I didn't mind at all.

"I know, I know," I cooed, taking my other hand and taking my index finger to wipe away his sweat. "I'm right here, Mugs. I'm not going to let go, I promise."

"It hurts!" He cried out, his voice sounding strained and horrifyingly pained. "I...I want to die!" He huffed out in hot breaths of air, trying to not scream from the pain. "I want to die, Cup!"

My hand went limp in his. I had once been holding on, but my hand had gone limp. He...he wants to die, I thought grimly.

"C-Cup?! Cup, don't let go, p-please!" He cried out again like a frightened child.

My poor poor brother.

I squeezed his hand softly so as not to hurt him. "I'm here, Mugs," I reassured him gently. "I'm right here."

Understandably, Mugs had grown quite clingy lately, not that I mind at all. He had always been the type to want to be near people he knew well. He often never left my side anyways. Of course, I wasn't going to deny him now of all times.

"I'm...g-going to die...aren't I, Cup?" He asked through his ragged and tired breaths.

My eyes shot open, and my pupils were nothing but pinpricks. I felt my hand starting to grip tighter around his and tried to restrain myself to the best of my abilities. My hothead nature was nearly completely gone for the past few months, but some still lingered. And that question was enough for the magma to boil right underneath my chin, slowly working its way up to my mouth and ready to explode like a hot volcano, turning into lava.

I wanted to yell, to scream at him that he wasn't going to die, that he couldn't leave me in the cruel world alone without him and without Elder Kettle, that he couldn't be so selfish as to leave me!

I took a deep breath.

I exhaled.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Calm yourself, Cuphead, I thought to myself. He's sick and in pain.

"You're not going to die." I finally answered him once my temper had sizzled down completely.

The tears that were falling down his cheeks never ceased, even with my answer. Maybe it's because he knows that in the end, I can't control nature, and neither can he. And when you're fighting your hardest and it's just not enough, it hurts you and the others around you greatly.

Mugman knows this.

He wasn't the little kid I had once known him as. He wasn't as naive as he once was, believing that everyone was good and that not a single person had a molecule of evil in them. That this world was beautiful and that there was nothing cruel about it whatsoever.

How I longed to have that Mugman back. How I longed for the days that we didn't have to worry about him having a panic attack or being shot with unbearable pain.

How I missed those days.

And I'm sure that he did, too.

I took my thumb and placed it underneath his left eye, wiping away the oncoming tears. "No need to cry, Mugman," I cooed, being as caring and gentle as I could possibly muster. Which he knew was usually quite difficult for me. But as the months came to pass, I found myself becoming more and more accustomed to the nature I used to be so sure that I had lacked. "Everything will be alright."

His lip quivered and his eyes still bore the sight of unshed tears, causing his blue irises to shimmer brightly as if they were a calm, undisturbed lake underneath a bright, noon sun. That simile kind of reminded me of the time we had taken down that ship whilst we were doing the devil's bidding.

Mugman always had been the most levelheaded of the two of us. Hence why he had been against us taking on that bet with the devil. He was so smart. So clever.

So young.

Too young to die.

He was only in his early twenties.

Why did it have to be him?

Why?

Why is it always the good ones who die first? Why does he have to deal with this?

I don't understand.

And maybe I never will.

"C-Cup..." Mugman said, his voice fading and his eyes closing which had brought me out of my thoughts. I shook my head and looked at him. He was so pale. So life drained. But that's not the only thing I noticed.

His heart monitor was so slow.

The slowest it had ever been.

It sounded like there was hardly anything.

"B-Bye..." Mugman said slowly, his letters slurred and his eyes drooping fast. My eyes widened, and I started to hit his hand to wake him up. At first gently and then harder.

"H-Hey, c-c'mon. Wake up, sleepyhead. D-Don't go to sleep. D-Didn't you hear me, you selfish bastard? Wake the hell up!" I began to yell, tears starting to fall from my eyes. But despite my fruitless efforts, his heart monitor only began to get softer and softer until there was only but a flat line. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I just sat there, tears falling fast and hard from my eyes and ugly sobs and hiccups tearing from my throat. "H-Hey...this...this isn't funny anymore! I-I know you're the jokester of the family, b-but that doesn't mean you can just-" I stopped short as I watched his head fall sideways on his pillow and his hand become limp in my own.

My eyes were pinpricks, tears flooding their way out of my eyes. I began to sob loud and hard. I brought my hands up to cover my face, letting Mugman's fall to the side of his bed. I fell out of my chair as I was overwrought with grief. "You failed him," I whispered to myself. "You failed him, you failed him, you failed him." I began to whisper chant.

I knew that I had just lost the only thing that kept me sane.