Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The walls of the warehouse were damp, the air heavy and cold. Cracks lined the cement and green plants sprouted in various places that no longer had the rigidity once afforded to the structure back when it must have been built. Most of the windows, small and lopsided, were broken.

This place was far removed from the city. They’d taken them away in a large vehicle with hardy tires, the cabin rocking and lurching as they crossed gravel, dirt, and unkempt bumps. They’ll never find us out here, he couldn’t help but think in his increasing trepidation. The walls of his ribcage fluttered with every quickening heartbeat. It’s been too long, and we’re too remote. They’ll never find us.

Jean was tied to an identical wooden chair across from him, perhaps only three meters. Where Armin felt like his skin was alight with anxiety, Jean seemed steeled as he watched the man prowl back and forth between them. Was his mind as racing as Armin’s? No. He’s far more level headed than me. He knew this would happen and tried to stop me and I didn’t listen to him, dammit, why did I have to intervene, why am I so stupid?!

There was a sharp tug at Armin’s wrists and he forced himself to stop fidgeting. The ropes had been purposefully wrenched up beneath sleeve cuffs to discourage struggling, having greater access to grate away at the skin with even little movement, and he cursed the burns as they slowly grew. It wouldn’t take much more before steam would be required, before he damned them all with the reveal of what he was.

The man had been questioning them for a remarkable amount of time, certain that they’d eventually tire and either slip up or say something new, but they’d anchored themselves to their story. Armin looked over the warehouse again. He’d smarted his way out of more dire situations, hadn’t he? Surely there was something he could do, anything to get them out of this mess he’d placed them in the middle of.

They were tightly bound at the legs and wrists; they’d been here for over an hour, but missing for at least three; multiple men armed with rifles stood guard outside; physical escape was impossible. The more he thought about it, the more he had to accept that they had no choice but to have to talk their way out of this – and it would have to be to the one man inside that building.

It would have to be to him.

The man’s voice, resonant and unnervingly captivating, was the only sound that split the silence, echoing off the empty walls that only served to embolden his words. He was uncommonly tall and weaponized his assiduous, scrutinizing eyes in a way that fixated one's gaze despite the overwhelming urge to look away. Where the men he commanded wore uniforms, he himself had no disconcernable affiliation and he was too unkempt, too unpredictable, to match the discipled military Armin had witnessed the last few months. Black pants, patternless shirt, loose, nondescript jacket; it was like he was both a blank slate and a cornerstone of some specific, inarguable identity.

From the moment he’d walked into the room back at the downtown station, Armin had felt his confidence in escape stagger. This man hadn’t displayed any breaks in character for him to exploit, his uncertain rogueness granting him this immunity from Armin’s ability to strategize, and Armin was forced to consider the possibility that despite their greatest efforts, he and Jean weren’t getting out of this.

“You can’t keep us here,” Jean interrupted impatiently. Since their arrest, he’d defaulted to being difficult. Armin wasn’t sure if it was intentional, to show he couldn’t be Eldian due to his confident behavior, or if that was just Jean. “I know my rights as a citizen and I’m tired of hearing you talk.”

“A citizen?” the man spat on a laugh. Although the man’s hair was pulled behind his neck, the dark color mixing with the silver of his age, a few stray pieces nearly bristled when he turned to face Jean. “You’re both so full of nerve. Even for Eldians, you’ve got less wit than I expected.”

“For the last time, we are not Eldians.” Jean glared. “And you have no proof that we are.”

“No proof indeed.” The man smiled to himself, as if finding the statement amusing. Armin studied his face as he returned to his pacing, wishing desperately that they’d never been apprehended by his squad outside. He’d been counting on being apprehended by the military back at the market. They, at least, were predictable; they followed protocol, and were molded to behave a certain way. Armin could scheme what to say to them, or what to do.

This squadron was military, that was true, but the man who led it, this man, alone in the warehouse while the rest remained outside, was not. And this man remained impossible to read.

“Alright. I suppose it’s time to get serious.” The man removed something from his pocket, and with a hard flick of his wrist, he produced a five inch blade. Armin had been expecting something akin to it for some time, fully aware of the interrogation methods given to suspected Eldian Restorationists, but its appearance still made a sigh of desperation crowd his throat.

“Your papers aren’t on the registry, but you’re telling me you’re citizens of Marley. To be fair, it’s what you’ve been saying this entire time, but I’m becoming bored of it. I want new lies.”

“We are citizens,” Armin implored. The papers given to them by Lady Kiyomi were forged well enough, but she had warned that they would not hold under scrutiny. Still, Armin had no choice but to defend them. “We have legal status! It’s on our registration! Just check again!”

“Your registration…” The man took a single, large step forward and poked Armin’s nose with the tip of the blade, forcing Armin to jerk backwards. Shit! he screamed internally. Please don’t draw blood, please don’t draw blood, please– “...was not viable, young man.”

“They’re fake, t-they’re fake papers!” Armin squealed, putting as much of his very real fear into his performance. He’s not buying this story, I have to change tactics! If he could fool the man into thinking he was petrified of torture enough to spill the truth, perhaps he’d finally believe them. It was a gamble, but Armin was out of options. The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Well, I think that breaks the record for how fast a pig has squealed here! I know they’re fake papers, you vile animal, I never believed they weren’t.”

“B-but we’re not Eldian, go ahead, take a blood test! That’ll prove everything!” This was another dire gamble, and Armin knew it, but this place was run down and removed. Laboratory equipment was too sensitive to live here. The man was going to buy this, he’ll believe him now, he’ll think he’s won by Armin’s faux snap into desperation.

But Armin’s heart sank to his stomach as the man’s beaming expression fell back into annoyance.

“Ah, come on. I thought I had you.”

“I’m telling you the truth! We’re immigrants, we came from a country at war with Marley, we weren’t allowed to flee here but we knew Marley was strong, we bought fake papers to get us inside the safe borders of this country! That’s the truth!”

Each word from Armin’s mouth brought the corners of the man’s mouth back upwards, the agitation turning to amusement, and he slowly shook his head. Shit, Armin thought again, shit. It’s not working. This isn’t working! Any semblance of control he could have had was slipping through his fingers. The prospect of torture wasn’t even remotely the base of his fear, it was the minute it would take after that first cut that was making Armin’s breath shake in his chest.

Armin wouldn’t have time to be tortured. He wouldn’t have time to talk his way out of this, and he wouldn’t have time to save them both, so long as that blade made even the smallest incision. One single drop of blood, even a scrape the size of a papercut, would show this man that the prisoner tied down before him was so, so much worse than he could have ever expected.

It would be all over.

The man bent his towering frame down to grab the back of Armin’s chair and lean over him. He didn’t raise the knife, but he didn’t have to. The look he gave Armin was warning enough.

“Look asshole,” Jean said quickly, his voice tightening in alarm only Armin could hear. He adapted to Armin’s new story swiftly. “What the hell do we have to say to get you to believe us? We didn’t want to admit they were fake right away in fear of imprisonment, but it’s better than you thinking we’re fucking Eldians! Throw us in jail, we broke the law, fine!”

The blade reflected the dim lights of the fixtures far up on the tall ceiling as the man lifted it between his and Armin’s faces. The man wasn’t frustrated, or angry, or impatient. He was savoring the time this was taking, and whatever title this man held, he wasn’t just performing this duty because it was his job. He was enjoying himself.

“Hey!”

The man continued to ignore Jean. “I don’t have to mar that smooth skin of yours, my little creature.” Armin flinched when the cold steel pressed against his cheek. “Although, I would love a reason to.”

“Hey!” Jean bellowed again. “Get away from him!”

“Just tell me…” he continued, ignoring Jean’s incessant shouts. Even hyper focused on the unyielding expression of the man inches from his own face, Armin could hear the panic seeping into Jean’s voice.

Why did I have to intervene back in the market?

“Where are the rest of you rats?” The tip of the blade pushed into Armin’s cheek, indenting his skin so it pressed against his teeth. Armin’s voice shook as he answered.

“It’s just me and my friend…” He kept his head remarkably still. “We didn’t come here with any–”

His vision rocked as the man stuck him with impressive strength, his hair whipping across his forehead.

“Dammit! We’re telling you the truth!” Jean was screaming now. Oh God, am I bleeding? How hard was I struck? He didn’t care about the pain, he barely even felt it. He was simply overwhelmed with fear of what was about to transpire, his breath cold and clammy, the panic so palpable he could taste it on his tongue. “We’ll go to the embassy tomorrow and get registered, I swear it!”

“We are,” Armin implored desperately, compelling himself to look back at the man. “We’re just trying to get by–” His breath stopped short. On instinct, he tried sucking in a breath but jerked in his chair as nothing came.

“Fuckhead, I said leave him alone!”

The fingers, long and powerful, tightened their grip and it suddenly became real to Armin that he may actually be killed. But…why? This man wanted answers, didn’t he? Didn’t he have orders to get answers?

Armin’s tearing eyes found his attacker’s. There was a dull smile in them - a passive pleasure. Armin jerked again as his body fought desperately to breathe, and a biological response sent waves of shrieking mania through the neurological systems of his body.

“I’ll-I’ll tell you!”

Armin’s vision was blurring, Jean’s words now only noise, but his mind sharpened as he realized that what was happening was their only possible way out of this mess he’d created.

If he dies without his secret being revealed, then Marley wouldn’t have the chance to take the colossal back, and they wouldn’t have to flatten Paradis under the knowledge that Marley had been harboring their enemy without knowing it. The Parliament hearing itself was only weeks away – after realizing how near their enemy was, their decision could be nothing besides war.

The power would transfer to some poor child at his death, yes, but it was better than the alternative.

“I’ll tell you, dammit!”

Armin didn’t think he wanted to die, but he understood that this option was their best one – and it brought him peace as darkness bled into his sight. The way his physical body struggled for life against his mental acceptance to let it go was vaguely curious.

“I’ll tell you everything but if he dies, you will get fucking nothing from me! Not a goddamn thing!”

Armin was suddenly gasping, his chest exploding painfully as he sucked in air, his throat burning as he violently coughed, and Jean’s words finally registered.

“J-Jean–” he tried to sputter, but the name was unintelligible. Armin cursed himself as his body clawed savagely to breathe, gathering the air into his lungs like he’d never inhaled a moment in his life. What the hell is he doing? Couldn’t Armin’s death have been better?

“I’m listening.” The man stepped away from Armin and turned to face Jean, his arms crossed with the blade poking out from the crook of his elbow. “Make it a better lie than your friend’s.”

“Armin…” Jean started on a heavy sigh, looking down at the shoe-scuffed, uncared for floor. He looked so despondent that for a wild moment, Armin wondered if he was actually going to do it. “I’m…I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you.”

Armin stared at him as his gasps finally slowed.

“Jean, what–”

“I…look, when I sold you those papers, I told you I was an immigrant from a war-torn country, just like you. But the truth is…dammit.” His shoulders shook. “I am Eldian. I lived in Liberio my entire life. I just wanted…I wanted to get out. But that lie isn’t worth both of our lives.”

“Jean–”

“Just let me finish, alright? I didn’t think we’d get caught. And I thought I’d be safer if I holed up with someone who wasn’t Eldian, that’s why I cut you such a good deal on our rent, I just needed you to stick around. Truth is, I’m not who I said I was.” Armin felt like he was being struck across the face all over again, and despite his lungs’ greed for air, he felt his breath suddenly halt. “I’ve never left the country, let alone be an immigrant. I’m…I’m sorry I lied to you.”

If what Armin felt before was panic, he didn’t have the vocabulary to describe what he was feeling now. Jean, you absolute suicidal ass, what the hell are you doing, what are you thinking, how could you do this?!

Armin’s hysteric thoughts crashed at the sound of low laughter. The man’s smirk was relaxed, his posture lopsided as he lazily leaned into one leg, and he stuck the blade between two fingers to give his palms room to slowly clap.

“What a rousing story.”

“You’ve been wanting the truth for hours, dickweed, so I’m offering it to you.”

“I do believe part of it, don’t worry.” He closed the gap between them and snatched Jean’s hair, yanking his head back. The calm in his voice hardened. “”The truth is…I am Eldian.””

“I…I am…”

“So is he.”

“No–”

“Yes. Now, whether you lived in Liberio your entire life or not, I guess I don’t know. It’s either that, or you're an island devil come from across the sea.” Jean released half a yelp when his head was snapped back even further. “But it’s one of the two. And the two of you are demons together, either way, and you come from a nest of rats, hiding out, testing the waters to see how much you can poison with your filth.”

“It’s just me.” Jean’s voice sounded thin at the way his neck was angled backward. “My family’s been restorationists for generations, but they were all sent to paradise when they were caught. I didn’t want that life.” Why couldn’t Armin say anything? Why did his own voice die in his throat?

But what could he say? That Jean was lying? Whatever happened, Armin’s secret could not be revealed, and Armin thought Jean agreed with that. It would put all of them in grave jeopardy, likely result in Jean’s immediate death, and would spark the war on Paradis that the country was absolutely not prepared to defend against. The entire military could deploy, the rumbling be damned, if they realized their greatest defense wasn’t even there. Paradis would be wiped out, without any of them there to protect it, and his squad would eventually be found and hanged. Everything they had fought for, everything, had the strong potential to be lost.

Jean just jeopardized all of that. And he endangered himself in the process.

So this was the torture Armin had to be subjected to. This was his price for Erwin’s life, and for his mistake back at the market, and for every poor decision he ever made. Jean was going to bleed so Armin didn’t have to. Jean, why didn’t you just let me die?

Erwin wouldn’t have gotten them caught.

Eren, Mikasa, Captain Levi…why didn’t you just let me die?

“You think you have a strength about you, don’t you?” The man brought his head upsettingly close to Jean’s and loudly whispered, “I wonder what it takes to change your mind.”

“Please…” Armin’s small voice broke. “Please don’t hurt him.” He couldn’t stand it. He knew this was his burden, the cost of his sins, but it was too much for him to bear and he couldn’t stand it.

“If your parents were restorationists, wouldn’t they have given you that terribly unoriginal mark on your chest? Let’s see…”

“No, they didn’t,” Jean said quickly. The man used the knife to pluck off the top button of Jean’s shirt and push it far to the right. “I was young when I ran away–”

“Hmm, no scar there,” the man interrupted lightly. He pushed the other way, to the left, and he suddenly paused. A hum came from his throat. “Well, now. Isn’t that an interesting scar?” Armin couldn’t see, but he knew it must have been from the wound Jean had sustained nearly five years ago in Shiganshina.

“What happened here?” The knife twisted at the spot and Jean winced. “Pretty impressive scar for a weak little Liberio shit who’s been cowering his entire life. Go on, tell me; your lies amuse me. I’d love to hear what you come up with.”

“Why bother if you’re not going to believe me, jackass?”

“Maybe I will.” He shrugged. “Maybe whatever you say will fit all the pieces together and suddenly I’ll realize this was all one big misunderstanding, and I’ll send you two on your way.” He applied more pressure and Jean’s breath quickened.

“Look, I left Liberio as a kid without a permit,” he started, blinking away the pain and staring up at the man who still had a grip on his head. “It may not be a surprise to you that I never was much for the law. Punishment was a skewer to the chest. Mom wasn’t a very good nurse, got infected, scarred pretty badly, agh!” The knife broke skin and blood tasted the air. “I-I ran away the following year, I didn’t want to live in a place where–” Jean cried out in earnest as the knife sank in an inch. The man watched his face sputter curiously. “Ch-check your damned reports for an Eldian kid without a permit, 15 years ago, you-you’ll find it!”

“Stop it!” Armin shouted. The ropes smarted against his wrists as he yanked himself forward. “Why won’t you listen to him?!”

“I’ve heard scar tissue is harder to break through.” The man pushed the knife in deeper, forcing out a visceral scream from Jean. “Is that why you’re so hard to break, Eldian rat? That brain of yours all scarred up?”

“Stop!” Armin’s voice was drowned out by the volume of Jean’s sharpened scream as the knife glided fully into him, the hilt squishing into blood that seeped out the sides. Where Jean’s entire body was seized up in pain, his mouth open in that loud scream and his eyes skewered shut, the other man’s posture was entirely composed.

“No!” Armin screamed. “Jean!!!” Finally, the knife was slid carefully out and Jean’s body sagged as much as the binds and the grip on his head would allow as he sucked in shallow, forceful breaths, his voice sputtering with every inhale. The man remained poignantly calm.

“Tell me where your nest is, you fucking piece of shit.” Despite the words, his inflection was relaxed. “And this doesn’t need to get any worse for you.”

Jean couldn’t answer right away and he let out several erratic sounds of pain. The man brought the now dripping knife up as a silent warning, and Jean exhaled desperately and shut his eyes in anticipation. It must have humored the man, who let out a single laugh and roughly released Jean’s hair. His head immediately fell down to his chest.

“You really won’t talk, will you?”

“I…I said…everything…already…you just won’t…hear me…”

The man knelt down, becoming level with Jean, and he gently grasped his chin. Jean’s partially closed eyes met his when he lifted it. “I think you should really put some thought into it,” he suggested in a slow, imploring tone. “And have a different answer when I come back for you.”

Jean’s head fell again when he let go, and the man’s knee cracked as he stood to full height. He looked over his shoulder at Armin’s tear streaked face, then pivoted towards him. The blade was swung up as an extension of his fingers when he pointed and Armin flinched as Jean’s blood sprayed over him. The man stalked over, the tip of the blade never lowering, and Jean whimpered at his retreat. Armin didn’t know if it was in relief or frustration. Perhaps both.

Armin recoiled when the blade tickled the skin beneath his eye. The smell of blood overwhelmed him. He felt the density of it mix with his tears as the blade ineffectively wiped at them.

“You seem so upset for this Eldian rat, after hearing his confession of lying to you after all this time.”

“I…” A familiar sense of searing ice perforating his mind came over him, like it had so many times, as Armin realized he didn’t know what to do. “I…”

“So tell me. Between you and him…” The man pursed his lips and lifted his eyebrows. “Is he really the only Eldian?”

Fresh tears pooled, and he wished he could summon that hollow numbness he’d donned back when dealing with Bertholdt all those years ago. If only he could become the devil that Erwin needed him to be, if only he could become the devil Armin needed himself to be. This wouldn’t be so debilitating.

Between you and him, is he really the only Eldian?

Are you willing to condemn him to save your own skin?

“I’m…I’m crying…because I can’t believe–” –that I’m saying this – “that I-I shared a flat with a dirty Eldian devil for so long. I-I’m a-ashamed.” Of myself. Everything Jean endured was to get Armin out of there unharmed, and it wasn’t just for Armin’s sake. It was for their entire country. Would that man have followed through, and strangled me to death?

“Are you, now?”

“Y-yes…”

“So you don’t care what happens to him?”

The question sent daggers through him. Armin hadn’t yet bled, but he felt like he was being skinned alive and he couldn’t stop himself from looking past the man and over at Jean opposite him. His hair, longer than it had ever been, was beginning to stick to his skin. At the sound of the question, Jean must have known Armin would be looking at him. He raised his head enough to hold Armin’s gaze. Words were transferred between them, and Armin hated how they read.

“No. I…” He forced stability into his voice. Jean endured his torture for the sake of Paradis, so Armin would too. He had to. “I don’t care.”

They’ll imprison Jean, Armin thought foolishly. Perhaps they’ll bring him someplace else and lock him up, and we can rescue him later. If he’s suspected to be a Restorationist, they’ll keep him around for information, right? We’ll save him. I’ll come back for him.

But the blood soaking Jean’s white collared shirt was starting to drip onto the floor. The man took Armin’s words as some sort of permission, watching Armin’s face cruelly as he walked backwards towards Jean and despite every instinct to create distance between himself and that monster, Armin felt terror at his retreat.

Oh, god, what have I done?

The knife was slicing at the ropes behind Jean’s back, then at the ones around his legs. “Do you have a different answer for me, Eldian?” asked the man as he worked. “I told you I’d be back.”

Jean launched himself from the chair, using every ounce of energy he must have had, but the man dodged his attack, pivoted, swept a strong foot behind Jean’s knees, and landed a powerful fist against his right cheekbone that sent him tumbling over the chair. Jean twisted and hit the cold floor with a startling smack. Armin gasped loudly.

“If you won’t tell me where your nest is, you wretched stinking rodents…” The man put a foot up to the overturned chair and shoved hard against it, the seat propelling across the floor and crashing some distance away. He towered over Jean’s collapsed figure. “Then I’ll send them a message that doesn’t require an address.”

His boot pushed against Jean’s hip so he laid flat on his back.

He knelt down.

And panic returned in hot, shocking form, bringing Armin’s fear into bile at the base of his throat as he realized that the man was unclasping the buckle of Jean’s belt.

“What are you doing?!” he heard himself shriek, pretense of lying about Jean’s safety suddenly forgotten. The action staggered Armin, stuffing him not just with panic but absolute, blinding bewilderment. They’d expected torture, physical harm, yes, but this?

Jean must have still been reeling from the short fight; his head barely moved to the side.

The man finished with the belt and just as Jean started to blink away the fog, he was stilled by the body above him landing atop his hips. Wrists, painfully raw, were roughly gathered in the man’s hands and Jean's eyes widened in grave realization just before the wrists were thrown hard against the ground above his head, the man following their descent as he leaned up and hovered over him.

“It’s time for that different answer, Eldian,” he informed as he shifted his weight forward to keep Jean’s wrists down with one hand, leaving the second to be free. “I suggest you make it quick.” That free hand pressed into the center of Jean’s chest, then slowly, the fingers trailed down his torso. Blood collected at his fingertips as he did so.

“No…” It wasn’t a plea, and it wasn’t a response to what the man had said, but a breathy word of denial to himself. Jean tried to shift away, his arms stirring as he fought weakly, but both the wound and the fall had taken a critical toll on his strength. A sound of fear and frustration came from him as he realized he was fully pinned. The hand continued its descent.

“Get away from him!” Armin felt unhinged. What was occurring was thunder to his grasp on self control, a wretched crack of lightning that electrified every layer of his skin. Not this! he screamed to himself. No, god, please not this!

“You can either tell me where your nest is…” The man leaned down so the arm holding Jean’s wrists was bent, allowing him to be an inch from his face. Jean tried to push into the ground. “Or you can not.” The hand reached the edge of the slacks and paused. “I’m a man of justice and virtue, you dirty creature forgotten by God. I keep my word. So if you tell me what I want to know,” the fingers twitched and barely tucked beneath the border of the pants, the buckle clacking. Jean went rigid. “Then I won’t do it.”

“There’s nothing to know!” Armin begged desperately. Dread saturated the space in his lungs because if there was ever a tactical asset that he possessed, it was completely useless to him now. He had no inclination on what to do or what to say to save Jean from this, and even as he said the words, Armin knew they weren’t good enough. “He may have been lying to me but I was consistently with him and I’ve never seen him with anyone else, he never met with anyone else, please, believe me! Please!”

The man was still as a statue, imposing over Jean’s bleeding, vulnerable frame, as he stared down. Armin was nothing to him. He just waited, even dared, for Jean to respond and for several long moments, the only movement of the two men on the ground was the anxious rise and fall of Jean’s chest.

“If you’re going to do it…” Jean finally said faintly, the words quiet, stiff, and with a shallow quiver. “Then hurry up and do it.”

The hand slipped down past the beltline and Jean tensed violently, a sound of alarm accompanying the gasp that escaped him. His face was twisted in ruin, all evidence of his previously stubborn mask gone, and Armin’s shouts halted to silent, desolate puffs of air that stuck in his throat.

Nothing he’d done worked; he failed.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” The man’s face burst into a chilling smile, as if he’d been painfully holding in the grin. “I think the boys outside took bets. Some of them are gonna win some coin.” Despite already being so close, the man leaned in further, his smile deepening when Jean turned his head against the floor in an attempt to create distance.

“Stop it…” Armin croaked, trying to find his voice again. He started fighting earnestly against the ropes. “Stop it!”

“You think you’ve somehow won by keeping your lips sealed?” the man asked, as if the question itself was asinine. “You think you’re protecting some bigger purpose, some greater good, by being here and keeping those secrets to yourself?”

Jean gave out a sharp exhalation, and the man took his hand out from the pants and roughly grabbed Jean’s face, forcing him to straighten his head and look at him.

“Answer me, rat.”

“Go to hell,” Jean tried to snarl through the weakness obviously enveloping him. He spat forcefully, saliva splashing against the cheek above him. There was no sound besides the brutal blow of the man’s fist against Jean’s cheek. His head snapped at the impact. He now faced the far side of the warehouse and the man bent to brush his lips across the furious contusion that had now taken two robust attacks, trailing across his profile until he was beside Jean’s ear.

“You need training,” he whispered cruelly. When Jean didn’t tense or make any reply, Armin prayed to God or anybody that would listen that he’d been knocked unconscious, but that would have been too much of a mercy because the man shoved his hand back into the slacks and grabbed him roughly, causing Jean to arch off the ground and yell.

It was a desperate, tormented sound.

“Enough! Stop!” Armin’s deep concern for Jean was extraordinarily apparent in his voice, his actions, his words, but the man didn’t question him. So he never did believe Armin, did he? Not even for a second. He’d forced him to say that he didn’t care what happened to Jean, already knowing that the words were a lie before the lie even came out, and he was going to make him watch this unfold as punishment for it.

“You don’t want to answer me?” the man mocked, continuing to pretend like Armin didn’t even exist. “Don’t have anything to say?”

Jean didn’t. Staccato breaths were broken by uneven vocalizations, quiet and shaky enough that Armin knew he was exerting a massive amount of energy to keep composed. He couldn’t allow the man any pleasure in his fear and it was both a blessing and a great horror that Armin couldn’t see his face.

“How about this,” the man offered, either tiring of Jean’s silence or equally reveling in the challenge of it. “You tell me to stop, and I will.”

The hand continued to move and did something that forced out half a wracked gasp from Jean but still, Jean would not respond.

“I mean it,” the man promised sweetly. “Tell me to stop. I told you I keep my word, right? I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Tell me you want me to stop. I’ll find another way to punish you, it doesn’t have to be this.”

Jean’s hands, shoved together by the man’s large fingers, were visibly shaking. He must have believed this wretched man just as much as Armin did and he refused to speak.

“Unless you want this…” the man suggested. “That must be it.” As if to dare him to say otherwise, he ran his tongue over Jean’s cheekbone, tasting the bruise he’d created. The groan that the man emitted was more performance than anything, another chisel to carve at Jean’s breaking composure, and he angled his head so he was centimeters away from Jean’s mouth, a threat that he would bring them together. There was a whisper, one Armin couldn’t hear, and the man twisted his hips in a way that was certainly a way to make his own arousal apparent against Jean’s body.

“Stop…” Jean’s voice was shattered. The feeling of the man pushing against him drew the words out. “Please…please stop...”

The sound of him begging made Armin gasp with tears, but that man smiled, so pleased that he finally forced his catch into submission, and the hand reached deeper into Jean’s pants, making him release a proper cry, and Armin was filled with jolting hate.

The lips so near to Jean’s curled.

“No,” he hissed viciously, that one single word a slow, vile vow, and Jean puffed out an anguished breath of hopelessness. It was an opportunity for the man to press their lips together, his tongue breaching Jean’s mouth first, and the contact, without a trace of passion or even lust, was only a kiss by definition. Everything he did was a calculated move designed to break Jean apart, every action less about his own pleasure and more about the anguish of the man beneath him.

Jean was so weak, so unable to even have a chance of fighting him off, and the dynamic of their disparity in power was so foul, so deplorable, that Armin wanted to actively murder that man. He’d never felt a desire to kill before, not even at Shiganshina when they all were facing certain defeat, but here – he wanted him fucking dead. It shocked him, this feeling of fury pulsing through his veins, but he leaned heavily into it, desperate to give himself any sliver of reprieve from the grief he was otherwise suffocating in.

The man released Jean’s arms, feeling his strength was fully depleted, and cupped that hand under Jean’s jaw instead, forcing the sides of his mouth closed and his chin upwards when Jean tried to escape the deepened kiss. It lasted far too long, Jean lurching beneath him and vocalizing as he tried and failed to pull away, until the man finally broke the contact with a pant. A line of harsh coughs ripped from Jean’s body.

“I don’t need your people to show their animal faces to me,” he panted as Jean’s chest flooded painfully in his coughs. “I just need them to stay in line. And I don’t need you to answer me when I ask you to.” He straightened his wrist so Jean’s neck was fully extended, his chin snapping upwards. “I just need you to break.”

“Goddammit, enough, you bastard!” Armin’s tears were hot. He barely felt the pain radiating around his wrists. All he was was rage. “Please, he’s dying!”

“You’ll be the message and your blonde friend over there the messenger. He’s going to witness what happens to the rabid little rats who don’t know how to cower.”

“NO!” Armin screamed, his voice cracking. This couldn’t be his role, this couldn’t be the cost of his mistake, not this. He couldn’t pay it, he wouldn’t.

“Have you ever seen what a rat’s nest does when one of them gets squashed?” The man gave Jean’s head a single, violent shake. “They all scatter.”

The skin of Armin’s esophagus burned. One of his shoulders dislocated as he fought to free himself.

“Where’s your fight now, Eldian?” the man hissed. His smirk had devolved into a sneer, the first one of the night, one lined with anger and provocation. His voice lowered and Armin barely heard his words, and he knew that despite his own role as witness, the taunting was for Jean alone. “You were all spit and vinegar ten minutes ago. You’ve hurled so many names at me tonight, and now you have nothing to say? I don’t even have you pinned anymore.”

The hand moved abruptly beneath the slacks, causing Jean to flinch harshly beneath him. He was trying to struggle, but Jean could barely move, the blood taking his life with it as they both poured out from his wound. He exclaimed shakily when he forced his arms to push against the man’s chest, his limbs trembling wildly, and the man humored him by increasing the distance between them.

“You’re pathetic. I wanted more of a struggle from you.” The man lowered himself again to push against Jean’s hands, moving them back to the floor as if they were made of paper. “You can’t even speak.”

“F-fuck,” Jean barely managed, forcing himself to finally look at the man directly above him, his voice thick with loathing, “y-you…”

Then the hand left their place from Jean’s slacks and the man tugged on his far shoulder, flipping Jean onto his stomach with ease. Jean’s face fell into the puddle of blood that was gathering around them, and it splashed as he sputtered a hoarse breath into it. His hair, usually combed back and tucked neatly behind his ears, was splayed everywhere. It smacked streaks of blood along his neck at the harsh movement and clung to his face and the ground in chaotic strands.

“By now, you must have realized that nothing you’ve done was worth a goddamn thing, right?” The man put a hand flat against the small of Jean’s back, located directly between his straddling thighs. “At least I get something out of your foolishness.”

Jean’s palm had found purchase on the ground and he tried helplessly to lift himself, but the man snatched his arm and wrenched it firmly behind his back, causing Jean to yelp in pain. The blood coated his cheek as his head was pushed into it, and then the man lowered himself on top of him. Jean gasped painfully. Blood from the ground trickled to the inside of his lips as he started to speak.

“F-f-fucking b-bastard,” he cursed, the words barely coming out. “G-g-get off of m–” His words were quickly muffled by the man’s large hand clasping around his mouth.

“Your chance to talk is gone.” He shifted on top of him so Jean’s arm was pinned between their bodies, the man’s left hand was gripping Jean’s face, and his other moved to worm itself beneath his stomach. In a quick, aggressive movement, he yanked him close. Jean cried out, though the sound was muted. “You could spew every living truth out of your mouth right now and I won’t hear it, do you understand me?”

Armin was sobbing out pleas, threats, or curses. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. The worst was near now, and if Armin couldn’t rip that man apart, he’d rather die before he was forced to see it.

“Go ahead, say where your people are,” the man dared, brutally tightening his hold on Jean’s face as if trying to crush it. The knuckles of his fingers angled as he applied all his strength into the movement and the hand, which Armin himself was familiar with its impressive power, stifled a pained scream. “I don’t care anymore, and now that you’ve waited, telling me won’t make this stop.”

Shoulders shifted against the ground as Jean tried, admirably with what little energy he had left, to struggle.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jean.” The name sounded like poison when it came out of that man’s mouth, and Armin felt nausea gather into his spine. “I’m going to fuck you.” He carefully lined their hips and ground hard into Jean beneath him, demonstrating his words despite both of them remaining fully clothed. The smile on his face was in pleasure at the third muffled cry he’d managed to evoke.

Armin’s wrists were wet with blood now. I can’t let this happen, I can’t let this happen, I can’t let this happen–

“And that’s what your life will have amounted to – an Eldian forced by the stronger, Marleyan man. That is all you will ever be. Whatever you could have been belongs to me now.” The man repeated the motion, scraping Jean’s face further into the redness below. Jean’s eyes clenched shut and his brow drew tightly together, but he kept his voice quiet as the one act of retaliation he could manage.

Every cell inside Armin felt infiltrated with desperation and a rage that spread like wildlife, the helplessness and horror pulverizing him from the inside out in the most savage way possible. Jean was about to raped ten feet away from him, and Armin, holder of the most powerful titan in the entire world, could do absolutely nothing to stop it from happening. Even if he wanted to transform, he’d only incinerate every person in the vicinity, including Jean, let alone be witnessed by the city far away. He was completely powerless. Held back from ending this by a few pieces of rope.

This was going to happen. The evil act aside, this was Jean. His friend, his family, of so many years – they had been through hell together and made it out alive. They had come so far, together–

It couldn’t end like this. This couldn’t be happening. Not this…not to him.

“And that’s the last thing you’re going to experience in this miserable existence you call a life,” the man continued. “I must have nicked an artery at the way you’re draining – too bad. So let’s get this started, shall we? I don’t fuck corpses. You’re going to feel me overpower you –” When he rolled into Jean a third time, he tensed and clutched Jean as close as he could, as if trying to squeeze out another cry from him. “And you will realize how much you lost tonight and how you gained nothing back. And then you’re going to die in a pool of your own blood.”

“You can’t do this!” Armin wanted to vomit. The nausea rolled around inside him so incessantly it made him dizzy. Blood evaporated as new blood poured out behind him, the ropes burning deep into the layers of his skin, but steam be damned. He didn’t care anymore. Tactics, advantages, best case scenarios, none of it even crossed his mind for him to consider. Not this…not this. Anything but this. “Get off of him!”

But the man was too preoccupied with breathing into Jean’s neck as he pushed apart his thighs with a knee to notice the vapor behind Armin’s back. Jean made a desperate sound when the man’s arm unwrapped from his stomach and moved to pull at the edge of his pants.

The short array of gunfire shocked both Armin and the man, each of them jumping at the sound, but Jean didn’t – couldn’t – move. One eye was forced shut by the pressure from the palm on his face, and the other slowly looked up at the sounds of fighting outside. Men shouted beyond the walls of the warehouse, their words unintelligible, and for a long moment, the man stayed still as silence descended. Then rapid gunfire peppered the night air in full force. He growled ferally.

His lips went straight to Jean’s ear. “Don’t think for a second that I’m done with you.” Then he scrambled off of Jean, who sucked in a weak, raspy breath at his retreat.

The door to the warehouse burst open, Levi’s foot slamming down onto the floor as Mikasa and Sasha sprinted in from either side of him. Ten minutes ago, a sight like that would have filled Armin with intoxicating relief and hope, but instead, he was so filled with anguish that he felt completely blinded.

He watched the man produce a gun from the inside pocket of his jacket, his finger pulling on the trigger repeatedly as he skipped backwards to find cover. Armin tore his eyes away from him, from the fight, from the squad of Marleyan soldiers joining the battle from outside the warehouse walls, and he gaped at the limp body on the ground.

He screamed Jean’s name. Then he screamed it again. Someone was cutting at the ropes behind Armin’s back and at his legs. He vaguely noticed the way his flesh tried clinging onto the binds as they were removed, then he sprung up from the chair the second he was free. Whoever freed him must have gone back to fight, or maybe not. He didn’t know and he didn’t care.

Armin fell to his knees and carefully unwrapped Jean’s arm from around his back before turning him so he faced upwards. Half of his face was outrageously covered in the blood that was on the ground. Armin pressed his hands onto Jean’s wound with all his weight, forcing out a groan.

“Jean, please, open your eyes and look at me!” The blood, having soaked his shirt, squeezed between the crevices of Armin’s fingers but it wasn’t pouring out of him like he expected. Either the man had actually missed the artery, or he was bleeding out faster than he should have been, his body drained and having little left to give.

But the crease between Jean’s brow told Armin that he was still conscious, still feeling pain, and Armin had to hold onto hope that it was the former. “Jean, I am begging you to listen to my voice and open your eyes!”

Someone was yelling at Armin to take cover, but he ignored them. Gunfire rained all around them. A bullet snapped Armin’s shoulder forward, spewing his blood out to join Jean’s, and he shuffled himself closer to give Jean more protection from the fight. Jean’s eyes opened. They were alert, but glassy. Near to tears.

“We’re getting out of here!” Armin swallowed his need to weep. “Hang on!”

“Ar-Armin…”

“They’re here for us, we’re gonna make it!”

“Armin…you need…to…take cover…”

“I’m not going anywhere!”

“Then I…I gotta say something…before…”

“Stop it, say it to me tomorrow!” The fight continued around them, bullets whizzing around and men screaming in death. Armin abandoned the wound to throw himself down on Jean’s body. His arm wrapped around the top of his head protectively.

“T-thanks…” Jean muttered, his voice near his ear, “for…always watching out…for me…”

“Jean, they’re here!” Armin yelled as he pulled him closer. “You’re going to make it!”

“You were a good friend…I’m sorry things got…mucked up…” If Armin hadn’t been practically on top of him, he would have never heard him over the gunfire. “I’m…I’m sorry…Armin…”

“Jean, god dammit, they’re here!” Armin repeated manically. How could he talk like this, like he was saying goodbye, when the impossible had happened and they were being rescued at this very moment? Armin’s desperation tunneled his vision.

“It’ll…be a…long drive…” Jean’s breath was uneven. “And I’m…b-bleeding too much…come on, man…be realistic…”

Someone was forcing Armin to his feet, yelling at him to let go, and it wasn’t until he was upright that he realized the gunfire had ceased. Eren’s miserable eyes met his for a brief moment before he swung Jean’s arm behind his neck and heaved him into his arms. Jean’s head fell against his chest, and Eren bolted.

Mikasa and Connie were forcing Armin forward. His legs were both rubber and stone, his ears barely registered any sound, and a deep daze came over him as the drop in adrenaline and untouchable emotion plummeted to nothing.

“Armin!” Mikasa said again, putting a hand on either side of his face and forcing him to look at her. The car they were in screeched as it pulled onto the road. “Armin, tell me, where else are you hurt?”

“What?” Armin looked around. Hange was in the passenger seat, an unknown Asian man driving, and Mikasa, Sasha, and Connie stared worriedly at him. He vaguely recalled seeing Levi and Eren pulling Jean into a second vehicle.

“I’m not hurt,” he said strangely, “I heal.”

“Not when you’re weakened.” Hange turned around in their seat. “You have a number of wounds.” Their face was splattered in blood and Armin felt a layer of his fog shift at the sight.

“Hange!”

“Easy, it’s not mine, don’t worry. They’re not taking this eye that easily.”

“Armin...” Mikasa lifted his arm to float her fingers around the deep wounds around his wrist. Her face was horrified at what he’d managed to inflict on himself. “What happened…?”

“It’ll heal.” The disarming numbness settled over him again, like a heavy weight that he couldn’t fight, and he distantly realized that he welcomed it. They all continued to say things at him. “Is anyone hurt?” he suddenly asked flatly, interrupting something Connie said.

“Everyone’s fine.” Mikasa wrapped her fingers between Armin’s. Her gentleness was an indicator of how concerned she was at his behavior, but Armin couldn’t care to mask it. “It’s alright.”

Armin looked over at Connie, sat beside him. He was fighting back tears. Sasha, kneeling on the floor at Connie’s feet, was already freely weeping. Then Armin looked down at himself. Jean’s blood was splattered on his shirt from when the knife was flicked towards him, and it was spread across his face, and it was drenching his hands, and –

“He might be in shock…”

“I’m–I’m not.”

“You’re white as a ghost.”

Jean was still speaking when Armin left him, and his eyes had some form of clarity, but for how long?

“I’m…”

Would he bleed out during the drive, like he said? Was he already just a corpse, propped against Eren in the other car? Everyone was speaking to him again, but Armin only heard a deafening roar.

“I…”

Was what happened to him really going to be the last thing he experienced?

“I…” Armin braced himself against the car door. His nausea came to a head. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

Chapter Text

Armin’s arms were crossed over his knees, hugging them into his chest as he stared hollowly across the water. The sunrise layered the pond with hues of pink and orange. A bird landed in the shallow part of the bend, wetting its feathers and splashing the colors together. Fog drifted over the surface.

Lady Kiyomi’s estate doubled as Hizuru’s embassy. Located not far from the city, it was many acres of well maintained grasses, a few gardens, one pristine, white, stately building with marble columns and foreign architecture, and the carefully designed pond that Armin sat before now. It was quiet.

“We’ll be safe here for now until we learn if we’ve been compromised or not,” Hange had said. “I don’t think we have, since we cleared that place out.”

“You’re sure you got everybody?” Armin had choked out after another several rounds of vomiting. It was by luck that the driver kept waste bags in the glovebox. “Are you…are you positive? Every person?”

“Yes.”

That was only six hours ago. He felt as though he’d been sitting on that wooden bench for an eternity, yet stepping across the safe threshold of Hizuru’s embassy and seeing the shoe prints of blood smeared across the reflective pale tile felt like even longer ago.

“She has contacts that can learn if we’re safe or not, but it’s going to take a few days at least. We’re going to stay here until we get the all clear. Okay, Armin? Armin?”

They said his name so many times, it was starting to sound like just an arrangement of foreign syllables and not the verbal identifier he’d been so familiar with.

The driver of the other vehicle had been far more hasty than Armin’s, probably at the threat of death considering both Eren and Levi were in that car, and Armin barely caught a glimpse of them entering the building when his car drove up. Even from the other end of the long driveway, he could see Levi take the stairs two at a time and practically tear the door off for Eren to sprint inside, Jean’s head limp over his arm as he did so, and Armin knew, at best, he’d already lost consciousness. He couldn’t bear to think what it could mean at worst.

It took another two minutes for their car to join the other. Hange bolted before it even came to a full stop, ordering Mikasa to take care of Armin and for them all to stay out of the way. Later, Armin would learn that finding a doctor Kiyomi could trust took longer than desirable, and that left Hange with the most medical experience.

It must have been a sight for Lady Kiyomi, all of them stepping into that spotless, bright entryway with their enemy’s blood speckled across their shirts and faces. Armin looked the worst of them, and Connie and Mikasa kept their hands on his arms even as he stumbled inside. To her impressive credit, Kiyomi didn’t let any shock she felt cross her face. She had a change of clothes waiting for them all.

It was Levi that found Armin later, barely cleaned up with the help of Mikasa, and said the words Hange stopped the bleeding, and he’s alive. Mikasa had to catch Armin from collapsing in relief. Levi also explained that since the bleeding had stopped, Eren would be out to join them soon. He’d need a change of clothes.

Armin heard footsteps approaching behind him, squeaking softly in the dewy grass. He stared across the water as the person sat beside him on the bench.

“Armin.” It was Hange. He looked at them, his stomach churning once more as he waited to hear whatever it was they had to say. They’d donned clean clothes, similar to the ones Armin was wearing, and it seemed like they’d showered. “He’s still alive. I don’t come here with bad news. A doctor arrived a few hours ago; they’re trying to determine his blood type for a transfusion.”

“That’s…” Armin’s fingers dug into his arms. “That’s when…?”

“They’re giving Jean someone else’s blood to supplement the massive amount that he lost, yes.”

Armin sank deeper into his arms. There had been experiments with this method on Paradis, but it was never successful. He recalled learning about it from the Volunteers, and they were trying to incorporate it into Paradis medicine, but it was a difficult process to master. He chose not to say anything and instead looked back out at the water. Medicine was far more advanced here, he knew that. There was no more energy to doubt Jean’s best chance to recover.

