A/N: I thought of Monica and Crusher for this prompt right from the get-go. It had a totally different plot originally, but those two were always going to be the focus. I think maybe it's because I gained such a soft spot for him between writing about him last year and rewatching some episodes of G-Rev for MayBlade inspo this year. Also, I referred to him as Moses again, because it's officially my personal headcanon that that is his real name and Crusher was the name BEGA gave him. (Yes, I know it's really a dub thing - let me live.)

Day 17 | Moses (Crusher), Monica | Rated: K

Hero

"Monica, hurry up! You don't want to be late."

"I'll be down in a minute!"

Moses smiled to himself. Hearing his sister's voice ring strong and true through the house was something he hoped he never took for granted ever again. With one last glance up the stairs, he returned to the kitchen to finish preparing her lunch.

Every day held moments with Monica that he once thought he'd never get to experience again. Something as simple as packing whatever lunch she'd requested for school that day made him well up with gratefulness.

Gratefulness, not just for the way things had worked out in the end, but for all the friends that had helped along the way. Tyson and Ray, who might never know how much their integrity impacted him. And Garland, who hired lawyers to fight tooth and nail for every penny BEGA owed him and his teammates when the company went under. It was because of him that Moses could afford a new home for his family and an esteemed private school for Monica.

It made everything Boris had put him through worth it.

The sound of soft footfalls interrupted his reverie as Monica appeared in the kitchen. She climbed into a seat at the island and set down a collection of combs and hair accessories on the counter top.

"Can you help me with my hair?" she asked, even though they both knew the routine by now.

When her hair had grown past her shoulders, Monica had appointed Moses as her personal stylist. Once he got the hang of it, he'd found out that his big, clumsy hands had a certain talent for it. And it did his heart good to see her hair grow longer every month, a physical indicator of how far she'd come in recovery.

Moses nodded, like always, and zipped her lunch box shut.

"Do you want braids today?" he asked, eyeing the handful of small rubber bands and sectioning comb.

"Yes, please! Like this." She drew a circle with her fingers from her temples to the back of her head. "And leave half of it down."

"Your wish is my command," Moses said with a chuckle and took up the comb.

His fingers were so used to the movement by now, that it didn't take him long to finish. Monica handed him a ribbon over her shoulder and he tied a bow where her braids connected in the back.

"Thank you!" she chirped, running her hands over the finished product.

"Make sure you use a mirror to see the back," Moses advised as she hopped down. "Let me know if you want anything changed."

"However it looks is perfect!" she said with a wide, dimply smile, scooping up the remaining hair tools to put away again. "I'll be back!"

Moses watched her go, heard her run back up the stairs, and took a shaky breath. Even when she was sick, Monica had been the most content person he knew. Never complained or whined when things got difficult. Channeling her strength had gotten him through the worst days with BEGA.

And when things got bad after, when Brooklyn was defeated and their reputations were in shambles, watching Monica's cheeks round out and the color come back into her complexion took his mind off of it all. He'd thank her for it someday, when he could do so without tearing up. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

He took another steadying breath and willed the unexpected emotions away. They always hit at the strangest times.

"I'm picking a sweater, then I'll be ready!"

Monica's voice spurred him into action. With one last sniffle, he fetched her backpack from its spot by the door and brought it to the kitchen. When he tried to shove her lunchbox inside, beside her books and folders, he was met with resistance and the sound of crumpling paper.

"This better not be another memo she forgot to put on the fridge," he mumbled to himself, knowing that he wouldn't be mad at her even if it was.

What he found when he reached in was something completely different: a handwritten essay with perfect marks. Normally, Monica was eager to show off her grades. He thought it was odd that she'd forgotten this one, until he started reading it.

"My big brother Moses is my hero because…"

That was all it took to bring him to tears. He swiped them away so he wouldn't drip on her paper, but it was no use; more fell the more he read.

"… he joined a professional beyblading league to get money for my surgery. He didn't know anything about beyblading, but he learned so my family could afford my treatment."

In those early days with BEGA, he'd been grateful to find a sport that not only gave him the means to help his family, but an outlet for the array of emotions that he felt while dealing with Monica's illness. Beyblading had turned into a blessing in more ways than one.

"On the days I felt sad, scared, and lonely, he would visit and cheer me up."

Moses vividly remembered being at his wit's end, needing something – anything – to give him strength to carry on. Those were the days he'd visit Monica, to remind himself of his purpose. Seeing her, sensing her fighting spirit, bolstered his heart. And when she'd smile, in spite of the pain, he couldn't help but smile back.

"After my surgery, I had some days that I felt worse than before. Moses was always with me and having him there made me want to get better. If I had to pick one person that was my hero, it would definitely be him."

"Moses, why are you crying?"

He hastily scrubbed at his face. A long time ago he'd vowed never to cry in front of Monica, but now he couldn't help it. The tears kept falling, even as he set her essay to the side. They only intensified when Monica placed her hand on his arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Moses met her eyes through his tears and choked out, "I'm fine, Monica."

She didn't look convinced.

"Did you read my paper? I didn't mean to upset you," she said, big brown eyes glistening with concern. "I didn't show it to you because I didn't want you to be sad that I was hurting. You fought so hard to get me my surgery, I didn't want you to think I wasn't grateful."

"That's not why I'm crying." He reached for a paper towel and blew his nose. Then he placed his hand on Monica's shoulder, less sharp now than it had been under her hospital gown, and looked her in the eye. "I want you to know that you're the reason I was able to be so strong."

Monica's hand tightened on his arm and her eyebrows furrowed.

Moses took a shaky breath, emotions under control for the time being, and continued, "So, if anyone's the hero here, you're mine. I wouldn't have been able to win without you."

Monica threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his middle. He hugged her back as hard as he could without hurting her, a fresh batch of tears threatening to fall at how solid and strong she felt in his hold. Twice the fighter he'd ever be.

"We can be each other's heroes," she said, and any semblance of composure he'd managed to scrape together was washed away when he started to cry again. "I love you, Big Brother."

"I love you too, Monica."

A/N: I'm a sap so I teared up a little writing this. I know it's a super soft and squishy and sugary sweet story, but we all deserve that once in a while lol I just love the idea of Monica thinking he's her hero and Moses thinking she's his and I need, so badly, for them both to be happy.

Thanks for reading! :)