“Things seemed to have finally slowed down. He’s not stable, but, he lived through the night. That’s a good thing.” Hange put their hand on Armin. “Connie told me you’ve been out here for hours. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Armin shrugged flatly. “I’ll be alright.” What else could he say? If he gave them an honest answer, it would only prolong their presence. Hange had good intentions, and was probably responsible for Jean’s life, but Armin’s mind was a wretched jungle of thoughts. He’d only just begun to untangle them.

“The doctor feels confident that with the blood transfusion, he’ll make a full recovery,” they offered, seeing the uncertainty on his face. I don’t know about that, Armin thought dully. He watched the water settle, the bird having flown away, and he tried to memorize the rate of decline in the ripples in order to distract the direction his thoughts wanted to go.

A few moments passed between them.

“Armin.” He heard the change in their voice. Fingers tightened around his knees. “There’s…something else I wanted to ask.”

Damn it. He’d been anticipating this, dreading it, avoiding it. Nobody had made any mention of what was occurring before their rescue at the warehouse, and Armin knew that meant that they hadn’t seen it. They didn't know. His throat, no longer swollen from screaming, made no protest as he swallowed hard and waited.

“When I got into the room Levi and Eren had brought Jean to last night, they were just trying to stop the bleeding. I took over and got it under control, and had the both of them leave to get more cloth and supplies. While they were gone, I took stock of the rest of Jean’s injuries, to see if anything else needed to be done.”

Armin stared out across the pond, begging it to stay in his vision.

“I saw evidence of…something else transpiring.” Hange paused to gauge his reaction, and at the lack of one, continued with potent hesitation. “Unbuckled pants.” They paused again, waiting for an interruption. “Parallel trails of blood on his shirt, as if from a hand…” Another pause, and Armin realized that they were waiting for him to deny it. They wanted him to deny it. Wanted him to tell them that they were being ridiculous.

Hange’s voice was losing confidence. “There was blood…on the inside seam…” Of his pants, they didn’t need to say. Hange leaned forward to try and catch Armin’s eye. “But…” They left another several seconds of silence, giving Armin every single opportunity to hastily tell them that they were imagining things, and that they were wrong.

But Hange’s too clever by half, and when Armin forced himself to look at them, he saw the desperation, and then the grief, take over the one eye that they had.

“Oh, god.” They buried their face in their hands, shoulders clenching as reality washed over them. This rare lapse in emotion from them damaged the stability Armin thought he’d finally begun to grasp and he felt new tears, the first in many hours, swell painfully behind his eyes.

“He didn’t go all the way,” Armin whispered. “But he was about to, if you hadn’t arrived.”

“He didn’t go all the way, but something did happen.” The words were a statement, and not a burning question like before.

Armin’s voice was so small. “Yes.”

“The one you asked about…the one without rank, and with long hair. You specifically asked if he was among the dead. Is that who–?”

“Yes.”

“God.” A humorless laugh bubbled out from their lips. “How I wish I could go back in time, unkill that bastard, and kill him again.”

Armin didn’t have anything else to say. He focused on the pink water with every ounce of mental acuity he had, but he felt the images of what happened to Jean clawing at the shallow depths of his mind, desperate to surface and take over his sight.

“I wish I had the gift for tact, Armin, but frankly, I don’t, and I’m…I need you to tell Levi and me what happened. Not now, but a debriefing on the situation has to occur. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“I understand, Hange.”

“And you…did…did anything happen–”

“No.” Armin was quick to respond. “Jean protected me. He barely laid a hand on me.”

“Oh.”

Hange leaned forward and ran their hands through their hair several times, rubbing at their scalp and taking long, meaningful breaths. Armin wished they would have their realization meltdown somewhere else. He couldn’t holster any more invitations of accepting depravity, he couldn’t sit beside someone who was envisioning what happened when Armin himself finally stopped seeing it.

“Does…anybody else know?” Armin whispered, wishing for something to drown out the sound of Hange’s distress.

“No. I didn’t share my suspicions with anybody. The doctor will probably come to the same conclusion I did, she’s cleaning him up now while his blood test runs, but no one else is aware.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I’m not. I don’t think you should either, Armin.” Hange looked over at him with purpose, and hopefully saw in his face that he had no intention to. “We’ll ask Jean what he wants when he wakes.”

“But Captain Levi–”

“Has to be made aware, yes. He and I are the scouting force of Paradis right now, especially out here. Whatever threats we’re facing, and whatever transgressions our people endure…we have to know. But I’m not using names in the report, Armin, alright? Whatever Jean went through belongs to him, and I’m going to give him the freedom to choose what to do with it. If he tells the others, he can do it in his own time, in his own way. It won’t come from me or Captain Levi. Okay?”

Armin nodded, accepting the answer as the best one he could have hoped for. “Okay.”

Hange stood, then left. Their absence left Armin feeling relieved yet even more empty than he’d been before their arrival. In a way, having someone else know brought part of the weight off his chest. In other ways, it only made it seem more real, and Armin felt so heavy it was like he’d become part of the wooden bench he’d sat upon for so long.

Mikasa was the second person to come find him, long after the sun had risen. It was a pleasant day, sunny and warm. The breeze was kind enough to chase away any uncomfortable heat. She didn’t say much to him, only that the doctor came out for a while to tell them that Jean took the transfusion well and was going to be alright. Eren was adamant about seeing Jean, according to her, and Levi had to wrestle him away to allow the doctor to leave. Then her silence followed, but Armin found it to be a welcome. Mikasa’s silence was common and comfortable. He was glad to be beside her and he didn’t feel so alone.

When Jean was confirmed stable, Hange took Armin into a small conference room on the second floor of the embassy. The building itself was largely empty, save for Kiyomi and a small staff of her most trusted advisors, and it had an odd way of making Armin feel safe while strangely vulnerable. Each step in the vast halls left echoes.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy.” Hange took in a deep breath as they sat across the table from Armin. Levi sat to their left. “I’m sorry you have to do this, but–”

“I understand, Hange. It’s fine.”

“It’s not his first debriefing,” Levi commented, somewhat confused. Armin’s eyes closed for a long moment as he realized that the captain must not have known.

“The situation is more complicated than we thought, Levi,” Hange responded softly before flicking their empathetic gaze back to Armin. “Take your time, but don’t leave anything out. If you do–”

“Hange, please–” Armin tensed in his seat, anticipating what he thought they were going to say. “Please don’t ask Jean. I’ll tell you what happened. He doesn’t need to be debriefed, I’ll explain everything.”

Levi was wordless, but gave Hange a look. It was clear that he was quick to discern the sensitivity of the matter, yet he wasn’t sure what to do with it; he must have assumed the same things Jean and Armin had assumed, that capture meant interrogation and physical harm. After all, what other evils would be necessary?

“I don’t plan on it, Armin,” Hange said gently. “I was going to say that if you do leave something out, we might miss important details. I’m talking names, faces, threats, intentions, anything like that. Okay? So try and distance yourself, and just tell us what happened, and why. From the beginning. Why were you and Jean even captured in the first place?”

“Come on, Armin,” Jean said hastily, sensing Armin’s impulsivity to intervene. He grabbed Armin’s elbow and gave it a tug. “We need to leave.”

Armin watched as the Marleyan soldier struck down the Eldian again, this time against her left shoulder, and she crumbled to the ground. A desperate wail shivered out of her mouth, begging and afraid.

“She’s…she’s old…” Armin said, mostly to himself. “She’s confused…”

“Armin, please!” Jean hissed. He was resolute in his decision, despite the confliction on his face. “We can’t do anything about it!”

“If we don’t, she could be killed!”

“They won’t kill her! Come on, dammit!”

Armin couldn’t listen to her cry out in pain again. The soldier lifted his arm, grasping the baton tightly, and he laughed at the sound of her screaming the words “where am I, where am I, where am I?”.

Armin wrenched away from Jean and stood in front of the woman’s trembling body.

“Jean knew we’d be questioned for defending an Eldian, especially one who had left Liberio without a permit…and I did too, truthfully…” Armin stared at the imperfections of the table. “But I thought…I could talk our way out of it…like I so often have before…”

Armin watched the man inspect their papers, his confidence wavering with each passing minute. The soldier flicked his eyes up to watch Armin, then his face went to Jean, then back down to the papers. His wrist snapped and he passed the papers to the partner beside him, ordering him to run them through the database.

“We’re immigrants, we only got here a week ago, they may not be in the system yet,” Armin said quickly. It was the only excuse he could think of to explain the registration’s absence.

“Immigrants, huh? You got Eldians in your country, don’t you? Bastards are everywhere.”

“Yes, we do.”

“And you defend Eldians there?”

“No, absolutely not.” That was Jean. “In fact, half the reason we came here was because we know how well Marley controls its Eldian population. My friend here…his grandmother died from dementia, alright? He’s got a soft spot for the elderly. He didn’t mean to give you guys grief about it.”

“And at what point did they realize the papers were fake?” Levi asked, his and everyone else’s teacups untouched.

“I don’t know, exactly. I don’t understand…how they were able to confirm that our papers were illegitimate so quickly. I thought we’d have more time…”

“Technology in the military is advanced, Armin,” Hange explained, although Armin already knew this. “They have these databases that can be exploited in seconds. What takes us hours to find a file, it can be done here before you finish snapping your fingers.”

“I didn’t think…” Armin leaned forward half an inch, his gaze lowering. “I didn’t think we’d be caught…”

“No, you didn’t think.” Levi’s voice was stern. “That’s the problem. You should have listened to Jean.”

“I know.”

“You put yourself, and him, and all of us in jeopardy by inserting yourself in that situation. That kind of thing happens daily here, you know that.”

“I know.”

Levi shook his head and ran a palm across his face, revealing a sort of fatigue. “Look. I don’t blame you, Armin. I wish you hadn’t done it, but I don’t blame you. Every choice we make has consequences, but we have to make the choices anyway and run the risk. You would have gone to bed that night regretting not intervening, and you’ll go to bed tonight regretting that you intervened anyway.”

“I wish…” His words seemed far away. “I wish I hadn’t done it, either…”

“Levi, let him finish before the scolding, alright?”

“I’m done.” Levi leaned back in his chair. Although his words implied discipline, his face didn’t show any of the anger that Armin anticipated. “I snatched that kid up the first day we got here, didn’t I? I calculated the risk. Hell, we even had Eren there, and I still put us all in jeopardy. We made the same choice, Armin, you and me, it’s just that my good deed went unpunished. Yours didn’t. I can’t blame you for that. One of us got lucky, and it wasn’t you.”

“What happened to Jean…was my fault…”

“No, it was not.” Hange’s voice turned hard. “That’s not what Levi is saying, and I’m not going to let you take the blame for it.”

“If I hadn’t stopped that soldier…”

“Do you blame Jean for what happened?”

Armin snapped his head up, the sharp motion enough to spill his tears over his cheeks. “How could you say that? Of course not!”

“Well it happened to him because he’s Eldian. It’s not his fault he’s Eldian, and it’s not yours either!”

“Jean didn’t make the choice to be Eldian! I made the choice to endanger us both!”

“What that man did, he did because he made the choice between right and wrong! Your choice was between right and right, and both right choices had consequences because of the fact that we are all Eldian! It’s his fault, not yours, not Jean’s, ever, do you understand?”

Hange was speaking directly to Armin, and it was like Levi was no longer part of the conversation. Hange clearly hadn’t told him yet, and Armin hadn’t reached this part of the ordeal, but Hange was desperate to stop the momentum Armin was building towards. He stared intensely across the table at them.

“If I had listened to him,” Armin said in a whisper, “he would be awake right now. And we’d be back at the flat, instead of here. How does that fact relieve me of fault?” At Hange’s resigned sigh, he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, Hange. I blame that man too. I’m not an evil person, I know that. But my choice led us to an evil person. Whether or not that was my intention is irrelevant. It’s what happened.”

Levi’s face was growing darker. Why couldn’t Hange have told him beforehand, dammit? He couldn’t bear this.

Armin chewed on his bottom lip and silently cursed himself; Hange was doing the best they could in the worst of circumstances. They don't even know what happened, just that something happened. How could they inform Levi without information? Armin touched a few fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes as he forced himself to breathe.

“Just…just continue, Armin.” Hange said. Armin opened his eyes and saw them wipe away a tear beneath their glasses. “Remember to try and distance yourself.”

“They brought us first to the downtown station,” he started, pinching his eyes back shut and running the pads of his fingers into a temple. “Jean and I kept trying to convince these two soldiers of our story, and there was a point I thought I was finally instilling some doubt in them but…they were just toying with us. They called for another man who came in shortly after.” Fury sparked inside him for the first time since their rescue. His hands fell into his lap, fingernails curling into palms. “It was the man I told you about. No rank on him, hair too long to be military, face too unkempt to be a diplomat…I still don’t know who he was.”

“A third party?” Levi guessed. “A contractor?”

“It’s possible.”

“And?” Hange pushed.

“And I knew right away, the second I saw him, that we’d lost.”

He was taller than the rest, and walked like he knew it. His face was sharp, but not from structure – it was the way his eyes sparkled, the line his mouth made when he smirked down at them, chained to the table.

When he looked at them, Armin felt himself being analyzed. The man’s eyes washed over them both, studying each feature of their faces, watching the way they blinked. It was like he was extracting the lie on sight and putting it on display across their chests.

And Armin realized the grave danger he’d put them both in.

“He barely glanced at our papers, didn’t ask us any questions, and ordered the two soldiers to prepare us for transport. They seemed…surprised.”

“Are you sure?” one of the men asked. “Because if we take them out there and you–”

“I know the runaround, Amblin. Are you doubting my decision?”

The soldier straightened. “No, sir.”

“I know an Eldian when I see one.”

“But we’re not–” Jean started, but the man continued on.

“Little rat noses.” He smiled to himself as if he’d told a joke, then touched his thumb to the tip of Armin’s nose. “Especially that one. Tell the rest of our squad to meet us there. Tell them to start making bets.”

“So they brought us to that warehouse. I figure it’s not the first time they’ve taken suspected Eldian Restorationists there, why else visit a decrepit warehouse far away from society?”

“You’re right about that.” Levi seemed to want to do something with his hands, so he picked up the teacup and inspected its rim. “It was the first accessible location Kiyomi gave us that you may have been held at, once her informants figured out what squad was assigned to the sector you went missing in. Apparently, the place is known in the Marleyan superior ranks.”

“I think, if he was a contractor, he was consistently hired to extract information from the Eldians who turn on Marley. That seemed to be his specialty, and the soldiers involved with the old woman’s beating were part of that specialized squad. They just happened to be the ones who caught us.”

“So he’s not military. How did the soldiers respond to his command?”

“How did they respond?” Armin thought back. “Admiration, if anything. This squad, the ones you all killed, respected him. We only saw a handful when we were being shoved inside the warehouse, aside from the two that we came across initially, and they were…joking with each other. Joking with him. Making bets on…” Armin paused at the memory, his brow furrowing together, “...something…”

“Two of ‘em, this time.”

“50/50 chance.”

“Nah, come on, you gotta think about it tactically. What’s he feeling today? Which one’s got more lip?”

“Last time it was the quiet one.”

“I’m thinking taller one. Who’ll take 20 on the taller one?”

“I’ll take that. Blondie’s not bad.”

“Only if the pigs don’t squeal.”

“Last two trips out here were a bust. All of ‘em talked. How am I supposed to make my money back if they keep talking?”

Armin didn’t understand it then. That, and he and Jean were silently overwhelmed with their predicament, it just seemed like threatening chatter that frankly, didn’t matter much in the larger picture. He didn’t have the capacity to consider what they meant, the words hardly registering as they were shoved past and through the warehouse’s doorway. The back of the chair pressed into Armin’s spine as he leaned into it, the realization hitting him, and a hand went into his hair.

“What is it?” Hange asked cautiously.

“They were making bets…” This had so many implications, but worst of all was that the nightmare Armin had experienced was performed repeatedly. “On which of us the man would…” But unlike Armin’s experience, those poor people were never rescued. Armin shook his head, unsure of what to do with this burden of information. In the long moment of silence that followed, Hange seemed to have finished the sentence for themselves but Levi leaned against the table impatiently.

“Torture?” Levi assumed. Armin looked at him, seeing the confusion etched on his face, the little shake of his head as he tread through the telling of a story he didn’t understand.

“Captain Levi…” Armin’s throat went dry. He couldn’t string himself and Levi along anymore, despite so much story being left before the worst of it came. “I’ll tell you everything, but first let me summarize so we can get this over with.”

Levi blinked. “Alright…”

“This man questioned us for a while. Jean had lied even further, to save my skin, and said he was an Eldian who tricked me into living with him. This man never bought it, though. The entire time, it was like he could read our minds – he didn’t believe a single word we said, no matter how convincing we tried to be. And…”

His chest tightened. He’d need to push through this, quickly, or he’d buckle.

“He wanted to prove that the lies were powerless. So he inflicted that wound on Jean, waited enough time until he bled sufficiently, and then he cut Jean free. He was too weak to fight back. I-I think that was his intention…and…” Despite his best attempts not to, his voice began to shake. His tongue felt thick in his throat. “Then h-he threw him on the floor…and knelt down…” A nausea now too familiar to him swirled in the pits of his stomach. “He t-took off Jean’s belt…”

Levi stared, unmoving in his chair with the cup still grasped between three fingers.

“He told Jean that if he didn’t give up the rest of the team, he’d –“ distance yourself, Armin, “– he’d f-force himself onto him.”

Levi did not move. His face did not change. Salt touched Armin’s tongue, almost surprising him. He didn’t know he’d begun crying.

“This man didn’t want Jean or I to think that our failure to tell the truth had any real power. He promised Jean that his silence meant nothing, and the…the assault would be a message to the rest of us. He said that the only way out of it was to talk.”

Slowly, the teacup was set gently down on the table, Levi’s features going slack.

Armin stared apologetically at him, then at Hange, hating that he had to give them this burden of knowledge. “And as you can assume…Jean didn’t talk.”

Chapter Text

She was a tall, thin woman, and had a skin color Armin had never seen. She must have been an immigrant, or perhaps just a traveler that Kiyomi knew. She smiled at him as she drew water into the bag and tied it off. Armin gave her a tired smile back.

“The others told me you don’t need medical attention,” she said as he placed his used cup in the large, steel sink. “But I’m a doctor so it’s in my nature to ask anyway: are you alright?”

“Oh, uh.” He rubbed his arm and glanced away. Kiyomi knew what he was, but he didn’t need to divulge that information to more people than necessary. “I don’t. Need medical attention, that is. I’m not wounded.” His wrists and gunshot wound had fully healed that morning as he sat watching over the pond, relieving him of any visual evidence of his suffering.

It had taken far longer than usual, the vapor from his skin thicker than even the fog that surrounded him.

“I’m glad to hear that, although it didn’t exactly answer my question.” She glanced at him as she set about filling another bag. Armin felt himself being analyzed and he quickly turned to leave.

“You know, I haven’t told your commander yet, who will probably be upset with me for not telling them first, but…I finished up the second transfusion. He’s doing really well.” The pipes sputtered as she turned off the water and Armin stopped, hand on the open door frame. “Did you want to see him?”

Armin snapped around at that, his posture straightening, and she let out a quiet laugh at the way he nearly gave himself whiplash. “He’s still unconscious,” she clarified, “but I take that look on your face as a yes?”

“Yes.” The word barely came out and he cleared his throat. “Yes.”

The walk wasn’t long. The doctor tried asking Armin questions about himself, but the smalltalk only blended into the echo that Armin kept hearing. She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t answering, and when they stopped at the door he knew Jean was behind, she gestured with her head towards it.

“I’m going to keep making a few more ice packs,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Armin turned towards her to try and articulate his thanks, feeling strangely guilty, but she was already walking away and his voice remained stuck in his throat. Instead, Armin turned the doorknob and entered the room.

The color of his skin had flushed to the shade it had been previously, making him seem warm. Armin thought back to when he was clutching him in an attempt to shield him from the bullets. He’s been very cold, then. Maybe it was from the transfer of the cement’s chill, or the sheen of thin sweat on his skin, or the blood loss. Maybe because he was dying.

Even with the thick, mildly stained bandage wrapped around half his chest, it hardly looked like he’d been nearly dead just the night previous. He really could have been sleeping – how inappropriate it was that Armin knew how viciously he’d been treated, how close he’d been to a horrific death, and now it just looked like he was down for a nap.

Aside from the evident health about him, most shocking of all was how clean he was. It must have taken a remarkable amount of work to scrub him of all the blood, dirt, sweat, and warehouse floor grime that had been soaked into him. Worst had been his hair, nothing better than a tangled sponge scraped across a filthy floor. Now it was tucked back, brushed even, and washed.

Armin walked closer, feeling the relief brighten the cloud he’d been carrying for so long. This was all he wanted to see, was Jean more like this, or rather, not the way he had been less than sixteen hours ago. The chair protested softly as Armin pulled it up to the bedside. He sat in it carefully, as if Jean’s deep unconsciousness could be shaken by his simple movements.

If only Jean could heal, he thought wistfully as his eyes went from the gauze around his wrists to the bandages crossing his chest. It was a stupid thought. If he could, their situation would have taken a turn last night. It was a blessing that he couldn’t heal but still, the circumstance’s irony was a cruel one. Jean had to carry the evidence of Armin’s mistake, while Armin himself no longer even had so much as a single bruise on him.

Jean, however, was covered in them – especially on his face. The most profound coloring was on his right cheekbone, where the man had felled him twice, and swelling was already well in advance. Yet it was the line of bruises on the other side of his profile that made Armin’s relief falter. Small, dark, round, wicked.

These were the marks from the powerful fingers of a dead man.

He put a hand on Jean’s forearm, swallowing his emotion and blinking away the sight of his face enveloped by that man’s grip.

“I just want you to know that he’s dead, Jean,” Armin whispered, his fingers tightening. Jean’s healthy, even breathing was the only response he needed.

Hange was the first to enter not long after. Their face was expressionless except for the remarkable bite they had on their bottom lip, and they reached down to brush away a few stray hairs from Jean’s face. Prior to their arrival, Armin had pushed his chair into the back corner to give the rest space. He watched the interaction quietly.

Armin had told Hange and Levi everything earlier that day, down to the cruel taunts that the man had armed himself with – although his rendition of them was done between heavy sobs – and where Levi was completely motionless in his chair the whole time, Hange was shaking from head to toe in an unstable symphony of fury, heartbreak, and disbelief.

“He wanted to send a message, huh?” Hange had struggled to say. “Message fucking received.”

Armin had vomited multiple times after that debriefing. He considered Hange had too, but knew that their more accurate reaction was probably something more violent. He pitied the first office Hange might stumble across in fear of it being demolished.

The rest came and went, Eren staying the longest of all and Levi the shortest, but by nightfall, Armin was the only one left. The doctor assured him that Jean didn’t need supervision, but that wasn’t the reason Armin wanted to stay.

The others weren’t asking him questions when he was in Jean’s room. They didn’t want to talk too loudly so when they were there; they were quiet. Jean’s room was like a chapel, which Armin found somewhat amusing and mildly ironic. He was tired of “are you alright Armin?” and “what happened back there?” and “you don’t seem like yourself.” Jean was alive, and his unconsciousness protected Armin from questions he didn’t know how to answer. He liked it best beside him.

But he couldn’t run from his friends, and he didn’t want to. Mikasa’s worry was polarizing through the walls so he agreed to explore the grounds with her and Eren the following day, and while Armin initially wasn’t committed to the idea, it proved to be a welcome distraction. The doctor had come in that morning to perform routine tests, simple things like checking heart rate and capillary refill, but it made Armin anxious. He went outside shortly after her arrival.

He recounted what he could to Mikasa and Eren, omitting the parts that belonged only to Jean. It wasn’t difficult to convince them of how traumatizing the ordeal was, even without the latter half of it. The all-encompassing fear of his secret being revealed had been sickening, and even now, when Armin knew that danger had long passed, he felt remnants of that fear clinging to his thoughts.

There was also still fierce confusion on why Jean had stopped the man from killing Armin. He tried to describe this to his friends, explaining that their secret had been so near to discovery and that Armin’s death would have secured it, but Jean interrupted that from happening. Their response was confirmation that he’d failed to communicate the proximity they’d been in to losing everything.

“Don’t talk like that, Armin,” Mikasa muttered, her voice trying to mask how disturbed she was by his words.

“Captain Levi didn’t save your life so you could throw it away,” Eren added almost unkindly, but Armin knew better than to take offense.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he defended. “But we can’t let them have the colossal, you know that. And I just…I don’t know why the hell he stopped him. We were consistently a millimeter away from being discovered. I was sure I was going to be discovered. It was our one way out!”

“Maybe he just wanted to save your life.” Mikasa glanced up at him as they walked slowly through one of the gardens. “Maybe there wasn’t any logic to it.”

“Yeah,” Eren mumbled. “If there’s anyone in this group who doesn’t use their brain, it’s that asshole.” He kicked a rock. It tumbled clumsily in front of them. “Even so, I’m glad he did it. Things turned out alright, didn’t they? Neither of you had to die. Your secret’s still safe.”

Armin suppressed a sigh. “Yeah. But because he did it, he got a knife in the chest.” And worse. He tried not to acknowledge Eren’s eyes lingering on him.

“I can see you blaming yourself.”

“Well, Eren.” Armin didn’t want to be free of blame; he deserved it. His hands hit his pants after he shrugged deflectively. “I’m responsible.”

“No,” Eren snapped, stopping and grabbing Armin’s shoulders painfully. He whipped him around and stared at him with an intensity that nearly stunned Armin. “You’re not responsible for being an Eldian. You deserve to be an Eldian, Armin, and they tortured you guys because you were born Eldian. Not because you stopped a confused old woman from being murdered.”

Armin looked away from him, then softly brushed the hands off of his shoulder. Arguing with him would only be a waste of his own breath, and he was clearly too worked up to hear anything different. He meant well enough. “Hange essentially said the same thing.”

“Well they’re right.” Eren started forward again, his face still turned in anger. “I don’t blame my father for the death of my aunt. And I don’t blame you for this, either.”

A few flower petals drifted down from the tree above them, flittering about with the influence of the wind. Armin watched them fall. One drifted near him and he caught it between his thumb and finger.

“Have you considered that he wasn’t going to kill you?” Eren commented after a few moments. Armin rubbed the petal, noticing its softness. “Think about it. Why would he kill a possible informant? He was probably just trying to scare you both into talking, and it worked well enough to get Jean to spew out some bullshit, right? Maybe Jean knew that and he was just using the situation to get him away from you to prevent him making you bleed. Maybe there was some logic to it.”

Armin shrugged. He let the petal fall from his grasp. “Maybe.”

“But don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

“You were crying when the doctor kicked you out of that room,” Mikasa reminded. “Don’t go back to pretending like you hate him.”

“I was not crying.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Well, that asshole was bleeding all over me. And he said some things in the car that just got to me, alright?”

Armin’s ears perked at that. “What? What things?”

“Typical end of life shit,” he said, kicking another rock. Armin didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. “He was positive he wasn’t gonna make it. Levi tasked me with trying to keep him awake while he staunched the bleeding, which wasn’t hard at first. He was fairly lucid. Telling me to make sure his mom got all his assets. He said it was only him and his mom, no other family, no one else to notify, which I replied, “I didn’t ask.””

Armin almost wanted to smile. Eren’s own deflections weren’t particularly convincing.

“Anyway,” Eren continued, his face a curious combination of something Armin couldn’t quite decipher. “The last ten minutes of the drive was when it became chaotic.”

“How so?” Mikasa asked.

“Eyes got heavy. Kept closing them, opening them when I scolded him for it, closing them again. I just kept yelling at him, Levi was yelling at the driver, I was yelling at Jean over Levi yelling at the driver. Then when his eyes didn’t open again, I got to join Levi in yelling at the driver.” The fire in him seemed to extinguish at the memory. “I sure hope we don’t run into that driver again, I think he might want to kill us.”

“I’m sorry, Eren,” Armin said, truly meaning it.

When they returned later, Armin broke off after dinner to spend the night in that chair again. The estate was large and they’d all been given individual rooms, but Armin hadn’t stepped foot in the place he’d been assigned. So long as Jean was unconscious, he didn’t think he would.

But as he neared Jean’s room, his hands in his pockets and his feet scuffing tiredly at the rug, he suddenly heard voices. There was the doctor’s, and then there was Jean’s. A loud exhalation came from his mouth as he recognized this, and before he knew what he was doing, his feet were moving faster. A sliver of light protruded from the already cracked door and Armin pushed it open.

“You’ve heard it before, but I’ll say it again. Drink a lot of water, and keep it clean. I think your commander will have my neck if it manages to get infected.” The doctor turned at the sound of the door and offered Armin a smile, not at all curious to see him standing there. Then she turned back to her patient and continued to instruct him, but Jean, sitting up against the wall, clearly hadn't been expecting the entrance. Alert but with an unreadable expression, he didn’t look away.

“I already gave your commander your list of prescriptions, but I’m holding you responsible too.” She tapped a piece of paper on the nightstand. “Antibiotics daily, those are the most important. Got it?”

“Antibiotics daily,” Jean repeated, bringing his eyes back to her. “Got it.”

“You look like the kind of person that will try and take too many steps far too soon.” She lightly pushed her finger into his good shoulder and enunciated her words. “Do not do that. We’ll see to that tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright. Don’t move that arm too much.” She straightened the lapels of her coat. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

She gave Armin a sweet look as she passed him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder, and then he and Jean were alone. Armin started to cross the room, words bubbling up to his lips but immediately floating away, and he felt vacuous.

The many things he wished to say, and the many more he couldn’t, molded together to pressurize his chest and hold his tongue. Armin hoped he could extract something before he closed the gap, but with every step he took, the knot in his mouth only tightened. He was near enough now to see the life in Jean’s eyes – the life – and the relief drove him to instead drop to the covers beside Jean and swiftly, gently, ardently pull him into an embrace, his arms holding him and conveying everything he couldn’t otherwise vocalize.

Before Armin had a chance to scold himself for the possibility that he was making Jean uncomfortable at the contact, Jean’s right arm returned the hug tightly and he didn’t just accept the touch, but melted into it, seeming to want it as much as Armin did. Armin stuffed down a choked breath, surprised at the response.

“I’m really sorry, Jean,” he whispered over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too, Armin.”

Jean must have thought Armin meant I’m so very sorry this happened to you, but Armin didn’t have the strength to say he’d meant it was because Armin had been the one to do this to him. Instead, his hands squeezed around his back, just forcing himself to be content that he could.

“Are you alright?” Jean asked quietly. Armin’s face fell and he broke the hug, pulling away to look at Jean’s face. He was concerned, his features lined with a softness that rarely appeared on him.

“Me?” Armin practically squeaked.

“Yeah, you’re–you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

“Jean…” Armin’s mouth moved as he tried to find the words. It was true, Armin was trembling so intensely he was practically vibrating the bed. “You’re the one wrapped up in gauze.” You’re the one he had on the floor.

“We both suffered, Armin. Don’t kid yourself of that.”

Armin felt his throat constrict, his chest cave in, his stomach roll. He had nearly dashed into this room, but suddenly he wanted to run away.

“Why…would you…”

“Look…” Jean swallowed and looked down at his hands. When he moved, Armin saw the bruises on his face more clearly and now that some time had passed, they were beginning to truly spit. The small, finger-sized circles mocked at him. “I can imagine what I would have felt, if our roles were reversed. So…” His eyes flicked back up to meet Armin’s. “I know you suffered.”

“I was so useless…” Armin heard himself say without meaning to. The words fell out of him. “I felt so helpless.”

“Listen to me. They got there, didn’t they? We’re somehow alive. And…” Something crossed his face. “It could have been a lot worse. And it wasn’t.”

“How long have you been awake?” Armin asked, every other possible statement dying on his lips. “Has Hange…?”

“Yeah, they were in here when I first woke up. I think they were dozing, I scared the shit out of ‘em.”

“They took that man’s life.” Armin felt their gazes somehow lock even further, despite not looking away before. “He's dead.”

“I know. Hange told me.”

He looked between his eyes. “Did they say anything else?”

“I know Hange and Levi are aware of what happened.”

His expression was remarkably unchanging. Armin wasn’t certain what to make of it. “And…did they ask you what you wanted to do about it?”

“We’re keeping that part of the record confidential.”

It was an odd choice of words. Impersonal. He continued to analyze his face and listen to the inflection of his voice, but there was no evidence of adverse emotion. He was too steeled. Armin just nodded, accepting the choice he’d made not to inform the others and silently communicating that he wouldn’t either.

Even so, despite Jean’s obvious success at shelling himself, Armin knew he needed to check on him in a way he was nearly afraid to.

“Jean–”

“It’s alright Armin,” he interrupted, anticipating the topic. “I’m fine.”

“But–”

“They arrived in time, didn’t they? I’m fine.”

“But Jean–”

“I’m fine.”

Armin’s mouth was still open even as he swallowed his words. He gave another jerked nod and rose from his place on the bed. He must have only been awake a few hours at most, so perhaps he could try again when he’d had more time.

“Do me a favor, Armin? Don’t tell anyone I’m up yet. I’m pretty tired. But come back tomorrow – doc said I can get out of bed and walk, if you help.”

“Sure, of course. Okay.” Armin started towards the door, recognizing that Jean was requesting to be alone. He tried to make light. “It’s probably a good idea. Keeping Connie and Sasha off of you is going to be a whole event.”

Jean smiled at that, and Armin smiled back. It gave him the courage he needed to leave him alone for the night, and for himself to be alone for the night. He was going to have to ask Hange where his room was.

Chapter Text

Jean’s recovery shocked not just Armin, but everyone else as well - aside, of course, from Kiyomi, the doctor, and the few staff privy to their presence. To them, his injuries were easily fixed so long as the victim received treatment quickly enough but to the rest of them, blood loss was a guaranteed death sentence. It had drained the life from thousands of victims in the years Paradis was removed from the world, and Armin had seen the way it claimed people so hopelessly, so rapidly, so unfairly. Transferring blood from one person to another, despite its stake in modern science, was still something like magic to them.

The only evidence of the transfusion was some bruising on the inside of Jean’s elbow partnered with a slight flush of his cheeks from a mild, expected fever. And that was it. Jean was walking already.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, let’s just wait a bit longer,” Armin had tried earlier that day as the doctor encouraged Jean to stand. Even with her there, the idea made him unbelievably nervous.

“I feel fine Armin, really,” Jean had responded somewhat impatiently. Armin was quick to sense Jean’s dislike for being hovered over but having him walk wasn’t something he wanted to keep quiet about. Regardless, the doctor convinced Armin that Jean had enough of a transfusion to be perfectly well.

And so he walked. Down the hall and back, Armin and Doctor Shideski on either side in case he became faint, but he never did. Jean even felt cocky enough to give Armin a look as if Armin was the unreasonable one.

Still, he tired easily. He was long asleep by the time dinner came that night.

“It’s incredible,” Eren said, staring at his plate as they discussed the progress. A thought, or perhaps a realization, came and darkened his face. “Imagine how many lives could have been saved back home if we were caught up with the rest of the world.”

“We’re getting there now,” Mikasa tried to comfort, leaning forward to try and catch Eren’s eye. He didn’t give it to her. “That’s what matters.”

“But I still don’t understand.” Connie reached for the water pitcher, looking at Hange for an explanation. “We tried to fix blood loss and it never worked out. Something different in the air here?”

“There’s no one type of blood, Connie,” Kiyomi answered at her usual place at the head of the table. She’d been joining them for nearly every meal. Connie tried not to eye her, wary as always of Kiyomi as if she was going to bite him or surprise him with strange remarks. To be fair, she did have a habit of doing the latter. “If a person is given an incompatible type, it can kill them. That, and the procedure easily invites infection. I assume that’s where your country found trouble. Besides, you need technology to determine blood type.”

“Don’t you remember this lecture?” Hange asked disapprovingly. “The Volunteers already told us this.”

“I’m just saying I’ve seen my fair share of blood. It all looks the same to me.”

“Didn’t you just hear them?” ridiculed Sasha between mouthfuls, looking at him incredulously. “Are you saying the people who literally saved Jean’s life don’t know?”

“No, stupid! I’m just saying I don’t get it, alright?”

“Well you don’t have to, dummy!”

Connie, suddenly blushing, looked around at the table and pointed at her. “Sasha tried to tell me earlier today that the birds on Marley are painted!”

“Wha–!” Sasha nearly spat. “Nark! And the thing was pink, Connie, birds can’t be pink!”

“Birds can’t be painted, you idiot!”

The two continued to bicker. Armin lost track of the insults after a while, instead scanning the faces at the table. Only twenty minutes ago, they’d been told that it would be their last night at the estate. Kiyomi’s informants confirmed that nobody in the Marleyan ranks suspected them and in summary, they were safe. Hange agreed to vacate now that Jean was well.

Frankly, he was still reeling from that conversation although the rest seemed to have visibly relaxed at the news. He couldn’t join their reprieve – when he had asked if there was any chance he and Jean could somehow be recognized, Kiyomi had said,

“Eklon Saint Claire’s squadron is a specialized one, and no paperwork is filed from them until after they book their prisoners and get information from them. That means everything they could have found out about you died when they did. Your commander recovered your papers at the warehouse and the only officers who truly saw your faces are the ones who were killed.”

This was the best news they could have hoped for, a sheer sliver of magnificent luck after such a horrific event, but Armin had barely heard anything she’d said after the first few words because he hadn’t been expecting to hear a name. His name. Of course the man had one, he was, at his base, a human, wasn’t he? But Armin couldn’t see him as that, and being reminded that he was one made Armin’s vision spin.

What made a human stop being one? How could that man be a person, and be so filled with apathy, cruelty, and direct, startling desire to inflict pain onto other people? From the moment Armin had frozen up and allowed Eren to be swallowed by that titan, he’d seen far too many monsters in one lifetime and then he would see more, and more, and more – and none of them were physically human.

He didn’t think of Bertholdt as a monster. Not Reiner, not Marleyans, not even the Beast. Because, while they were technically Armin’s enemies, they had a purpose they believed was worth fighting for. They were all willing to die for their cause.

What did that man find worth fighting for, if anything? That man didn’t care to die for his cause; he actively wanted to kill for it.

Why did he have to have a name?

He tried to listen to the others since then, and ground his ever unstable mind, but the conversation kept drifting back to things he didn’t want to hear about. Levi asked what Marley made of the massacre at the warehouse. Kiyomi answered that Restorationist activity was assumed.

Armin was stuck in a memory, feet plastered in sinking sand, and each time he tried to escape it he only sunk further in.

“Eat your food,” Mikasa whispered, poking him in the ribs. Armin nearly startled at the touch, and he met a pair of concerned eyes staring at him intently. She had a way of doing that, being so gently analytic while blending into the background. Sometimes he thought she could see the secret, like she already knew, and he couldn’t help but look quickly away – but he picked up his fork and started poking at the meal in front of him to appease her.

The food was thick and tasteless on his tongue. It took all he had just to swallow.

“Do you think, since the military and the government assumes Eldian hostile activity for the massacre, that this will negatively inform their decision at the hearing in three weeks?” Eren’s words were quiet, but the look on his face was not. Kiyomi studied him for a long moment, her own face thoughtful and calculating.

“They assume Eldian Restorationist activity – a domestic issue. The hearing is on an international one. It will shine a poor light but ultimately, I do not think it will have much influence one way or the other.”

Her confidence was something of a comfort. Armin tried to revel in it. His squadron was safe from suspicion, good. The event won’t be traced back to Paradis and won’t influence the hearing, good. Jean is alive, Armin himself is alive, good. Good. Things are good.

“So…” Connie started awkwardly, filling the long moments of silence. “Is that doctor going to come to our flat now?”

“Why, you gotta crush or something?” Sasha teased, jutting her fork around Connie’s arm to steal a cube of steak. Connie pushed her away.

“No!” he defended. “I’m just making sure our guy gets taken care of, give that back!”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Kiyomi seemed honestly amused as she answered, “it won’t be necessary.”

Hange, however, raised an eyebrow at them. “Doctor Shideski says he’ll be fine, and clean stab wounds heal quickly.” They hit the table with their fist. “Will you two behave already?”

All of this was news to Armin, and he made a face at his dull food. Doctor Shideski was gentle, firm, and spent the most time with Jean of any of them. She had a way of exchanging words with him that made Armin regret that she wouldn’t be tending to him anymore. Did she know about what happened? Hange suggested she did. Armin wanted to think that Shideski was doing what Armin couldn’t, which was speak with Jean about the event, helping him, being strong. Maybe she was, since Jean was getting on so well.

He really did seem fine. Physically, he looked well and despite fatiguing quickly, he was nothing like the body Armin had covered days ago. He was standing, walking, joking around with Connie. Sasha practically jumped on him when she first saw him awake and he had the strength to dodge her enthusiasm and wrestle her away before she injured his shoulder too much. Then he spent the next several minutes scolding her as she bounced excitedly on his bed to redirect her happy energy.

“He should be fine,” Levi repeated, reminding Armin, once again, that a conversation was taking place, “but I don’t want to see any fighting, Eren.”

“If he keeps his big mouth shut, I don’t see there being a problem.”

“Eren.” Levi looked at him very seriously, leaning forward in a way he often did when he shed his sarcasm. It was enough to pull Armin fully from his own thoughts. “I am telling you not to fight with him for a long while. Not for the rest of our stay here. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. But he almost always starts it.”

Levi somehow stiffened even further, his glare pointed, and even Sasha and Connie stilled. They’d all learned very quickly when Levi was becoming tested and it was now apparent that he was. “This is a very clear order, Eren. Listen to what I am saying: do not get into a physical fight with Jean.”

“God.” Eren, already bothered by the previous topic of Eldians and Marleyans that tended to spark his short fuse, had to visibly stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Captain, I said alright.”

Leaving the next morning was a quick affair. Kiyomi gave them a final, full breakfast, passed a few pastries to Hange, and told them to save the treats for Jean and hide them from Sasha. Hange laughed and thanked her profusely for everything she had done.

“Hey, Armin,” Levi said when he rose from the table. “Let’s get that twerp down to the car while the rest clean up.”

Jean was already dressed when they got to his room. Levi asked if he’d bagged his small order of medications, and Jean patted the satchel draped over his good shoulder to convey that he had.

Armin was mostly there as a precaution, much like he was when Jean first stood from the bed and, much like then, he wasn’t needed. Jean appeared strong and with the bandages covered, wearing the pants, vest, and coat gifted by Kiyomi, you would never be able to tell he’d been injured in the first place.

That transfusion really was magic.

The morning was crisp. Armin pushed open the heavy door, allowing Jean and Levi to step outside and start towards the steps that led to the gravel driveway. Part of him very much wanted to return to the flat and find a modicum of normalcy, but an equal amount thought that leaving this grand, safe estate would invite realism. Like they were leaving a bubble.

He barely saw Jean sway before Levi snatched an arm out and gripped his elbow tightly, his reflex far faster than Armin’s ability to even recognize what happened.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked sternly.

Jean sort of leaned into him, his feet clumsy. “Yeah…”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to keel over?”

“I’m just a little light-headed. I’m fine. Come on, let’s go.”

“Well you’re not cracking your head on these steps.” Levi led him forward, his grasp on him strong and telling enough that Jean didn’t argue. Armin took several large steps to follow behind.

In the car, Jean was silent. He had a profound grip on his left shoulder. Armin tried not to let his worry show, knowing that Jean didn’t respond to attention, but Levi didn’t bother with all that.

“Take something when we get to the flat,” he ordered.

“I will,” Jean agreed quietly.

His expression was unreadable as he watched the city pass by outside the window.

It was now the fourth day since their arrival at the estate, and would be their first back home. Most of them set to cleaning the flat to chase away the days of dust, much at Levi’s insistence and everyone else’s chagrin, and Connie was quick to tease Jean about not having to do any work.

“Call it a benefit of being wounded in the line of duty,” Jean smirked, kicking his leg up on the couch. If there was any hint of distance when it was just him, Levi, and Armin in the car, it was gone now. “And you missed a spot.”

“You’re a real funny guy, aren’t you?” Connie fake threatened. “Good thing you’re all wrapped up or I’d take you down.”

“Good thing you’re so scrawny or I’d do it first.”

“So are you having any weird personality changes because of the strangers blood in your body?” Sasha asked, ruffling the back of Jean’s head as she picked up a blanket to wash. “Is their ghost haunting you?”

“People donate blood, Sasha,” Mikasa informed, sweeping the floor. “Alive people.”

“What?” Sasha scrunched up her nose in something that was either disgust or disbelief. “Why?”

“Clearly, to save people’s lives,” Levi answered dryly. Then he eyed the place where the floor met the wall, and Mikasa quickly came over and swept over it again.

“Hmm.” The answer seemed to satisfy Sasha. “Well, they must be a good person then.” She laughed at the joke she was about to tell. “Let’s hope it rubs off on you, Jean.”

Jean made a face at her, and Sasha made it back.

By afternoon, he’d fallen asleep on the couch with his head in his hand. It was his first full day out of bedrest, and still having the slight fever from that morning, Armin was surprised he didn’t crash earlier.

“He looks so cute,” Connie pouted, seeming genuinely softened. “Maybe we should let him rest in bed…”

“He can’t sleep for long.” Hange was unusually quiet most of the day, but seemed to liven up in the last hour. They glanced at Jean. Armin was sure he was the only one that could see the veiled look of pity, even sadness, in their eye. The flash of emotion was gone before they looked away. “Just leave him, he’ll wake up soon.”

As they suspected, by the time Mikasa, Armin, and Hange were preparing dinner, Jean was up. Sasha put a hand on his forehead and loudly announced his fever was gone, much to Jean’s irritation at the volume, and he smacked her arm away. There was a quiet smile on Mikasa’s face as she seemed to be encouraged by the typical energy of the flat, but Armin couldn’t stop eyeing Jean as he washed the vegetables and passed them to her to cut.

When Jean first woke, he told Armin he wasn’t going to tell the others. That had been a few days ago, and part of Armin wondered, even hoped, that Jean would change his mind. But he didn’t. Armin could see that just by watching the others. In the way Sasha was teasing him like she always did, a goofy smile on her face.

And despite the obvious reactions of the rest, Eren would be especially consumed with fury. The information he’d been given about what happened that night was enough to make Eren’s eyes turn dangerous, not just at what happened to his friends but at the treatment Eldians were being given, and if he had the full truth…well, Armin was afraid just imagining it.

Whatever Eren would emerge from the truth wasn’t in this flat; it was an oblivious Eren setting the table. Different than what he’d been a few years ago, but normal for the way he’d been lately.

Would Jean ever share this with them? Would he even share it with Armin, who had the memory seared into his mind? Jean was the worst among them in emotional visibility, and while he and Eren tied for lying to themselves about how they felt, Eren’s emotions were far more flammable and more easily seen than Jean’s. Maybe it was because Armin knew Eren so well, but he wasn’t very difficult to read. Jean, if he chose to be, was.

He forgot if he’d washed the kale in his hands, so he rinsed the bunch again.

Jean was stronger than Armin. Hell, everybody was – but still, could it be true that he really was alright, like he suggested the one and only time Armin tried to initiate that conversation? It was a hopeful thought. A stupid one. And for a second, for his own, selfish sake, Armin wanted to believe in it. Because Jean was laughing at Connie’s jokes. He was exchanging rude remarks with Eren. Smiling. He seemed…well, he seemed alright. Like the nightmare was never real.

Armin hadn’t been that strong. Their roles had been reversed with far less grievous consequences, but that ordeal had stuck with Armin for a long, long time. Tied to that chair, helpless as that man’s hands crawled over his body, his breath hot on his neck and his voice sharp in his ear like a nagging insect–

“Armin.” Mikasa’s voice made him jump. “I think it’s clean now.”

“Oh…” Armin glanced at the glistening leaves in his hands. “Sorry.” He passed the kale to her.

He could see the question on her face. Are you alright? But she’d said those words so many times now, and he always said the same things back, so she let it go. Relieved that she didn’t press, Armin picked up the carrots and set to rinsing them.

Washing vegetables was such a routine thing. It made him feel strange.

Armin loved evening dinner. It was when everybody got together and shared what new things they’d seen. Fantastic creatures, extraordinary machines, new cultures, silly things like puzzles or clothes – every night was a new chapter of a book that Armin couldn’t believe was real. Nearly always, he was alight with excitement to sit down and discuss these things with everyone.

But at tonight’s meal, he was anxious and antisocial. Eren had begun talking about the Restorationists again. This was a common topic they’d all previously been enamored with because of their lineage with these people who sought freedom so similarly to how they did. But Armin didn’t want to talk about this tonight. He wanted to go back to Sasha’s laments about missing Kiyomi’s elite food.

“We all knew Restorationists were captured and interrogated, but what surprised me was the unusual protocol regarding paperwork,” Eren continued, mostly thinking out loud. “It makes me wonder how many other squadrons are specialized for this type of thing.”

“Do you think they’d need to replace Saint Claire, then?” Connie wondered. “I was hoping with him gone, they’d be scrambling.”

Armin toyed with the napkin in his hand and stole a glance at Jean, who sat to his right at the end of the table. He looked bored.

“Probably not,” Eren replied. “Don’t imagine he’s easily replaceable.”

“Sasha, Mikasa, you both are going to the market tomorrow.” Levi leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the wood creaking beneath him. It was common for the captain to list chores in the evening, but it was a routine he typically applied when everyone was cleaning up. He did so now purposefully. “We need several things. Including tea. Sasha, if you come back with that cheap crap again, I swear to God.”

“Alright, alright,” Sasha conceded, putting her hands up defensively. “But you have to admit, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Fine. Mikasa, wanna go back to the fruit stand while we’re out?”

“Sure.”

“Would you save some for me this time?” Connie demanded. Sasha gave his nose a touch.

“We’ll see what happens.” She pushed away an attack from him. “Anyway, isn’t it a bit weird, replaceable or not, that this guy wasn’t even military?”

Connie knocked her hand away from his face. “It was that way with Kenny, wasn’t it?”

“Well it’s different here. Like just hire a general, right?”

“According to Kiyomi’s intel, he was an odd person,” Eren offered slowly, trying to reason it to himself. “Liked to throw out the rules. The military never tried to control or enlist him because whatever he did got results. I imagine that was good enough for them.”

“Armin, Connie, dishes tonight.”

“Oh, come on!” Connie argued bravely. “I did them this morning!”

“Do you want me to change my mind?” Levi dared. Connie sunk into himself, very much not wanting Levi to change his mind.

“No, sir.”

A chair scraped against the wood floor. Jean stood up carefully, as if afraid he’d knock something over, and he pushed it back beneath the table.

“I think I’ll sleep early,” he said casually. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Wait, you didn’t eat anything,” Mikasa argued, looking up at him. “You need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry. Sasha.” Jean passed her his full plate, his arm moving in front of Armin to do so, which she happily took. Half of them wished him goodnight. Hange, mostly quiet since the start of the conversation, stared down at the table.

“Maybe the meds take away his appetite,” Connie guessed sympathetically. Armin heard a door close, but it was too far away to be Jean and Connie’s room. The conversation continued for a while and Armin waited for the bathroom door to open and shut again, but it didn’t. He tried to distract himself and listen to whatever it was they were saying, but the sight of Jean’s arm and its barely perceptible shake was gnawing at him to get up. Finally, he did.

He stopped outside the bathroom door. The sink was running. The skin on Armin’s thumb peeled as he scraped at it, and by the time it had fully healed and replaced itself, the water still had not been turned off and he berated himself for his foolish hope, this asinine thought he wanted to be true for his own damn reasons, and Armin pinched his eyes shut.

He himself had seen how brutalizing that assault was. Fear had taken over Jean’s face, Armin had witnessed the way it devastated him, he’d been tortured for god’s sake, and Armin was busy trying to convince himself that Jean could rise above it.

For as clever as everyone kept saying he was, Armin was a fool. He knocked softly.

“It’s me.”

There was no response, but Armin didn’t really expect one. He opened the door. Jean’s back was against the sink cabinet, his knees drawn up and hands wrapped tightly around his ears. Despite his habit of wearing long-sleeve shirts, when his arms were up like that, Armin could see the bandages around both wrists. The sink ran. His eyes stared blankly ahead, not regarding his entrance. Armin shut the door quietly. It was a stark contrast to the screaming sadness that was crashing into him.

This was why he’d been trying to tell himself that Jean would be alright; to spare himself of a sight like this.

“Hey.” He kneeled down and sat beside him.

“Hey,” Jean said back. His skin looked clammy and Armin could see from the way his shoulders moved that he was taking extraordinarily quick, shallow breaths.

“I think you’re having a panic attack, Jean.”

“No, I’m not. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to not be fine,” he appealed.

“I’m–” Jean swallowed hard, as if he lost the air in his throat. “I’m fine.” The hyperventilating was taking the words from his mouth. Swiftly, Armin looked around at their surroundings.

“Listen, focus on the towel across from you.” It was heavily checkered with multiple dull colors spanning it, yet there was no discernable distribution. “We’re going to catalog why it’s so damn ugly. I think this part is supposed to be blue, but the squares over here are barely a different shade. Mucky green stays the same color, but then this khaki takes up over half of the lower spaces and I can’t tell if it’s supposed to match this color here or if the designer was never certified.” Armin glanced back at Jean who, despite his confused, furrowed expression, was following his finger. Good.

Armin spent another few minutes verbalizing the colors, trying as he could to get Jean grounded until his breathing stabilized.

“I’d say we could try and brainstorm what the pattern is,” Armin mumbled after a time, “but I think we’d be here all night. It’s pathological.”

Jean’s eyes softened in the smile he couldn’t make. “That was a stupid exercise,” he said quietly.

“Well, it’s a stupid towel.” Armin eyed his posture and shifted towards him. “You really shouldn’t have your arm lifted like that.” He reached over and took Jean’s arm down from his ear, and Jean did the same with the other arm without prompting. “Doesn’t it hurt when you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, well, please don’t do that then.”

A second passed, then in a rapid motion, Jean lifted himself off the floor and twisted to retch into the toilet. “Goddammit,” he managed before heaving again. Armin placed a hand on his back and swallowed the desire to cry. What was occurring wasn’t about Armin’s pain, or Armin’s need to release it. He didn’t deserve to cry right now.

“I used to puke with panic attacks, too.”

“I said I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Why not?”

Jean vomited again, gripping the basin of the toilet. He hadn’t eaten much besides soups and light meals lately, so most of what came up was already liquid based.

“Because I’ve been through worse things,” he said, sucking in a breath.

“Like what?”

“Hmm, everything else.” When he tried puking this time, nothing came up. He gasped for air, but forced himself to be quiet about it. A hand went protectively to his wound and Armin knew it must have been aggravated. “Marco. Trost. How about Shiganshina? How about Annie, Bertholdt, Reiner, all of it? Million things worse. I’m too tired to name ‘em.”

“Those weren’t necessarily worse, Jean, but they were different.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Jean repeated again. Armin suspected it wasn’t him Jean was trying to convince.

“It’s okay to be responding this way.” Armin was beginning to feel desperate. “You don’t have to lie to yourself, or to me.”

Jean exhaled painfully, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. It crossed one of the bruises. “It’s just the meds,” he lied.

“I went over your medication list, Jean. Vomiting is not a side effect.”

Still not trusting himself to move away from the toilet bowl, Jean glanced over at Armin. The waterline of his eyes were red from the force of puking. “Why do you know that?”

“In case you would try and tell me that your panic attack was a side effect.”

“Ha, ha,” he responded dryly. He took in several long, deep breaths through his nose to quell whatever nausea he was feeling.

“Look, I’m worried about you, alright?” Armin said, trying not to let the true level of his concern saturate the words. “Is that so hard to believe? I asked Hange to go over your medications with me. Besides, that’s not a very convincing lie. Why would a medication that you need to keep down cause you to vomit?”

Jean’s skin, which was such a relieving color before, looked sickly again. He didn’t have a response and he closed the toilet lid, putting his good arm on top so his forehead could rest against it. Armin half expected Jean to make a weak argument that if not the meds, it must have been the fever that recently broke, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. The arm on Jean’s back fell away.

If he was going to get through Jean’s wall, it wasn’t going to be right now.

“You’re exhausted.”

Jean didn’t respond.

“I’m going to get you some water–”

“Wait, dont.” Jean sighed. “Just. Stay here until I’m done.”

Armin settled back down and watched him carefully, running his eyes over his doubled over form. It had been four days, two since he’d woken. Was this Jean’s first panic attack over it? It was possible, but Armin couldn’t be sure. The estate felt like a cage, but a secure one where the most pressing matter for Jean was simply to start walking. It was different now. Even Armin thought so.

“Will you talk with Doctor Shideski about this? Will you call her?” he asked, his voice uncertain as he already knew the answer.

“What? No.”

“Why not? She should know.”

“There’s nothing to know. I take the pills in the morning, I’m not barfing them back up. It’s fine.”

“Stop saying that.”

“No.”

“Jean, why? Why are you making this so difficult for yourself?” Armin felt like he was wading through a sea of glass. “You deserve to recognize that–”

“Because–” Jean started harshly. Armin stopped speaking and watched as Jean took in another deep, shaking breath. “Because.”

“Why?” he asked, even softer. “Because why?”

“Because I’ve been,” he enunciated, “through worse.” The arm on top of the toilet tensed. “None of those things…” He stopped. Armin waited, hoping this would be the moment of admission.

“It’s fine, Armin,” Jean finally said into his arm, much to Armin’s disappointment and ever increasing worry. “Thank you, but it’s fine.”

Armin started at that, biting into his lip as he hastily breathed away the pestering default to cry. “It will become easier with time. I promise.”

“It doesn’t need to, I’m fine.”

“Look…” If Armin was wading through the sea of glass, then Jean was drowning in it. He couldn’t stand it. “Jean…” The next breath was a brave one. “What happened to you that night–”

“I’m not–” Jean raised his head. “No. I’m sorry, I’m not going to talk about it.”

“Please, Jean,” Armin started desperately, “don’t do this–”

“Armin.” Jean raised himself from the floor and flushed the toilet. His hand gripped the counter for balance. “Don’t make me.” Although his features were familiarly set and resolute, there was pleading in his eyes. “I’m asking you.”

He and Armin stared at one another, Armin looking up at him with so much turmoil that he couldn’t allow to rest on his face. The topic was one Armin fiercely wanted to avoid because it was still causing his thoughts to ruminate into hysterics. It was a memory that traumatized him too, something that was giving him nightmares, but Jean needed to acknowledge this, didn’t he?

Jean’s eyes said more than he probably wanted them too, and Armin knew that it was too soon.

“Come on,” Armin finally said as he stood. “You need to hydrate after that.”

The rigidness in Jean’s shoulders relaxed and he turned to rinse his hands and mouth under the still running faucet. “I will. I gotta clean this place up. Levi doesn’t like a pukey toilet.”

“I’ll take care of it, please, just go rest and drink water, okay?”

Jean spit into the sink. “I can clean a damn toilet.”

“Jean.” Armin turned stern and lifted his hands to put them on Jean’s shoulders. He shuffled him around and sat him down on the edge of the shower tub. “You’re not leaving this bathroom until the toilet is clean? Fine. I’m not letting you do it yourself. So sit there and catch your breath, I will clean this toilet. Study the damn towel if you want.”

He didn’t argue when Armin ran a rag beneath the water and handed it to him. Jean set to patting it against his face, cooling his skin, and Armin set to the toilet. It was true: a person could expel every last drop of moisture in their stomach from a virus or flu, and Captain Levi would glare at them for a month if they left a toilet without clearing it, even if the sickness had been flushed down. But Armin also knew Levi’s concern regarding the situation far transcended a toilet basin, despite the captain remaining far more passive than Hange or Armin, but he didn’t think telling Jean that would help anything.

When he finished, he finally turned off the faucet. It had been on, he assumed, to cover noise. Now it was time to get him out of there.

Jean had excused himself earlier to deteriorate without anyone knowing, so Armin took it upon himself to open the door and preemptively check for inquisitive faces. He heard sounds of their team puttering off in the kitchen and living space and with a motion of his head, he told Jean it was safe to leave. The profound look Jean gave him was one of gratitude.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Armin said. “Go lay down. You look awful.”

Armin felt Hange’s eye follow him as he walked quietly passed the living space and into the kitchen. Connie turned from the sink.

“Where’d you go off to?”

“Something about Kiyomi’s food doesn’t settle well with me, I’ll just leave it at that.”

Connie laughed. “I appreciate your restraint on the details. Don’t worry about the dishes, by the way, I’m almost done.”

“Thanks Connie.” Armin took a glass and gestured to the faucet. “Do you mind?”

“Nah, go ahead.” Connie turned the water to cold and Armin left the kitchen with a full glass. Jean was sitting on his bed, kneading at his left shoulder, when Armin returned. He accepted the glass and drank from it.

“I know how exhausting panic attacks – excuse me, side effects from medications –” he corrected at the look on Jean’s face, “can be, and you’re gonna knock out soon. At least I hope so. Before you do, does that wound need re-dressing?”

“God, you’re almost as bad as Hange.” Jean set the glass down.

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“So…is that a no?”

“Hange helps me redress it, it’s already done.”

“Finish the water.”

Jean rolled his eyes and picked the glass back up. While his sarcastic personality could often be an annoyance it was presently a relief, and Armin nodded his gratitude when Jean emptied it.

“Is the pain getting any better? I mean, from the first day you woke up?”

“It was.” Jean’s hand drifted back over the spot. “But the doctor said it should seal itself up within a week and a half. Should be good to go soon.”

“No kidding?” That was far sooner than Armin expected; he’d had knee scrapes that took longer than that.

“Yeah. Full mobility will take a lot longer, though. So, you know. Worse before it gets better, and all that.”

“Well…considering you were walking practically the day after, I’ll take it.” A moment passed. Something made Armin think about how grateful he was to be talking with Jean, when he was so recently sure he wouldn’t be. “If that doctor showed up back home, before we knew about…” he gestured around, “all this, and put someone else's blood inside a patient, I think we would have assumed her to be a witch.”

Jean laughed softly at that. After seeing him crumble in the bathroom, it was a nice sound. “Yeah, me too. Not just from the blood transfusion but the pain medication. You know, she gave me something that first full day,” he looked up with some humor in his eyes, “that was beyond anything we’ve got back home.”

“Yeah?” Armin nearly laughed himself. “What do you mean?”

“It was after you guys helped me walk for a bit. God, it…it fucking hurt. Felt like my chest was being seared off. But after she gave it to me, everything I was feeling…” His smile lowered, and so did Armin’s. “Physically and…in my head…just washed away.” Longing crossed his face. “Best witches brew I ever had.”

“Only the once?” Armin wondered wistfully. Jean nodded.

“Yup. Guess it’s hard stuff, not supposed to take it very much. Too bad.”

“Well, in a week and a half, let's hope your shoulder won’t need that kind of thing anymore.” Armin wasn’t sure what else to say. What Jean said nearly sounded like an admission, the kind Armin had been waiting for, and he very much wanted to pull at that string to get him to unravel more – but Jean’s previously pleading eyes had asked him not to. So he wouldn’t. “How do you feel? Hydrated?”

“Yeah, I’m good now,” he answered. Armin picked up the glass. He considered telling Jean that he needed to go brush his teeth but after that Hange comment, he realized that he shouldn’t hover more than necessary. It was good to hear that someone else was fussing over him, even if Jean didn’t care for it.

“Hey, uh,” Jean started awkwardly. Armin paused at the door and Jean glanced up at him. “Just, you know. Thanks Armin.” He looked back down. “For checking up on me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Jean.” Please don’t. “Really.”

Armin woke very early the next morning. Birds were chirping outside, but not loudly enough for it to be a decent time of day. Eren was still passed out in his bed, an arm hanging over the side, and Armin resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to fall back asleep.

Levi was sitting cross legged on the cushioned chair he often claimed. On the long couch perpendicular to him was Jean, asleep. It was far too early for anyone in their right mind to be out here, and Armin gave Levi a confused look. Levi was nearly always the first awake, and seeing him and his steaming cup of tea at this time of day was no surprise but Jean, arms crossed and breathing softly in sleep, was.

Quietly, Levi stood and gestured with his head. They met in the kitchen.

“He wants to sleep on the couch for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“Connie offered, really implored it, but Jean wouldn’t let him.”

“What happened?” Armin was becoming more concerned by the second; he’d left Jean in that room last night after a panic attack. “Something happened.”

“Jean was having a nightmare. That’s what Connie told me. I was already awake pretty late last night, reading the paper, and I heard a loud crash and a shout. I opened the door and turned on the light and there was Connie, nursing a bleeding nose.”

“Oh, god…” Armin put a hand under the hair on his forehead. If he was tired before, he was far beyond awake now. “Dammit.”

“Yeah.”

“So…what, Connie tried to wake him up?”

“Yeah.”

“And–and…” Armin shook his head as he tried to follow. All the pieces of this gave reason to concern him separately, and he wasn’t sure which one to pursue. “Did, I mean – what did they say? What did they both say?”

“Connie feels awful. Jean feels awful. That’s about all there is to it.”

“Did…did Jean explain why…?”

“No. And Connie didn’t ask questions. I’m sure he assumed the near death experience was a good enough reason to have a nightmare,” he added flatly.

There was an unwelcome weight in his stomach. Despite the logical knowledge that there was nothing Armin could have done to prevent a nightmare, he still felt a sharp prickle of frustration at himself anyway. “Alright,” he said unconvincingly.

Later that day, Connie tried to crack a joke with Jean about what happened, telling him his nose needed straightening anyway, and he told the others that he was keeping Jean awake with his snoring which is what drove him to the couch.

Nobody asked him to do that, to protect Jean without even really knowing why. That was just Connie.

Later that day, Armin found an excuse to give him a long hug. As an enthusiast of affection, Connie returned it strongly.

Armin wished he could tell Connie how much that gesture, and that embrace, meant to him.

Chapter Text

“No, Eren, I really think it is the moon,” Mikasa pushed kindly, looking at him with an apologetic smile. “That’s what the book said, remember?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he argued back, not seeing her smile grow considering he responded just as she expected. Mikasa opened the iron door to their flat’s building and Eren stepped past her. “The tide was lower when it was cold so I think it’s temperature.”

“But you’re just guessing.” She slipped a bag of groceries from Eren’s hands and added it to her pile. “The book said it was the moon.”

“Whatever. Let’s just ask Onyonkapon when we get back.”

They started up the stairs. Their flat was located on the second floor, the door a few steps passed the landing they just ascended. Mikasa shook her head fondly. Sometimes Eren’s stubbornness made him naive, but it was a quality of his she was glad he’d kept. It reminded her of when they were kids.

With life as it was, so unending, unfair, and far too complicated, she was glad for a reminder that their world had once been so small…when it was just the three of them and the crowded streets of Shiganshina.

“You know, Armin is behind us with the rest,” she reminded as she fished in her pocket for the keys. “I bet he knows, we don’t have to wait until we go home.”

Eren made a sound with his lips. “Come on, he doesn’t know either.”

Mikasa laughed airily at that. By now, Eren knew he’d talked himself into a corner; Armin inhaled information and stored it away like a filing cabinet; she’d already won the argument. “If you say so,” she humored simply.

“Here, I’ll get it.” Eren took the key from her hand, which was fumbling since her arms were full of bags, and he pushed open the door. “So before you say anything else, I don’t think–”

There were sounds of shouting.

Eren’s words fell and he exchanged a quick, concerned glance with Mikasa. The voices belonged to Jean and Hange, their impassioned words muffled by walls. The two of them entered the flat and placed their groceries down on the kitchen table only a few large steps away from the entrance, then several long moments passed as they stood still and listened, as if the sound of their clothing could prevent them from hearing properly.

Hange seemed to be trying to talk over Jean, whose voice was getting louder in frustration.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Mikasa muttered entirely to herself.

“What do you think it’s about?” Eren asked uneasily. Mikasa didn’t know. She tried to blink away her concern, forcing herself to begin unpacking the goods from the bags as if the act could dissolve her of the want to eavesdrop, but she didn’t have much of a choice anyway. The two of them were properly yelling.

“Would you fucking listen to me?!” Jean suddenly screamed, the first of the shouts to be loud enough to understand. “I’m trying to tell you it’s fine and you’re making something out of it anyway!”

The label on the bagged sprouts faded despite the fact that her eyes grew wide. She’d seen Jean angry more times than she could count, but his anger was often superficial rather than formidable. Yet the way these words sounded nearly staggered her.

There was a softer response from Hange, the buzz of their voice barely audible through the walls. Despite busying herself with placing cans in the cabinet, Mikasa’s eyes drifted back to the hall, empty except for the sounds of voices emanating from Hange and Levi’s room.

She was trying not to notice the signs. Over and over, she would convince herself not to. Mikasa would tell herself that she was reading into things, or that she was thinking unfairly, or that she was making something out of nothing. Then something else would occur and she would doubt herself even more. This was one of those times.

Ever since their rescue, Armin and Jean had not been acting like themselves.

Something unspoken resonated between them, rotating around in a gravitational pull that neither person seemed able to either escape or verbalize. It drew them together in a way she didn’t understand. At first, it made sense to her and was something she was never surprised to notice. They’d experienced something of great magnitude together, after all. Of course they’d feel a kinship over it.

She didn’t think much of it.

Then Armin was making a point to sit beside Jean at meals, going out of his way to do so instead of taking his usual spot beside Mikasa. She noticed a pattern where Jean declined to join the rest in a game of cards unless Armin was home. Armin was making Jean tea without asking him if he wanted it. Jean didn’t want anyone to help him slip a vest on, despite his arm often being too stiff and painful for it, unless it was Armin who offered.

Had they always been this close? she found herself wondering. The answer was yes; they’d been strong friends for some time. It wasn’t the friendship that had been nagging at her, drawing her eyes, piquing her attention.

It was the codependency of it.

This something between them wasn’t the only thing unusual, but also their individual behavior. Jean was either upsettingly quiet or strangely normal, and there was no pattern that she could discern for which side of him she’d see. Sometimes she thought he was even consciously flipping between the two, especially from the former to the latter, when someone was addressing him. Even stranger, he’d been sleeping on the couch nearly every night; Connie said it was because of his snoring, but he’d said the words while sporting a bruised nose. That, and they’d shared that room for some time already and it never seemed to be a problem.

Then there was Armin. Mikasa thought she could always read Armin so well. He always was such an emotionally available person, so honest and unafraid to be himself, and he was her best friend, her family. Secrets never existed between her and Armin, and that was something she couldn’t even share with Eren.

But he was jittery. He’d suffered from anxiety all his life, but she always saw it as the expression of his intelligence unable to manifest itself correctly. The recent bounce of his foot was different from the fear he used to be choked up by as a child. The way his eyes moved were too quick. His glances would scour the room without looking at anything in particular, like the frequency his changing thoughts took were controlling the looks. Steam was constantly dissipating from the patch of skin beside his thumbnail, and she’d placed her hand on his wrist more than once to stop him from peeling it.

There was a curtain around him that Mikasa had to part every single time she wanted to talk to him. It was heavy and thick, expertly placed and impenetrable despite her greatest efforts. She’d tried many times to explain to him that he could speak with her about anything, whatever this was, but he insisted that there was no this. He was fine.

Before now, she’d finally come to terms with the realization that if there was a burden on Armin’s chest, she couldn’t force it off of him. Armin would need to come to her, and not the other way around. Mikasa loved Armin but if he decided to keep some things to himself, she shouldn’t think that she deserved to know anyway. Frankly, she thought that about anything. She was simple in that way. Even now, hearing Hange plead about something and Jean respond with staccato words, she didn’t deserve to hear it unless they wanted her to. While it drew her mouth downwards, she knew that in the end, it didn’t concern her.

Eren didn’t feel the same.

He took a step forward towards the hall.

“Eren, don’t,” Mikasa warned. Eren moved his ear towards her but took another step anyway.

“I just want to know,” he whispered. “I’ve never heard them fight before.”

“If Hange catches you, they will skin you alive.” And so will Jean, she didn’t bother to add. She thought that addition would only encourage him. Still, Eren was correct in his statement; Jean fought with many of them, but Hange was not one he exchanged heated words with. Of everyone, Mikasa thought Hange was the person Jean most respected and it was a reason why this altercation was so alarming.

Eren distributed his weight so the next foot forward would be silent.

The bedroom door burst open, the handle slamming into the wall, and Jean stalked out with Hange close behind him. It was by fortune that the couch was situated near the hall so Eren could leap onto it to avoid suspicion as his hands fumbled for a book on the coffee table to feign reading.

“Jean, just sit back down!” Hange demanded almost desperately.

“No,” he responded, his voice sounding strained.

“But if it gets infected–”

“Goddamn, Hange, it won’t!”

Mikasa felt the shock too evident on her face and she shook herself back into neutrality as she continued to shelve the goods. She stole a glance over, watching as Jean’s face changed when he noticed Eren on the couch. Previously it seemed nearly unraveled, a look very upsetting to see on him, but it hardened into something more flat when he realized they weren’t alone. The transition was so quick that Mikasa almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

Jean gave Eren that quick, hard glance, then he went and plucked his jacket off from the coat rack.

“Where are you going?” Hange asked wearily.

“I’m going on a walk.”

“Not alone, you’re not.”

“I’m aware of the rules,” he snapped. A pair of keys jangled as he snatched them from the basket. “Eren and Mikasa are here, that means the rest are close behind. I’ll take Armin.”

He left the flat quickly, his shoes clipping against the steps outside their door, and they heard the building’s door open and close downstairs.

For a moment, the room was still enough for Mikasa to study Hange’s face. It looked wooden as it stared down at something uninteresting on the floor and immediately it was like Mikasa was intruding on them, watching as invisible thoughts crossed their mind. Her heart sank in pity over something she knew nothing about.

“Did something happen…?” Eren dared to ask. He seemed to sense the sadness in Hange too.

“It’s nothing,” Hange answered shortly. They crossed the room and as they passed by Mikasa, she finally noticed the medicine kit in their hands. Hange stored it beneath the sink and exited the space, not offering another word before they retreated back into their room and shut the door quietly.

Mikasa folded the paper bags and slid them in the cupboard, gnawing at her lip as she saw the look on Hange and Jean’s face play over in her head. Something had infuriated Jean, something it seemed Hange had done, but in that short moment that Jean entered the living space – when he still thought nobody was home – it hadn’t been anger in his eyes.

So then what was it?

The living space was one with the kitchen, separated only by a change of tile, the table, and the half wall that held the breakfast window, and Mikasa stepped around and walked past the couch Eren was on. Her fingers parted the curtain of the window she stopped at.

Jean was standing in front of the building’s stoop. His face was in his hands for only a moment before the hands went upward and ran through his hair. He started pacing as he waited, she assumed, for the rest to get back.

“Is he out there?” Eren asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, watching Jean’s hands go down to his hips then back up to his hair. It was like he couldn’t stop moving. “He seems irritated.”

“What’s new?” Eren muttered under his breath. Mikasa glanced back at him; his words sounded indifferent, but there was a frown on his face.

Not ten minutes later, after Mikasa found herself sitting beside Eren on the couch, several pairs of shoes echoed outside their door and then the rest of their team entered the flat. As Mikasa expected, Armin was absent.

When the two of them returned nearly three hours later, they weren’t just quiet, but tired. Jean was staring at the food Sasha had prepared while Armin’s sluggish eyes kept looking up at him. Did anyone else notice? Mikasa thought their exhausted states were shrieking to be seen, but Connie and Sasha were chatting away while Hange and Levi had a discussion about something irrelevant. Even Eren was participating in Connie and Sasha’s animated story.

Then she saw Eren flick his eyes between Jean and Armin. He looked away not long after.

She wanted nothing more than to hear Armin’s excited voice rise at some new fact he’d discovered that day. He used to be so enthusiastic at dinner, his eyes bright and wide and twinkling. She hadn’t realized how fond she was of that expression until it was so recently absent. Jean, too, was always a sardonic part of the discussions and where Connie’s goofiness usually had them laughing, it was Jean’s clever humor that had them in fits.

They shouldn’t be acting like this.

Jean had been similarly injured years ago. She thought back to the way he kept sarcastically joking to either lessen the pain or distract himself – and everyone – from the shock of the information they’d just learned. Back then, it was Armin who was having trouble eating his food and it was Mikasa who made him anyway.

She saw Armin whisper under his breath to Jean beside him, who stirred and picked up the fork on his plate.

After most everyone had gone to sleep, Mikasa sat on the steps outside their building. It was a quiet night, as nights often were, and the breeze was peaceful and kind. The clouds filtered lazily in front of the half moon. A few bats chittered as they dove after insects in the building’s roof gutter.

The flat was a comfortable enough size with four rooms to fit the eight of them, but even so, despite them all being together for so many years, it was easy to feel crowded, especially when one’s mind was as clashing as hers was of late. The steps outside were the only place to be alone.

It had been established prior to their arrival that no one could travel without a partner, not even for a short walk to the bakery. This stoop became familiar to Mikasa for that reason, as it was the furthest they could go without being disciplined. Levi would utilize it too, often early in the morning with hot tea and a lemon slice, but she’d seen him outside at night just the same. Most others didn’t need the space to be alone.

That was, until several days ago. Both Jean and Armin had come out here by themselves more than once since then when neither of them had done it before. Once again, Mikasa found herself reevaluating the situation and reliving the memory of Armin and Jean’s rescue. Today had deeply unsettled her and after seeing and hearing everything, she suddenly felt quite foolish for convincing herself that it could have been nothing.

If it wasn’t nothing, then that implied it was something.

Rolling up to the warehouse had been the most chilling part of that night. They’d stopped far enough away so they wouldn’t be seen by the guards outside, so for a moment, before the gunfire started, they could hear Armin’s blistering screams piercing the already thick, metal surroundings of the building.

By the time they made it inside, his screams were finally distinguished. It was Jean’s name he was calling. Even when Mikasa dashed across the room and cut him loose from his binds, needing to peel the rope from his carved flesh, he didn’t bother looking at her, not even a glance, and his shredded voice kept saying the same thing over and over.

So Jean was dead. That was her first thought, the only thing that made sense at the way he was tripping over his feet to collapse at the bloody body on the ground. Truthfully, Mikasa wanted Armin to take his freedom and find safety but instead, he only put himself in harm's way, even going so far as to be shot, in order to reach the dead friend.

It was Armin’s hysteria that convinced her that they’d lost Jean. It had taken a great deal of effort for her and Connie to pry Armin off of him, but then in the car, his previously explosive emotion was entirely void and he was nothing more than a frighteningly empty husk.

Even now, with Jean alive and well, it was like a piece of Armin was still clutching onto that dead body.

A frustrated sigh warmed her hand as she leaned forward, studying the way the cobbled street soaked up the moon’s light. Armin was special to her and his behavior was inciting grave concern. Wasn’t she supposed to protect him? What was making him, both of them, act like this?

Perhaps she didn’t deserve to know, but if she was going to protect Armin, shouldn’t she try and understand anyway?

With a deep inhale, she noticed the scent of rain. The drizzle hadn’t yet dropped but it soon would. Mikasa wasn’t ready to go inside yet, but the stoop lacked an awning and she looked tiredly around, wondering which way the rain would come from.

Was this worth something? Should she make something out of it, be more direct with Armin, and soothe her thoughts? Perhaps it would be the selfish thing to do. Maybe she was just being unfair, as she often thought she could be when it came to the way people processed emotion.

Armin had witnessed Jean’s near death. They described Saint Claire as torturing Jean with the knife and then severely beating him down. While Mikasa and Eren were Armin’s family, Jean was the person he was next closest to. It was completely expected that this kind of situation would leave a mark on him because after all, he was a kind, loving soul who put so much value on the lives of every living thing. Jean’s murder only steps in front of him would traumatize him, right?

Then again, Jean wasn’t murdered and while he did lose a lot of blood, his injuries were not that severe. All of them had spent years in dangerous, horrific situations before. Danger, near-death, and trauma was no stranger to any one of them, yet none of those previous experiences brought Armin and Jean the proximity they shared now.

Could the answer simply be that his closeness to death was a reason to explain all this?

Her thoughts drifted to Eren, as they often did. Mikasa wasn’t alone in recognizing these changes. While she thought she was being more perceptive by nature, Eren was no fool. He could see the tremble in Armin’s hands as easily as she could.

But she was afraid he would approach the situation incorrectly and only cause more harm than good. Eren’s heart was in the right place, but his concern often took a more blunt direction. Jean certainly didn’t respond well to it, and Armin seemed in too fragile a state to bother.

And something changed in Eren, too. Not recently like the other two, but years ago and not so quickly but rather over time. His passions had once been inflamed but controlled, but now she saw a wildness in his eyes. The need to understand was enveloping him. Understand why they’d been locked away on that island, and why they were so reviled, and why their people were treated like prisoners in their own homes.

Like with Armin and Jean, Mikasa wanted to help him. Her desperation to guide Eren down the path towards peace often suffocated her own thoughts, but she didn’t care because Eren deserved happiness, he deserved warmth and understanding so he could finally, finally, find some peace.

But he was so unbalanced lately. So quick to temper. She saw something flicker in his eyes at different pieces of information, but that flicker was an outright flame after Jean and Armin’s abduction. Their interrogation and near deaths had plagued him. Even after it was recognized that they got the two of them back alive, Eren couldn’t find the relief that the rest of the team were intoxicated by.

His emotions ran darker. Mikasa could see that he was more concerned with vengeance, despite the fact that everyone responsible was dead and it was because for Eren, that one warehouse wasn’t enough. Without him having to say it, she knew his fury was for more than their friends. It was for who they represented. The Eldians who’d been tortured and killed like they nearly had been.

It could be so frustrating to see him like this.

The air became cold and the smell of rain thickened. Mikasa stood just as the first drops began to fall. With some longing, she watched the empty street a moment longer, wishing it could have granted her the understanding she’d come out to find. Instead, she was only leaving more concerned than before.

Levi glanced up at her entrance from his place at the table. The paper was laid out in front of him, a steaming mug of tea in his left hand. How he enjoyed that so late at night, she would never know. Part of her wanted to joke that he must not sleep well at night because he uses the toilet so often but she quickly subdued that thought. Mikasa nodded good night to him, then slipped off her shoes and stepped towards the hall.

She paused at the edge of the couch and looked down at the person curled up on it. Jean was long asleep, yet he still looked so woefully tired. Fingers twitched. His eyebrows pulled lightly together, making his face look something like a grimace. Mikasa wondered what the dream could have been about.

Quietly, she stepped away and started softly off towards her and Sasha’s room.

Chapter Text

Seeing Jean standing outside the building by himself shouldn’t have been cause for concern, and at first, Armin thought he was simply getting fresh air or time alone from the flat – but the way his body moved made worry wash through him and erase the previous notion.

It was like his skin was covered in marbles. Jean was pacing, running his hands through his hair, even shaking his arms out like he was attempting to dislodge the obvious panic rising in him, and when Jean spotted the approaching group, and his eyes met Armin’s, he knew right away the reason Jean was standing out there.

He was waiting for Armin.

After a quick lie to the rest that he’d promised to go with Jean to buy canvas paper he moved past his friends and walked briskly ahead, both humbled yet culpable at the realization. Jean pivoted and began forward in the opposite direction when he neared, knowing Armin would follow.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Armin panted under his breath, giving Jean’s elbow a light touch.

“I just need to get away for a second.”

“Okay.”

Jean’s legs were longer and more filled with misplaced energy than Armin’s and it took some adjusting to keep up with him but finally, when there was enough distance and the two of them were alone, Armin gave Jean’s arm a gentle pull.

“Jean, slow down. We’ve got time. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Will you just walk with me, Armin?” Jean ran both hands over his face. “Please, give me a few minutes.” Let me be with my thoughts, he didn’t say.

It was late afternoon. Armin and the others had gone to the local farmer’s market for fresh produce and preserves while Hange stayed back to be with Jean. That morning, it was thought that Jean shouldn’t be out for long under the doctor’s orders but of course, that prescription no longer seemed valid as Armin was deliberately encouraging it. But aside from his mental state, physically, Jean was resilient, sure-footed.

Jean’s panic attack several nights ago was the only one he’d had, at least as far as Armin was aware and he was hoping, as Jean was someone without a history of panic attacks, that it was a one-time event and he’d be spared the suffering of them anymore. Yet the person beside him was very near the throes of one and near literally running away from it.

Armin did as he asked and said nothing, instead left to capsize in his own dwellings.

Too often, Armin found himself speculating and now he did the same, wondering what triggered Jean’s brisk dash away from the flat, his eyes drawn to the fists that were clenching and unclenching, to the white bandages wrapped above them.

They were fresh; they’d been changed since that morning. Armin’s gaze lingered.

Hange was the only one who helped Jean with this. Armin only saw the process once, and the shock it gave him was enough to not see it again. That day, it had only been Jean, Hange, Levi, and Armin at home. The atmosphere in the flat was always a little different when it was just the four of them – like the undercurrent rippling beneath all four pairs of feet was a little gentler.

Hange woke Jean up from a nap, much to his displeasure, in order to get the bandages changed.

“Come on,” Jean had grumbled as he threw a pillow over his head. “I’m tired, give me a break, you overlord.”

“If this gets infected, you’re done for!” they’d retaliated, smacking the pillow away from him. “Get up!”

Armin had imagined the healing knife wound as a horrible array of reddened, swollen skin and angry stitches. But when Hange unwrapped his chest, Armin found himself squinting, certain that Hange must have unwrapped the wrong side or that his own memories had deceived him. For such a wound to have nearly caused Jean his life, it was laughably small: a thin line that nearly looked like a damn scrape and stitches hadn’t even been necessary. It was such an un-intimidating thing.

It gave Armin a false comfort that didn’t quite prepare him for the sight of the skin at his wrists.

Doctor Shideski told Hange that the wounds there were akin to second degree burns. The first layers of his skin had been rubbed away, leaving excruciating blisters and peeling pink grooves in the wake of whatever fight he’d given at the warehouse. Armin tried to think back to that day, to recall if they’d truly been so vile, but he realized his memories were only of Jean’s face. He was quick to abandon the exercise.

“Fuck!” Jean had shouted, banging his free fist onto the kitchen table as Hange flushed the wounds with disinfectant. “I think it’s good, Hange!”

“I’m sorry!” they had exclaimed genuinely, holding his arm down to keep him from yanking it away. “If it’s not kept clean it won’t heal!”

“Well shit, you’re gonna be able to eat off my skin with how damn hard you’re scrubbing!”

“Oh don’t exaggerate, you big baby!”

Watching the two of them interact, despite the circumstances, almost made the sickness in Armin’s stomach be forgotten. Their relationship was a strange one, but efficient, functional, and overall, based in fondness. For the both of them, expression of affection was typically clouded in curses.

Armin often wondered if Jean would believe him if he said Hange was brushing hair out from his unconscious face only a week ago. After twenty minutes of silence, when Armin had circled the topic in his mind sufficiently and Jean’s charged arms finally stilled in his pockets, Armin decided it was time to talk.

“Was it something to do with Hange?”

Jean gave him a look from the corner of his eye. He’d been in a trance of his own and Armin’s statement seemed to surprise him out of it. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re worked up and it was only the two of you at the flat.”

The sigh that came from him was long, drawn out, and defeated. “Yeah.”

“Were they being pushy?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t take it well.”

“Who was there, you or me?” he joked half-heartedly. He sighed again, sounding more in control of himself, giving Armin some solace to see his capability of doing so. “Agh, yeah. We got into an argument. A um…” He scratched an ear. “A pretty bad one.”

“What does that mean?”

He must have asked the wrong thing, because Jean was no longer forthcoming. This silence was a familiar storm of frustration for Armin, and while he used his magnificent weight of guilt to subdue the feeling of exasperation, he couldn’t help but want to shake Jean into just being honest anyway. How can I help you if you keep doing this?

“Why don’t you tell me what caused it?” he said, careful to choose his words. He was learning that to speak with Jean, he needed to make him believe he was in control of the conversation. “You fight with everyone but Hange. I’m sure you’re feeling particularly upset because of that fact.”

“It’s just, they’re just–” Jean lifted his hands in a throw of irritation, moving his lips silently as he searched for the words. “It’s like changing the bandages isn’t enough. They have to try and fix everything else too.” Absently, a few fingers went upwards and drifted along the bruises on his jaw.

It was as close to the truth as he’d get without pushing it himself, but it was still clear that Hange had overstepped. Seeing the invisible lines Jean had drawn around himself was a talent that Armin seemed to have a skill for, but even he felt like he was walking on thin ice. It was a matter of time before either Hange or Levi said the wrong thing. “You know they’re just looking out for you, right? They care about you.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re also buzzing around me and it’s driving me insane.”

Silence fell again.

By the time they turned back and were nearly home, it was dark.

“We’ve been walking for hours, “Jean offered softly as they approached their street, “and I know…that talking with me can be difficult. I’m an ass, but at least I’m a self-aware one.”

“Come on Jean, you’re not an ass.”

“I’m just trying to say thanks.”

Don’t say that. Don’t thank me.

“I like long walks,” Armin assured. “Plus, it’s nice to see you have your strength back.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I do. I’m good now. You’re a good friend, Armin.”

Stop it.

“Just let me know if you ever need to get out again, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Jean’s ability to stand on his own two feet for several hours didn’t go unnoticed by the others, and in conjunction with his constantly improving complexion, notably the dimming bruises, Levi was the first to suggest he properly leave the flat a few days later.

It was after dinner. They were working to clean dishes, wipe off the table, and reshelve food.

“You feeling well enough to go with Mikasa and exchange notes at the bank tomorrow?” he asked. “We’re low on cash.”

“If I lie and say no, does that mean I can keep hanging around here doing nothing?” Jean joked as he passed a pile of dishes to Eren.

“You’re such a lazy ass,” Eren mumbled as he snatched the dishes away.

“Is that supposed to be news to me?”

“Yeah, be proud of that, shithead.”

Levi ignored the both of them. “Good. Go tomorrow before noon.”

The table shined at Armin when he wiped it over again as he bit his tongue to keep himself from volunteering to go with them. It was unfair, the way he was shadowing Jean like he was the only thing that could give him balance, and he damn well knew it – but he couldn’t help but want to be his support, even if he didn’t need it.

“Armin and Eren,” Levi continued. “Go bag a few newspapers when you go out. We’re behind.”

Armin untied his tongue. “Sir.”

“Would you stop?” Eren said, apparently not having heard the captain. Jean was snickering at the way he was turning the dishes to make Eren stick his hands in the dirtiest part. “I’m trying to do the dishes and you’re being a child.”

“I’m not doing anything, I’m just trying to pass you this crap.” He smirked.

“You’re real funny, huh.”

Levi exchanged a look with Armin, gave a roll of his eyes, and left the room. There were frequently fleeting moments that felt like memories being relived, like a glimpse into a past that hadn’t been appreciated correctly, and similar to the sensation of deja vu, Armin was feeling that now. The smile that crossed his face eased his earlier worries and he let himself enjoy the sounds of Jean laughing at Eren’s short temper.

As usual, he was being overbearing and unreasonable. If Jean needed him, he would come to him, just like he had a few days prior when they went on that walk. Besides, of all people to be paired with Jean on his first proper outing since the incident, it should be Mikasa. Her strength aside, she was alert and perceptive, and not like Jean would be in danger anyway, but it was a comfort to know that those skills were present regardless.

Besides, Jean was, he hoped, less likely to crumble around her. Armin used to think he liked her, back when they were kids, although he’d never admitted to it. Perhaps it was never a crush, and just adoration that matured into a kind of respect Jean gave very few people. That, or he was remarkably capable of keeping it to himself.

Well, he isn’t exactly the easiest to read, he was reminded. That night, the group played cards, drank tea, and did nothing particularly memorable at all. It was nice.

Eren was slow to get out of bed the following day, complaining of the time Armin was shaking him.

“It’s nearly ten, get up,” Armin scolded, giving him another shake.

Although they purchased the newspapers quickly, they somehow found themselves walking around the city’s streets. The weather was effortless enough to blend into the day, neither hot nor cold, and the people they passed were both common and well kept, and when Armin finally realized how serene he felt, odd in itself that he hadn’t registered the feeling for some time, it was nearing late afternoon.

The two of them discussed things that had nothing to do with the warehouse, or the Restorationists, or war, lost friends, old enemies, or anything that had the potential to bring Armin back to the familiar melancholic mood he’d become accustomed to. He was smiling; laughing.

Should he be?

At the end of the day, just before they decided to return, Eren wanted to visit the docks. The waves were rippling together in calm washes that matched the leisurely pace of the wind. Saltwater, now an invigoration that was a familiar companion, filled him with the scent of the sea.

Something popped up between the waves, something round, fat, and with two large, expressive eyes, and the elation that crashed into Armin was the first potent thing about that day. He grabbed Eren’s arm and dragged him forward, making the two of them sprint along the dock to get closer, and even as Armin’s loud, excited feet came to a stop at the end, the creature did not hide away.

Armin looked out at it, rising and falling with the influence of the waves, and it looked back at him, curious and clever, watching him, drinking him in, just as much as Armin was doing back.

The tears that came to him were the first to not be ones of grief in a long, long time.

Armin’s bursting joy did not lessen even as they returned to the flat. Upon entry, he immediately started towards the living space to dig out the encyclopedia they’d been given by Kiyomi, ignoring Mikasa and Sasha’s game of cards and Connie’s strange new hobby that was occurring at the kitchen table.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eren asked as he tossed the newspapers onto the table. Connie was fussing with a piece of paper. Armin took a seat beside Hange, who was on the couch beside Jean. They’d already been looking through the encyclopedia together.

Things had been a little awkward with them for only half a day before they were back to normal. Armin wondered if either of them apologized or if they mutually, and silently, decided to just ignore the event.

“I forgot what it’s called,” Connie replied to Eren. “I saw a merchant doing it and it looked pretty cool.” He groaned in frustration and flattened the previously folded paper onto the table.

“Uh,” came Levi’s annoyed voice. “No. No, get those off the table and disinfect it.” He must have been referring to the newspapers.

Armin scanned the pages Hange was thumbing through, still anxious to wait his turn.

“Oh, come on Captain–”

“Aren’t you a grown man, Eren? We’re eating on that table in less than an hour. What are you thinking?”

The sound of indignation that came from Eren made Jean suppress a chuckle. “Man, I don’t think I cried as much as you even when I was a kid.” Jean turned his head over his shoulder to watch the insult land.

“What?!” Eren bristled. He took only a few large steps towards him before Hange whipped their head around and put an impressive amount of glare into their one eye, stopping Eren short as he floundered in his temper. Jean was certainly taking advantage of the protection his injuries had granted him.

“You’re just saying shit because you know I’m not allowed to kick your ass.”

Jean shrugged and turned back. There was something humorous in the way that he didn’t deny it, and although he was no longer looking, Eren still stuck his tongue out at him.

“Did you want this?” Hange asked Armin. With an indignant huff, Eren left.

“Yeah, will you find the marine life section?”

Hange’s fingers began skimming the pages, flipping out the scent of paper as they did. There was a lean forward from Jean, who was now invested. It made Armin look at him. Fingers were rubbing absently at a wrist.

“What did it look like?” Hange asked, drawing his eyes back to the book. After a few minutes of searching, the sight disappeared from his brain as the thrill of the creature collided back into him on the page Hange was pointing at.

The illustration was of an animal with large, animated eyes, long whiskers, leathery skin, and a thick, blubbery body.

“That’s it!” Armin’s smile was so wide it made his face ache. In his excitement, he reached over and gave Jean a shake. “That’s what we saw!”

Jean laughed out of surprise at the amount of fervor in Armin’s voice. “Big deal!”

“A seal! It was a seal! Isn’t it incredible?! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

It was the only thing he could talk about over dinner. Maybe it was his elated mood, or perhaps his eagerness was infectious, but that meal was another glimpse into the past that Armin was grateful to cherish once again.

By the time everyone was yawning and changing into night clothes, Armin’s exhaustion was drawing on the weight of his limbs. Sleep would come to him quickly, he knew, and as he pushed his head into the pillow, he let himself drift off with new memories to think back on.

Armin’s wrists were not bound, but he sat without movement, his body still and observant. Was it that he couldn’t move, or that he wouldn’t? Jean’s eyes were flat. Half lidded. They looked past Armin at nothing and they were void of life. Even the blood smeared across his bare chest was dry and cracking. He was dead. Each thrust sent another lock of hair to fall over his blank face.

The gasp tore out of him before he was even fully awake, his heart racing so furiously he thought it was near bursting from the confines of his chest. Armin was covered in sweat, his skin was prickled with painful gooseflesh, the pillow beneath him was already wet with tears and for far too long, he didn’t know where he was. Armin sat up quietly, wrapping a hand over his stomach as he fought off the vividness of the nightmare. It’s not real. It’s not real.

He had to repeat this to himself in order to come into the present. He’s alive, he wasn’t raped. He’s alive. He wasn’t raped.

Eren breathed softly in sleep, unaware of the unraveling occurring in the bed opposite his.

The panic was scratching at the walls of Armin’s body, begging him to drown in it and become fully submerged by the irrationality of seeing the nightmare as a memory rather than fiction. The feeling was mocking him, overwhelming his mind and daring him to think otherwise. Quiet as he’d ever done, Armin slipped out from the bed and crossed the room, knowing he couldn’t rest until he saw him.

He’s not dead, of course he’s not. He’s on the couch, just around the corner. He’s fine. Cold fingers wrapped around the doorknob and silently opened it. He slipped out with impressive grace so as not to disturb both Eren in the room or Jean around the corner, but as he did so, he heard a very soft voice coming from the living room. Armin closed the door and tiptoed to the other side of the hall where he could peer and see a sliver of the couch.

Jean was hunched over, his feet planted on the floor with his head in both hands. It wasn’t him speaking and Armin took another two silent steps forward to get a better glimpse into the room. The voice was Levi’s.

“If you won’t tell me, then I’ll infer.” Levi’s voice was low. He was kneeling on the floor, looking up at Jean. Armin could hardly hear the conversation. “It was about what happened at the warehouse, wasn’t it?”

It took a few moments for the response to come.

“Yes.” Jean’s voice was somehow even more faint.

“It was about Eklon?”

Jean’s shoulders tensed, making him seem small even beside a kneeling Levi. There was no answer.

“Jean, you’ve refused to talk to Hange about it. You’ve refused to talk to me about it. But it’s affecting you – something needs to be done.”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” The fingers in Jean’s hair tightened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, this isn’t a lecture.”

“I don’t want it to be affecting me,” he whispered. Now that Armin’s eyes were adjusting to the dark, with the help of the barely visible street lights glowing through the room’s window curtain, he could see that Jean’s shirt was soaked through.

“Who would? But you experienced a traumatic event. You’re not above physics or psychology, are you? I know you were a bit of a pompous brat back in the day, but you’ve outgrown that.”

The way Jean’s shoulders loosened proved that Levi’s snark must have been something of a comfort. Still, he would not respond.

“What’s going through your head?” Levi prodded.

“I want these nightmares to stop.”

“Alright, well, that’s going to take some time.”

“They’re real…” Jean was speaking to his lap. “Why do they feel so real?”

“Probably because–”

“I don’t understand…” He was mumbling mostly to himself. “I don’t get it. It…it could have been worse…it could have been so much worse…”

The words felt like a violent slap across Armin’s face, stinging him despite the fact the sensation was preceded by several moments of numbness. What…

The meaning clicked for Armin the moment it seemed to for Levi and the captain shifted roughly.

“Wait, you think that because he didn’t get your pants off that you don’t deserve this damage?” he asked sternly. It sounded like an accusation, but Levi’s words were rarely sweet. It was evident in his tone that the revelation was just as disturbing for him as it was for Armin. “You think everything you’re feeling right now is somehow unearned?”

“I don’t know.” Despite his valiant attempt to keep quiet, Jean’s breaths were quickening to hyperventilation. As far as Armin knew, he hadn’t yet broken down in front of anyone else besides Armin, but the nightmare obliterated that wall he’d been so intent on constructing. His voice was thick with grief-stricken exasperation. “God, I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired.”

“Talk to me, Jean. Tell me what the dream was about.”

“He was here,” he whispered shakily, the words barely more than exhalation. “He was right here, in this room, I-I couldn’t m-move, or call for you…”

“Jean,” Levi stressed as the uneven breaths began to sound painful. “You’re losing control. Focus on the present. Eklon is dead, and you’re safe here.”

“That’s not–” Jean stumbled over the words. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m not delusional, Captain, I know I’m safe here.” The frustration was chasing away the weakness in his voice. “It’s not that I’m afraid.”

“Then what? Help me understand. You can barely breathe.”

“It’s biological, I can’t control it.” One of Jean’s hands crossed over his chest as he fought to intake air without gasping for it. “It just comes on, I-I can’t fight it.” His exhale shook horribly at the balance he was trying to strike to breathe quietly. “It overwhelms me.”

“It’s a panic attack,” Levi concluded. The confidence in the statement almost made Armin want to unstick his frozen feet and wrap his arms around Levi for saying that. If Jean wouldn’t listen to Armin, perhaps he’d take the words if they came from authority.

“But I’m not panicking,” he argued nearly defensively.

“This reaction is not a slight to your strength. You have a damned medal back home that proves you’re not a weak individual, stop thinking this demeans you.”

“I am not panicking,” he repeated.

“Okay.” Levi switched knees that he was resting on. “Look. I’m going to spell this out for you. You may not be panicking mentally, but listen to your body, Jean. It is panicking.” He reached out a hand and put two fingers against Jean’s forearm, purposeful to leave his wrists be. “Your heart rate is wild. You feel like you’re not getting enough air. Your skin is pale, cold, and gross. You can’t keep your thoughts linear. It’s biological, like you said. Your body doesn’t know what to do with this turmoil in your brain, so it’s going into fight or flight to try and escape it. You don’t have control over that.”

“I have been,” Jean hissed, “through worse. This is insane.”

“Cutting down titans or engaging in battle is a hell of a lot different than what happened to you. And you forget, you were trained for those experiences, Jean, we all spent years molding our minds to handle that sort of trauma. And we work as a team when we do. What happened to you wasn’t like that, not even remotely. It was personal. Why are you so hellbent on putting yourself above this?”

“Because I can’t be weak, Captain.” His arm rose and fell with the rate of his breaths. “I can’t be the weak link right now. I can’t. Too much is happening.”

“Are you listening to me? This isn’t weakness.”

“I can’t breathe, because of a fucking nightmare,” he snapped, the words directed completely at himself. “It’s not strength.”

“Switch roles with Armin.” Armin’s stomach clenched at the sound of his name. “Imagine it was him that Eklon targeted. He was bleeding out and pinned down in a cruel, unfair, reprehensible way. Everything that happened to you, happened to him. Now in this alternate reality, fast forward a little over a week and a half’s time. Do you expect Armin to forget that ordeal and move forward like nothing happened? Would you think him weak if the event continued to afflict him?”

“I don’t want to imagine that.” He took a long breath; something made the air come easier to him. He was regaining control.

“Because?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Jean, stop making me pull teeth. It’s three in the morning.”

“What the hell do you want me to say? Who would want to imagine that?”

“Well you’re saying it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? Whoopdee-freaking-do, you were assaulted for a few minutes, right? If it’s not rape, walk it off. You fucking baby, why the hell are you twitching in your sleep over this? That’s what you’re saying so if that’s what you really think, I don’t see the problem with putting Armin in that situation.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Humor me. Let’s say it happened to Armin so I can make my next point.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me ‘no’.”

“You don’t need to make a point.”

“Oh yeah? Your bullheadedness says otherwise.”

“Whatever point you’re going to make is irrelevant. I prefer this reality over that one.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t need to pretend it was Armin. I’m glad it was me.”

Armin’s knees could have buckled. The hand returned to wrap around his stomach, his eyes widening as he felt a familiar urge to run.

“Why do you say that?”

“Obviously, because I don’t want him to have gone through that.”

“But he’s gone through worse, hasn’t he?” Levi asked, turning Jean’s words back on him. Jean didn’t answer him. “God dammit Jean, I didn’t shake your disgustingly sweaty shirt and wrestle away your punches to waste my own fucking time! Tell me, right now, why you’re glad Armin wasn’t the one this happened to!”

“Because!” Jean whispered roughly, as close to a yell as it could be without defeating the purpose of whispers. “I’m different than I was!”

“How so?” Levi pressed. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t want to go through this with you, Captain, I don’t.” Fatigue drew out his words. “Please, I can’t.”

“You have to, because I’m not losing my squad leader to this. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“I can still fight.”

“I know you can, that’s not what I’m afraid of.”

“If I tell you what you want to hear, you’ll never think of me as you used to.”

“Is that why you’re being so difficult? You’re afraid your reputation is somehow tarnished by this?”

“I don’t know, I’m just tired. I don’t want to think about anything, I don’t want to fight anything, I don’t want to fight myself. I’m done.”

“You’re a different person now. That’s what you said. Tell me why. Don’t think about it, just say it. I’m not going to leave you alone until you do.”

“Why are you bothering with this?” He sagged forward. “I’m not your burden to bear. I’ll handle it.”

“You’re a different person now. That’s what you said. Tell me why.”

“Captain, just let me handle it. I’ll get a grip.”

“You’re a different person now. Tell me why.”

Jean leaned back into the couch, his hands hitting his legs as he did so. His face stared at the wall across from him.

Levi barely got his repetition out before he finally got an answer. “Tell me why–”

“Because all I can think about is that overwhelming dread.”

“...Dread of what?”

“The dread that I wasn’t going to bleed out fast enough…” Jean’s voice had completely flattened, the words slow and emotionless. “And he was going to get the chance to fuck me. Just like he promised.”

A rigidity came over Levi at the admission. Despite his insistence for an answer, he wasn’t prepared for the honesty of it.

Armin was not either. Both hands went to cover his mouth.

“I’m reminded of that feeling all the time, Captain. Is that what you want to hear? I can’t think about anything else. When I look in the mirror. Every time I take a piss. When I turn in my sleep, and wake up on my stomach. Your squad leader got screwed up. And you want me to imagine some stupid scenario where Armin was the one who…?”

Jean shook his head. Finally, he looked at Levi. “No. I don’t want this for him. Not even in my imagination.”

Tears were wetting the backs of Armin’s hands and his fingers were digging into his cheeks. He wanted to unstick his feet, fearful that his suppressing sobs would bubble up, but he couldn’t move.

When Levi spoke, his voice was kind. “Exactly. Whether you like it or not, I still get to make my point. Because now you’ve thought about the fact that Armin would be responding the way you’re responding, and you don’t want him to feel what you feel.” When Jean looked away from him, he put a hand on his knee. “Hey. Can’t you see how that validates your reaction to all of this?”

Jean didn’t move.

“I don’t want this,” he admitted. The lazy light of the street outside was just enough to reflect off the lifeless tear, perhaps the first that Armin had ever seen on Jean’s face, that fell from his eye. It rolled quickly down his cheek. “I really don’t want this.”

“You have got to move away from the deflecting.” There was a rare melancholy to Levi’s inflection. “It happened. It shouldn’t have, and I wish every day that I could have gotten there sooner, but that’s just not reality. We need to accept that, and instead of wasting our days in wishful thinking, wondering why things can’t be different, we need to accept that they are as they are and live with it. You will never be able to move forward otherwise, Jean.”

The puff of air that came from Jean was a humorless laugh. “How do I do that?”

“Well, to start, you need to admit to yourself that what happened to you did in fact happen. Have you ever even said it out loud? Have you even thought the words?”

There was a beat of silence. “No.”

“I’ll help you.” Levi’s shoulders were nearly up to his ears at the way he was tensing. The inhale he took was likely one of resolve. “You were sexually assaulted, Jean. In a very, very violent way. I’m not going to make you say it, but you need to think it. This happened to you. You don’t want it, but you have it. You must do this for yourself. Think the words.”

Several moments passed and Levi tried to catch Jean’s eye. “Did you do it? Did you think the words?”

“Yeah,” Jean barely replied. A hand came up to wipe at his face. “I did.”

“Are you alright?”

“Feels pretty bad, Captain.”

Armin blinked several times, the tears falling at every flutter, and he realized he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. So then, just as silently as he did before, he returned to his bedroom and shut the door, letting the hushed voices continue without him. He barely made it to his pillow before he compressed it tightly and cried into its middle.

The nightmare had made Jean vulnerable enough to spiral in front of Levi, resulting in admissions that Armin himself was unable to get him to make. It was a breakthrough for him, Armin knew, and despite the horrific way the words had made Armin feel, he knew that Jean needed Levi in that moment. He was grateful for their captain.

Jean was losing himself in this mutilation, and Armin, whom Jean was so viciously intent on protecting, had been the one to endanger him in the first place. He clutched his pillow closer, the tears making an uncomfortable wet stain beneath his cheeks.

His own nightmare flashed before him like a savage image, Jean’s dead eyes staring past him as the worst came to pass, and Armin tried to think of something else, anything else, to make it go away.

He’d gone out to check on Jean because of how vivid that scene had been, and he’d come back feeling far worse than before.

Chapter Text

There was a museum riddled with ancient artifacts from all around the world, its hallways peppered with history, culture, and the most riveting information Armin could possibly hope for. A few weeks ago, Armin would have clamored over buildings to join the rest in visiting it – this morning, however, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He barely had the energy to lift the mug of coffee to his face.

Armin tried not to notice the way Jean looked down at his feet when Armin declined the group’s invitation, but seeing his tired eyes drift was enough to send daggers of guilt through Armin, yet still, even then, he knew he couldn’t change his mind. Just looking at Jean was nearly too much as it was.

It was selfish. Maybe even cruel. But the night previous was wholly upsetting and it continued to skin the stability from Armin’s very core, even now that hours had passed, because the many admissions Jean had made to Levi were worse than Armin anticipated. Each one of them carved a crater in Armin’s heart, weakened his resolve, made him ache…

And it wasn’t just Jean’s nightmare and following discussion with Levi, but Armin’s own dream that shadowed his footsteps and darkened every thought. It was taking conscious effort to understand that the vivid flashes in his mind were fiction. Just a memory of something fake.

Through all this, though, Armin was proud of Jean for having the strength to join the group. He, at least, was braving his presumably adhesive nightmare while fending off his own visible fatigue, growing proof that despite his condition, he had the power to persevere. That morning, he’d spent half of breakfast with a cheek in his hand, saying nothing when Sasha slowly slid his plate away to pick at the toast he was unable to finish. Now he was standing, putting his coat on, and walking out the door.

Armin wished that it would make him feel better. He’d known about Jean’s nightmares for days now and he never brought it up to him. Should he have? If he’d transcended his own insecurities and talked with him, could he have quickened his recovery and prevented him from having such a debilitating night? He cursed himself violently because when it came down to it, he wasn’t doing a damn thing to guide Jean to equilibrium. He was letting him do this alone, despite being the only person who knew just how traumatized he was, because Armin was scared, unsure, weak. And he did the selfish thing, once again, and allowed Jean to go to the museum without him.

What if something happened and he was going to have another panic attack? What if Eren tried to ask him about the fight with Hange, or why he continued to sleep on the couch, or god knows what else, like he’d been doing with Armin? He was fine fielding Eren’s persistence, but he was afraid that Eren was going to transfer his prodding to Jean and overwhelm him. Thus far, Eren seemed to leave him alone but if time was going to continue to pass, he’d eventually start targeting him for answers, wouldn’t he?

The blood on his bare chest was dry, his empty eyes staring past Armin as–

Armin inhaled sharply through his nose as he chased the scene away, fingers digging into his hair as a leg started to bounce up and down beneath the table. Perhaps coffee was a poor choice.

“Hey,” said Hange’s voice. Armin suddenly caught the coat before it smacked into his face and he lowered it to give them a puzzled look.

“We’re going out,” they explained with a motion of their head. “Get up. We’ve got things to do.”

Armin’s whole body seemed to sigh. “Hange, I’m sorry, I’m very tired today.” He put the mug against his forehead, trying to soak in its warmth. “Can it wait?”

He wondered why Hange had been the only other one to stay behind, considering a museum full of strange objects would certainly captivate them as much as it might Armin, but it seemed he was mistaken in hoping they wouldn’t pester him with errands.

“Nope. Get up.”

Instead of arguing or displaying his disappointment, Armin just drained his coffee in the foolish desire that it would grant him the strength simply to stand from the table. By the time he made it to the door, Hange was waving him out impatiently.

“So this couldn’t wait for the others to get back?” Armin asked, stifling a yawn. Not even Hange or Levi were immune to the rule of going out in at least pairs, but the trip at the museum surely wouldn’t take the entire day. “What is it we’re doing?”

“I found a map of old churches,” they explained happily. A pamphlet was fished out of their coat pocket. “I thought we could go see one nearby.”

“What?” Armin’s head whipped up at them. “Hange!”

“Yes?” they asked innocently. It was quite clear that they were being mischievous and knew exactly what they were doing.

“I’m exhausted…” He wasn’t usually one to complain but Armin had resigned himself to his own drained state of being and he wasn’t in the mood to entertain Hange’s whimsy.

“We need to get you out of that flat,” they said, dismissing their previous feigned ignorance and donning their more honest face. “Besides, maybe some monotheism will do you some good.”

Armin raised an eyebrow at that. “I didn’t know you were a believer, Hange. Something about this new world religion speak to you?”

“No,” Hange guffawed, waving their hand around. “No no. That’s not it.” They seemed rather amused by the implication. “I was mostly joking around.”

Armin couldn’t help but smile at their odd physicality, too often amused by Hange even when he didn’t want to be. “Okay, so then, what? What are we doing?”

“I told you! I just want to see an old church!”

“If you wanted to look at ancient relics, why not join the others?”

“Because old churches are something different altogether.”

The church was tucked away from the main road, scrabbled down an alley that echoed quiet footsteps up to the tops of the steep sides. The sounds of the street died away when the heavy wooden door closed behind them. Their boots were loud along the empty pew corridors.

The altar was cloaked in pristine linen, gold trinkets adorning its surface with silver cups on either side of a glowing row of tall candles. Stained glass sent a scattered array of colors along the pale bricks beneath their feet. Nearly every inch of the walls were covered with peeling paintings of people associated with this faith, the names of who Armin could never remember.

It was a stunning church. But he’d seen many just like it.

“I’ve seen the inside of a church before, Hange,” he explained kindly, but when he turned to look at them, he was surprised to see the ardor softening their features.

“Yeah, but this one is different,” they breathed, truly drinking in the sights of something Armin thought he’d already seen. “They’re all different. Different paintings, different windows, different architecture. It just astounds me.” The eye roamed, admiring. “You can physically see the blind passion that went into building even the most unassuming church, like this one. I mean, look at the paintings on the wall!” They pointed. “Someone did that shit for free!”

“Well,” Armin started with half a laugh. “I guess when you put it like that, I see your point.”

“What did that guy ever do to get a place like this?” They shook their head. “People really do love him.”

“You genuinely puzzle me sometimes, Hange.”

They shrugged. “Museums cost money. They’re crowded. We walked in here for free and there’s not a soul in sight. And this one was built 800 years ago. Our entire country is an eighth of that age, Armin. An eighth!”

“Well, I don’t understand what the fuss is about.” Armin toed his boot into the slate, tapping it a few times. “My granddad used to say something to me: If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. I think it’s a nice idea, that we were created. I don’t know, maybe we were.”

Lock after lock of hair fell over his glazed face–

Armin’s mouth turned downwards as the nightmare came back to him. Emotion crowded his throat at its resurgence and his eyes traveled down to look past the walls towards nothing at all. “But if we were created, Hange, I don’t think it was by whoever this god is.”

“I tend to think that’s why people are so wild about it. Despite all the ugliness in the world, at least it gives them something good to believe in.”

“But doesn’t that make you upset?” he asked the ground, surprising even himself. “I mean, horrible things happen all the time. We have personally seen monstrous things occur. How can people pretend that our potential creator is so full of love and hope, yet they do nothing and let it happen?”

The words sounded strange to him. He’d previously had such admiration for Onyonkapon’s stalwart faith, despite not sharing it with him, because it was like another piece of the puzzle that he was constructing to see the world as it was; an array of cultures, people, religions, places, and many other colorful things.

When had that changed?

“It doesn’t upset me, actually,” Hange responded, pondering their own opinion on the subject. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s foolish to come here in earnest. But…” Hange leaned down against the back pew. “This life is a fucking mess. If you’re a good person and want to believe in something to give you some hope, who am I to judge? I see the appeal.” Their roaming eye met Armin’s.

He felt somewhat disoriented at the thought. Almost a little envious. “How do they do that?”

Hange simply shrugged. “Beats me.”

“So…” He blinked at them. “You really do just like old churches? Despite not assigning yourself to that faith?”

“Exactly!” Hange playfully hit the back of Armin’s shoulder and led him towards the exit. “Let’s go see something new. Cool church,” they added in approval. Curiously dazed, Armin followed.

The entire walk to their next destination was spent with Armin trying to understand a person who was beyond comprehension. Then after a time, Armin realized he was being dragged to the city center, an enriching spot that was active with rows of merchants, a handful of street performers, travelers, and locals bustling around on their way to various places. He’d been here many times.

“Hange, this isn’t new,” he said, knowing that they must have been up to something once again. Hange just winked.

“Yeah, but watch this.”

They fished out a coin and pressed it into the hand of a nearby man, who returned something into Hange’s cupped palms. Hange came back to him.

“Stick your arms out,” they said. He nearly laughed, but he was determined not to let Hange win him over so easily so he bit back his smile and did as asked. Something was stuffed into his hands and when Hange took several giant steps back, Armin grew very nervous.

“Hange, you’re weirding me out more than usual–”

Tens of birds suddenly descended upon him, making him flinch repeatedly as their wings flapped around his face and their thin toes landed up and down his arms. It was like a storm of feathers and little pecking beaks and all Armin could see was the flash of white and gray wings as they shimmied about. It was shocking enough to make him sincerely laugh, the stunned joy pulled out from deep in his chest, and within seconds, the seed was gone and they disappeared in an instant.

“What the heck was that?!” Armin asked through a persistent grin, shaking off the rush and the small feathers on his coat.

“You should have seen Levi’s face when I made him do it. Oh, he was furious.”

“What if I have droppings on me?” Armin twisted around to see the back of his coat.

“That’s what Levi said! Plus, you know, a few other choice words.”

“I’m stunned that you lived to see another day.”

“Oh, he’s all bark. Come on. Let’s walk.”

Armin’s hands dropped to his sides. “Walk? Where? Hange,” he berated. “What is this?”

“I heard about an old watch tower built into the bay cliffs on the other side of the port. Interested?”

Armin scraped off a feather. Now that he was out of the flat, and especially after what they’d just put him through, he was considerably more awake. He still sighed loudly to make a point.

“These are not errands. You’re taking me on a wild goose chase.”

“Those were pigeons, and what else do you have to do today?”

“Well, I was thinking of a nap, to start.” That was a lie. More out of performance than anything, Armin groaned substantially but Hange was quick to ignore him and start off in another direction, their tied hair bouncing behind them. It drew out another smile from him, much to his behest, and then he followed.

They were walking down a thin pedestrian alley that led west towards the bay. With a flick of his eyes, Armin considered Hange beside him.

“I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“Tell me what I’m doing.”

“You’re trying to butter me up.”

Hange laughed at that. “Butter you up? What for?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Armin.” Hange looked at him down their eyeglasses. “What I’m doing is far simpler than whatever scheme you think I’m up to. I just wanted you to get out of the flat.”

“I go out all the time, I’m not a hermit,” he defended.

“Well today you would have been.”

“I told you, I’m tired.”

“Yes. You are. You look exhausted.” The alley transitioned from businesses to homes, either side of the brick walls covered in vines, stoops, and small trash bins. These were working class flats and their inhabitants were out for the day, leaving only Hange’s voice and the interested calls of stray cats. “Didn’t sleep?”

Jean was dead, expressionless, sent forward over and over and Armin did nothing but watch–

Armin swallowed hard, forcing the memory, no, the fiction, it’s fiction, down. “No.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Subtle, Hange.”

“What?” They feigned innocence once again. They were rather good at that.

He returned the tease. “Jean thinks you’re overbearing, did you know?”

“Oh, most definitely. He’s told me on many occasions.” Hange reached out and gave Armin’s shoulder a playful shake, drawing out soft laughter. “So are you going to be stiff and stupid like him, or will you tell me what’s on your mind?”

“It’s just…” Armin ran a hand over his face, still making a conscious effort to keep the scene buried. He knew how frustrating it could be to talk with someone who didn’t want to talk, and despite his hesitance, he wanted to be a more cooperative agent. “I had a…a pretty awful nightmare. Just that…the worst happened after all…”

He couldn’t see the source, but Armin knew what was driving him forward–

“And he was dead…”

The blood was long dry, so caked to his body that the wound was impossible to find–

“And…I didn’t do anything to stop it.” Armin realized he couldn’t go into more detail than that, the words still enough to wet his eyes and croak his voice. He cleared his throat. “I can’t get it out of my head. It’s really screwing with me.”

“Seeing him very much not dead didn’t help any?”

“No. Not really.”

“I know this has been hard on you, Armin.” A cat on a fire escape meowed when Hange reached up and gave its chin a scratch. “And I’m very sorry about that.”

“Hange, I am not the one who needs help,” he implored, frustration creeping up. He didn’t admit his lack of sleep for pity. “Jean–”

“I’m talking about you. Did you know Jean was having nightmares as well?”

“Yes…”

“Do you think he’s having nightmares because he’s traumatized?”

“Okay, I see where you’re going with this–”

“You’re traumatized, Armin. I can see it all over you, and not just today. Let alone the damage of watching it happen, but you still feel responsible for it, I know you do. It’s eating you alive.”

“I’m tired of hearing that!” Armin stopped. He was afraid that’s where Hange was going with this and he didn’t have the patience to listen to it anymore. “Why are you guys trying to absolve me of this? I don’t get it!”

“I don’t need to go through my reasons again.” Hange turned towards him, immune to his sudden anger. “You know how I feel.”

“Commander Erwin wouldn’t have endangered Jean or the rest of you like that.”

Stunned, Hange’s mouth closed. Armin immediately felt guilt, shaming himself for saying such a thing to a person who’d been so close to that man, but Hange recovered quickly and took a step forward. They grasped both of his shoulders tightly, once again protecting him from the responsibility of his own words.

“Commander Erwin would not have tried to save an old woman, you might be right. Frankly, he may not have bat an eye. He probably would have had the forethought not to, in the interest of our people.” They paused and tightened their grip. “But he’s not here; you are.”

“I keep asking myself why. Why am I here? Why is everyone trying to save me? Why are you trying to save me, right now?”

“Because I care about you and I need you around. Besides, nobody else wants to talk about the reproductive life cycles of starfish apart from you and lately, you’re too bummed out. I mean it's fascinating, how does nobody else get that?”

Armin felt the weariness burn his eyes. His thumb and forefinger rubbed at them tiredly. Hange was being far too patient with him, letting all of his frustrations roll off of them like water on a leaf.

“You know, Armin,” said Hange as they placed a comforting hand on his back and started them forward again. He let them do so, both too upset with himself and too tired to resist. The bay was near enough that Armin could hear ocean waves breaking. “We determined that Saint Claire repeatedly tortured and raped Eldian people, right? We also determined that he was a fucking lunatic and not easily replacable.”

They shrugged and glanced at Armin meaningfully, who suppressed a sigh. He wouldn’t stop them from making their point.

“Yeah?”

“It’s alright to look for hope despite terrible circumstances. It doesn’t invalidate the suffering of others to do so. And now that Saint Claire and his squadron are gone…” They cocked their head as they considered. “Well, I think your intervening back at the market may have saved countless souls from the worst of fates.”

At the end of the alley was the full view of the ocean, blue and sparkling beyond the stone wall that separated city from wilderness. Even now, despite Armin having seen the sight thousands of times, the sea brought a calmness to him that few things did. Waves crashed and water showered up above the stone’s perimeter.

He hadn’t really considered the implications of Saint Claire’s removal from Marleyan ranks; he tried not to consider Saint Claire at all. The man’s eyes still haunted him, mocking him, watching him as Armin felt his body succumb without air, or daring him to do something as he walked backwards towards Jean, those eyes smiling at Armin already knowing that what he was about to do would destroy him–

Even in death, he continued to torment.

Armin wrapped an arm around himself as he pondered Hange’s words. It made him feel ashamed to think that he’d done something right, and he’d never be able to convince himself of that, but Saint Claire’s death was something to be celebrated and not just because he deserved it.

If there was a creator after all, Armin hoped it meant the victims of Saint Claire could find peace in their rest now that his life was over.

It took some time to reach the watchtower, and it wasn’t a particularly impressive structure. They had to follow the floodwall for a time, huffing heavily as they ascended a steep incline, but they finally arrived. Nobody was there. Patches of the crumbling stone were splattered with paint. Still, it gave Hange a fair amount of interest, as odd things often did, and they pulled him inside where a spiral stone staircase ascended to a roofless top.

Their shoes clipped against the stone steps. Armin ran his fingers across the rough wall, imagining the history the bricks had seen, wondering if they’d been spared most of the cruelty in the world’s past. The loud echoes of their feet were blown away by the wind once they stepped up onto the surface.

The view was enough to stun Armin away from his thoughts. While the guard tower itself was less than stirring, the scene it provided up top was remarkable. That incline had been the cliff the tower was built into and they were far higher up than Armin realized, allowing him to see the many boats docked far off in the harbor, their miniscule sails barely crumbs in an endless blue spectacle, and the mountains beyond the city had a cloudy glaze drifting at their peaks. The cliffs continued on either side of them and far down below, distant white glitter sprayed upwards as the water collided.

A few gulls squawked in annoyance and they took off to find another spot to inhabit. Hange and Armin leaned over the stone perimeter, their elbows resting against it as they admired the vastness of the ocean. For a time, they said nothing, each left to their own thoughts. Then he saw Hange shift out of the corner of his eye.

“I feel like I’m failing too, you know,” they admitted. Armin looked over, surprised at the words, watching as the wind tousled the hair lining the frame of their face.

“What?”

“You think you’re not doing enough, right? You don’t know what to say to him, or how to balance the line between helping him without making him uncomfortable. I get it. But you’re so worried about him, you’re ignoring your own chaos.”

“Well, you got the first part right.” Armin took in a deep breath, grateful for the pleasant chill that the ocean water gave it. “But I’m fine, Hange.”

“Yeah,” they said, pressing their lips together. “That’s what he says too.”

Armin scratched at the rocky surface beneath his fingers. “You’re not failing, by the way,” he said without looking up. “No one has ever thought that about you.”

“And no one has ever thought you were to blame for what happened, Armin,” they said, turning his words back on him. Hange and Levi seemed to have that in common.

“Oh yeah?” he asked dryly. A small pebble got stuck beneath his fingernail. “Jean say that?”

“Not to me, but, yes.”

Armin looked over at them swiftly. That was not the response he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“In the car, Jean was telling Levi and Eren not to let you blame yourself. Don’t let him spiral, he kept saying. That’s what Levi told me.”

“What?” he clarified, his brow knitting together. Hange turned towards him, genuinely taken aback.

“You never asked him for his opinion on how things went down?”

“Well…” Armin blinked several times. “No. I guess I’m too much of a coward. I don’t want to know the answer.”

“I’m giving you the answer. Armin’s got too soft a heart, he’ll think it’s his fault. Don’t let him spiral. That’s what he said.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Or why didn’t Levi?” he asked softly. “Or…or Eren?”

“I guess I assumed the two of you would talk about it. None of us needed to be the one to tell you unless he did indeed die, which isn’t what happened. But now you are spiraling, and it's clear the two of you have not had this conversation, so. I’m telling you.”

Armin groaned and put his head in his hands. He wished the ocean was louder. “Hange, I watched everything that happened to him,” he said, as if it were an explanation for why he felt this way, why the strength of his guilt was so fierce. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I know.”

“It was…” The pebbles from his fingers rubbed into his scalp. Aside from Hange and Levi, Armin was unable to speak about this event with anybody else, Jean included, and he realized he’d never said the words aloud. “It was so devastating to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just reminded, consistently, of my own failures. And my setbacks. And my weakness.” He didn’t know how he started, but suddenly he couldn’t stop. “I’m always the weakest, it’s always me! Eren was eaten by a titan because I froze up. Jean took over at Shiganshina because I was panicking. Why am I like that?!” He straightened himself and locked eyes with them, truly hoping that they would have an answer.

“We came back from Shiganshina because of you, Armin,” Hange said strangely, as if they were reminding him what color the ocean in front of them was. “And as I recall being told, Jean wouldn’t even be alive if you hadn’t saved his ass back when Historia and Eren were abducted. In that situation, Jean was the weak one.”

“Oh, he was weak because he wouldn’t take a life?”

“And you were weak at the market because you saved one?”

Armin closed his mouth and felt his frustration falter. “That’s not–”

“You’re too close to see things for what they are, Armin, and I can’t blame you for that, but we have the entire world against us. What happened wasn’t because of a choice you made. I need you to understand that. This system is built to keep us contained, and loyal, and obedient, and scared. How can you possibly take a system like that on by yourself? Why put that kind of weight on your shoulders?”

“Jean will never be the same,” Armin explained shakily. “His life is changed forever because of this.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be the same, having witnessed it? Having been a part of it? You weren’t just some spectator, Armin, you forget that. You are a victim of what happened, too. You say Jean won’t ever be the same but ask yourself the same question: will you?”

A strong gust of wind ruffled his hair, drifting into the short layers and chilling his neck. Will I ever be the same?

“No…” Armin realized. The wind tugged strongly at him. “I guess I won’t be.”

“You’re trying to shoulder the weight of our persecution, as if you’re responsible for it. You’re trying to shoulder the weight of Jean’s pain, as if you’re the one that caused it. You’re going to buckle, Armin.” Hange took a side step to be beside him, their arm sliding around his shoulders. “Jean is strong. Very strong. It will take some time, but he’ll come around.”

“So…” Armin shrugged. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t stop himself from crying. “What? You’re saying to back off from helping him?”

“Not at all, I’m just saying that you should help him without thinking you’re responsible for him needing help in the first place. In fact, I think he’s going to come around only because he’s got you to lean on. He certainly won’t lean on me. I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to, I just don’t think he can.” Hange rubbed Armin’s back before putting their hand back down against the stone, clasping it together with the other. “He won’t talk to me. I’ve stopped trying to force it, it only upsets him.”

Armin felt his own self-hatred hesitate at the insecurity Hange seemed to have donned. “The fight you guys had…” he said carefully.

“He didn’t say? I figured since you two went on that walk right after, he’d open that can of worms right up.”

“No. Believe it or not, I can barely get anything out of him, too.”

“Yeah, well. I was just changing the bandages, like I do every day. I don’t think the stab wound will need it anymore, though. It looks healed. Anyway, he was sitting on my bed when I was wrapping him up and, the bruises on his face just…” They tsked. “They just nagged at me. I’d never said anything about them before, but, something was just different that day.”

Armin understood what they meant; the bruises on Jean’s face were particularly damning to look at and sometimes they held one's gaze like glue to paper, so he couldn’t imagine how insecure they must have made Jean feel. Fortunately, the others never made mention of them except in passing, having assumed he must have acquired them when he was thrown down and beaten, but Armin, Hange, and Levi knew what their true cause was.

“I wanted to point out that they looked like they were going to start fading soon. And I reached up, touched them, and…” Hange clicked their tongue, their eye drifting down. “Jean violently flinched away from me.”

The memory seemed to flit across their face, pulling on the corners of their lips until they were shaped in a frown.

“He didn’t mean to,” they continued sadly. “It was a reaction. Made me feel like scum of the earth, and he was immediately icy. I said I was sorry. Asked if he was alright. I’m fine, just finish wrapping it. Well I couldn’t ignore what happened, so I pushed on. ‘What makes you flinch like that? Does it make you think you're somewhere else? It can’t be pain, the bruises aren’t that large.’ I was being stupid. I should have known to shut up the second he responded like that.”

“Was this the first time you tried to get him to talk about it?” Armin asked quietly.

“Not the first time, no. But certainly the most direct. He’s just done such a terrifying job of keeping his emotions to himself, and the way he reacted was…well, it was a shock.”

“And what happened next?”

“He was angry. I don’t know at who. Hange, he snapped. Please, just finish wrapping it.”

Regret lined the features on their face and Armin had the instinct to comfort them, much like they’d done for him not minutes before, because as much as Armin felt like he was failing Jean, at the retelling of this story, he realized that he was the one who truly did know him best. Hange loved Jean. This was no secret. But as much as they cared for him, they did not know how to talk to him.

“‘It’s been over a week, and you haven’t said a word about it’, I tried to tell him. I was frustrated, but not at him. Just…” Hange bit back a sigh.

“At everything?” Armin guessed wearily. He was too familiar with the feeling.

“Yes,” Hange agreed. “At everything. And I’m not going to, he said. Wrap the damn shoulder. ‘Why won’t you let me help you?’ I asked. ‘I can help, if you’d just let me’. Well at that point, I’d lost him. He cursed at me. Yelled at me. Ripped the gauze off and threw it down. Grabbed his shirt and started buttoning it up. Dammit, he looked so shaken, I’ve never seen him like that. It was the first indication he’d shown to me that he was suffering so much, aside from my own suspicions, and I tried to get him to sit down again but he was already out the door.”

“It’s not your fault,” Armin tried. “It’s not you he’s upset with. It’s his own inability to process things. He just isn’t able to articulate that, yet.”

“I know it’s not my fault. I don’t blame myself. I know not to do that now, but I absolutely do not blame myself.” Hange’s sadness flashed to fury. “I’m not the one who gripped his face so tightly that there were still bruises, over a week later. And you’re not the one who did that either, Armin. It’s not my fault I can’t touch his face, it's that bastard’s fault. It’s not your fault I can’t touch his face, it’s that bastard’s fault.”

Seeing their expression twist in anger gave Armin a sudden, inexplicable chill, not because of the expression itself but because of the orientation. Their face wasn’t swallowed by guilt. They weren’t drowning in despondency. In fact, the state of their misery was rather clear and direct. All of Hange’s emotions came together to point at one person, and one person only, the edge of the direction sharp enough to maim.

Hange had accidentally spurred Jean into a near panic attack, but they did not blame themselves. And, Armin realized with a nearly painful sink of his chest, he didn’t either. A cry bubbled up and he tried to cover it with the back of a hand, but it did nothing to quiet his abrupt, near suffocating emotion, but what was it? Grief? Anxiety? Relief?

A hand came back around his shoulder and Hange pulled him into a hug. Fingers went against the back of his head. “It’s that bastard’s fault,” they repeated, making him sob again. “Not yours.”

“Okay,” he agreed feebly, almost with uncertainty, as he felt a rancid weight melt away from him.

“Say it. Give it more meaning.”

“It’s that bastard’s fault,” he cried into Hange’s shoulder. “I hate him. I hate him so much. I fucking hate him, I’ve never been so inundated with hatred, Hange, I don’t know what to do.”

“The potency of your hatred will subside to manageable levels with time.” They hugged him closer. “Let yourself be overwhelmed with it for now.”

“I feel primal when I think about him. Like I can’t breathe! Because he deserved so much worse than what he got and he will never, ever be tried for the atrocities he committed against Jean, against the others, and I can’t stand it.”

“I can’t match your level of hatred, Armin, but trust me when I tell you that I understand.”

He did trust them.

“I don’t know what to do, Hange. For Jean. I’m not doing enough, but I just don’t know what to do.”

“Armin, you’re doing everything you can.” They pulled away and stared into his puffy eyes. “Worry about yourself a bit. You need to realize, at some point, Jean will have to come to us. People can’t change unless they want to.”

“He does want to!” Armin thought back at how frustrated Jean was last night. “He just, he can’t. He’s too confused.”

“You can’t make him less confused, just guide him like you’ve been doing this whole time. It will be enough.”

“I can’t watch him drown anymore. He’s pretending like it’s not having an impact on him, but it’s tearing him apart.”

Hange studied the grief on his face, as if seeing something new. “Did Levi tell you about what happened last night?”

Armin blinked away some of his more pestering tears. When he wiped them away from his face, Hange released him, seeing his outbreak had passed. “No…” he started, unsure of how much Hange knew. “I went to check on Jean after my nightmare, and I overheard…well, what did Levi tell you?”

“Levi woke him up from a nightmare. You didn’t hear it from me, but that guy is a huge softie. He’s spent nearly every night in the living room, bent out of shape that Jean might be suffering in his sleep. So he wanted to be around in case he started thrashing around like he did when Connie tried to wake him up.”

“And?”

“And that’s exactly what happened. Jean started thrashing around. Levi tried to wake him without cause for alarm, but a fat lot of good that did. I guess he nearly landed one. Anyway, after Jean calmed him down, Levi said they had a fairly profound conversation about Jean’s inability to acknowledge his mental state. He didn’t mention what they said, exactly, but…”

Armin knew.

“But?”

“He implied that Jean was in a bad way. It really, really had a negative impact on Levi. I’ve known that man for too long, I can read him whether he likes it or not, but he needed to tell me not just because I’m Jean’s superior officer, but because Levi shouldn’t have to bear that weight alone. Armin, none of us need to be alone. Including you.”

“Well, I…I have Jean, and–”

“You can’t talk to Jean, not about this. And you’re frustrated because Jean isn’t facing what he went through, right? Again, I posit the question, Armin…are you?”

Armin stared at them, then past them. He realized he didn’t know how to answer.

“I know it’s frustrating,” they continued. “I know it’s hard. But all you can do is your best, Armin, alright? And Armin.” They looked down at him and gave him the smallest, softest smile. “I promise you: your best is enough.”

They seemed so assured in that statement, so positive that what they were saying was right, that it freed the tears Armin had spent the last minute trying to cage. “How do you know?” he asked desperately.

“Because Jean’s right – you’ve got too good a heart. He’s not going to falter too much with you around. Just take care of yourself while you take care of him, yeah? And if you need someone, since he’s definitely not booking any slots with me, just let me know. I’ll give you an appointment time.” Hange gave his shoulder a shake. “Okay?”

Armin nodded, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes for the final time. He was tired of crying. “Okay.” He considered a moment, then he quickly turned and hugged Hange tightly. “Thank you, Hange.”

Hange returned the embrace. “You’re welcome, Armin.”

After the watchtower, they spent hours visiting corners of the city that nobody but Hange would know about, speaking on many things, some emotional, others not, and finishing their walk by discussing the reproductive life cycles of starfish. A riveting topic for them both, no matter how many times they revisited it, and Armin’s tears never came back for him. By the time they made it back to the flat, it was past dusk.

The table was alight with stories, each person equally excited to contribute to the conversation. Armin had been so worried for nothing, he had spited himself for no reason at all, because Jean, despite the identical dark circles beneath his eyes that he shared with Armin, was truly laughing. Eren tried to reach over Sasha in order to knock Jean’s water over, a petty attempt at retribution due to Jean explaining that Eren couldn’t pronounce the names of the civilizations whose artifacts they’d seen that day, but it only made Jean laugh harder.

Levi seemed immune to the group’s infectious good mood, but even he barked out a laugh when Hange described what they’d done to Armin in the city center. Armin, despite his beam, pretended to be offended and responded by telling the rest how Hange had a strange enthusiasm for a religion they didn’t believe in. True to form, Hange only smirked and leaned back in their chair with their hands splayed out, a self satisfied action that dared anyone to try and poke holes in their confidence.

Armin had sat at that table, only just that morning, feeling despondent, dejected, and shattered.

The appreciative smile he gave Hange went unnoticed by the rest. Their smirk shifted to something kind, and as Connie began declaring that he was the only normal one at the table, they motioned with their head just barely, an acknowledgement to Armin that the day they shared was important to them, too.

Jean fell asleep on the couch with a leg up on the back, deep in sleep even though the others hadn’t even retired yet. Eren wanted revenge for the teasing at the table and he started to sneak forward to spook Jean awake, but Levi’s hand made a sharp sound when it hit the back of his head and Armin followed a steaming Eren into their bedroom, smiling.

He slept that night without issue.

Chapter Text

They’d had salmon and potatoes that night, lightly drizzled in oil and sprinkled with pepper, paprika, and lemon. Sasha managed to steal double portions, all the while complaining that Niccolo’s salmon was still better. Hange had to keep slapping her hand away from the plate in the center of the table.

Afterwards, Mikasa was organizing what food had been left over when Levi spoke.

“Feeling well enough to help Mikasa exchange these notes at the bank? We’re low on cash.”

Jean walked behind Mikasa, passing a stack of dirty dishes to Eren, when he replied, “If Iie and say no, does that mean I can keep hanging around here doing nothing?”

As she was sure everyone expected, Eren scoffed loudly and insulted Jean while wrenching the dishes out of his hands. And as everyone expected, Jean seemed amused by his reaction. It was a common exchange.

Levi’s suggestion gave Mikasa a lot to think about, leaving her mostly with anticipation to be paired up with Jean for the errand. For one, she was continuously relieved by Jean’s physical recovery and was pleased to know he was well enough to start leaving the flat again. More pressing though was her want to be alone with him so she could study him like she hadn’t been able to do yet.

Armin was nearly always around Jean when they were home together, and even if he wasn’t, Mikasa hadn’t had a single moment alone with him since his rescue. She’d had many opportunities to analyze Armin’s words, his facial expressions, without the influence of others but in contrast, Jean was never by himself.

That strange altercation with Hange had driven her to be more concerned than ever, despite the passing of time and the improvement of Jean’s recovery. She saw their upcoming errand together as an opportunity to glean what she could about…well, anything.

Like she’d already decided, it wasn’t that she wasn’t in the know of whatever this unknown variable was – it was that Armin was outright lying to her about it. Armin never lied to her, but if Mikasa and Eren ever tried to get him to speak with them on the events of the warehouse, it seemed like he was deliberately omitting information. Then, when she and Eren confronted Armin the night that he and Jean had taken that long walk, and Eren tried to ask him what Jean’s anger was sourced from, he just said,

“Hange’s just being a little too rough when they wrap up his shoulder. Jean’s touchy. It’s fine.”

It was an outright lie and Mikasa knew it. Jean would never snap at Hange for wrapping a bandage too tightly and Hange was far too experienced to do that anyway. But it did have something to do with Hange, this much she knew. Did that mean Hange was aware of this mystery between Armin and Jean? Did it involve them?

Was it intel?

This is what frightened Mikasa the most, the idea that Jean and Armin had come across a devastating piece of information during their capture and they couldn’t, for whatever reason, reveal it to the rest. Having Eren in this country already made her nerves shriek with every passing day, so the thought that she was missing information to keep him as safe as possible nearly made her sick. The more Mikasa knew, the more confident she felt in being able to protect him.

If this was what was eating Jean and Armin alive, she needed to know about it.

“Are you sure you’re well enough for this?” she asked as they started down, the building’s door shutting behind them. Their boots clipped against the cement steps before they started across the street. Interest in speaking with Jean did not shadow her still present concern for his well being; this was a four mile errand round trip and his first time in public outside of the walk he’d had with Armin.

“Hm?” he asked distractedly. “Oh, yeah. I’m good.”

“Alright. I just want to be sure.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to carry me.”

“I don’t think that would do well for us keeping a low profile,” she joked. Jean would have laughed at that. But he didn’t. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his coat and while he generally seemed relaxed, there was a seriousness on his face.

“How have you been feeling?” she tried. She realized she hadn’t asked him that question in several days and truly did not know the answer.

In the flat, he’d had variable moods, different shifts in character that were unbecoming of his typically predictable personality. Most commonly, Jean still joked around, teased Eren, laughed; those times were a comfort. Other times, he’d just keep to himself. But then, rarely, he was not one of those two temperaments – instead, he’d do something distressing that would make Mikasa stare.

There were only a few of these instances. The fight with Hange was one, while another had been only two days prior, when many of them were sitting on the floor, playing cards while Jean was laying down on the couch with his good arm behind his head, the healing one flat across his stomach. He’d been staring up at the ceiling. The others were active in the game and Jean was too quiet to be noticed. The others didn’t see how he looked.

Mikasa did.

Jean was many things. Absent was not one of them. Staring up at the ceiling was just the position his gaze was in, but he wasn’t properly looking at it and in fact, it was like he wasn’t even in that room at all. Throughout the hour that the game took, he hadn’t moved an inch, he didn’t even shift. Mikasa was tempted to say his name, simply to see him respond to it, but she thought better than to bring attention to him.

Moments like that reminded her, no matter how normal he seemed at other times, that things were not well. It was difficult to understand what would trigger the changes in him.

“Fine, good,” he answered casually, contradicting the memory she just shook away.

“That couch isn’t giving you too much grief?”

“Better than Connie’s snoring.” He said the answer as if he believed it, but Mikasa knew that couldn’t be right, just like Armin’s reason for that fight with Hange couldn’t be right. Connie’s sleep habits hadn’t bothered him their entire time as roommates and besides, in their history, all of them had shared a single room more than once. Connie’s snoring really wasn’t so bad.

This first lie shook her confidence that she was going to get the truth out of him after all.

“And your shoulder?” Mikasa had never seen the wound and while she knew Hange was being meticulous about keeping the area clean, she had no inclination on how well it was healing.

“‘Bout sealed up.”

“Oh,” she voiced, a bit surprised. She assumed it wouldn’t even be close. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, it was a clean cut.”

He was being strangely short with his answers, although he didn’t sound or look upset. It was unusual, like everything else was unusual. Mikasa thought Jean liked talking with her, making her think that this conversation would be more fruitful than it was shaking out to be. The sigh that crowded her throat was swallowed – she didn’t know how to approach the conversation she wanted to have, especially because he was already displaying a failure in answering easier questions.

They walked in silence most of the trip, all the while Mikasa wondering if there was a way to salvage this. Several different variations of many different questions filtered through her mind but she vetoed them all. There were people who knew how to speak with others, how to word things, which tone of voice to use to communicate effectively, and Mikasa was not one of those people. Everything she thought of would only shine a red light on the fact that she was prying.

Then after some time, she had a thought.

“Does Armin seem okay to you?” She looked up at him, watching the way his face changed upon hearing the words. As she thought, the use of Armin extracted visibility in a way the other questions didn’t.

“What do you mean?” he asked back, a flint of worry in his voice.

“He’s just not himself lately. I’m worried about him.”

The expression that came over him said so much, but Mikasa still couldn’t decipher what it meant. It nearly looked like…like guilt.

“I, um…” His eyes barely met hers. “I don’t know. I think the warehouse just freaked him out.”

Her gaze lingered on his face for a long moment. Mikasa was not like Eren; she didn’t want to force answers out of anybody she cared about, although she could not deny that she wanted to have them, but that look on his face, that heavy weight on his voice, was not what she’d expected.

Silence fell between them once more.

His reaction was not one of someone with dangerous intelligence on the movements of Marley. If that had been the case, she expected a quick change in topic, a scratch at his face as he tried to hide the fact that he was lying to her, or some deflection to keep her off his back, or at the minimum, raised anxiety at the topic. Above all, though, Jean just seemed sad.

It gave her some clarity, at least in the context of her own mind, because now she could see that her nervousness had clouded her judgment – she felt sort of stupid for thinking it could be secret intelligence. After all, it would be unwise to keep the team in the dark about pertinent information like that and Hange had always been so forthcoming in the past.

Confusing waves of thought rolled around her mind, namely a mix of relief and new concern because she didn’t know what to think of all this. Maybe it really was far more simple than all of that. Maybe she wasn’t just feeling stupid, but being stupid for forgetting that they’d simply been through a traumatic ordeal together. The events had been recounted to her several times but she organized them once again to straighten her thoughts.

The old woman’s beating; the capture; the transfer to the warehouse; a long interrogation; production of the knife, followed by an intense fear of Armin’s discovery; Armin’s strangulation; Jean’s redirection; the infliction of Jean’s wound; Jean’s beating; rescue.

After reviewing the timeline, she thought about the implications. When Mikasa had cut Armin loose, she had to peel the ropes out from his flesh, using more power than she was comfortable with to do so. He must have been using every possible ounce of strength he had, charged by adrenaline and either anger, fear, or both to get the binds in that deep in an effort to escape. He did explain how deeply petrified he’d been at being discovered, but would that sort of desperation have driven him to that action? She didn’t think so because his wounds were already steaming by the time she got there, meaning their torturer may have seen his capabilities that Armin was so determined to keep secret.

Wounding himself would reveal himself. It didn’t make sense.

That left her with the assumption that he'd do so in an effort to get to Jean. The stabbing was described as being done slowly, but slowly enough for Armin to inflict that sort of damage? He was deceptively strong but even Mikasa would need a fair amount of time to burn her skin and wear it away, even if the rope was sharpened from strain. She began to think about the math to guess how long he’d been working to get them in so deep.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Jean asked suddenly, his voice quiet. It surprised Mikasa out of her thoughts. At first, she thought this was an opportunity to say something that might manipulate kernels of truth out of him, such as “what’s your opinion?”, or “I hope so, but he’s different now and I don’t understand why. Do you?”.

But when Jean was looking at her, eyes brimming with concern, a brow pushed together by conflict, his voice as meek as she’d ever heard it, she had the thought; and Jean is different now, and I don’t understand why…

Shame washed over her. She’d started this out of contiguous concern for Armin and Eren, yet failed to consider how it would affect Jean himself. How could she be so blinded by her love for the former two that she forgot her affection for the third?

Mikasa’s desire for the truth had done what she would have never wanted to do, which was to hurt someone in the process. And that person she was hurting was the one right next to her.

Trauma, then. It had to be trauma. She’d deliberated the cause of their conduct time after time and never landed on anything that truly explained it, but it just had to be that. Whether she truly understood it or not, whether it made full sense to her or otherwise, it didn’t matter. This simple answer had to be it, and it had to be enough, because her prodding was inflaming it.

What a foolish thought she’d had, thinking this was anything bigger than their own emotions. She felt very small.

“I think he’s fine,” she answered with a small smile, trying her best to sound reassuring. “Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.”

Jean didn’t say anything back and Mikasa didn’t ask any other questions. Armin was a fierce friend and he loved Jean. Aside from Mikasa and Eren, he was closer to Jean than anyone else so being forced to watch him dying before him could be enough to darken his personality. And Jean himself would have lost his life had Kiyomi not found that doctor and despite all their previous dangerous situations, he’d never been so close to death himself. That could be enough to darken his personality.

I’m done, now, she resolved to herself. Whatever it is, it doesn’t concern me or Eren. I’m done.

She’d started the day resolved to learn the truth, but while Jean’s persona had taken many shades back at the flat, sorrow and ache were not ones she’d yet seen on him. His pain was enough to make her doubt everything, but still come to such a fierce conclusion to finally, finally let things be.

They made it to the center and started across the large, open square, headed towards the opposite side that held the city bank. The sudden lack of buildings made them both squint at the high sun, but the midday light was harsh only for a moment before their eyes adjusted.

She was unexpectedly staring at Jean’s face. She’d seen the bruises daily, but the dimness of their flat had a way of softening them compared to how the sun exposed their vibrancy. On the profile facing her were the four smaller ones, in a curve starting below the corner of his eye down to the bottom of his jaw. Their color didn’t bleed like ink on parchment like the opposite side of his face, but rather they were concentrated into small circles, their borders more profound than splotchy.

Jean must have felt her gaze on him. He turned to catch her eye.

“I forgot to grab the bank notes,” she said quickly to cover for herself, making a point to keep her tone even. Although she never asked, she assumed the bruises had been inflicted when the man struck him down. She couldn’t bring herself to make Armin tell her about it and she couldn’t bring herself to listen to it even if she could. “Did you manage to…?”

“Oh,” he breathed, seeming somehow relieved. “Yeah.” He pulled out a wallet from his trousers and gave it a short wave. “Right here.”

Mikasa knew full well that he’d taken them that morning, but she pretended to be reassured anyway. “Great. Thanks, Jean. I really didn’t want to go all the way back.”

“Me neither,” he smiled.

“Hey, you’ve got money to spend!” cried a merchant enthusiastically, practically tripping over his stand to intercept Jean and Mikasa. The city center was often rife with merchants and traders, some of whom had far too much zeal. Mikasa didn’t like that part of new world culture from the moment she’d first seen it.

“Not interested,” Jean said, stepping around him. True to their bold, bumptious nature, the merchant was intent on making a sale.

“Come on, you didn’t even look at my wares!” Afraid of losing a customer who was already too many steps away from his cart, the merchant grabbed Jean’s wrist and gave him a domineering pull backwards. The truly pained gasp that came from Jean’s mouth made Mikasa’s face twist into wide-eyed anger.

She pivoted around in an instant, ensnaring the merchant’s elbows with tight, commanding fingers.

“Let go,” she ordered lowly. Vehemently startled, the man did so and Mikasa released him unkindly. Then she put a hand on the back of Jean’s arm and led him forward, intent to get them away before Mikasa’s anger became more prolific. The pain seemed to radiate – he was cradling his wrist to his chest and she could hear him bite back a groan.

Jean was wearing a coat over his button-down but the merchant must have managed to grab his wrist beneath the cuff of it. A regular passerby would have simply stumbled and yanked their hand away, cursing the merchant and storming off, but the interaction actively harmed him and her own shock at that made her angry at not just the merchant, but herself. Mikasa had begun to forget he was even wounded there in the first place; she rarely saw the bandages.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he said, although he did so through his teeth. It seemed very much not fine.

“Let me see,” she offered gently.

“Let’s just wait until we get back to the flat, alright? I don’t need people wondering why a man has his wrists bandaged.”

She couldn’t argue with that. The city center was a bustling place and it would surely draw curious glances. Mikasa resolved to exchange the notes quickly, but the line inside the building thought differently. After the immediate burst of pain died down, Jean stopped holding the spot. Mikasa thought he was making a point not to.

“Oof,” exclaimed the bank teller as they stamped the notes. “Pretty bad bar fight, buddy?”

“You should see the other guy,” Jean joked, his demeanor light. Mikasa wondered if he’d had that response planned.

The walk back to their flat was opposite to the atmosphere on their way out of it. Once Mikasa resigned to keeping herself out of the way and she stopped asking pressing questions, they found themselves talking about other things, things that encouraged him to speak and act more like himself. Once they exchanged jokes on the audacity of merchants, the topic rich with potential about poor life fulfillment and the nature of accost retail, he was laughing alongside her.

The look of him laughing at her words, rather than them casting a dark shadow upon his face, only strengthened her decision to omit herself from the topic she’d been determined with earlier. It was gratifying seeing him this way, as the quick-witted and sarcastic Jean she’d been so fond of.

Immediately upon entry to the flat, she asked him to sit down at the kitchen table. He seemed disappointed that she remembered to stay true to their agreement in the square.

“Look, Mikasa, I really do appreciate your concern but it’s fine, it just hurt.” He took off his coat and hung it on the tree beside the door, then gestured to take hers and hung that too.

“Just show me the bandages and I’ll leave you alone.” Mikasa raised an eyebrow, communicating her resolve. That familiar Jean nearly rolled his eyes but he could never be annoyed by her – she learned that long ago – so he pulled up his sleeve, understanding she could not be swayed, and his jaw jut out to the side when they both looked upon modestly red stained bandages.

“Sit down.” She was not asking this time. There was a visual repressing of a sigh, but he did as she said. Mikasa considered waiting for Hange to return, knowing they were the one who typically performed this duty, but she dismissed the idea. She and Jean were the first to arrive back for the day and she did feel partially responsible for the incident.

“I can do it myself,” he mumbled when she placed the medicine bag down and sat in front of him.

“Just give me your hand.”

The arm came down along the table. Jean winced as she unwrapped it, then Mikasa winced when she finished. The wounded area, which she was just now seeing for the first time, was over an inch and a half wide, wrapping completely around his wrist and screaming furiously in the light above them. The top layer of skin was gone, leaving wet, peeling strips of fleshy burns that stood out from otherwise dry, thin layers of new skin in the process of hardening. The friction of the bandages being twisted had made several places seep water and blood.

Mikasa blinked away her shock, trying not to let it show on her face, and she moved to wet a cloth with disinfectant. A sigh that was mostly a groan came from him.

“Sorry,” she apologized, almost wishing that she had let Hange do this.

“It’s fine. God forbid it gets infected. Hange will combust.”

“How long until this is supposed to heal?” It surprised her that his shoulder was, as he said, nearly healed up while his wrist still looked so painful, despite it being irritated by the merchant.

“Shideski said up to three weeks.”

Since the night of their rescue, it had only been about half that time. Mikasa flattened the wet cloth against her palm and pressed her hand around his wrist, her fingers holding it in place, and Jean hissed out from between his teeth.

“You must have fought hard,” she noted quietly. Armin’s wrists were annihilated, the skin carved as if by blades and far, far worse than how Jean’s looked, yet he’d still come away more injured there than she’d thought. The condition of his wrists were not Mikasa’s first priority when she first saw his limp, blood-covered body.

“Well,” he started, tensing as he blinked back the hurt. “I thought Armin was a goner. I knew I couldn’t escape but I sure as hell tried.”

“Probably only made it worse when you got a knife in the chest, I’d think.”

“Yeah,” he thought aloud. “Guess so.”

Mikasa glanced up at him, pulling the wet cloth off his wrist. “You know,” she started. “We were having a conversation at the estate, while you were still unconscious.”

“Yeah? ‘Bout what?”

This was a topic she’d also been meaning to bring up to him, but it had been clouded by more deleterious questions that made her almost forget. “We were debating on why you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Stopped Saint Claire from killing him.”

Jean didn’t say anything back. She’d been in the process of finding the salve from the kit, but stopped and stared at him in his silence.

“Sorry,” he started. “I just don’t understand the question.”

“Why did you stop Saint Claire from killing him?” she repeated, a little unsure where his confusion was. “If he’d have died, then the fear of his titan’s discovery would have died too. That’s what Armin says. It was pretty apparent that everything you’d both done up to that point was to protect that secret.”

Jean’s features opened in subtle surprise. “Oh,” he said. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“You weren’t?”

“Well, at first, yes, of course I was. When he had the knife against his face, I was trying to get Sai–” his voice died, somehow unable to say the name, “...his attention away from Armin at that point, so he wouldn’t slice into him and see what he was.”

Trying to follow, Mikasa unscrewed the cap and swiped a swab across the salve. “And when he was strangling him,” she continued, “did you think he was going to go through with it? And kill him?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Jean’s arm flinched when she started spreading the ointment into the opened parts of his wound. “So, if I tell you that Eren said there may have been some logic to your action, back when we were debating what was going through your head, what would you say?”

“I guess, that as usual, that dumbass is wrong. There was no logic. I wasn’t strategizing. Although, it’s nice of him to think so highly of me.”

The smile she held back broke through. Jean and Eren’s rivalry was a strange comfort to them all. “So you did just want to save Armin’s life,” she clarified as she replaced the salve and dug for fresh gauze. “Even if it meant that it could have resulted in his secret being revealed down the line.”

“Well,” he defended somewhat humorously, “I guess when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so noble, does it?

Her smile turned apologetic. “It’s not too deep,” she noted of the burns as she lifted his forearm with one hand to have room to wrap it. “It might not scar too badly.” She hoped it wouldn’t.

“Eh, whatever. Least of my problems.”

Her brow twitched at that, but she decided it wasn’t something to linger on. “It’s impossible to understand what Saint Claire’s intentions were, whether he was going to kill Armin or not, but I think it’s very possible that he would have. And I think you saved his life, Jean. So…” The gauze continued around his wrist. “...Thank you. Thank you for getting his attention away from him, even though it meant it was redirected to you. I really mean it.”

Jean didn’t know what to say, but the gratitude she displayed appeared to humble him. He gave her a single nod as a reply.

Hange, Levi, Connie, and Sasha had returned soon after. It had only taken a few minutes before Hange was pulling Jean over to the couch, desperate to show him something in the encyclopedia that the four of them had come across that day, and the burden of Mikasa’s morning was forgotten.

“How was the bank?” Hange asked Jean as they flipped open the large book. Jean glanced over his shoulder and gave Mikasa a smile, one that she returned, then he turned back to watch Hange thumb over pages.

“It was good. Mikasa did all the work. How was your trip to the factory?”

“Who cares about the factory,” Hange quipped, “I’m bored of cars by now. This bug was disgusting, I can’t wait to show you.”

Then Armin and Eren came home, filling the flat out fully, and Armin’s excitement over his own discovery brightened the entire room. It was the first time he had seemed like himself in so long, his enthusiasm and consistently endearing innocence making Mikasa’s heart sing.

Both of them were dead men walking by the next morning.

Neither finished breakfast. Armin declined their invitation to the museum, which had been a trip they’d been planning for a few days previous, Jean was dragging his feet the whole way there, and the bags beneath his eyes were profound enough to nearly look like bruises.

Then they were themselves once more by dinner.

The emotional whiplash was ripe to send Mikasa to her knees. One moment they were strangers, another they were themselves, and she couldn’t guess who they would be on any given day at any given hour. At least that day, however, she knew what had swept away the sad glint in their eyes – without a doubt in her mind, it had been Hange and Levi.

At dinner that night, Hange and Armin told a few stories about the day they had, many of which included teasing insults and low stake jokes. It was clear that whatever their day looked like, with just the two of them, it had been productive. Mikasa wasn’t there to see it, but hearing it at the table assured her of that case. She had been there, however, to see Levi.

At first, Jean had been isolating himself at the museum, walking behind the rest and stopping to read placards that were too short for the amount of time he gave them. Mikasa thought that when Levi parted from the group and went back to Jean, he was going to scold him for being separated and would encourage him to pick up the pace, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, Levi just stayed back with him, exchanging words that were lost in the noise of the museum. After a time, when Connie and Eren were arguing over the pronunciation of an artifact’s origin, she decided to peek back and keep tabs on the whereabouts of the other two. To her astonishment, she saw Jean smile unwillingly, the corners of his mouth lifting despite his lethargic pace when Levi said something and elbowed him in the side.

Levi’s jokes were often more terrifying than genuine, or at least based in satire, but Jean, who didn’t want to be smiling, couldn’t help it.

He stayed with him the entire time until towards the end of the day when Jean became a bit more energetic and began participating in Connie’s and Eren’s war on pronunciations. Of course, Eren became the target soon after, but it was making Jean laugh so Mikasa never came to his aide. More than once, Eren would turn to her, prodding for her support, but she’d just shrug, smile, and let him fend for himself.

She was glad she did, too, because the table was more animated than it had been since before the events at the warehouse. Armin was smiling practically the entire time and Jean’s humor was making Sasha’s stomach hurt from all the laughing and both were lively, talkative, and she was thrilled to describe them both as happy.

After that, days would take on different forms. Some were quite typical, and those were her favorite. Others were less. Time didn’t erase the oddities, although in some ways, they weren’t so concerning. Armin seemed to be sleeping better and his infectious enthusiasm began to appear more often than it had before, although he still exhibited a need to be near Jean. Jean himself continued to have trouble maintaining a balanced personality, but the more worrying elements became less frequent and more often than not, he was acting like he used to.

Mikasa had told herself, the day she wrapped up Jean’s wrist, that she was going to stop sleuthing. She trusted her friends and she knew they trusted her, and it was something of a relief to let time do the work she’d been intent on doing.

The group often went out together to look at things around the city. They’d seen that ancient relics museum, attended the local university’s lecture on the nature of advanced first aid, frequented the northern city’s Asian market, among many other things through the days that kept them busy and their minds engaged.

One day, they all decided to pursue different interests, as they often did. Jean and Connie had spent the afternoon at the botanical gardens due to the blooming of a large, rare flower. At first, Mikasa was impressed at their cultural acuity – until Connie explained that apparently, the bloomed flower smelled like garbage. That seemed more on par for them.

Mikasa and Eren had journeyed outside the city limits to an unfrequented beach that was mostly rock instead of sand, Levi and Hange were doing an assortment of things, she wasn’t quite sure, and Armin and Sasha had heard about an orchestral concert in the city center. The latter two pairs were still out of the flat.

Mikasa was in her and Sasha’s room, sorting through laundry. It was nearing the evening and the sun’s descent was giving the floor a warm wash of colors. Sasha was the messiest of them all and Mikasa often took it upon herself to organize their drawers in the event that Levi did a surprise inspection, but she also enjoyed the chore; it was mundane. Simple.

“You ever think about running a pair of scissors through this once in a while?” she heard Eren say in the living room. “It’s getting ridiculous.”

“At least it’s cut well.” She wasn’t surprised to hear Jean. Their bickering had picked up in the last several days, but she viewed that as a positive attribute. “Do you ever think about spending more than a minute looking in the mirror?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What’s it sound like, dumbass? Run a comb through yours. It’s not exactly a very flattering look for you.”

“Spend a lot of time thinking about what looks good on me?”

“Not lately, that’s for sure.”

“Well at least it’s not so long I find hairs of it all over the couch.”

“Fuck off!” She heard one of them hit the other. “This is my bed, go sit over there.”

“There’s a perfectly good bed in the room down the hall, Jeanbo, you can’t just claim this couch during the day.” Mikasa rolled her eyes, wondering if she should intervene.

“Would you stop calling me that?”

“When do you ever think I will?”

“Oh my god, Eren, where have you been these past few years when all of us were busy growing up?”

They might not get into it, Mikasa thought wistfully as she set to refolding Sasha’s skirts. Sometimes they would exchange insults but keep their fists as their sides, and since Jean’s injuries, that was all they were allowed to do. It forced them both to keep their tempers under control. Then again, not allowing the two of them to release their frustrations only seemed to bottle a fight she was certain would erupt any day now.

“Oh you grow out your hair and some stubble and think you’re some kind of man? You’re ridiculous.”

“Would you two shut up?” That was Connie, thoroughly annoyed.

“At least I can grow facial hair. I think you’d better take a razor to those baby hairs under your nose, it’s making me embarrassed for you.” Another sound of a hand hitting a body. “Back off, man.”

“Shove me again, and I’m shoving you back.”

“Good luck.” Someone got shoved, shoes skittered across the floor as they probably stumbled, and then a shove was returned. Mikasa sighed dramatically as she closed the drawer and left the bedroom, already understanding that her wish would not be coming true. They were already going at it when she stepped into the living room.

“You’re a bit rusty, Jean,” Eren mocked when he arched away from a punch and shoved Jean back against the kitchen table. Connie, eating a bowl of oats, picked it up before the milk spilled with an offended look on his face.

“Guys!” he protested with a full mouth. Mikasa resigned to watch for the time being, crossing her arms as she leaned against the hallway wall. Intervening in their fights rarely went well and in a way, it was a comfort to see them wrestling again. Both men had changed so much and their scuffle was a reminder of different, somehow simpler times.

They’d been scuffling since the first week of training, after all.

“Imagine how I’d be if I was at top strength. You’d be screwed.” Jean kicked out Eren’s knee. He rejoiced when Eren fell down to his hands. “Ha!”

Eren went to sweep his leg beneath Jean’s feet, but Jean managed to jump over it. Eren sprung upwards with a cocked fist.

“Hey!” Jean exclaimed, using his forearm to deflect the punch. “Easy on the face, Eren!”

“Oh don’t use that as an excuse, you coward!” Eren wrung Jean’s arm down, and Jean barely deflected the second punch with his other arm. Despite Eren’s very real determination to win the fight – he’d never let Jean win even if Jean was on his deathbed – Mikasa could see that he was holding back, making a point to subdue Jean without properly hurting him like he’d done in the past. Although the bruises were nearly gone, light shades of green still remained.

“You’ve been at full strength for ages now,” Eren grunted, cocking his fist and connecting with the knee Jean blocked it with, “you’ve just always been weaker than me!”

When Eren tried to go for his face again, Jean bent down and drove his shoulder into his stomach, making Eren fall back against the couch with a cough and a sputter. Seeing that he was momentarily disarmed, Jean went in for another attack but Eren had feigned weakness and bolted away at the last moment. He got behind Jean, grabbed the inside of his elbow, and pivoted around so it sent Jean swinging behind him. Jean yelped when Eren knocked Jean’s knees out with a strong kick of his shin. The momentum caused Jean to fall harshly and he crashed into the ground when Eren released him.

Eren’s knees hit the floor on either side of Jean’s torso, shifting so he sat astride him, and determined to maintain the upper hand while he still had it, and knowing that Jean’s strength lay in his frontal attacks, Eren purposefully grabbed Jean’s forearms and threw them down on either side of his head. They hit the ground with a loud thud. With a quick lean forward, Eren applied weight to effectively restrain him rather than finishing the fight with a blow.

“There!” he panted, the look on his face self assured in the knowledge that he had won. “Told you that you were–”

The confident look on his face was gone the instant the words died on his lips. He became unspeakably rigid, as if the blood in his body turned to stone, and now immediately alarmed, Mikasa straightened herself off the wall and flicked her eyes down to Jean beneath him.

Any evidence of anger or annoyance was completely gone. His features seemed almost foreign, not quite coming together to look like Jean as she knew him, and on his face was a chilling blend of fear and vacancy. He was visibly drained of color. Jean stared up at Eren with wide, wooden eyes.

“Eren,” he said distantly, his voice strange. “Let go of me.”

Eren immediately released Jean’s wrists as if they’d burned him and as Eren rose clumsily to his feet, he looked down at Jean, stunned. Connie was silent. Eren stared. When Jean stood, his skin somehow blanched even more and Mikasa took an uncertain step forward when she realized he looked unstable; had Eren actually managed to hurt him? But before she could get closer, Jean turned and went for the door.

Eren started hesitantly, “Jean–”

“I’m gonna sit outside. You hurt my shoulder, way to go.” He hadn’t looked back when he said the words and he was already shutting the door before the sentence was done.

The three of them listened to Jean’s shoes clipping quickly against the steps, all too troubled to move.

“Eren…” Connie started after several long moments. “What the hell did you do?”

“I,” Eren said, looking at his hands oddly. “Nothing.”

“He said you hurt his shoulder?” Connie continued uncertainly.

Eren didn’t seem convinced of that and Mikasa certainly wasn’t either. The bewilderment on Eren’s face dulled, diluting to a more subtle confusion, as he moved numbly towards the couch.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mikasa assured, although she could hear the doubt in her voice. “Maybe just give him some time.”

Eren remained silent.

Hange and Levi returned just after nightfall, exchanging remarks on the lunch they’d had earlier as they walked up towards the flat. Levi damned the prices and Hange was quick to agree. Mikasa hoped they had encouraged Jean to come back inside but to her disappointment, only the two of them came through the front door. Hange shook an umbrella into the hall before stepping through.

“Let’s never go there again,” Levi said, offended. “I am not paying for water.”

“Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Hange shrugged off their coat and started towards the bathroom. “If it’s on Kiyomi’s coin, I think we could go again. Damn good wine.”

“Hange,” Levi scolded after them. There was a retort through the bathroom wall that couldn’t be understood and Levi tsked and stepped into the kitchen.

Their bickering couldn’t be appreciated. Mikasa, sitting in the chair perpendicular to the couch, was flipping inattentively through a book, Connie was distracting himself with his new hobby at the table and Eren was pretending to be occupied by the novel in his lap, but since he picked it up, however, she hadn’t seen him turn a single page. Even now, he was staring past the words without acknowledging that the two of them had come home.

Hange emerged from the hallway, shaking off the last of the wash from their hands as they had a look around. They peered about as they crossed the room, clocking Eren and Mikasa on the couch and then Connie at the table.

“Where is everyone?” they asked as they leaned against a chair across from Connie.

“Armin and Sasha are still at the performance,” he informed absently as he fiddled, and failed, with his origami. Hange stared at him, he stared back, and Hange shot up their eyebrows and moved their chin forward expectantly.

Connie mirrored the look. “What?” he asked defensively.

“And Jean?” they asked, emphasizing his name like they shouldn’t have had to clarify in the first place. Connie’s expression fell and the uneven swan dropped from his fingers. He looked over at Eren, who was now extraordinarily alert, twisting around to stare at Hange as if he hadn’t heard correctly. In the silence, Levi came around from his spot in the kitchen, looking every bit uneasy.

The starts of anxiety began to crease Hange’s brow. A hand lifted to accentuate their voice. “Why is nobody answering me?” they articulated, each syllable brusque.

“Well, he’s…” Eren started doubtfully. “He’s outside…”

Hange took a step towards the couch, their hands lifting further with the volume of their words. “Outside where?”

“On the stoop…” Eren’s own voice was thinning. “You would have passed him on your way up…”

Hange’s anger fell into dumbfounded shock, giving Levi the opportunity to step fully into the room and take over.

“What happened?” he demanded. Fear crowded Mikasa’s throat, unwelcome and sharp. Something was horribly wrong. The book fell to the ground as she scrambled up and went to the window, peeling back the curtains to see a stoop aglow in the faint yellow light that hung above the building’s door. Rain had begun to fall.

No one was there.

Eren rose to his feet at the look on Mikasa’s face.

“I don’t know, I swear I don’t,” he said, addressing Levi. “He said he was going to sit outside.”

“What. Happened?”

“We started throwing around insults and we got into a fight. But–” At Levi’s deadly appearance, Eren quickened his words. “It wasn’t that bad, there’s no way I hurt him! It was barely even a fight, I got on top of him in like three minutes!”

“On…?” Levi repeated, his voice dangerous. “You pinned him down?”

The sudden revelation of Jean’s disappearance, mixed with the reactions from their superiors appalled Eren, Mikasa, and Connie to the point where they were simply dumbfounded. Eren just shook his head, clueless at how to respond.

“Captain, it was the least brutal fight we’ve ever–”

“Goddammit, Eren.” Levi prowled forward, sticking his finger out as he pointed at him. Mikasa felt the urge to step in front of him but she kept herself grounded. “I fucking told you not to fight with him.”

“Captain Levi, his shoulder is completely healed–”

“I said do not fight with him for the rest of our stay here. That is what I said.”

“You didn’t want me to aggravate the wound, I know, but–”

“No.” Levi pressed his hands together in an effort to redirect the flood of his anger. His fingertips went beneath his chin. “No, I told you, very clearly, not to fight with him and you interpreted what I meant.”

Hange didn’t seem to be listening. They continued to stand by the table, stunned and with a hand to their mouth.

“Why else can I not fight with him?” Eren demanded harshly. “We fight all the time.”

“Because I told you no, that’s why. It was atrociously clear that it was an order. That’s all you needed to know.”

The fury radiating between them was nearly lethal, their glowers hot enough to draw blood, but all Mikasa could see was the indescribable disconnect between them, between all of them, as the reality of this situation set in. Levi’s aggravation was covering deep concern, Eren’s outrage was veiling his confusion, and there was a piece of this altercation that was missing that stopped this from making any sense.

Mikasa felt her own inadequacy tighten her stomach. She’d known something was off with Jean and Armin and had made the conscious decision to let it go. This was related to it and it was building, it was culminating.

Eren’s mouth opened, his lips staying parted for a few moments as he visibly wrangled with his thoughts. She saw his tongue run along the inside of his teeth, a tell that he was losing control.

When he spoke, his words shook. “What the hell is going on?”

“You disobeyed me,” Levi said resolutely. “You need to trust that what I say is correct, and you didn’t do that.”

“You know something,” Eren challenged. “You know something that I don’t, and so does Armin, and so does Jean! What the hell is it?!”

“Dammit, Eren!” Levi cursed, putting a hand up his forehead and another on his hip. The conflict on him was nearly painful, like Levi knew Eren wasn’t fully to blame for this disaster but he couldn’t help but be angered with him anyway. It truly seemed to frustrate Levi.

A click and a creak came from the front door and for a hopeful moment, Mikasa prayed it would be Jean who stepped through so this could all be sorted out – but it was Armin and Sasha who walked inside. Both were quick to sense the hostility oscillating the room and Armin glanced around cautiously as he shut the door.

“Um, whatever it was…” Sasha said dubiously. “I didn’t do it.”

“What’s going on?” Armin asked, looking between the two men who seemed near to fighting. His eyes went to Mikasa. She opened her mouth to answer, but she realized she didn’t have one. She said nothing.

Consternation washed over him at her silence. When his eyes searched the space, going from face to face, Mikasa knew who it was he was looking for, but the last person he landed on was Hange. Something meaningful was transferred between them.

“Jean is missing,” they said rigidly. There was a dull thud when the bag Armin was holding fell from his grip, landing in the rain induced puddle beneath him.

“What?” Sasha asked fearfully, her previous joke wilting. “Wait, what does that mean?”

When Levi turned away from Eren, he did so tearingly, like it took willpower to do it. Eren’s eyes were still locked onto him as he stepped away.

“Eren and Jean got into a fight,” said Levi, walking over to stand beside Hange. “Eren pinned him down.” Another look to Armin that only Armin was meant to understand. “Jean said he was going to cool off on the steps outside.”

“How long ago?” Armin whispered. For a moment, no one answered.

“It must have been over an hour ago,” Connie said falteringly.

“An hour?” Hange repeated. Their severe inflection only sharpened as they thawed from the shock. “An hour? Nobody thought to, I don’t know, check on him?!”

“He seemed upset,” Eren defended aggressively. “And he told me he would be there, why would I have any reason to doubt him? He’s not a kid!”

“Sixty minutes is a long time to be alone on a damn stoop!” Hange threw a finger towards the wall, “and it’s fucking raining! None of you even bothered to look out the window?!”

“It’s fine,” Armin interrupted, his voice remarkably composed compared to everyone else’s. A hand raised towards the table. “Hange, it’s fine.” A thought seemed to cross his mind, then Armin turned and reached for the door.

“Wait, Armin!” Eren yelled, stepping around Levi. “I’ll come with you!”

“No way,” said Levi tersely, grabbing Eren’s shoulder to stop him.

Armin’s hand was still on the doorknob. “I’ll go by myself. I can find him.”

“By yourself?” Mikasa finally found her voice. “You can’t! Right, Hange?” She looked over to them, but to her continued shock, it seemed like Hange didn’t agree.

“No,” they said, exchanging a look with Armin. “He will go.”

Mikasa’s chest expelled a massive, stunned exhale. “What?”

“I’ll be fine,” Armin assured, turning his head towards her and giving her a reassuring smile through the confines of his worry. “And Jean will be fine, too. It’s not like people don’t go out by themselves all the time around here, right? Nobody is in danger. He just needed to walk it off, he’s somewhere nearby.” The deep breath he took in made her think he was reminding himself of that truth. Armin’s look turned to Eren.

“It’s alright, Eren,” he comforted. “You didn’t mean it. We’ll be back later.”

The door opened, but Armin paused when his eyes were caught by the coat rack. Something made him stare at it and he blinked a few times, then he plucked off a coat – Jean’s coat – and he slipped out the door. It shut behind him.

Only a moment passed before Eren’s glare went between Levi and Hange again, but Mikasa could see a form of grief bordering his rage.

“Tell me what this is,” Eren demanded in a quiet voice. This was the side of him Mikasa had been trying to diffuse, the side of him that weaponized passion and wielded it dangerously. Sasha, now alone in her lack of context, crossed the entryway and sought safety in the chair beside Connie. A comforting hand covered her arm.

“Jean and Armin aren’t even three weeks out from a very stressful, very devastating ordeal,” Levi explained, his tone struggling to maintain evenness. “You were in the car with me when he was actively dying, or don’t you recall?”

“No,” Eren quickly dismissed. “That’s not it. Don’t try and tell me that’s it! We’ve all–”

“He has never been that close to death before, Eren, this is different!”

“He’s been in dangerous situations before and–”

“Eren, be quiet!” Levi shouted, his exasperation overcoming any remaining patience. “Think with your fucking head! You got violent with someone who wasn’t ready for it and that happened because you thought you knew better! I recognize that you’re confused about this situation, but you don’t need to understand it because I damn well told you what not to do. That’s what this comes down to: you not listening to me. Nothing else.”

“Jean and I have kicked the living shit out of each other for years. I know Jean.” Eren’s hands clenched into trembling fists, the aggravation slipping into something else. “I have known him for a long, long time. And something switched in his brain at the end of that fight. I didn’t even recognize him. There is way more to this than you’re telling me.”

“This isn’t,” Levi clipped, “about you. Get over it. I’m done talking about this.”

“Captain!” Eren argued, taking a step forward when Levi turned away. Levi glanced over his shoulder as he headed back towards the kitchen.

“I said I’m done.”

He disappeared. Hange pinched the bridge of their nose, inhaling sharply, and then they followed after him. Mikasa heard the kettle running shortly after.

Eren’s shoulders were rising and falling with every breath, his eyes searching the floor as if it could speak to him and offer him the clarity he so terribly needed. Mikasa stepped towards him, desperate to do something, to comfort him, to find comfort herself, but he walked past her and retreated into the hallway.

She suddenly felt very alone. There were hushed voices in the kitchen, words she couldn’t and wasn’t meant to hear, while Connie was holding Sasha’s hand and describing to her in low tones what had happened while she was away. Mikasa just stood there, unsure what to do, feeling afraid for Jean, sympathetic for Armin, saddened for Eren, confused for herself, and with a hard swallow, she forced her feet to move towards the hallway.

Eren needed her. Something he’d done had distressed Jean to the point that he abandoned the flat and while none of them understood why, she knew Eren was regretful for it. He really, truly cared for Jean, despite their differences and clashing conflicts. They’d long taken to each other as family, all of them, and behind all his fervor and ire, Eren was likely shaken.

Her feet brought her to his bedroom, but the door was ajar – he wasn’t inside. Suddenly puzzled, she went further down to the bathroom, but it, too, was empty. She started back towards her room, wondering if he’d be there, but then she heard a rustling sound from a door she passed over.

It was the room that belonged to Hange and Levi. A horrible shiver pricked the tip of her spine and trickled down, making her muscles twitch and her feet to quicken. No…he wouldn’t…

She didn’t bother knocking. Mikasa slipped into the room, the sounds of the rustling more clear when the door opened, and she had to stop herself from gasping.

“Eren…!” she whispered in horror, quickly closing the door before anyone else could discover what she just did, which was Eren reaching into the corners of Hange’s closet. If Hange or Levi saw this, if they had any, miniscule idea of what he was doing, their trust in him would be viciously, permanently demolished.

Eren didn’t bother regarding her. “I’m going to find out what happened,” he swore as he gripped a buried case and yanked it out. “One way or another, I’m going to find out.”

“Eren, stop,” she pleaded desperately, watching him from the other side of the room. “Surely if there’s something we’re missing, they have a good reason for not telling us and–”

“No,” he whispered as he stood and put the case on the bed. “I need to know if I’m right.”

Mikasa’s breath stopped in her throat, like it had been stolen from her. Her chin jerked backwards as if she’d been physically struck. “What?”

He unclasped the case and began flipping through the many folders inside, each one a different topic on what they’d learned, seen, and experienced in Marley. Fingers moved quickly as he scanned them.

“All this time,” he continued, sounding anguished, “I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why Armin’s been lying to us. Why Jean seems like his normal, asshole self one day, then a husk of himself the next. I couldn’t nail it down, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation…until…” Sorrow took over him. “Until that look he gave me,” he forced past quivering lips.

“Eren…” Her words seemed far away. “What are you saying?”

“I didn’t hurt his shoulder, Mikasa.” The beige folders shimmied together. “The second I saw that switch happen, when he looked up at me the way that he did…” A few strands of Eren’s hair fell from behind his ear as he shook his head. “It wasn’t me he saw.”

Something like apprehension flickered over his face and she knew he must have found the folder on the warehouse incident. His nostrils flared when he slid it out of its confines.

“I spent the last hour going through it in my head,” he continued, gripping the item. “I was trying to convince myself I was wrong. But Levi’s response…and Hange’s…” His thumb slid between the covers of the folder. “I need to know if I’m right,” he repeated faintly, speaking mostly to himself.

“Right about what, Eren?” she emphasized, feeling herself grow nauseous from an implication she didn’t know how to interpret. “What are you talking about?”

Eren didn’t answer.

He just flipped open the folder.

Chapter Text

It was a surprise how collected he felt. Beneath his composure were the beams of concern and the columns of dismay, but Armin wasn’t afraid. Jean was capable of staying out of serious trouble and despite the grave stumble of his stability, Armin knew he could take care of himself. Wherever he was, he wasn’t in danger. He was just alone.

The rain pelted his coat. Beads of water rolled off the gabardine. When Armin exited the flat, it had been almost on instinct, like his body was moving before he even fully processed the situation, and he hadn’t the forethought to bring an umbrella. Instead, he protected Jean’s coat by wearing it over his own, it being large enough to cover him but too bulky to be tucked inside. But it was a cold night. It kept him warm.

He had been walking for half an hour.

“Eren pinned him down.”

“Jean is missing.”

A tightness came over his chest, almost making it physically ache. For him to have left on his own…

Armin didn’t know how damaging their fight had been, but Jean’s state of mind must be worse than ever for him to have done this. He was the best among them in responsibility and was capable of rapid-fire decisions and effective actions. Directly disobeying such concrete orders – orders that were designed to keep everyone safe – was explicitly out of character.

Armin wanted some of those positive qualities to have kept Jean close by the flat, despite his disappearance, but Armin’s spirits continued to plummet at every block he checked and found nobody. Not even a passerby, a civilian walking their dog, or a homeless vagabond peppered the shiny cobbled bricks. The rain storm was too severe and he walked alone.

A familiar guilt swirled in his stomach, but Armin consciously deflected it. He couldn’t have prevented this. He could never have predicted Eren would accidentally trigger Jean into a presumably dissociative state, and it wasn’t Armin’s fault – it wasn’t anybody’s but that man’s fault – that it happened. A cold breath inhaled through his nostrils as he forced himself to recognize this, then a cloud of cold air puffed out from his mouth when it was released.

There was a covered tram bench at a nearby intersection, its metal roof being battered by rain, and Armin walked dejectedly to it for a brief reprieve from the storm. With a frustrated flick of his hand, Armin’s hood went down and his rear fell onto the seat.

The buffer around their flat was empty. Jean wasn’t there and Armin didn’t have the time or resources to wander the entire city aimlessly in order to find him. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees and his chin into his fingertips as he strategized.

“Where could you have gone?” he muttered into the night.

By now, Jean may have returned home and Armin simply didn’t know – then that idea was quickly dismissed. Armin knew full well that Jean wasn’t going to come home, not for a long time, unless Armin found him first. Even worse, although Jean wasn’t in danger of other humans, he was without a coat in a nearly violent rainstorm that accompanied chilly temperatures. Armin wasn’t afraid of Jean being in danger, but he was beginning to feel the flutter of anxiety at the thought of Jean accidentally being a danger to himself.

If he had entered a dissociative state, which Armin was suspecting considering the actions he’d taken, would he have exited it by now? Would he have the capacity to seek shelter, or keep track of where he was so he wouldn’t become lost?

Where would Jean’s subconscious bring him in order to protect him? Would it protect him at all?

The precipitation was immense. It was unlikely that he was outside in it, even if he wasn’t in his right mind. Jean had strong instincts for survival and he wouldn’t just be sitting in it, at least not for this long. By now, it had been nearing two hours since his disappearance.

He must have gone somewhere.

There were a wide variety of abandoned flats or old buildings. It was possible he’d find one, just to be alone and dry off, or maybe he found himself beneath a covered tram bench, similar to the one Armin was under. The tram station itself; a stoop in an alley, protected by a thin awning; the watchtower on the cliffside; the goddamn horse stables near the racing track; somewhere. He must be somewhere.

“After she gave it to me, everything I was feeling…physically and…in my head…just washed away.”

Armin lifted his chin out from his fingers, his eyes widening as the memory came flooding back to him. His anxiety diminished like a rag clearing a spill, the realization a resounding confirmation, and a puddle splashed as he ran out into the rain before his hood was even fully covering his hair.

He felt remarkably stupid for not thinking of that first.

It took Armin fifteen minutes to reach the location, his breath coming heavily as he slowed his pace. The sign protested rudely against the storm, rain smacking it and wind creaking the screws that bolted it above the doorway. The windows were covered by curtains but the lights inside, although dim, were on. Armin walked beneath the swaying sign and pushed open the paint-peeled door.

The rug beneath him was mostly dry, a testament to the number of inhabitants inside. He scuffed his boots against it, finally catching his breath as he peered around. There were a few people scattered about, some in booths, others at rickety tables, but there couldn’t have been more than seven. The chatter was soft. The air had a soft haze from a man’s cigar.

Jean’s back was to him. His white collared shirt was clinging to his skin and the occasional drip of rain collected in the puddle beneath his uneven barstool from his still storm-soaked pants, but his hair was only damp. He must have been in here long enough for evaporation to chase away the waterlog.

“Hey,” Armin puffed, taking the seat beside him. The comfort of locating him washed over him more profoundly than the rain had.

“Hey.” Jean didn’t look up and had no physical reaction to Armin’s presence. Armin watched him for a long moment, feeling disheartened by the response, then he glanced down at the drink between his fingers.

“Are you drunk yet?”

Something must have been awfully interesting about that glass because Jean didn’t seem to hear him. Armin glanced up at the barkeep, down at the other end of the counter and the man, short and with a wiry gray beard, looked between them. Jean’s appearance was an odd one, but Armin’s interaction with him seemed to assure the barkeep that if there was going to be a problem, at least it wasn’t his to deal with. He was quick to ascertain the dynamic and the barkeep lifted up a hand to Armin. Four fingers were up.

“So.” Armin nudged the glass. “Is this number four or five?”

Jean didn’t answer. The pub was quiet, save for a tired record playing somewhere off in a corner, and the barkeep went back to his business, certainly pleased to see a more composed person dealing with the downcast, soaking wet man with too many drinks. Bottles clinked together as he organized.

“You know we have to go back, right?” Armin asserted gently. Jean twisted the glass in his fingers, watching the way it left rings of condensation on the muddled counter. Armin studied him closely, then suddenly started as he peered closer.

“What the hell happened to you?” he breathed, reaching out to thumb off a streak of mud from Jean’s face. Aside from the way his clothes stuck to his body, a testament to how long he must have been outside, Jean had a few superficial scrapes on his face and washed away mud stained several parts of his clothing. It seemed as though he’d fallen somewhere, and not just a stumble in the road but more like a proper slip down an embankment or a grassy knoll. Armin’s blanket of comfort shifted at the sight of him.

It shifted even more when Jean continued to ignore him.

How many pubs had Jean been to before this? There were clumsy people in their squadron, namely Connie, but Jean was not one of them. Certainly a fall like that must have been taken under stimulant influence. Certainly, this bizarre state he was in must have been exacerbated by stimulant influence, right? Had Armin only been lucky to have guessed he’d be here?

Armin had chosen this pub because Jean had been before and had remarked how well he liked the quietness of it. It wasn’t a well-known place, being the type of pub that seemed to only be patronized by the same individuals who likely sprinkled the seats now.

If the barkeep was to be believed, Jean had enough drink to be seeing double. If he’d had even more prior to this, he should have been on his back. Armin’s stomach tightened terribly. He almost wanted Jean to have had those unknown number of drinks prior to this pub, just in the hopes that it could be an explanation for his stumble, for his inability to engage with Armin’s attempts to speak with him.

“Did you go anywhere before this?” Armin asked, leaning forward to try and catch the pair of eyes still gazing distantly at the glass on the counter. “Any other pubs?”

Jean’s face didn’t change and he continued to twirl the glass. If he was drunk, which he absolutely was, he was not the drunk Armin had seen so many times. That Jean had been affectionately silly. That Jean made confessions a sober Jean wouldn’t make, but superfluous ones, like when he told Connie he always wanted to rub his hair, and the wit of his sarcasm was even sharper, more pronounced, and more frequently charming than brash. When Jean drank, he was quick to smile.

This Jean was someone he didn’t know.

“Did you?” Armin repeated.

The ridges of the glass shimmered as they rotated slowly around, the smooth bottom scratching lightly at every turn. He didn’t want to snap at him or create a scene, they were in a pub after all, but what the hell was he supposed to do?

The barkeep finished a task and walked over, casting a glance at Jean before acknowledging Armin, who had to rip his eyes away from Jean when the man spoke to him.

“Anything to drink, friend?”

“No, thank you…” Armin reminded himself that he needed to maintain balance despite the toppling of his thoughts. “But I’ll cover his coin, we’re going to leave soon.”

“Thirty-six.”

Armin nodded as he reached into his coat pocket, feeling for the coin purse he’d taken with him when he and Sasha went to the center. The currency jangled and clapped as he set down several pieces and slid it across the counter. With a wave of his hand, the barkeep communicated the tab was paid.

“I can’t go back, Armin.”

Armin could have gasped in relief at this first proper answer and he looked swiftly over at him, but Jean still hadn’t otherwise budged or stopped that infernal twirling.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.” Jean was speaking, albeit shortly, but his eyes still didn’t move from their razor-sharp hold on the glass. Armin sucked in a breath.

“Eren didn’t know what he was doing. It won’t happen again, alright?”

Silence followed. Shit, Armin thought. He’d been speaking and right when Armin thought he was about to thaw, he’d fallen directly back into ice.

Whatever Jean was feeling, if it was anything at all, it wasn’t going to come out cohesively and he certainly wasn’t thinking straight. Hours had passed at this point. Whatever mental state he’d been in immediately following the fight had warped to…to whatever this was. Armin was completely out of his element and his fingers tapped against the hem of his coat, or more accurately, Jean’s, as he pondered how to approach this.

“Well you can’t stay here. They’re not open all night.” Armin just needed something to cross Jean’s face, anything, but he was mindlessly twirling that damned glass, eyes open but seeing nothing, and Armin wanted to rip the drink from his fingers and hurl it at the nearest wall. Instead, he straightened himself, his shoulders drawing upwards as the frustration filled his lungs, as he decided to try something different.

“Jean, you look…so pitiful right now.” This was not the direction he thought he was going to take this, but Jean was an honest, direct person. Perhaps he’d respond to the same qualities. “You’re drenched, your hair is in disarray, you’ve got random bits of mud and grass on you, and you look like you live under a bridge.”

A flicker of emotion flitted across his face, making Armin’s hopes soar. He kept the cheer off of his features.

“You nearly sounded like Levi for a moment,” Jean mumbled. Armin blinked back his desire to fall into a more comforting, altruistic mode, but he could finally see a piece of Jean. This tactic was working. He wasn’t going to let it go.

“If he saw you right now, I think he’d find the nearest hose and powerwash the drink and dirt off of you.”

Jean made a subdued face at his glass, his jaw tensing a touch. Armin’s fingernails bit into his palms as he rejoiced further. It took a lot to insult Jean, at least if you were someone other than Eren, so he wasn’t concerned about actually inflicting damage. He just needed to shock him out of this stupor.

“And despite it being so damn cold out,” he continued, “that drink is making you sweat alcohol. I can smell it from here. And here I brought your jacket, thinking you’d be chilly.”

The muted expression liquesced even further, his eyebrows twitching at the words and Jean’s eyes finally, finally moved to flick at the coat Armin was wearing; it was a shock they could even move at all.

“That…” Jean trailed off. The glass stopped twirling. Oh, thank god.

“Is your coat, yes,” Armin finished. The confidence in his voice did not match the shaky relief in his belly. He gestured to himself. “I look like a child in it.”

Jean’s eyes, very slowly, drifted up from the coat to look at Armin. Someone familiar was in those eyes and cautiously, he waited.

“I didn’t go to any other pubs,” Jean said firmly. Armin could have melted in gratitude, but he maintained his tense composure when he realized the implication; the drink wasn’t to blame for the frozen state Armin was trying to chip Jean out from, and it wasn’t responsible for the fall he’d clearly taken sometime after exiting the flat.

“No?” Armin’s eyes held his. He was afraid if he’d look away, Jean would find that goddamn glass again. “What did you do before this, then?”

“I don’t…” Jean was the first to look away. It seemed as though he was realizing his answer. “I don’t exactly remember.”

That was definitely not what Armin wanted to hear.

“But you know you didn’t go to a pub?” he clarified.

“I don’t have anything on me.”

This raised a coherent point; without currency, he wouldn’t have been able to leave a bar. It also raised a noncoherent action; if Armin hadn’t found him, he could have found himself in some trouble with the barkeep. He decided to have that lecture with Jean another time.

“Come on.” Armin stood from his chair. “Let’s get you cleaned up a bit before we head back. They’re going to think I threw you down a hill.”

He grabbed the back of Jean’s arm, applying gentle pressure to convey his words. The crack in Jean’s previous catatonic state couldn’t be allowed time to seal so Armin would need to keep the momentum of his strategy going. Indeed, Armin’s direct actions had Jean pick up the glass to drain it before standing, but Armin reached over him and took it out of his hands.

“No to that.”

“Armin.”

“No. Come on, get up.” It felt unnatural ordering Jean around like this. It was the man in Armin’s hand, drenched in storm and a little flushed from booze, that typically had the level head and effective discretions. “If you go back home looking like this, you’re going to draw more attention to yourself than you’ll like.”

Jean’s hollow expression cracked fully, the spell seeming to have officially broken, and he leaned his forehead into a few fingers as those eyes filled with feeling and closed shut. “Let me finish the drink.”

“You’re already drunk, you don’t need any more. And half a glass of…” Armin lifted the rim to his nose and winced, “whiskey isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“Not enough,” he murmured into his palm.

“Not enough what?”

“Not drunk enough.”

Seeing him unresponsive was upsetting, frustrating even, but Armin ripped off that cloak and revealed the broken man underneath and it somehow felt even worse. He wanted that wash of comfort from earlier back – he wanted a reason to celebrate. Now, he was pulled down by an unfairly familiar weight.

“Come on,” he forced out, not allowing his despair to choke the words. He gave Jean’s arm a small tug. “Get up, Jean.”

Jean’s hand pressed silently into the counter and he lifted himself from the seat. Armin could see the scar, raised and barely formed, pressed against the wet shirt and his eyes glanced down to the wrists but the cuffs covered them; he wasn’t sure of their state. Jean stepped forward. He immediately stumbled.

“Woah.” Armin quickly tightened his grip on him. The whiskey in the other hand sloshed at the movement. “You alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, Armin, I’m not that drunk.” He almost sounded annoyed. It was an emotion, at least, and not a distraught one, so Armin loved the sound of it. Still, he doubted the words. He certainly seemed that drunk.

Jean managed to follow Armin to the back of the pub, his hand pressing against chairs or tables to keep himself from stumbling again. Armin gestured to the barkeep, communicating that they were going to the washroom first, but the man barely acknowledged him and truly didn’t seem to care one way or another.

“In.” Armin opened the door and gestured inside. The washroom was in a back hallway, plenty removed from the few other patrons and unlikely to be needed anytime soon. “I need to get that mud off of you.”

“What mud.” Jean walked past him and braced himself against the wall a moment before nearly falling down onto the closed toilet.

“Look in the mirror.”

“I’m already sitting.”

With a click, the door closed behind them and locked. The whiskey momentarily stained an already off-color porcelain sink when Armin splashed it in, but it swirled down the drain when the faucet was turned on. The smell of liquor nearly made Armin gag – he washed out the glass, splashed enough water to drown the whiskey, then pushed the glass into Jean’s hands. It wasn’t going to be the best tasting water, but it would hydrate him.

“Drink this.”

Where he expected a rebuttal now that Jean had emerged from the husk he’d been in, Jean instead said nothing and simply obeyed. The dimness of the washroom complimented the dimness of the pub it was cornered in, making Armin strain his eyes as he searched beneath the sink for a handrag and giving him a pang of annoyance. There was a soft clink; Jean had placed the empty glass on the counter. Armin’s hand wrapped around a cloth, he stood, refilled the glass, then wet the cloth.

Jean drank that too. At least satisfied with that, Armin placed the glass aside and stepped in front of him.

“So you don’t remember how you got to be so beggarly?” he asked as he started wiping at the mud stuck to Jean’s ear. Jean, feeling the effects of the alcohol more profoundly now that he had both physically moved from his previous spot and had left his episode behind, barely had his eyes open as Armin worked.

“Flashes.”

“Of how you fell?”

“I guess so…” His words sounded less stiff. “I think I tripped….”

“I’m telling you, you must have.” Armin brushed against one of the larger cuts on his cheek and Jean winced. Caring for him like this should have felt unnatural, like he was wiping the dirt off from an unwilling child, but it occurred to Armin that it wasn’t like that at all. Jean needed someone – no, not anyone, but Armin himself – and taking that role was like slipping on a well-worn coat.

He leaned over and rinsed the rag, making the water turn brown as it pooled down the drain. At least the smell of whiskey was gone, although it still lingered on Jean’s breath.

The rag rubbed at his temples. Jean’s brow was furrowed together as he let Armin work, but his chin swayed slightly at every motion Armin made – Armin pressed his palm gently against Jean’s cheek to stabilize him. He was surprised to feel him lean into the touch.

If Jean did remember what happened, he wasn’t going to be able to recount it in this state. Sweat accompanied the circles beneath Jean’s eyes and although Armin had set out to clean him of dirt, Armin dabbed at the spots anyway, as if he could wipe away the inebriation or the bone-deep exhaustion that was becoming more and more obvious.

“Armin,” Jean mumbled, speaking mostly to himself. The weight of his head pushed more into Armin’s hand. “Always watching out for me.”

Armin glanced away from the spot he’d been cleaning to look at Jean’s now half lidded eyes. Something about that sentence reminded Armin of dread and he was washed with pure, unplaced fear – like a memory becoming the present, if only for a moment.

Jean had said those exact words when he was on the warehouse floor, his uneven voice mixed in with thunderous gunfire and the stench of blood.

He’d said it when he was trying to tell Armin goodbye.

“What’s that mean?” asked Armin quietly. He hadn’t understood what Jean meant then and he still didn’t now, and as much as he never wanted to hear the words again, he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Just–you’re just, you’re looking out for my dumb ass,” he continued. “All the time.”

Armin leaned over and rinsed the rag again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His statement came out somewhat dismissive, but Jean was drunk. Of course he was looking out for him now, they’d been bound together by this traumatic experience. It didn’t need vocalizing.

“You’ve always listened to me,” Jean explained, his eyes blinking open, as if engaging in the conversation woke him further. “Heard what I had to say. Believed in me. I…I can’t say that about everyone.”

The affection in Jean’s gaze when he looked at him was making Armin’s guilt surface so he released his face, looked away, and used his free hand to gently grip the base of a tangled lock of hair. He began to pull at the stubborn bits of mud without responding, not really knowing how to.

“We can talk about the amount of lives I owe you, too. There was the fight with, with Annie, first time…” Jean continued, a little distracted. “And when Reiner knocked me off the horse…” His gaze traveled as he waved a hand around. “Then when I had a gun to my head…” The hand went to his chin. “Hmm, I’m sure I’m…I’m missin’ some…though three is one hell of a record…”

“Well, you should know by now that you’re important to me.”

“Oh, and dealing with all this shit. Let’s not omit that, huh? You came out to find me,” where once he was unresponsive, now the words were spilling out of him, this sudden lucidity surprising Armin, “in a goddamn rainstorm, and before that you helped me walk, made sure I was eating, helped with all the panic attacks–”

Armin’s hand stopped working: did Jean just admit he’d been having panic attacks?

“–then keeping everyone off my back, then taking the short end of the stick to protect me–”

“Woah, stop there,” Armin said, a palm pressing back into Jean’s cheek so he’d look at him. “What do you mean, the short end of the stick?”

“Come on, it’s not fair I asked you to keep quiet about everything but you did anyway.”

Armin just stared, consternation crossing him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you can’t talk with Mikasa or Eren, even though I know you must wish to…and I’m sorry…I asked you to do that…”

“No.” He grasped his face with both hands now, the rag dangling off his pinky. “Hange said, that very first night, that what happened to you belonged to you. That means it was yours to decide. I’ve always wanted that, even before they said the words.”

“Even though…you’ve had to lie for me…?”

“Yeah,” Armin assured immediately. “This is not about them. This is yours.”

Jean blinked up at him. A beat passed. “Armin…”

“Yes?”

“If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself?”

Armin swallowed, immediately nervous to hear whatever could follow such a question. He let his hands fall away from Jean’s face once again. “Of course.”

“I’m…” Jean’s eyes left his for only a moment before they came back. Another several moments passed. “I think I’m...scared…because of what happened to me, I’m scared…”

Armin tensed instantly.

It had taken two and a half weeks and four drinks to get Jean to say those words to him. It always was going to need to be Jean to open this door and he finally, finally did so – but the room’s flooring was made of eggshells, fragile and prolifically scattered. If Armin took any misstep, he could force that door to be shut and sealed for good.

Fingers twitched as he forced his hand to start cleaning off that lock of Jean’s hair again. Nonchalance was the safest option. It would give Jean the space to speak without the weight of what would soon be in Armin’s eyes.

“What are you scared of?”

“Of being this…forever…”

“Being what?” Armin clarified gently. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“This feeling inside me…it’s not maintainable…” The lock of hair gave a little tug when Jean shook his head. “I can’t do this forever. I can’t feel like this every day. I’m barely managing as it is, thinking that it’ll go away but it never has, and I think one moment I might be alright and the next I’m so distracted I can’t even hear what’s happening around me–” the words picked up speed, “–and, and after today, fuck, what if it never ends? What if this happens again? What if I royally fuck something up? What if–”

“Hey.” Armin peered over to catch Jean’s wide eyes. There he was – drowning in himself. By now, Armin was accustomed to the way Jean could spiral and for the first time, watching it happen didn’t fill him with nerves, he wasn’t pained with sorrow or his own sense of inadequacy. He knew he could get Jean through it and he knew Jean was capable of coming out the other side. “Ground yourself.”

The stability of Armin’s gaze made Jean blink and straighten his back a touch. He considered a moment, wrangled his thoughts, and willed away at least an edge of the fear. “I’m just afraid this will never stop,” he said, more slowly. “And I think I’m terrified of that.”

“I get that. I understand.” The cloth was flipped so a clean corner could be used. There was more mud in his hair than he initially realized but he was also grateful that it gave his hands something to do. “But you’re at an all-time low right now, Jean. That feeling is all encompassing, right? You can’t even think of the simplest thing, like what the time is, because of how overwhelming this fear is?”

Jean’s features turned up in a mix of compassion and suffering, seeming so grateful that Armin understood him so easily. He nodded.

“That’s because it’s so fresh. Give it time. It’s only been just over two weeks, and you’re particularly prickly because of what happened with Eren. Time will lessen the intensity. Tomorrow, you’re going to feel bad. But not as bad as you feel right now. And the day after, you’re still going to feel bad. But not as bad as the day before. And guess what? I’m gonna be there with you. Even if we’re apart for a few hours, it won’t be long, so you will never do this by yourself. It’s going to get easier. You’ll feel at least a little better tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay…” he whispered. His eyes, once furtive, seemed to settle back to the exhaustive state they’d been in. “Thanks.”

“Please don’t thank me.”

“Why?”

“Because–” He stopped himself. Saying those words had been a slip.

“Because why?”

Armin sighed loudly. If Jean’s courage to speak was because of the drink, then Armin’s was because of Jean’s. If Jean had braved his terror, Armin should too. They’d both gone far too long without doing so. “Because if I had just listened to you back at the market, you wouldn’t even be holed up in this pub with mud in your hair.”

An awkward silence followed. Armin had avoided this conversation for so long and he truly hadn’t meant to initiate it now. Of all the times to bring this up, why did it have to be now?

“Ah…” Jean started. “So you do blame yourself.”

Armin fiddled with the corner of Jean’s jacket, the material creating friction between the pads of his fingers.

“Is that why you’ve been helping me so much?”

“What?” Armin started, his face jerking back. “No, of course not. I mean, yes, I–I do blame myself, but–”

“I was hoping you weren’t doing that.” Jean seemed to grow even more tired. His fingers wrapped around his forehead. “Mikasa was right.”

“What?” he said again, his mind slapped once more with confusion. “Wait, what did Mikasa say?”

“Armin,” he admonished vehemently, his eyes opening fully to give them the most life they’d had all night. “I don’t blame you. And I’m the one this happened to, so I get to decide.”

“Oh, Jean, I don’t–”

“I get to decide,” he repeated, this time more quietly.

“Jean…” Armin watched Jean lean into the wall to his right, his head pressing against the wallpaper. The conversation really did seem to take the life out of him. Armin softened, knowing he didn’t have much of a choice. “Alright,” he conceded. “If I say it’s not my fault, will it help?”

“Don’t lie to me, Armin.”

Armin let a breath stutter out of him. He blinked down at his feet, his hands falling to his side so the cloth hit his pants. He wasn’t going to lie to Jean. Never, ever would he lie to him. Especially not now.

“I know I didn’t do this to you, Jean,” he admitted carefully. “I know I had good intentions when I put us both in danger. I can’t say I don’t feel partially responsible. I always will. But…it isn’t my fault. I’m coming to terms with that. I’m sorry for implying otherwise.”

“Say sorry to yourself, too.”

“Pardon?”

“You should be sorry you’re doing this to yourself. You suffered too man, it’s not fair.” His eyes were still closed, head pressed into the wall, but his voice was firm. Armin toyed with the rag. Then he set to wiping at the drunken sweat forming on his neck.

“Alright. Sorry, Armin,” he humored. In a strange way, the coil inside him loosened and it did make him feel better.

“Good job.”

Armin felt his lips tug. “Thanks, Jean.”

“And I know you’re helping me because you’re a good friend. Sorry I can be an ass, sometimes.”

“I’m helping you because you’re important to me. And stop saying sorry.”

“I will if you will.”

The lips tugged up fully, the smile unbidden as appreciation pushed a laugh out of Armin’s nose. “Okay,” Armin agreed. “Deal.”

“So you’re really gonna make me go back?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything, Jean. But you know just as well as I do that you do have to go back. The whiskey in you is making you think otherwise.”

A moment passed. “Well…”

“Well?”

“Well I’m scared of that too.”

“Of?”

“Going back.”

“Don’t be. Eren will understand.”

“But understand what?” Jean whispered, his eyes opening. “What am I supposed to say to him?”

The truth was, Armin didn’t know. When he stepped into that room, the flat had been fully charged in fury, tension, and escalating conflict. It had only increased in the short minutes Armin was home, the energy so palpably hostile it had nearly taken his breath away; he couldn’t fathom what they’d come home to.

Eren was beyond livid, his demands for the truth so implicit that Armin feared he could have actually started a physical altercation with the captain, despite that being the last thing he would have done in the past. But Armin didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault. There was sorrow in his angered features, regret at doing something he didn’t know he’d done, confusion for a situation that should have never happened.

“You could tell the others,” Armin suggested cautiously, his voice almost small. “I’ll be with you. We can do it together.”

“I can’t, Armin…” Jean looked away again. “I’m sorry I’m making you keep it to yourself. I really am. But I can’t.”

“Hey now, we had a deal to stop apologizing. But really, I don’t mind, Jean, it’s not me I’m worried about.” He placed the rag along the rim of the sink. Jean was as cleaned up as he could be for now. “But you’ll keep this to yourself? Forever?”

At first, Jean just shrugged – but Armin knew there was little about this scenario that he considered dismissive. It was simply a deflection, a way for him to prolong the shine that formed in his eyes soon after. Jean’s ability to mask his emotions had been a selfish blessing for Armin, a gift he had no right to be given, because seeing them now was near too much.

“I’ve tried to imagine telling them…” Jean explained, his voice going heavy. “And just the thought sends me reeling.”

He shifted on top of the toilet, his arms brushing against his lap. Quietly, Armin reached for one and began unbuttoning the sleeve. Rolling it up a few inches revealed the soggy, messy looking bandage beneath.

“I’ll tell them, if you want,” Armin offered as he unwrapped the wrist. When he squeezed it over the sink, a stream of unclear water dribbled onto the porcelain. Then it was tossed into the waste bin. “It doesn’t have to come from you.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Why not?” Part of him felt like asking these questions was some sort of violation considering he may not get these answers if Jean was sober, but he equally knew this conversation had to happen before they got home. If he was going to get Jean out of this with as little pushback from Eren as possible, which he fully intended to do, he’d need to start formulating a plan. Besides, Jean’s words weren’t nearly as slurred as he expected. Perhaps his veins weren’t as filled with booze as he’d originally thought.

“Because they’re still talking to me like it didn’t happen, Armin. And sometimes I can pretend like…” The shine in his eyes grew more profound, making his eyes look as though they were made of polished glass. “Like maybe it didn’t. I tell them the truth, and…and that goes away.”

The wrists would need simple cleaning when they returned home, but it was beyond what Armin could do now. He simply unwrapped the other to prevent the stagnation in foul water and repeated the steps.

“But if you tell them, maybe you can really start moving past this,” he said. “How can you leave something behind if it’s always in front of you? Yes, it will be…very hard. It will be a very hard conversation. They will be angry, and sorry, and confused. And sad. But after some time, the shock will wear away and this can fade into the background. It will be part of your story, like all our experiences are part of our story. That doesn’t mean it defines us or shadows us every day.”

“Eren’s never going to pick a fight again.”

“Well,” Armin tilted his head in disagreement, “I don’t know about that.”

“I like kicking his ass. I like our fights.” Jean tapped a fist down onto his knee as he spoke. “I know that sounds weird, and yeah, I’m actually irritated as hell by him, but…it’s a comfort, in a way. It’s familiar. It works for us. And that’s gonna go away when he finds out.”

His tone turned hateful and his previously flat face twisted, making the tears finally spill. They rolled quickly down his face. “Why did I react that way?”

“Jean, no,” Armin interrupted immediately. “Don’t start blaming yourself. There is no way you could have prevented that response.”

“I didn’t…” Jean’s gaze drifted. “I didn’t even see Eren anymore…”

Armin’s mouth closed, his eyes growing large at the words he feared might follow.

“Eren threw me down against the ground,” Jean continued, his previous self-directed anger gone, “and I saw…him. And I smelled the blood. In our own fucking flat, my nose burned with the smell of all that blood. And…and his jacket…the animal hide that lined the inside of it…I smelled that, too.”

Armin took an involuntary step backwards. The descriptions of Jean’s lucidity during his assault was not something he’d been prepared to hear and it struck him like a gunshot wound, piercing him and languishing his entire body. “Jean…”

“He was sneering down at me. It was him, clear as anything.” The words were slow. “My tastebuds smarted at the salt on his palm…” His voice was quiet. “He had a loose thread on the neckline of his shirt. Every time he shifted above me…every time he…reached deeper into my pants…it floated for a moment. I didn’t even realize it was there, or that I had noticed it, until Eren knocked me down and…” His eyebrows lifted as another pair of tears spilled down his cheeks. “I saw it floating there.”

Armin considered stopping him. He considered the possibility that Jean wouldn’t want to say these things if he was sober. It’s the drink talking, he wanted to think – but he knew that wasn’t true. This was Jean speaking, the man who’d been harboring all this pain, the man drowning beneath his own grueling wave of remorse, and the drink simply encouraged him to finally breach the surface and inhale for the first time in two weeks, despite the fact that the first several breaths would be sharp, painful, and near choking.

Yet Armin felt like he couldn’t breathe at all.

“I don’t know how long Eren had me down for,” he recalled, unable to meet Armin’s unwavering, shaken stare. “Even when I told Eren to get off of me, I was still only barely aware that it was him. Because I…I felt his tongue in my mouth, Armin. Eren did nothing more than hold me down, but it was enough for me to feel that man’s tongue in my mouth again…and it was…enough to–”

Something rancid came abruptly over him and Jean’s torso bent forward as he suffocated an expulsive sob, eyes pinching shut as the heel of a palm pushed into the bridge of his nose. It was a different response than the distant cadence he’d given his other words, the distress overwhelming him, and Armin waited, horrified, his entire insides back into impervious knots, for him to finish the sentence.

As Jean curled further into himself, his face twisted into a horrible grimace, the folds of his nose deepening as his lips quavered.

“It was enough to feel his fingers…” the words were harshly broken apart, barely viable, “...t–thrusting inside me again…”

The air could have been ripped out of Armin’s lungs – his vision blurred, the clarity in his mind faltered. Any sense of stability he thought he had literally took his feet out from beneath him and he realized he was on the floor, palms and a knee keeping him from being fully supine.

All this time, he thought he had a grasp on the silent, but known trauma in Jean’s head. He thought he understood it on a more intimate level because he’d been there, he’d seen what had happened, who else but him would recognize why Jean was having such a prolific time recovering from this?

But that night, Jean’s trousers had saved Armin from seeing what, specifically, was occurring beneath them, and he had not fathomed anything more than what was in his imagination.

This admission left Jean’s entire body trembling, his admirable attempts at swallowing every sob exhausting him and making him flinch. Armin’s hands had been shaking, yet they stilled when he reached up and slipped them behind Jean’s elbows and with a gentle tug, he encouraged him to slide off the toilet and fall directly into his open arms.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, pressing his hand against Jean’s hair, an arm wrapping behind his shoulders. He felt one of Jean’s arms clamor around and grip feverishly at his back. The shock of this information was going to have to wait until he was alone. “You couldn’t have stopped those memories from surfacing. You had no control over that.”

“I don’t feel like myself,” he gasped into Armin’s shoulder.

“Tell me,” he encouraged.

“I can’t predict how I’ll react to things. I don’t recognize my own thoughts.” The words were delivered with air that barely escaped his throat, evidence still that Jean was trying to repress his need to weep. The sad smile Armin made wasn’t his to see and he readjusted his grip across Jean’s shoulders.

“Jean,” he contended. “I cry at everything. If my emotions go too far in one direction – any direction, good or bad – I cry. Of all the people you could start sobbing in front of, your safest bet is me.”

He felt Jean’s shoulders rise at the words, rustling the damp, dirty hair that covered the sides of his face. Fingers dug into the material at Armin’s back, his head pushed further into him…and then he sobbed. The first one wasn’t one he meant to let out, it simply tore out of him, but it allowed the flood of the rest to follow and soon, Jean didn’t bother holding himself back anymore.

He was fully weeping, disassembled and unhinged.

“I’m sorry.” Armin’s eyes clenched as he brought his face into Jean’s hair. The words seemed so simple, not profound enough for what Armin felt, yet they were the truest thing he could say. “I am so sorry. I wish this could be easier for you.”

“Why can’t it be?” he cried into his shoulder, his tears wetting his own coat. “Why the hell am I so screwed up by this?”

“Because what he did to you was fucking evil.”

That declaration was the steadiest one he may have ever delivered, the sound of it nearly echoing between them as it settled, manifested, and conveyed every meaning he otherwise couldn’t vocalize. Armin rarely cursed, finding it easier to enlist other vocabulary to convey his feelings, but the ones he gave in the last few weeks never once felt sour on his tongue.

They were wrapped around each other on the floor of a dingy pub washroom. Jean was sobbing – gasping – all modicum of control gone. He held onto Armin as if he was the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor and Armin clutched him close as if that was, in fact, what he was doing. Armin kept his eyes closed against Jean’s head, listening to him finally break apart, knowing he’d come back together stronger because of it, and his own eyes remained dry.

Jean was still fighting tears as they crossed the pub’s floor. He let Armin keep a hand on his back for a time, and he let him pull his coat over his arms before they stepped outside. The rain has lightened to a curtain of drizzle, beadlets forming in Armin’s hair.

For a time, Jean’s inhales were still sniffled and quivered, but he calmed the further they walked, leaving near the sum of his breakdown behind them in the pub. By the time they were halfway home, only the puff of his eyes remained and his increasing sobriety and composure exposed him to the temperatures he’d otherwise been able to ignore. Despite his coat, Armin noticed he was shivering.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still cracked. “Just fucking freezing.”

“Listen, when we get back, I’ll handle Eren. Just get in the shower, and get yourself cleaned and warmed up.”

Jean glanced at him. His eyes still had a slight swell about them. “What will you say?”

“I’ll just tell him that it triggered you into remembering the near-death experience. It’s close enough to the truth, isn’t it?”

Jean sighed. “Yeah. Sounds good.” Their shoes clipped against the cobbled stone, occasionally splashing in some of the more shallow puddles. “And…” Jean continued. “I’ll…think about telling the others. I just need a little more time.”

Despite the time of night and the passing of the storm, the words gave Armin a warmth. He rubbed a hand on Jean’s arm in show of support for the idea.

The flat was near now, much to Armin’s relief; Jean needed dry clothing or his teeth may fall out. That, and he worried if Jean didn’t fall asleep standing up, Armin himself would. Both of them were drained fully of energy and could only walk home because it was mandated.

Before they even made it within ten meters of their building, the door was thrown open, Hange bursting out of it without holding it for the more casually strolling Levi behind them.

“You’d better brace your feet,” Armin joked under his breath. As he predicted, Hange bowled into Jean, their arms pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Goddamn you!” they cried. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I’m sorry, Hange,” he murmured into their shoulder, his arms wrapping around them to return the embrace. Hange pulled away to grasp the sides of his face, holding him like a grandparent might. It was sweet yet unexpected enough that Armin almost wanted to laugh; Hange was an odd person, but not typically an overly affectionate one. Jean seemed to be their exception.

“Why are you all scratched up?” they demanded harshly. “Why are you trembling? Why do you look like you swam in a pond? What did you do to yourself?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he mumbled, his cheeks somewhat pressed together. He lifted his hands to lower Hange’s away from him.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Hange,” Levi pressed, stepping up beside them. “Let the kid breathe.”

Hange released an exasperated breath, then allowed Levi to take their place so he stood before Jean. At his presence, Jean suddenly found interest in the stone bricks beneath his shoes. He’d only been able to meet Levi’s eyes for half a second.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he apologized softly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Are you alright?”

Jean’s head rose. They shared a look, one where Jean searched Levi’s resolute, unruffled eyes. “You should be furious at me,” he whispered. “I broke code.”

Levi took another step forward, those eyes turning analytical as he studied Jean’s face. His scrutiny made Jean a little nervous, having him shift on his feet. “Have you been drinking?”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Is that why you look like you fell down a well?”

“Uh.” Jean ran a hand around the back of his neck, uncertain on how to respond or explain the state he’d shown up in. Armin’s mouth opened on instinct, his mind fishing for something to say to save him from answering, but to his surprise, Jean was quick to honesty.

“I don’t exactly remember what happened. There’s a gap in my memory.”

If Levi was shocked to hear that, he certainly didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he just watched him, canting his head as if fishing out an honesty Jean may not be saying. “So I’ll ask again,” he started. “Are you alright?”

Jean’s throat moved as he swallowed hard, but then he nodded. “Yeah. Armin took care of me. I’m good now.”

A gust of midnight wind sent a sudden shiver through Jean, making him pull his arms around himself as he groaned against the air he sucked in forcefully through clenched teeth. A flicker of concern crossed Levi’s face, compromising the stoicness he’d donned, and he pulled Jean forward with a hand on his elbow.

“Alright, come on, get inside.” Although Jean was perfectly fine to walk on his own, Levi did not remove his grip. “You look like shit. If I had any bleach, I’d splash it on you first but lucky for you we’re fresh out.”

Each step they ascended, both on the stoop and then inside the building, sent Armin’s heart hammering into his throat. When that flat’s door opened, he knew four worried, confused, or angry faces would be there to crowd them. Yet despite the quick pulsing of his veins, he’d practiced his speech numerous times in his mind and he was prepared to insert himself into the middle of this, one way or another, because Jean was shivering beside him – harder than he’d been before. He wanted to face this even less than Armin did and his hands fisted at his sides when Armin turned the doorknob.

But when the door pushed open, only an empty kitchen table awaited them. They were not rushed, there were no pointing fingers, teary faces, or crushing hugs. It was late at night but after what happened, all of them would have been awake and waiting, this Armin had no doubt.

He strongly suspected their superiors had something to do with this.

“Why don’t you go shower,” Armin said, peeling his eyes from the corners of the living space. Hange and Levi filtered in behind them. “We’ll see to the rest when you’re done.”

“There are clothes in there for you,” Hange said. “You don’t need to worry about waking Connie up.”

Jean looked around once more, as if someone was waiting behind the couch to leap up and start shaking him for answers, but he removed his coat, hung it, and walked silently to the bathroom.

“Armin…” Levi asked when they heard the sound of water. “How bad is it?”

Armin fell into a chair at the table, his body nearly melting into the wood. “It was bad at first,” he answered honestly. “But…he came out of it.”

“He’s still inebriated. His pupils are dilated.”

“I know. Captain…” Armin rubbed at his face, feeling so vehemently weary. “What, um…what did the others say after I left?”

“Eren tried to get into a pissing match again. Stormed off to bed shortly after. Mikasa too. Sasha and Connie wanted to stay up and wait for you guys, but we told them it would be better if you both had space for now.”

The gratitude in Armin’s eyes must have been prolific. “Thank you,” he said strongly. Jean was too fragile to handle a situation like that. Although the worst was gone, it left Jean more vulnerable and raw than he’d ever been before and what he needed, most of all, was some distance.

“And Eren?” Armin asked as a thumb scratched at an eyelid. “I have an idea what to tell him, but I don’t know how far he’ll take this. He won’t let this go, even if the others do.”

“We tell him what we tell him. This is still Jean’s choice, Eren doesn’t get to know just because he demands it.”

“He’ll be difficult,” Armin warned.

“I don’t care.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Armin reminded carefully. “Eren didn’t know what he was doing.”

“I know it wasn't his fault. I’m upset with him for disobeying my orders, not for accidentally triggering Jean.”

Armin breathed heavily through his nose, letting that particular point float away. Levi was right and Levi did not like his orders, if given concretely, to be disobeyed. Still, Armin’s heart ached for Eren. He hoped he was feeling alright and was able to get some sleep.

“But I can recognize that I responded too emotionally.”

Armin flipped open eyes he didn’t know he’d closed. Despite the voice being Levi’s, he still wondered if it was him who said it.

“Captain?”

“I was too harsh with Eren,” Levi said. “I let my worry for Jean get the best of me. They said he was sitting outside, and when it became apparent that he was gone – I lost sight of the fact that Eren, despite his deliberate disobedience, didn’t know what he was doing.”

Armin thought back to what Hange had said, about how affected Levi had been by Jean’s attitude after the nightmare. “I was only around for part of it…I’m guessing I only got a glimpse.”

“It was ugly, yeah. You know how Eren is. As for me, I let myself be weak. It was a culmination of many things, mostly the fact that I know how deep Jean’s trauma is and when I learned that Eren got him on the floor…well, I was more livid than I should have been. I know that.”

“I responded the same,” Hange added, giving Levi an understanding look. “We know whose fault this was, and it was not Eren’s or Jean’s.” Hange gave Armin a very meaningful glance. “Or Armin’s. We’ll clear things up as best we can in the morning but for now, let’s just be glad they’re both home.”

Levi nodded.

“Anyway, Armin.” Hange pulled a chair out and moved it so they could sit beside him. “The scratches?”

“I really don't know. He implied earlier that he vaguely recalled stumbling, but that fight had catapulted him into a visceral, violent flashback of what happened, down to sensory details.” Levi’s face pulled together at that; it was curious to see Levi’s mask fractured, even this small amount. “I think he dissociated immediately afterwards. He probably was barely aware of his own surroundings. With the rain and the storm, and I’m sure a very panic-driven physical response, it’s my assumption that he just lost his footing and fell.”

Hange’s sigh was weighed down by a sound of frustration. “That’s not good.”

Armin looked down at his hands. “I know.”

“I hoped he was getting better,” Levi lamented flatly. “He seemed like he was.”

“He was!” Hange defended. “This is just a setback, that’s it!”

“Armin?” Levi leaned on the table to catch Armin’s eyes. “What do you think?”

The admissions from the pub’s washroom swam in his mind, making him think about the question and the night’s events as they were. “I don’t think it’s a step backwards,” he said after a moment. “I’m…disturbed that the trauma poisoned his sense of reality, but, he…he said some things to me that he’s been needing to say for a long time. He finally opened up. And on the way home…”

“Now that you’re not about to fall over, mind telling me how much you had to drink?” Armin asked, making his words be light. “I still don’t know if that was glass four or five.”

Jean smiled, wiping away the last of his tears as the passing street lights flickered overhead. “That was four. Well, three and a half, since you took it from me.”

“How drunk were you?” What Armin needed to know was how much he’d regret speaking so candidly in the washroom, but he wasn’t sure how to ascertain that.

“I was drunk,” he admitted, “but not that drunk. I think after the second one, the guy started clunking in too much ice.”

“I guess I should go back and give him a tip, then.”

Jean shot him a look but although his eyes still held evidence of the breakdown they were only ten minutes past, there was something of humor in them. Armin watched him for a long moment, then decided to allow himself to be a little more forward. They were far past passive communication, after all.

“Jean…I’d like to talk more tomorrow about some of the things you said to me tonight.”

Jea’s expression was that of fatigued gratitude, letting Armin know that finally, after all this time, they’d reached common ground without the construction of walls, dismissal, or denial. “I think I’d like that, too, Armin.”

“He’s finally opening up,” Armin finished, turning so he could look between both Levi and Hange’s faces. “I think after this, maybe even because of this, it will actually become easier for him to accept the damage this has caused him.”

“But he’s still afraid to tell the others.” Levi’s words were a statement.

“He needs more time. Once he’s accepted the event and its repercussions, it will be easier for him to share.”

Levi gave him a nod. “I trust you, Armin. You did well tonight, I owe you for turning this around. Where Hange and I responded irrationally, you did so logically and efficiently. Believe me when I say thank you.” He gave a flick of his head towards Hange. “Hange, I think we should go to bed.”

Once more, they were intuitively giving Armin the space he didn’t need to ask for. Hange stood. “I agree.”

“I’ll dress his wrists and make sure he gets to sleep,” Armin started to say, but the tail end of the sentence was sputtered when Hange wrenched him forward into a half standing hug.

“Thank you,” they expressed fiercely. “For bringing him back. For doing this. For everything.”

Armin blinked against the burn behind his eyes. He hadn’t cried at all today, a shock by its very nature, but Hange’s emotion was almost enough to make that false. Without knowing what to say back, he simply returned the hug.

They’d retired by the time Jean came out. He was dressed in loose sleep pants and a canvas-colored sweater.

“Still cold?” Armin asked as he took the seat beside him. He was no longer shivering, but there was a tremor in his shoulders every several seconds.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s wrap your burns quickly and you can sleep. There are extra blankets around here somewhere.”

“‘Kay.”

Although he was only applying a salve, which in itself was a quick procedure, Jean was starting to crash, his head tilting forward every few moments before he flinched awake. The alcohol had long since peaked and after the intensity of his trauma response, he was only barely hanging onto consciousness. If not for the circumstances, the sight of Jean unable to properly stay awake would have been endearing.

Within minutes, Armin had finished wrapping and was pulling on Jean’s arm. “Up,” he encouraged. “Or you’re gonna fall asleep at the table.”

Jean shuffled with him to the couch.

“I’ll get more blankets,” Armin said when Jean collapsed onto the cushions. He hoped since Jean pulled a pillow beneath his head he would be quick to sleep but after he returned with an armful of blankets, he saw his eyes were still open. He seemed lost in thought.

“What’s wrong?” He put the blankets on the coffee table.

“I’m kind of afraid to fall asleep.”

“I’ll stay here for a while.” He flipped out the first blanket and draped it over Jean, then did the same with the second and third. “Is that good enough?”

“Sure.”

The lamp in the corner was far too effective at its job and Armin was torn between turning it off or leaving it on. If he asked, he wasn’t sure Jean would admit to preferring its activation so instead, he found a thinner blanket and tossed it over the top. The room fell into a soft, comfortable glow.

But he knew a bit of light would do little to dissuade a nightmare.

“Lift yourself up for a second,” Armin said, giving Jean’s shoulder a light pull upwards. When he did so, Armin filled the space he’d made and wedged himself between Jean and the couch’s corner. To show he was comfortable – and also not going to hear any arguing about it – he lifted and crossed his legs on the coffee table. Jean, still raised on his elbows, stared at him sleepily.

“Come on,” Armin said with false impatience. He snagged the pillow and put it against his leg. “Go to sleep. I know I’m about to.”

Cautiously, Jean laid down, slightly curling his legs into himself. His hair, still damp but at least clean, was most of what Armin could see of his head.

“I’ve been having nightmares…” Jean trailed off, as if he was defending himself for accepting the position.

“Me too, Jean.” Armin put a hand on his shoulder. “I have been, too.”

He expected another reply, perhaps questioning or another display of thanks, but the hand Armin had on Jean’s shoulder was rising and falling steadily at the slow rate of his sleeping breaths. Armin gave him a gentle squeeze, studying his hair and feeling his own exhaustion pull at the skin beneath his eyes.

He shifted, sinking a bit further into the couch, and pressed his head back against the cushion. The sounds of Jean’s even breathing, mixed with the calm rise and fall of the hand he had on him, put him deeply to sleep soon after.

Neither of them woke from nightmares that night.

Chapter Text

Abject fear started at the crown of her head as she watched him read the report, then pooled down her body like a viscous liquid that prevented her from clear thought. Eren’s face was dissolving further and further into despondency, his mouth open, chest heaving, hands shaking, and when she thought he couldn’t possibly be more anguished, the tears began to fall in earnest.

Moving towards him felt strange, like she knew that whatever she was about to read on that piece of paper was going to change her world forever. She only had a few more steps left in the comfort she was going to leave behind.

The shock forced Eren to his knees just before she closed the gap. Mikasa stood behind him, her eyes finding the top of the page between his hands, and she put a palm against his shoulder. She wasn’t sure who the hold was supposed to comfort. She began to read.

INCIDENT INVOLVING TWO SCOUTS DURING SURVEILLANCE MISSION IN MARLEY. NAMES HAVE BEEN OMITTED. THEY WILL BE REFERRED TO AS SCOUTS RHO AND THETA.

REPORTING OFFICER: HANGE ZOË

REPORTING DATE: 25 JUNE 1932

REPORTING LOCATION: MARLEY OUTSKIRTS

ENEMY CASUALTIES: YES (12)

ALLIED CASUALTIES: NO

SCOUTS RHO AND THETA WITNESSED THE BEATING OF AN ILL ELDIAN WOMAN WHO MANAGED TO LEAVE LIBERIO WITHOUT A PERMIT.

SCOUT RHO DEFENDED THE WOMAN. THIS ACTION RAISED SUSPICION AND THE TWO SCOUTS’ PAPERS WERE SCRUTINIZED, LEADING TO THEIR DETAINMENT BY A MARLEYAN SQUADRON. THIS SQUADRON WAS HEADED BY [NOW DECEASED] EKLON SAINT CLAIRE, WHO SPECIALIZED IN INTERROGATING SUSPECTED RESTORATIONISTS. OPERATIONS WERE TAKEN TO AN UNUSED WAREHOUSE THAT WAS FAR REMOVED FROM THE CITY.

Mikasa scanned the page, recognizing the described events as true to what Armin had said. But Eren’s shoulders were shaking and she knew he’d been struck by something on this page. She skipped several familiar lines, dread closing around her.

SCOUT RHO WAS TARGETED FOR STRANGULATION. MOTIVATIONS ARE UNCLEAR, BUT IT IS ASSUMED THE ACTION WAS DONE TO PUNISH, FRIGHTEN, OR KILL THE SCOUT. SCOUT THETA DREW SAINT CLAIRE AWAY IN AN ATTEMPT TO RECONCILE RHO’S LIFE–

Eren was panting now, his tears falling hard onto his hands. The paper was shaking to a point where Mikasa could no longer read it and she gently slipped it out from his fingers, knowing that he must have finished it by now. He didn’t refuse, and he didn’t move.

SAINT CLAIRE TORTURED SCOUT THETA BY DRIVING A FIVE INCH DAGGER BELOW THEIR LEFT CLAVICLE. IT WAS LATER DETERMINED THAT THIS ACTION WAS BOTH TO ENCOURAGE THE SCOUT TO TELL THE TRUTH, WHILE ALSO INFLICTING A WOUND THAT WOULD PURPOSEFULLY WEAKEN THEM FOR A LATER TRANSGRESSION.

The last part made Mikasa’s eyes narrow; it was a small detail that she hadn’t heard before, and she wanted it to mean nothing.

SAINT CLAIRE TURNED BACK TO SCOUT RHO WHILE SCOUT THETA BEGAN TO BLEED HEAVILY. RHO ATTEMPTED TO REMAIN TRUE TO THE CHANGE IN STORY INITIATED BY THETA BUT SAINT CLAIRE CONTINUED TO INTERROGATE THEM REGARDLESS.

Thus far, the recounting had been almost exactly as Armin said it would be, although due to the omissions of names, it didn’t include details on Armin’s secret and its potential discovery. This was an odd choice – one she did not understand.

Mikasa wanted so desperately to reach the end of this report and find nothing. She wanted to read through it and see that the event was as previously relayed – that it was the simple act of examining the account that had Eren so distraught.

SAINT CLAIRE RETURNED TO SCOUT THETA AND CUT THEIR BINDS. THETA ATTEMPTED TO ATTACK SAINT CLAIRE, BUT THEY WERE QUICKLY BEATEN DOWN.

Yet Eren was fighting back gasps of rage and denial. Even if Eren hadn’t been so overwhelmed, this last sentence was proof enough to Mikasa that she’d been wrong because Jean’s beating was supposed to be the last thing that happened before rescue. He’d been thrown against the ground, struck several times, and left to bleed out before the rest of their team arrived.

So why were there still several paragraphs of text?

SCOUT THETA COLLAPSED. SAINT CLAIRE THEN STOOD OVER THEM AND AS RECALLED BY SCOUT RHO, PROCLAIMED HE WOULD SEND THE REST OF US A MESSAGE THROUGH THE ACTIONS HE WOULD TAKE NEXT.

This was when Mikasa felt herself stop breathing.

SAINT CLAIRE KNELT AND LOOSENED THE BELT ON SCOUT THETA’S PANTS.

A hand went to her mouth.

SCOUT THETA WAS PINNED.

A dizziness came over her.

…MADE IT CLEAR THAT IF THETA DID NOT TAKE THIS LAST CHANCE TO TELL HIM WHERE THE REST OF THE RESTORATIONISTS [THE SCOUTING TEAM] WERE, HE WOULD–

An overpowering wave of horror thrashed the confines of her skull, muting all sound yet deafening her with every concentrated emotion. She finished the sentence and the breath that she took in had to be forced through the sliver open in her throat.

This was it. This was what she’d been missing. The secret she told herself didn’t exist. A weak, faltering sob racked her frame and shame filled every ounce of her body as sharp adrenaline rushed her veins so morbidly that she fell to her knees.

The odd behavior, and the quick tempers, and the tired eyes, the short answers, desolate looks, lies–

SAINT CLAIRE REMAINED ON TOP OF SCOUT THETA, CONTINUING THE ACTION FOR SEVERAL MINUTES WHILE THREATENING, TAUNTING, AND SLANDERING THETA FOR THEIR COMMITMENT TO SILENCE. THETA’S BLOOD LOSS AND PREVIOUS BLOWS TO THE HEAD PREVENTED THEIR ABILITY TO PROPERLY FIGHT BACK.

–INCLUDED PROLONGED ASSAULT–

–COARSE MOUTH TO MOUTH CONTACT–

The paper was now fluttering noisily, affecting her like it had done to Eren. It was like her blood was ice, pulsing in sharp, agonizing beats, making her ears ring and her fingertips grow numb.

–SAID “STOP, PLEASE STOP,” –

–WAS FLIPPED OVER –

–BRUTALLY COVERED THEIR MOUTH TO PREVENT PROTEST, THE GRIP LEAVING BRUISES ALONG THETA’S FACE–

Oh, god, the bruises. Every word was another shock, another breath stolen from her, another desperate desire to reach the end and realize this was the report of some other scouts and not Jean, not Armin. That this was just a nightmare she was having after the peak of Jean’s disappearance, a product of her mind, a fallacy only possible in something far removed from reality.

HE SWORE THAT THEIR LIFE HAD CULMINATED BY BEING “FORCED BY THE STRONGER, MARLEYAN MAN”, AND THAT SCOUT THETA WILL BE NOTHING MORE THAN THAT, EVEN IN DEATH.

–PERFORMED SEVERAL ACTIONS THREATENING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE–

Even when she was convinced it couldn’t possibly become any worse, the report would rip a new piece of her away.

SAINT CLAIRE’S INTENTIONS WERE TO SEND THE ELDIAN PEOPLE, PARTICULARLY THE UNRULY ONES, A MESSAGE ABOUT REMAINING SUBMISSIVE IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES. RESCUE PARTY ARRIVED MOMENTS BEFORE SAINT CLAIRE SUCCEEDED IN REMOVING THETA’S TROUSERS.

WHAT WE CAN GATHER FROM THIS EVENT IS THAT TREATMENT OF ELDIAN PRISONERS WAS WORSE THAN PREVIOUS INTEL SUGGESTED, AND IT HAS SINCE BEEN GLEANED THAT THIS TREATMENT IS ALLOWED UNDER LAW, ESPECIALLY GIVEN THE FACT THAT THE ABUSER WAS NOT A MILITARY MAN SWORN UNDER THE COUNTRY’S FLAG–

She tried to quiet the weeping gasps, but she really only succeeded in catching her tears over her knuckles as her hand pressed firmly against her mouth. She reached the end of the discussion section, going over Hange’s interpretation, and the final line screamed at her as if it had been bolded.

EVENT IS BEING CLASSIFIED AS TERRORISTIC WITH ACTS OF INTERROGATION, PHYSICAL ASSAULT, MALIGNANT SEXUAL ASSAULT, AND ATTEMPTED RAPE.

It flitted away from her, floating gently to the floor as if it hadn’t just sent a lethal weight into Mikasa’s entire body, stunning every muscle, every limb, every organ into an eviscerating stupor.

Both her hands went to wrap painfully in her hair. She realized, through the blur of her tears, that she was facing the ground.

A memory flashed before her: Armin’s manic screams as she cut him loose, his unwavering eyes locked on Jean’s body, the way she had to peel the ropes from his skin…

Everything, every single little thing, was clear to her then.

Armin’s grief. His need to keep his secrets, to lie. The jittery movements, the compulsive need to be in the same room as Jean, the dark circles beneath his eyes. Armin, her best friend, had watched someone he loved be brutalized while he could do nothing to stop it.

And Jean…

His face came to her, pale and afraid as he looked up at Eren.

“They’re raping us,” Eren growled through a sob. He snatched the paper and shoved it into the folder, standing as he did so. “You read what it said, they were taking bets, he’s done that to countless Eldians.” He was so engulfed with emotion that he could barely speak.

Mikasa was still on the ground, unable to move. His words barely registered, but when they did, her face scrunched together and she stared up at him.

“Not just to them,” she emphasized through a wet gasp, “to Jean, Eren!”

“I know,” he whispered, nearly too quiet to hear, as he pushed the case back into the closet.

“What…” Mikasa clawed at her chest, as if she could rip out the devastation coating her heart. “What do we do with this?”

“What do you mean?” Eren demanded. “There’s nothing to do, we’ll never do right by them. We’re fools to think that we could ever change their minds. We’re waiting around to be tortured, raped, and exterminated!”

Mikasa was too engrossed with her grief for Jean to understand what he was saying. The confusion that came across her was almost a relief, only in that it gave space in her mind to think more clearly, and she thawed enough to drop her hands down.

“What?” she asked on a painful exhale. “I meant about Jean! And Armin!”

“Get up,” Eren commanded, lifting her by the arm. “We need to leave this room.”

Mikasa’s feet stumbled forward when he dragged her out, quietly stepping into the hall and pulling so they entered her and Sasha’s bedroom. They needed to leave to escape the chance of being found out, but it only made Mikasa’s feet feel all the more heavy. She fell down onto her bed, covering her mouth with both hands to stifle another sob as he closed the door.

She could have never, ever guessed that it was this. Her guilt, her despair, her shock, they were all strangling her and ransacking every inch of strength she ever thought she had. Suddenly Mikasa felt very, very desperate, like the dread was near mauling her, and she looked into Eren’s eyes in the hopes that she could find the stability that she so needed.

But she didn’t recognize the eyes that she saw.

“Eren…?” she sputtered quietly.

“When is the parliament meeting?” He wouldn’t look at her. His nose was twitching as he tried to control his need to cry, but his tears were ones of unbridled fury. “End of the week, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes…” That meeting was the main reason they were here in the first place, to hear the verdict of what Marley intended to do with the Paradis problem, and it was a topic of great stress and terrifying implications and absolutely not something Mikasa could stand to think about right now.

“They kept this from us…” Eren thought aloud, changing the subject again, his head shaking in denial. He began to pace, hands clenching at his sides. “Why?”

“Their names were omitted.” Mikasa watched him, almost dazed at his response. “Jean probably asked that it be confidential. And we…” New tears fell hotly down her face. The single laugh she let out was in contempt for herself. “We just completely violated that request.”

“We deserved to know, they should have told us!” Eren stopped pacing and finally looked at her. It made her falter, seeing him looking the way he did. “It’s because Hange knew how bad these implications are, and they didn’t want us to see that. They didn’t want me to see that because they knew what I would say!”

“Eren,” she whispered, “no.” Her fear mutated from what it had been into fear that Eren was responding in a way that had the potential to make him spiral. “They were just trying to protect Jean…that’s it.”

“After all of this,” he cried, only barely quiet enough, gesturing towards the door. “After that, how could Hange still have the blindness to think that they could make a difference? The word will never accept us. He was going to rape him, and let him die there!”

“Eren–”

“In what world does Hange live in?!” he demanded, his face now glistening from the horrible incredulity that wet his cheeks. “Everything that happened to Armin and Jean – and everything that could have happened – is all perfectly legal, and encouraged. How could Hange think that they can convince the whole world that the people they call rats, the people they torture, rape, and kill, don’t deserve that kind of treatment?!”

Every feature of his face was enveloped with rage, distorting him so he didn’t even look like the boy she grew up with. She didn’t bother hiding the fear he put on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized suddenly. His eyes pinched shut, forcing another wave of tears down his face as he brought himself down to a more manageable level and when his eyes opened again, he looked more familiar. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. I’m just…I’m upset.”

Mikasa blinked up at him, her fingers curling in her lap. “I…I know…” she whispered, unsure. “I am too…”

Eren fell onto Sasha’s bed, as if his storm of fury exhausted him from standing any longer. He watched his hands drape over his knees. “That car ride makes so much sense now…” he muttered to himself.

The drain of his fury left her feeling winded. “Why?”

“He kept telling me and Levi to watch out for Armin,” he lamented. “He thought Armin would blame himself…I thought he was just talking about their interrogation, or even his death, which he expected, but…”

“He meant this,” Mikasa finished quietly.

“Yeah…” Eren muttered. “It was this.” The palm of his hand kneaded at his forehead, and finally, he donned an expression similar to Mikasa’s, and less like what it had been. “Oh, Jean…” he whispered entirely to himself. “Goddamn it.”

For a few moments, both of them were silent, unsure of what to say or even how to say anything at all.

“Let’s wait until after the hearing in a few days,” he said suddenly, breaking Mikasa away from her thoughts.

“Wait…until what?”

“Until we bring this up to Jean or Armin. Until we decide what to do. It’s a hard week, with the hearing…and…” his words slowed, “and I know…I know that Jean is…” His gaze lowered, then he flattened his voice. The look on his face smoothed to match. “Let’s just wait until after the hearing.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps Eren was right, because all of this was far too obliterating and sudden. Eren’s impulse had led him to find that report and now they were floundering in the aftermath and she didn’t want their emotions – Eren’s emotions – to influence their approach to this.

That, and Jean and Armin did not want this secret out and Hange and Levi had protected it with bared fangs. Then, in only a few days' time, they all were going to hear words from the mouths of Marleyans that would change the course of their country’s history. Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen.

Finding that horrid piece of paper could not have come at a worse time.

“Okay, Eren,” she agreed quietly. His throat moved as he swallowed hard, his lips trembled as he wrangled an abrupt emotion, and then his face steeled for the final time. Eren gave her a long look, as if speaking quietly to himself in his mind and using her appearance as a backdrop for it, and then he stood, walked towards the door, and left her in that room – alone.

She was the first to wake, even before Levi who she nearly always saw in the living room when she’d come out in the morning. The corridor she slipped into was beginning to glow in the dawn’s light.

Her night had been plagued by nefarious seeds of guilt, whispers of horror, and visions of a nightmare she’d only just realized was real. She hadn’t slept at all, but how could she? The wall she’d been facing all night, her back to Sasha’s bed, was the only thing that saw her tears and grief-stricken face as each dark hour passed. The only sliver of reprieve came in the middle of the night, when she heard Hange exclaim to Levi and dash out of the flat. Not long after, several pairs of feet were in the living space. She heard Armin’s calm voice.

At least they’re both safe.

Jean and Armin were tangled together on the couch. Under a tower of blankets was Jean, his head and an arm poking out of the thick cloth, and he was unconsciously holding the leg of Armin who was asleep beneath him, in a languid sitting position, an arm draped over Jean’s shoulder.

The sight stopped Mikasa short but only a moment later, she continued forward, not even the least bit shocked like she would have been half a day prior. Where once their codependency had piqued her suspicion, it now made the utmost sense and she stepped past them, toeing into the kitchen to turn on the kettle and fall back against the countertop.

She wished Eren had never opened that file.

She wished she could continue living another day, selfishly she wished this, not knowing how deep the scars were between the two people sleeping on the couch. These scars, and how prolific they were, and how oblivious she’d been to them.

Most of all, though, she wished she didn’t know because they were the ones who didn’t want her to.

Mikasa sat quietly at the kitchen table for a few hours, sipping tea and wearily skimming over the newspaper Levi had left out. Eventually, Jean stirred. She watched the back of his head rise from above the couch as he began to wake.

“Ugh, shit,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing at his temples. He studied Armin for a long moment, then somewhat clumsily got himself to his feet, still holding his head and wincing as he stepped over towards the kitchen. His steps faltered when he noticed Mikasa.

“Mikasa,” he said groggily. “Uh…listen–”

“It’s fine, Jean, I understand the need to be alone. You don’t need to explain yourself.” She said this kindly, even giving him a smile so he wouldn’t be burdened with coming up with a lie first thing in the morning. Mikasa did not know what sort of night he had, but there was no doubt in her mind it had been even more unpleasant than hers. In fact he looked a little peakish, had a few scratches on his face, and the way he was holding his head made her think it ached.

She wanted to go back in time and slice that man’s head off before he ever laid a hand on him. She wanted to rip him apart, make him bleed, chain him into a dungeon and let him rot.

She wanted to pull Jean into her arms and lament how sorry she was.

But she could do none of those things, so this was all she had to offer him and as she expected, Jean accepted the pass and simply nodded. Then he walked further towards the kitchen and she heard him fill a glass of water. Armin rose not long after. He sort of jumped up from the couch when he realized he was alone and his head snapped over to the table, then when his eyes met Mikasa’s, she pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen. He relaxed, rubbed at his face, then stood and walked past her, too. He instructed Jean to drink more water.

While the three of them were sitting at the table, Armin and Jean tearing off small chunks of toast that Armin insisted they eat, a few others filtered out. First Hange and Levi, then Eren.

Jean was sleepily nibbling at his food when Eren approached him. She wasn’t sure if it was just because she knew what Eren knew, or because her own heart hammered into her ears, but the air in the flat seemed to thin at his appearance. Mikasa stole a glance at Levi, sitting in his chair beside the couch, but he just watched Eren cautiously and said nothing.

His response at the time alarmed Mikasa, made her frightened when Levi rarely had that effect on her, but he’d been engulfed by what she’d thought had been fury – she knew now that it was something else, and she wasn’t so upset with him anymore.

It wasn’t until Eren dragged a chair closer to Jean that he even noticed him, and when he did, Jean went somewhat rigid. The toast stayed in its position a few inches from his mouth as his eyes followed Eren down as he sat beside him.

“Listen,” Eren began quietly. “It was irresponsible for me to instigate you. I know you’re still recovering from your injuries. And I’m sorry, Jean. Let’s just forget about it.”

The width of Jean’s eyes was almost humorous – never had Eren sounded so deeply sincere to him before. Maybe it could have been funny, Jean’s expression, if Mikasa didn’t know that Eren was being more sincere than he possibly knew. Eren turned his head, exchanging a look with Levi.

“Jean was rightfully pissed. I hope you didn’t give him too much shit for leaving.”

Levi studied him, saying nothing, doing nothing. It was Hange, who had sat beside Armin at the table, that responded.

“We didn’t.”

Eren gave them a nod. His attention went back.

“Jean.” He likely didn’t mean to put as much emotion as he did into the name, but it came out that way anyway. “I…I really am sorry.”

Eren’s behavior left Jean completely speechless, but Eren didn’t give him much time to respond anyway. He stood from the table and left, going into the kitchen and leaving the space. Jean exchanged a bewildered look with Armin, who shrugged.

Eren was gone three and a half days later.

Looking back, she wondered if she could have seen it coming. Was she too distracted by the burden of knowledge he’d put on her? Should she have seen the warning signs Eren so visibly displayed that he wouldn’t be around to see this trip through? As Eren suggested, Mikasa was going to wait to admit to Jean and Armin what they’d found until after the hearing. Neither she or Eren said anything, not to the others or even to each other, because – Mikasa had thought – they were going to do it soon. It simply wasn’t the right time. They needed to wait.

That’s what he’d suggested.

But in the short days between the report’s discovery and the lethal verdict at the Parliament hearing, Eren was not himself. He barely said anything. He wouldn’t look anybody in the eye or engage in conversation outside of being directly spoken to. During those few days, she thought it was his devastation muting his voice but after he left, she decided it was more than that.

He must have known that he was going to leave. He must have been planning it for some time, this idea that he wouldn’t listen to a negative verdict and sit idly by, and he didn’t want to interact with his family more than necessary in order to protect himself. Eren loved them, more than he usually let on, so he shut himself down. He wouldn’t let his resolve be weakened by more interaction than necessary.

Could she have stopped him? If Eren hadn’t seen what was in that folder, would he still be here?

No.

He wouldn’t be.

Mikasa knew he wouldn’t be. The Parliament hearing was always going to be the catalyst to his disappearance, for whatever scheme he was concocting to protect their people, and the contents of that report only solidified a decision he’d already made up in his mind.

Mikasa’s guilt, her sorrow, every heavy, lead-filled emotion, flattened her features and silenced her tongue for days after. Eren was gone. His disappearance weighed heavily on them all, quieting their meals and staunching their appetites, but it made Mikasa physically unwell. Like his absence was a festering wound with no chance to properly heal.

The search for Eren stopped after the third day. Mikasa desperately wanted to keep trying, but Levi and Hange convinced her to accept things for what they were. If Eren didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. On the fifth day, Armin asked Jean if he wanted to sleep in that room with him. She grieved for Armin, bearing the emotional baggage of what he’d gone through in addition to losing a member of his family so suddenly, leaving him alone at night to stare at an empty bed.

Jean accepted. It was just another piece of the puzzle she’d been too blind to put together before, but she had a full view of it now, seeing the image clearly and without fracture. He’d been on the couch because of vicious nightmares, violent enough to permeate reality and strike others nearby. It explained Connie’s bruised nose, after all. But Armin was the one who took care of Jean the last three weeks – she hoped that both of them could find comfort in this new arrangement.

It wasn’t until the seventh day that Mikasa let go of the rope she’d tethered around her waist to Eren’s location. It was affecting her so profusely that she could barely eat, sleep, or think, and it was unacceptable. She had a responsibility to her team, to her country, to her friends, and to herself to release that line.

Mikasa missed him. Every day, she wanted nothing more than to see him safe and well, but it could no longer prevent her from putting one foot in front of the other, it could not prevent her from being there for others that she loved. Jean and Armin were still there. They were still hurting. And it was time she accepted the consequences of her actions.

Every time she looked into Jean’s eyes, or spoke with him, or watched him distantly as he read a book, she’d loathe herself for knowing something she hadn’t admitted to him yet. It felt like every action towards him was a betrayal, every word a violation. At first, she’d been so smothered with fear for Eren that her honesty had not been a priority, but her moral ideals could no longer be pushed aside, and life could not stop.

Their team tried to find some sense of normalcy as they accounted for Eren’s actions and continued with their mission in Marley. Jean was sitting alone at the kitchen table, scratching advance plans into a notebook, when she decided it was time. The others had left the flat that morning, leaving the two of them alone, marking the first time they were by themselves since their trip to the bank a lifetime ago – it could be her only chance to speak with him like this.

It was a conversation she was not ready for, it was a conversation that was supposed to happen with Eren sitting beside her, but it was a conversation that was going to happen, here and now, with just her and Jean. Because that was what he deserved.

The light from the nearby window was bright, rays of midday sunshine illuminating the walls and the profile of his face. He glanced at a map, ran the edge of his pen along it as he had a thought, then he scratched something back into his notebook. Her throat was tight in apprehension and she forced herself to swallow, then she stepped up to the table. When she pulled out the chair across from him, he simply glanced up at her and gave her a short, casual smile before returning to what he was doing.

Her fingers went on top of the wood, intertwining nervously as she wore at the inside of her mouth, waiting for the words she’d already practiced to come to her. Noticing her strange silence, Jean’s pen stopped scribbling and he looked back up curiously.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern suddenly lining his features.

Since Eren’s disappearance, everybody had been noticeably attentive towards her, knowing how greatly she’d been affected, but she had forced herself out of that shell and became more productive and alert in the last few days. Still, he seemed to think it was her who needed the comforting. It made her heart ache.

“Jean, I need to tell you something,” she whispered, her eyes trailing up from their spot on her fingers to meet his freshly alert gaze.

“Okay,” he said, the pen being placed onto the book. How quick he was to give his attention to her.

“I should have told you awhile ago,” her voice couldn’t rise above the volume it was at, “and I’m very, very sorry I didn’t.”

Jean didn’t interrupt her, but the line of his lips showed that he was growing anxious at her tone.

“The night that you and Eren got into that fight…”

If only her physical strength could influence the resilience of her mind, this would not be as difficult as she was making it. If only she was as capable as Jean, or as impressive as everybody seemed to think she was, she could harden her emotions and do what must be done.

“Eren was…confused, and angry, and lost…”

Was she defending his action?

“And he went into Hange’s files, while you were gone…” her heart raced painfully, “...and he pulled out the report…” she had to force herself to keep her eyes on him, “...on what happened when you and Armin were captured…”

Those words alone were enough of an admission and it seemed like every inch of Jean turned to stone, his entire body freezing in place as though under a spell. He was so rigid that not even shock was evident on his face.

Her tongue could have been made of molasses and brimstone. It was thick and burning in her mouth and she sucked in a breath as some sort of encouragement to keep speaking, knowing she had more to convey, but nothing came to her mind to excuse herself, to explain herself, to finish this admission.

A hand suddenly covered her wrapped fingers, silencing her, saving her from the burden of being any more specific than necessary. Jean’s other hand covered his mouth as he looked off towards the far wall. His rigidity thawed, making the rush of melt drown him in the realization of what he was stopping her from saying.

“I understand,” he said into his palm, not meeting her eyes.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I…I tried to stop him, I tried to tell him that we shouldn’t, I didn’t know–”

“It’s okay,” he said, removing his hand from hers. It slid across the table and fell back into his lap. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“I should have told you the day it happened, I know. I’m sorry.” Mikasa hung her head, unable to face him a second more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mikasa, it’s okay.” The wall still had his attention, but his voice was becoming his own again. “I should have told you a long time ago. I’m sorry you found out like this.”

“Are you…” Mikasa forced down the need to cry that she very much wanted to submit to, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Not right now. “Are you doing alright? I know I’m, I’m so late in asking that, but…”

After several rapid, fluttering blinks, Jean’s jaw tensed and he moved his head away from the wall. Although he faced her, his eyes continued to look anywhere but her own. He shifted and folded his hands on the table and when he nodded, he did so shallowly, like he was reminding himself how to do it.

“I’m doing alright,” he confirmed.

As she watched him struggle in her awareness, she suddenly, immediately, achingly needed to hold him at that moment. It was her first impulse after coming away from the impact of the report because once she accepted it was real, and not fiction, not her own nightmare fooling her, what she wanted to do was find Jean and draw him into her arms as if she was capable of making any of this disappear.

Mikasa’s voice cracked when she spoke.

“Can I hug you?” she asked desperately, almost not even sounding like herself.

Jean’s eyes flipped up, meeting hers finally, and his eyebrows turned up in emotion. He nodded again, more vigorously, his face twisting as he finally gave a sliver of his pain to her, and his facade broke as he let this barrier between them fall. They both stood from the table at the same time and Mikasa made it around the curve in two steps.

She pulled him into her, tightening her grip, feeling the weight of his body fill her embrace, her forehead pushing into his chest as he buried his face into her. His ribcage hitched as he inhaled sharply through his nose.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, but this time, it wasn’t an apology for what she’d done. It was in regret at what he’d been through. “I’m so sorry, Jean.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, too.”

When they broke apart, his eyes, to her incredible relief, were dry. She’d never seen Jean cry and she couldn’t bear to think of what that might look like. But he was sturdy, stabilized, and strong when he looked down at her, the shock of her knowing breaking away so that his persistent resiliency could emerge.

“Mikasa…” he started, a crease of worry on his face. “Did…Eren leave because–”

“No,” she interrupted quickly. This would not add to his burdens to bear. “He was…very, very upset…but he left because of what was decided at the hearing.”

Jean nodded, his arms falling away from her.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked quietly.

For a moment Jean didn’t speak, but he did seem to be thinking. Nervously, he rubbed a hand over his other arm. “I’ve been meaning to tell the three of you…and now that I know that you’re aware…” He sighed heavily. “I think it’s time that I do that.”

“When?”

“Tonight, I guess. I just need to do it. Will you be around? Hange…well, when I was talking through this with them, they suggested we should do it as a flat…”

Jean knew she’d be around, all of them were always around after dinner, but in between his words was a request for support. Mikasa’s smile was small, but genuine.

“I’ll be around,” she said. “You’ll have Armin, too, and the others. Let’s do it together.”

Jean nodded. “Yeah.” His hand rubbed at the arm a little quicker, his eyes drifting down. It was blindingly obvious that despite him taking the initiative to do this, it was the last thing he wanted to see through. He had a way of reminding her how to be strong in the face of hopelessness. Of any of them, Jean’s courage was always the most uplifting – maybe because he knew he couldn’t stop his own fear, but he’d fight it anyway, rather than submit to it.

“Do you want to go out and distract yourself for a bit today?” she suggested, finding a familiar swirl of power inside her as she watched Jean brave his own fears.

Jean’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He’d kept this from them for any number of reasons Mikasa could never know, but she did understand one must have been in anxiety that he would be treated differently. Even as a kid, Jean disliked being hovered over, doted on, or prodded in any way, so the best thing Mikasa could do for him, now that there were finally no more secrets between them, was to prove that their friendship would not change because of this. They were still who they always were.

“Do you remember when we first discovered how low the tide could get back home?” she asked, making a point to smooth out the distress from her face. “And we all found those wild, colorful things we later found out were slugs?”

He looked at her differently, both a little unsure yet not displeased at this topic of conversation. His own trouble diminished a touch. “Yeah…”

“Well there’s a very low tide today, it’s in the afternoon. Lower than it has been in months. I could really use watching a pretty water slug float around a tide pool…but I’m not allowed to go by myself.”

When Jean smiled, it made his face glow more warmly than the sun had been doing. His lips pushed together, his eyes pondering on it for only a moment before he stepped past her and removed both of their coats from the coat rack. In response, Mikasa grabbed the pen on the table and scribbled a note to the others. Then she took her coat from Jean, they both put on their shoes, and left the flat together.

That evening, Mikasa, with Jean beside her, told Hange, Levi, and Armin what she and Eren had done. Before Levi had a chance to draw blood, Jean stepped in and told them that he planned on telling Connie and Sasha what had happened to him, making Levi pause and his sudden anger to drain.

The conversation that followed was quick, and when they heard the other two arrive home, they dispersed and allowed Armin and Jean time to talk things through in their room.

Hange told Connie and Sasha to stick around after they cleaned up dinner. Jean had been so nervous he’d barely been able to pick at his food, but after spending the day with him, Mikasa knew he was going to be alright. The sea had been cold, reddening their bare feet as they stepped through shallow pools of saltwater and pushed aside kelp in search of the stunning, slimy critters. They each found a few different kinds, some new, some familiar, and they spent hours exploring the intertidal shore instead of wasting away in an apartment that was too small, yet too empty.

The ocean was only mildly unruly, splashing rolls of water against the larger outcroppings that sprayed them periodically and made them both yelp. A crab had pinched the cloth near Jean’s boots and he’d spent ten minutes trying to gently shoo it off without getting pinched himself. They each found empty seashells coated in a pretty iridescence and while Jean admired his, he threw it back into the water. Mikasa’s was still in her pocket.

It was her hope that after Jean realized what Mikasa knew, things weren’t different between them. That what he was above to brave – saying what he’d gone through out loud, to everybody – would be difficult, but in the end, it would also be alright.

After cleaning up, they sat back at the table. She saw Armin, sitting beside Jean, move an arm and they exchanged looks. She thought it was possible Armin had grabbed his hand. Across the table from the both of them, and sitting beside Mikasa, were Connie and Sasha, shifting nervously at the seriousness in the air around them all.

“Connie, Sasha…” Jean began, breaking away from Armin’s steady gaze. “There’s something that I need to tell you. And it’s…not going to be easy…” he agitated harshly in his chair, casting Armin another quick glance as if refueling his resolve, “...and I don’t really want to do it, but I know it needs to be done. Because we’re friends.” There was a deep inhale through his nose. “And…you should know. But before I start, I just want to tell you I’m alright. Okay?”

Numbly, both of them nodded their heads. Jean sucked in another breath. A moment passed.

“Something else happened that night you all saved Armin and me from the warehouse.” Although his heart was protected by his ribcage and chest, Mikasa could still practically see it begin to beat faster. Or perhaps it was just her own.

“The story you were told is only half of it,” he continued, “it…it wasn’t just…p–physical interrogation that…”

Jean cleared his throat when emotion made the words thick. There was a new shine to his eyes and Mikasa had to clench her fists to stop herself from reacting to it because Jean needed her for support, he’d practically asked it of her, and the one thing she could do was maintain her composure even if he lost his.

There was another movement from Armin, but the table prevented Mikasa from seeing what form his comfort took. The shine in Jean’s eyes shimmied when he looked over to Levi, sitting at the end. They shared a look wrought in something profound, something it seemed only the two of them grasped, and Levi gave Jean a slow, encouraging nod.

“This is a very clear order, Eren. Listen to what I am saying: do not get into a physical fight with him.”

“Jean, come to the museum with us today. I don’t want to hear no for an answer.”

Then Jean’s eyes moved the other way, to Hange, and they smiled softly; assuredly. Their eye contact lasted the longest.

“Would you fucking listen to me? I’m trying to tell you it’s nothing, and you’re making something out of it anyway!”

“Jean, please sit back down!”

Jean’s bottom lip went a little white when he began to bite at it, but whatever Hange said to him through the intensity of that eye had Jean straighten his back.

Finally, Jean’s jaw clenched tight as he looked directly at the person beside him. Affection and strength poured out of Armin when he did. His lips moved and he said, so very softly that Mikasa only understood the words from the shape his lips took,

“You can do this.”

“I don’t care how bad this anti-inflammatory tea tastes, Jean, just drink it. I made it for you, it would be rude to turn it away.”

“Oh, thanks for the invite, guys, but I’m going to stay home with Jean today.”

“Hey, it’s nearly 10 in the morning and you haven’t taken the antibiotic yet. Do you want me to tell Hange on you?”

“Jean…eat the rest of your food.”

“I’m alright, Mikasa, honestly, let’s just help Jean out while he heals, okay? And…and don’t ask too much about what happened. Please.”

Jean’s look softened at Armin’s words. There was a deep inhale as Jean turned back to face the two across from him, then a longer exhale as he expelled the creases from his features. The words he said next were on a steady stream of air.

“Eklon Saint Claire sexually assaulted me and made every possible attempt to rape me before you arrived.”

The Jean who said this truth that he must have been so petrified of speaking, maybe even of admitting, was more familiar to Mikasa than she could ever have hoped. He was not crippled by it, not warped or torn, and while she knew he’d been changed, it wasn’t enough to make him unrecognizable. Most importantly, though, was that he said it with his best qualities – capability, durability, perseverance – because these were the attributes he needed to face the absolute, bewildering horror riddling his friends’ entire bodies.

Every ounce of color drained from Sasha and Connie’s cheeks and while Connie’s mouth parted open, no words came out.

“Armin, of course, knows,” Jean continued, saving himself and the other two from the silence. “Hange and Levi were debriefed on it the day after. Mikasa found out not long ago. Eren too. I needed some time to sit with this, and…recover from…the trauma of it, before I told you. It was never my intention to deliberately keep this away from you.”

“Jean…” Sasha’s voice cracked, as if she hadn’t used it in years. Another long pause followed before she employed it again. “You…do not have to apologize…you…why do you sound like you’re apologizing?”

Connie still couldn’t speak. His tears were the first to begin flowing, but he remained entirely silent.

“You’re my closest friends,” Jean explained quietly. “I don’t want you to think…or, to interpret my secrecy as–”

“Thank you,” Sasha interrupted, swallowing a cry that she refused to allow surface, “thank you for telling us. But this…or the…well…” She shook her head fiercely, as if shaking away the disorientation apparent in her brain. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit in shock so my thoughts are somewhat scrambled, but–thank you,” she emphasized again, “for telling us, Jean. You didn’t need to, and…” Her inhale was sharp and she wiped at a barely dry face. “And I’m so sorry for you…but please, don’t apologize, okay?”

The glisten in Jean’s eyes seemed to embolden, but still he gave her a look that was the beginnings of a smile. “I wanted to tell you, Sasha. But thanks for saying that.”

Mikasa rubbed Sasha’s arm, giving her a grateful smile. She wasn’t sure how she was going to react to this news, but Sasha was being profusely admirable in her response. Connie, however, was struggling, and he pushed a few knuckles against his mouth to stifle himself, unable to speak. It seemed that if he was going to try, he would be unable to get a single word out.

“I know this is a shock, Connie,” Jean said to him. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Don’t need to say anything?” Connie repeated, several sobs bursting out of him now that they had the chance to. “My best friend was assaulted and you think I can just go to bed without saying anything?”

Sasha, brave as she was, put an arm around his shoulder.

“I knew something was different,” Connie sobbed clumsily. “You’ve been so distant, and–and staying out of our room, and…” He sucked in a wet breath. “I’m sorry, Jean, I don’t mean to break down, I’m just…I’m really devastated to hear that and I wish I had done something.”

“You did exactly what I needed you to do,” Jean replied, his voice the steadiest of the three. “You left me alone. You gave me space, without question. Thank you, Connie. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

Connie looked back up at him, his bottom jaw quivering. After a moment, he let himself speak again. “You said you’re doing better?” he begged. “Since then, you’re doing better, right?”

“I am.”

“Okay…” Connie’s inhale was sputtering. “Okay.”

“What can we do, Jean?” Sasha asked, tightening the hand on Connie’s shoulder.

“Exactly what you’ve been doing. Seriously, that’s…what I want.”

Sasha smiled at him and nodded. Mikasa knew the face she was putting on was for his benefit alone because that girl was going to bawl into her pillow tonight; but not in front of Jean. As silly and sweet as she was, Sasha was never, ever given enough credit for the things she was capable of.

“Is there anything you’d like to say about it?” Sasha asked, giving him the chance to continue or end the conversation.

Jean shook his head, choosing the latter. “No.”

“Okay. Then, Connie, do you wanna go calm down in your bedroom?” It was both a kind gesture that she truly meant, while also an implorement for him to remove himself so Jean wouldn’t feel any more uncomfortable than he already was. Connie tried so hard to stop sobbing, but he couldn’t and he simply nodded. Jean swallowed hard as Connie and Sasha rose from their chairs, his eyes following them up.

When Sasha cast him a weakened glance, Jean nodded. “Yes, you can hug me,” he guessed. And they did. Jean was squished between the two of them for several long moments, his face suggesting that he may have wanted it as much as them, before they broke apart.

Mikasa knew Sasha would stay with Connie tonight. She’d spend the night without her. After they left, when Jean sat back in his chair and the door shut behind them, his composure loosened and Jean’s face fell harshly into his hands. The tips of his fingers curled inwards.

“The worst of it is over,” Armin comforted, rubbing a hand down Jean’s arm. “You did it.”

“It was the right thing for you to do,” Hange added. “I know it’s hard now, but it was the right thing for you to do, for your own sake.”

“And you did it well.” Levi leaned forward. Mikasa found herself looking at him longer than the rest, watching the soft features of a man who may have never appeared soft in his life. “It wasn’t that long ago where you couldn’t even say the words to yourself, remember? Look how far you’ve come in that time.”

Although she sat at the table with them, she felt something like an outsider. Not in a poor way, but simply because the four of them had endured this together and had experienced a number of things Mikasa would never know.

Jean’s hands pressed together so his fingers were lengthened and flat, the meeting of his palms pressing against his nose. By now, the glassiness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a more calm weariness.

“I don’t know how to say thank you to everybody at this table,” he implored quietly.

“You don’t need to.” Hange stood and crossed the space to stand behind Jean’s chair, then wrapped their arms around him in a hug. One of Jean’s hands grasped a forearm. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, sounding indeed like he meant it. He squeezed Hange’s arm, then let out a hefty sigh, as if the last of the weight he’d kept on his shoulders went with it. “I really am.”

Chapter Text

Winter in Marley was cold, but beautiful. Gentle drapes of snow covered the branches of every tree and twinkled on top of chimney bricks when faced with cloudless days. The cultural event they’d heard about from the Volunteers created a city that was new to them once again, for colorful glass balls dangled off gutters, doors, and fences, while tinsel and ribbon adorned every shop in the center.

Jean and Armin sat on a bench, facing a freshly frozen pond, both of their noses a little red as a breeze iced their skin and scattered what few dead leaves remained. It was a spot they had become acquainted with, a bench they’d visit often if bored, crowded, or restless. It was the place they went the day after Jean’s disappearance from the flat, when they both followed through with topics they’d been avoiding.

“Will you talk me through some of the things in your head?” Armin asked gently, a little unsure but confident in his resolve. “You said last night that you wanted to. Did you mean it?”

“I meant it,” Jean confirmed, leaning into his elbows as he watched a family of ducks paddle by. “I did. I, um…well, I don’t know how well I’ll do, though.”

“I’d still like to try.”

Jean ran a nervous hand through his hair, but he gave a few short nods. “I do, too. I’m not very good at just…I mean, you know, I’m just not so great at saying things…”

“I could give you some prompts?” Armin suggested. Jean nodded shyly. “Maybe we start with your nightmares?”

“What about them?”

“Will you tell me about them?”

“Will you tell me about yours?”

Surprised, Armin’s mouth clipped shut and he simply blinked as Jean turned his head to regard him. When he’d told Jean he’d been having his own nightmares, he thought Jean had already been asleep at that point and even hoped, prayed, that he was – Armin was not prepared to engage in this and immediately thought no, I can’t tell you about mine, because mine are about you.

Of course, the irony of such a thought did not escape Armin because he’d brought them to this bench, shaded by the comforting height of a willow tree, in the quiet of a humble park, to engage in topics that had been suffocated. Had he asked Jean to be the only one to adhere to such a task? Was it right of him to request Jean summit this climb while he waited, with baited, unencumbered breath, for him to do so – alone?

“Yeah…” Armin agreed, the shadow of a smile that crossed him making him feel a little less daunted. “But,” he gave a cant of his head, “I don’t know how well I’ll do, though.”

The sky was clear and bright, the sunshine glistening off the ice and snow that covered the pond. Like it had been when they first sat on that bench, the park was still modest and sparse, not terribly far from the flat while being tucked well enough away that it felt like they could breathe without the ears of others. The flat’s radio had broken the day before, and knowing it would be unwise not to have it working – in the event government announcements were made – Jean and Armin volunteered to have it repaired. They spent the time it took waiting there on the once cold bench, now warmed by their bodies, as the bare limbs of the willow above them creaked harmlessly.

“Armin, you told me a while ago that you had panic attacks too. I was wondering…if they ever got better?”

There were two meanings in the questions. One was for honest concern for Armin, he saw that much in Jean’s eyes, and it touched him – but there was also a hint of desperation in the pauses of his words, seeking reassurance for the future of his own condition.

“They got better,” Armin said, hoping it would give him some comfort. Still, while he wanted Jean to understand that the intensity of his trauma would diminish, he also wanted to prepare him for the truth. “But although I don’t really have panic attacks anymore, the anxiety never really goes away. It’s always some sort of baseline that rises and falls.”

“Ah.”

“But they did get better, Jean. It just took some time. The same will be true for you, too.”

“Did you have anyone to help you through that?” The ducks seemed to have Jean’s attention, but Armin knew that when he allowed himself to be open, he had trouble looking at the person he spoke to. They quacked happily. “I had you, at least.”

“Growing up, Mikasa and Eren knew about my anxiety. I get on fine, Jean, I promise.”

There was a release of tension in the lines between his brow. Jean nodded, not needing to hear anything more. “You know,” Jean started again slowly, the continuation of this conversation letting his words come easier, “before last night, I hadn’t had a panic attack in several days, and I was…feeling a bit more in control. I’ll admit, I’m discouraged…”

“What happened last night wasn’t a panic attack,” Armin pressed. “I don’t really know how to categorize it, but…it was different. You’re still in control, and you’re still getting better. Don’t be dissuaded, okay?”

“I don’t want it to happen again.”

“Why? Because you’re afraid of losing sight of your surroundings, because you don’t want to let anyone down, or because you’re afraid of reliving the moment?”

“I wish I could say all of the above, and sound responsible, maybe even strong, but frankly, it’s only the last one I’m terrified of. I can’t feel what I felt again. I can’t.”

“We’re more informed now, we’ll avoid anything that could trigger it. And now that you know it’s a possibility, I’m sure you’ll be more aware of situations you put yourself in.”

Jean seemed to let that particular point pass. Then he spoke again. “Have you had any?”

“Any…?”

“Panic attacks. Since the warehouse.”

Armin thought on that. “Proper panic attacks?” he noted as clarification. “Well, I suppose the answer is yes. Only once, though, after my debriefing to Hange and Levi. But, I can’t deny that my mental state has…certainly suffered in the days since. But,” he emphasized at the turn of Jean’s expression, “I’ve been feeling better, just like you have. Compared to a few weeks ago, I’m practically ecstatic. I think it’s the laws of physics for me to cry at least once a day, and I haven’t in a long time, not since the day you went to the museum. That’s pretty swell, if you ask me.”

That made Jean smile. “I’d say the physics of crying is inversed for me.”

Armin gave him a playful shove. “You can cry in front of me anytime.”

“I’d really rather not.”

As Armin promised Jean, and hoped for himself, Jean’s recovery only improved since then. The taut band he’d wrapped around himself finally snapped, leaving room for him to spill out and take up the space he’d been too afraid of occupying before. He let himself be open. It affected every aspect of his revival, including diminishing the frequency of his nightmares significantly. After Armin suggested they room together, he expected to be waking him every other night – it had only happened, however, a handful of times.

The first time, still, was as contemptible as he expected it to be. That look on Jean’s face, so horribly afraid, in pain, and vulnerable in sleep, was enough to send Armin falling off his own bed and careening into the floor. Part of him almost wished he could have seen Levi do the same, like he knew he’d done in the living space, just to know if their captain turned as clumsy as Armin did. He doubted it.

There was a soft sound, something between a whimper and a cry, and Armin’s bleary eyes blinked awake. At first, he wasn’t certain it hadn’t been a product of his own dream, but then he heard it again and his eyes flew widely open. Armin’s head snapped to the side, the pillow scrunching at the movement, and he saw Jean flinch. He mumbled several incoherent words, his sleep slurring them together, but Armin was able to make out the last syllable: it had been the word “stop”.

Armin got his legs so tangled in the sheets that he tripped and fell to the floor, his legs kicking off the covers and sheets in a manner that made him seem like a goldfish out of its bowl and now odiously flustered and entirely startled, Armin had to consciously stop himself from grabbing Jean to shake him awake.

“Jean!” Armin whispered. “Jean, wake up!”

Levi had taken Armin aside when it had become apparent that Armin would be the one to wake Jean, giving him advice on how best to go about it. As he succinctly described his learned methods, Armin felt a little dazed, even curious, at how Levi had managed to categorize it all so nonplussed.

“Try and wake him with your voice first, or he’s going to punch you,” Levi said flatly. “He’s got one hell of a right hook.”

But Jean flinched again, Armin’s words doing nothing to bring him awake, and his entire body tensed as some tormented image unfairly took hold of him. Armin suddenly stopped caring about getting decked in the face or even startling Jean more than he could prevent because Jean was saying the word again, sweat was dripping down his temples, his voiced exhales were becoming high pitched, and Armin couldn’t stomach it a second more.

He grasped a shoulder and placed a hand on top of Jean’s hair.

“Jean!” he implored, his fluster influencing his tone more than he liked. “Come on, wake up! It’s me, it’s Armin, it’s just a dream!” The shake he gave him was certain to rouse him, and when he did it again, Jean’s eyes flipped wide open and a hand slammed around Armin’s wrist, the impact of the grip making the bed shake, and for a moment, Jean did not recognize him. His fingers were powerful, his strength nearly astonishing Armin, and his face was plastered in a horrified snarl.

“It’s me,” Armin comforted, not moving, his words immediately, impressively calmed. “It’s Armin.”

Lucidity came over Jean slowly at first, melting away his expression, and then he fell apart.

“Armin!” he gasped, his breath starting to quicken, pitch rising at every pant. When he said his name again, it cracked severely. “Armin!”

“It’s alright!” Armin pulled him immediately into a hug, tugging him close with fervent hands. “It wasn’t real! It wasn’t real!”

Jean shook up his sleeve and glanced at the watch on his left wrist. The silver band couldn’t fully cover the burn scars, but with the distraction of the watch and the color of his flesh remaining much the same, leaving only an abrupt texture that didn’t match untouched skin, it was hardly noticeable.

Before donning the thing, he was wearing long sleeves almost daily, even on warm, inviting days where the sun warmed skin.

“I have a gift for you!” Hange bounced up and down excitedly, making the couch shake and the wooden legs to scoot an inch across the hardwood floor. Immediately sensing trouble from their effervescence, Jean stood and switched seats, going for the chair instead where Hange couldn’t sit beside him.

“What?” he inquired suspiciously. Just waiting for permission to do so, Hange squirreled in their pocket and pulled out something shiny and small. It was a watch, flawless and reflective. Levi’s eyes widened and he leaned forward from behind Jean’s seat, staring at the object as if it were a worm.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded. “Where did you get the coin for that? I didn’t allocate you any funds!”

“I didn’t buy it, stupid!” Hange defended. Then they stood and sat on the arm of Jean’s chair, making him groan at the lack of effect his moving had in the first place. Armin placed a palm over his mouth to hide his smile, suddenly grateful that the others weren’t home at the flat. Connie and Sasha would have fought to grab the dangling watch, just to look, and Jean would have happily let them.

“Hange, what is this?” Jean asked disappointedly. His fingers lifted to poke the silver band, but Hange batted them away.

“It’s a watch!” they said excitedly. Then they skirted up his sleeve and despite his resigned sigh, Jean allowed them to place it on his wrist. “I got it for you!”

“Why?” he asked firmly. “And from where?”

“Because it’s a man’s watch and Armin is too responsible to lose track of time, Levi already has a pocket watch, and Connie would break it in 24 hours. Obviously.” They clasped the band and lifted Jean’s arm to behold it. He snatched his hand away, but although his face seemed annoyed, Jean’s eyes softened as he looked at the gift.

It shimmered in the window’s light as he rotated his wrist. When his brow knit, Armin saw him realize, as he shook his sleeve up to practice checking the time, that it nearly entirely covered the healed burn. Then the rest of his annoyed expression softened, too.

“So where did you get it?” Levi asked again, placing a hand on his hip.

“...I found it.” Hange shrugged.

“Hange.”

“Maybe a man was selling watches in the center and I traded Connie’s shitty origami for it.”

“Hange!”

“Alright, so I watched it fall off a man’s wrist when he bumped into an immigrant a little too hard, and then I conveniently forgot to call out to him because maybe I saw him yell at his wife, maybe because I also saw him yell at the crossing guard, we’ll never know.” They shrugged again. “Maybe he didn’t deserve the watch.”

“You stole it.” Jean surmised.

“I think fate stole it for me.” They winked at him, making him laugh and look back down at the watch. Jean smiled, admired it properly, and gave a nod.

“Thank you, Hange.”

Whatever the time was, it must not have been near enough to their set pick-up time for the radio and Jean shook his sleeve back down, his arm going around the back of the bench as he crossed his legs for comfort and stared forward. At the far end of the frozen pond, a couple kids were learning to ice skate with their parents. Their distant laughs traveled along the solid surface.

They never heard anything from Eren. Armin often wondered if he was nearby, if he was still even in the city or somewhere far away, but he tried not to let his mind become too preoccupied with those thoughts. It had been some time since his disappearance, and while it never got easier for Armin to deal with it, he’d become more efficient at mitigating the anxiety it gave him.

Much like the experiences he’d had in the past, the many, many horrible things he’d endured, Armin continued to learn that he’d survive. Evolve. Adapt.

He feared that Eren wasn’t surviving, evolving, or adapting, but losing himself. And as much as it tore him apart, Armin knew he couldn’t follow him there.

When Armin came home, he found Connie napping on the couch. Hange, Levi, and Mikasa were preparing dinner, so Armin walked down the hall into his and Jean’s room, wondering if Jean had fallen asleep, too. But Jean was kneeling before his suitcase, his back stiff and hard, and Armin shut the door quietly and hurried to kneel down beside him.

“What is it?” he asked worriedly, but he saw the small slip of paper between Jean’s fingers soon after.

“I went into my things to look for a sketchbook,” he informed distantly. Armin reached over and took the paper from Jean’s fingers. It said,

| This is what I can do for you. I’m sorry; I’m going to fix this. |

It was in Eren’s penmanship.

Jean lowered himself to the floor, his rear falling flat in a show of exasperation. He plucked the paper out from Armin’s fingers and tossed it back towards the suitcase, watching it flitter harmlessly down and fall among his belongings. He raised a foot and knocked down the lid. The clasps rudely clacked together at the impact.

“Why didn’t he talk to me, Armin?” he asked, placing an elbow up on his knee. His eyes were on the suitcase, despite having closed it himself, and Armin wished he could give him a proper answer because despite their rivalry, their past conflicts, the nature of their relationship, Jean and Eren were bonded, strong-willed friends.

He couldn’t seem to say it outright, but Eren’s departure, despite knowing what had happened to Jean, hurt him.

“I don’t know,” Armin answered honestly. “Maybe this was his way of doing that.”

“It’s cowardly.” Jean kicked the suitcase across the floor and it skirted back into his opened closet. “He lied to me, and then he left. A scribbled piece of paper isn’t enough.”

“I know.”

“At least Mikasa owned up to it.”

“I know.”

The shake of Jean’s head was dulled and lost. “Whatever he’s doing, I don’t want it to be in my name. I do not want that burden.”

“We already know that he must have had some plan for a long time before he discovered that report, Jean. Whatever he’s doing, it’s for all Eldians. That does include you, but also many, many others.” Armin stood and closed the closet door, breaking Jean’s sight completely, and he extended a hand. When Jean took it, he helped him to his feet.

“Eren’s choices are on him.” He grabbed Jean’s hand with his other, getting it firm in his hold, and he pressed against it with a shake. “He did this of his own volition.”

The shape their friendship took in the several weeks of healing had included a physical intimacy that Armin found a lot of comfort in. Jean never liked being hugged, or hung off of, or touched as a show of affection, but since the evolution of their relationship, Armin thought it was possible that it wasn’t that Jean disliked physical affection – his deflective personality just demanded that he pretended he didn’t.

He’d come past that, though. He shook Armin’s hand back and gave him a nod as an understanding, acceptance, and hopefully agreement of his words.

After a time, Jean checked his watch again, then slapped his hands down on his knees and rose to his feet.

“About that time?” Armin asked as he mirrored the action.

“About that time,” Jean affirmed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Their boots crunched into the snow as they left the bench behind and headed off towards the repair shop to fetch their radio. Armin cast another glance back at the bench, feeling a strange sort of attachment for it, and turned back around to watch his shoes disappear into the white layer of snow.

“Do you think I’m gonna make it out of this?” Jean asked him bravely, his entirely sober eyes starting to glass over. The ducks had swam away and Jean had nowhere else to look but Armin’s own face.

“Yeah,” Armin said promptly. “I really do. And I think, maybe, you already have.”

After so much time, so much pain, Jean discovered that he could speak with Armin as if he were speaking to himself. He didn’t hold back, or filter his words to make them less pained, or pretend that he was fine if he wasn’t.

The restaurant was a modest one, tucked into an alley with many plants and hanging lights. Connie and Sasha were fighting over the free bread when Jean put a hand on Armin’s leg beneath the table, making him place down his water glass and give him a curious look.

“Armin, I think I’m having a panic attack,” he whispered calmly under his breath. Armin straightened, placed the cloth from his lap next to his plate, and started to scoot his chair from beneath the table.

“I’ll be right back, I need to use the restroom. If the waiter comes, Mikasa, will you get me a tea?”

She nodded, then turned her eyes when she saw Jean rise too.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. Despite proclaiming to be in the throes of an episode, he sounded in control of himself; but Armin was familiar with the strange dichotomy of these moments. The mind was frequently at odds with the response of its body.

They exited the restaurant together and Armin pulled him into an adjacent, empty alley, letting Jean sink down along the wall as he clutched at his chest and started gasping for the breath he wouldn’t allow himself to take before.

Armin could do little but watch. “What caused it?”

“Nothing did,” Jean forced out. “J–just a memory. It’s been so long since I’ve had one, I-I don’t know why it’s happening, I thought…I t–thought–”

“Remember that it will pass,” Armin interrupted quickly, before Jean had the opportunity to frighten himself more. He lowered himself and put an arm around Jean’s shoulders, feeling Jean lean into him, putting his weight into the hold. They’d now repeated this process several times and while Armin and Jean both despised the event, it was becoming more familiar to them on what steps it took for it to end.

“It’ll pass,” Jean repeated breathlessly.

“And when it does, we’ll go back in and make Connie get us more bread rolls since you know they’ll be gone in two seconds.”

Jean laughed through his gasp, swallowing hard as he dealt with the feeling of air not reaching his lungs.

“I’ll let you take care of that,” he panted. “But I…I get the first one…they’re only warm for a minute, you know…”

With the fixed radio wrapped tightly in a box, which was in far better condition than the radio itself, they walked back to the flat. Despite the position of the sun, high in the sky, Armin’s fingers bit at the winter’s chill so that when they stepped into the flat, they smarted at the sudden warmth inside.

“Smells good in here,” Jean noted as he shut and locked the door behind them. Hange poked their head out of the breakfast nook.

“I’m baking cookies!”

“They better not have raisins in them!” said Connie from the couch. He turned his head over the cushion and gave Hange a glare; he’d been traumatized from the week prior’s after-dinner treat. Hange gave him a poignant glare back.

“It’s only raisins,” they driveled lowly. “I molded a ball of raisins and put them in the oven.”

Connie lifted a lip in disgust at just the thought. Armin scraped the snow from his boots, tapped his soles into the mat, then slipped them off and brought the radio to the table. It came out of the box and he placed it on the nearby counter.

“Anything exciting out there?” Hange asked as they watched Armin work.

“We saw another jackrabbit,” Jean answered as he hung his coat. “God knows you can’t get enough of those things.”

“Their ears are this big!” Hange put their hands high above their head, flattening their fingers as if touching the tops of ears they would have reached. Jean smiled quietly and joined Hange in the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he did. He’d promised to help them prepare dinner upon their return.

“Hey…Hange…” Jean started hesitantly.

“Yeah?” they replied, looking up from the book they were reading at the table.

“Um, I have a weird favor to ask.”

“Perfect.” They put the book down. “I love weird favors.”

That made Jean relax a bit and he shifted on his feet. “Uh, will you, um…well, I want to see if I’ll react unwittingly if you touch my face again.”

This seemed to catch Hange off guard and the teasing look they had, which had been in place to make light, sort of fell away to reveal a seriousness. All others were out of the flat, which Armin was certain was the only reason Jean made such a request, and Hange stood from the table to walk over to him.

Although their relationship had only suffered for a day from the altercation they had, both had learned a valuable lesson from it. Hange never touched him again except to help with his wrists, and Jean never once raised his voice at them, not even when he was joking like he used to, and Armin was quite aware of how guilty Jean still felt about the entire thing.

“You sure?” Hange asked as they stepped up in front of him. Shyly, Jean nodded. The bruises were gone, leaving Jean’s slightly flushed cheeks to be free from visual history, but neither Armin nor Hange could ever forget where, exactly, they’d been. Kindly, Hange lifted a sure hand and sent the tips of their fingers across Jean’s face, brushing over the spots that no longer remained. They applied more pressure, even sending a thumb to the other side of his face, and when they both realized at the same time that Jean was completely unaffected, they smiled at each other.

In order to brush off the intimacy of the action, Hange grinned and lightly tapped his cheek a few times. “Is this permission to smack you next time you yell at me?” they joked. Jean shooed away their hand with a smack of his own, then took in a long, deep breath that was of very revealing relief.

“There won’t be a next time, I’m not gonna yell at you anymore.”

“Can I still smack you?”

Jean gave their shoulder a shove and Hange returned it.

“Annoying brat!” they said.

“Old grouch!”

The coffee table in front of the couch was littered with origami, most of which was looking fairly promising. Connie’s focused face artfully bent a corner of the temple in his hands to give it a final flare.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” complimented Armin.

“Tell that to the trees,” Levi grumbled without looking away from the novel in his hands.

“I can’t,” Connie said to him dramatically, “because they’re already dead.”

Levi’s eyes lifted over the line of his book to give Connie a characteristically annoyed look.

The three of them were walking down the road when they saw a group of rowdy men laughing, shoving each other, and generally causing quite a ruckus outside of the pub they must have just exited – or perhaps, Armin thought, had been kicked out of. It wasn’t terribly late at night, and they seemed the sort to inhabit a pub until the doors locked.

“So boring.” Levi rolled his eyes as they approached. Their flat was only a quarter mile away, but Armin wouldn’t have been shocked if Levi made them circle around the block to get there. Drunken men were among Levi’s least favorite things in life.

“What’s boring?” Jean asked.

“Work, drink to raucousness, break bottles in the street, repeat.” Levi tsked. “Boring.”

They hugged the brick wall to avoid parting the crowd of about seven men, making Levi grumble further. There was another roar of laughter and as if proving Levi’s perceptiveness, there was the sound of a bottle shattering on the curb and another chorus of chuffing. Although he wasn’t as bothered as Levi, Armin agreed that wreaking havoc for fun was, in summary, something of a bore.

“Hey, what a pretty girl!” One of them crowed. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Armin felt sorry for whatever lady they’d locked eyes on and continued forward behind Levi, his shoulder brushing along the brick, but then a large figure stepped in and interrupted his sight, stopping him short.

“What, you’re not even gonna look at me?” he asked, feigning hurt. “That’s not very nice.”

“This is my brother, dipshit.” Jean’s arm was suddenly in front of his chest and he shoved him backwards, his broad frame blocking Armin. “He’s a guy.”

“Oh.” The man seemed certainly shocked and a little disgusted with himself. “Well, my apologies.”

“Yeah, think twice next time, even if it was a lady.” Jean tried to shoulder past him, but the man sidestepped to prevent it.

“Now, there’s no need to be rude, you little fucker.”

“You’re the one harassing strangers in the streets. Go get some coffee to sober up and fuck off.”

The man’s face turned immediately sour and he lunged forward, grabbing Jean’s neck in an instant as his other fist raised in a powerfully cocked position – and he froze when Levi inserted himself between them, a hand flat on the far larger man’s chest.

“Release him.”

Levi’s voice was the sort of calm that raised hairs, his contact with the man’s body so light that it barely made a compression into the cloth of his jacket. Jean just stared at his attacker, unimpressed, with his chin slightly raised from the groove of the man’s thumb and forefinger. Thoroughly taken aback by Levi’s abrupt presence, like a quiet predator suddenly emerging from a bush, the man blinked quickly, as if wondering if the effect Levi had on him was due to his own inebriation or if he really was so intimidated by this person.

“Right now,” Levi added in the silence, his voice still so eerily placid. The inflection wasn’t even threatening, just equally as cooled as the night they all inhabited. “You’ll let go of him right now.”

Some of the men’s buddies came up and pulled him back. Jean’s neck was released.

“Sorry about that, he’s a dumb drunk,” one of them stuttered out, backing away swiftly while the man who’d grabbed Jean just looked entirely, eternally dumbfounded. It would have been entertaining if Armin didn’t feel so stunned himself. “You guys have a nice night, alright?”

They quickly retreated. Some of them snickered at the man for folding so precipitously to Levi, but Armin knew it was because they weren’t near enough to feel the effect Levi had on the situation. Both Jean and Armin were pulled forward by the backs of their arms and after several steps, Jean readjusted the collar of his jacket.

“Are you hurt?” Levi leveled.

“No. He’s got the grip of a wimp. Barely felt it.”

“Don’t be so hostile next time. We can’t be getting into altercations.”

“I wasn’t trying to–”

“Jean, don’t be hostile next time.”

“But he was blocking Armin from–”

“Don’t be hostile next time.”

With a swallowed groan, Jean sunk into his jacket to stew. They arrived back at the flat without another word on the matter and Armin assumed it had been placed behind them, but after the rest had gone to bed and Armin was brushing his teeth, he overheard Levi continue to berate Jean for the incident.

“If I hadn’t been there, you would have absolutely gotten into a fight.”

“He was all talk,” Jean replied dismissively. “He wasn’t going to throw the punch.”

“Jean, he grabbed your neck, what part of that makes you think he wasn’t going to do it?”

“What was I supposed to do? He was going to escalate something with Armin if I hadn’t stepped in and–”

“You know what you were supposed to do. The first half was fine, but then you should have accepted his apology and shut the fuck up. And you didn’t do that. Your big mouth had to keep running.”

“He was being disrespectful.”

“So? Who cares? Why does a wasted man who smashes bottles to pass the time occupy the part of your brain that thinks people should be respectful?”

“Alright,” Jean finally conceded, knowing Levi’s stance was impenetrable.

“What if you had gotten into a fight and the police were called? What if they asked for your papers, Jean?”

“Alright! I accept I was being stupid! Happy?”

“No,” Levi asserted firmly, the word sharp. “No I am not. I need to know you’re able to take care of yourself when I’m not around.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I want you to stay out of trouble, Jean. That’s all it means.”

“Are you…” Jean’s tone changed, turning almost amused. “Are you worried about me?”

“What?” Levi was disgusted. “No. No.”

“Yes, you are. You’re worried about me. Aww, Captain, that’s so–” There was a loud smack. “Ow!”

“Get the fuck away from me and stay out of my sight.”

“Aren’t you gonna tuck me into bed?” Another startling hit. “OW! Captain!”

“You have five seconds to leave this room. Five. Three. One–”

“Fuck, alright!” Jean’s voice loudened as he stumbled into the hallway. “I’m going!”

Now that he’d settled in and pulled a blanket onto his lap, Armin found himself sinking into the couch beside Connie and noticing new aspects of the flat. There was tinsel along shelves and ornaments hanging off the house plants Levi had been tending to. Sasha twirled into the room, placing another row of red ribbon along the corners of the bookshelf in the corner.

“Sasha,” Armin laughed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m decorating!”

“But why?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Pretty stupid,” Connie said, then he grunted when Sasha hurled a book at him.

“I like it,” Armin complimented. The flat was their home, but there were days where Armin felt dulled and trapped by it. The colors made it bright, even new. “It’s nice.”

“Thank you, Armin,” she emphasized. “I think so, too. This place is lame. It needs sprucing.”

“If you cut the vegetables like that, you’re going to get your blood all over our food!” he heard Hange admonish from the kitchen.

“I’ve cut vegetables before, Hange!” Jean argued. “Did you want my help or not?”

“If those vegetables go into the cookies,” Connie warned with a glare to nobody, “I swear I’ll riot.”

“Connie, shut up,” both Hange and Jean said. Then Hange added, “Jean give me the damn knife. You’re garbage at this. Or better yet – Mikasa!” they called. Mikasa looked up from her place on the floor across the coffee table.

“Yes?”

“Cut these vegetables before Jean contaminates them.”

Mikasa smiled and rose to her feet.

Armin fiddled with the seashell in his hand. The ridges were pronounced, giving his thumb something to bump over as he ran over it. Half of it was missing; he wondered if the rest of it was in a similarly beautiful condition, out there in the ocean, missing its other half. The pink of it contrasted nicely with his thumb.

“I wish you would have told me,” he whispered, fiddling meaninglessly with the shell. “I know why you didn’t…but…I wish you still had.”

“I know,” she said back guiltily. It wasn’t his intention to make her feel anything negative, not ever, especially with Eren’s absence, but he couldn’t keep his feelings from her any longer. “I’m sorry, Armin.”

“It’s okay,” he said honestly, rubbing his thumb over the ridges. The day before had been a difficult one. When Jean approached him and pulled him into their room, telling him that he was ready to tell Sasha and Connie – Armin had been shocked. His shock multiplied when Jean told him why he didn’t need to divulge information to Mikasa, since she – and Eren – already knew. He was still speechles even as Jean and Mikasa said the same things to their superiors ten minutes later.

“Are you doing alright?” she asked. “I want to be there for you, now. I can’t imagine…I just know that that experience must have been…well, I feel like whatever I say won’t be near enough to the truth. I guess I don’t know how to say how sorry I am.”

“I’m doing better.” He smiled up at her. The seawater tickled the bottom of their dangling feet and splashed gently into the legs of the dock. “I am.”

“I wish you had never gone through it. I wish I had gone with you two that day.”

“I don’t.” Armin turned the seashell over in his hand, watching how the inside of it sparkled in the sunshine. “I don’t think you would have been able to change anything except be another witness to it. So for that reason, I’m actually glad it was just me and him.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a half hug, which he gratefully accepted by putting his head against her shoulder and an arm around her waist.

“I wish we could be kids again,” he whispered. “I miss those days more than anything in the world.”

“I’m just glad I still have you,” she whispered back, pulling on him so their hug would tighten. “So, so glad.”

After another twenty minutes, Armin heard the sound of the table being set. Sasha skipped over to help, having exhausted her supply of decorations, and Armin stood too, mostly in order to escape the pile of paper sculptures gathering onto his lap.

Sasha reached over to the bread basket and Hange slapped her hand away, making her pout. Jean sloppily tossed down a fork and a knife at each chair, but when Levi entered the space, he quickly went back and straightened them. Dishes were brought out by Mikasa, consisting of vegetable chili, asparagus, rice, and plump shortbread cookies in various, odd shapes.

“Any inspiration to the art you’ve created, Hange?” Connie asked as he pulled out his seat beside Sasha. “I’m seeing some…some fun shapes, there.”

“These are the shapes of common sea sponges!”

Connie just stared. “Are you serious?”

Hange’s face flattened into something threatening and Connie stuttered. “W–Well they’re very cute, I’m sure they’re delicious.”

The morning was close to turning to midday, making the flat feel open and bright. Sasha and Connie still had not emerged from Connie’s room, making Armin grow more and more uneasy as the time passed. They’d gone in there early last night due to Connie’s inability to control his emotions at what Jean confided and while Jean had taken the entire event in magnificent form, Armin knew he was a little unbalanced, knowing now that everyone in the flat was privy to something he’d been hiding for so long.

Finally, the door creaked open. Sasha and Connie came from the hall not long after, greeting the rest casually, and Armin felt his stomach grow tight. He wasn’t certain what would be best; should Connie and Sasha just pretend like they never heard anything? Should they confront him? Should they say anything at all? This was beyond Armin’s analytical capabilities…

After the two of them used the toilet or made some morning tea, they came back to the living space and fell onto the couch. Jean was sitting on the floor beside Hange, discussing a novel on Marleyan military history, but he glanced up at them cautiously when they entered.

Sasha cleared her throat and produced a comically long piece of paper. It unraveled from her hands, held together by a few pieces of torn tape, and Jean’s expression turned from weariness to confusion. He was not alone – Hange’s brow furrowed harshly.

“We’ve prepared some questions in light of what you told us yesterday,” Sasha notated. She tilted her chin down to look at Jean across from her, and Armin realized she was wearing a pair of Hange’s reading glasses.

“Wha–?” Hange stuttered. “Sasha! Give those back!”

“Do you mind?” Sasha asked Jean, entirely ignoring Hange. Jean’s lip went white when he bit it, but numbly, he slowly shook his head and Armin felt a powerful instinct to rip the paper out of Sasha’s hands to proof it before they continued.

“First,” Sasha continued, reading her unfurled, pathetic scroll, “can I still use paper from your doodle books to make fake scrolls out of?”

The nervous expression on Jean’s face dispelled entirely, and he glanced down at the bottom edge of the last paper. His eyes flicked back up. “Sasha, you did not rip apart my sketchbook to make that thing.”

“Answer the question.”

Something resembling an unbidden smile touched Jean’s lips. “No, you may not use paper from my sketchbooks for your preschool projects!”

“Hmm…” Sasha seemed to think on that. She held out her hand, prompting Connie to slap a pen into it, and she scratched something onto the paper, but since it was supported by nothing but a few fingers, the point of it tore through.

“Oh, for the love of god,” Levi muttered, but as expected, Sasha pushed on.

“Next, am I allowed to continue ruffling your hair when it looks like you absolutely for sure spent too much time on it?”

Jean exchanged a look with Hange, who just shook their head tiredly. Jean’s thumb scratched at his chin and he let out a puffy laugh. “Yeah. You can keep doing that.”

Connie took the scroll from Sasha. “Do you still want to go to that southeastern merchant and get your ear pierced with me? It’ll look really good, I promise.”

“That was never my idea, Connie, that was all you.”

“You’ll look so good though!”

“No. Next question.”

“Is it true your full name is Jeanettoine?”

“What?! No!”

“I’d like proof before I can proceed.”

“Connie!”

By this time, Armin’s nerves and disquietude dispelled into a warmth that spread into every finger and toe. He sank against the credenza he and Mikasa were sitting in front of, their rears situated on floor pillows, and he let himself listen to their list of peculiar, inconsistent requests and questions, each one of which made at least someone in the room laugh, and Armin knew the worst of it all really was behind them.

“So I was thinking we could carve pumpkins,” Hange said happily as they started serving food. “Maybe this weekend.”

“Why would we do that?” Levi asked incredulously, staring up at Hange as they plopped down a bundle of cooked asparagus onto his plate.

“It’s a holiday tradition!” they replied.

“Not for this holiday,” Levi informed, holding Hange’s gaze when they froze and stared down at him. “That one passed us already.”

“Oh…” Hange had a thought. “What do they do for this one again? Frighten each other?”

“Still the wrong one.”

“They eat a lot?”

“Well,” Levi said uncertainly. “I think that’s any of their holidays.”

“And truly,” Sasha added as she began spooning chili into her mouth, “the best part of this new world.”

“Sasha, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Connie insisted.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Sasha,” Levi repeated, leaning across the table, “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

She quickly swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

The hum of the radio filled the empty spaces of the background, the sometimes crackling song playing them dull sounds of an orchestra and a woman singing of winter. By late nightfall, the kitchen was cleaned, the food was eaten, and Sasha’s tinsel sparkled at the influence of the streetlamps outside.

Jean and Armin found themselves on the steps just beyond their building’s door, the cold of them dulling into Armin’s backside. Although the sidewalks were dazzled by snow and flurries drifted down from the blurred sky, the frigidness wasn’t an unwelcome one. Armin breathed in deeply, feeling the air ice his lungs, and he watched the cloud of moisture as he exhaled it out.

Sometimes, one of them would be unable to sleep. The other would join them on the steps until exhaustion would bring them to bed because rarely did they request to be alone anymore. Tonight, it was Armin that needed the night’s influence.

“Worried about Eren?” Jean guessed, his words forming in the air outside his mouth.

“Yeah,” Armin confirmed softly. It had been a peaceful, warm, inviting sort of night, filled with laughs and fond memories and kind faces. It all made Armin a little sad.

“Me too,” he responded. Another few moments passed. “You doin’ alright?”

“Yes.” Armin smiled at him briefly. He looked at the redness tinging Jean’s nose and cheeks. “It’s cold, you don’t need to stay out here, you know.”

“I like it.” Jean crossed his ankles, his boots hitting together dully. “Besides, I’m not tired, either.”

“Any reason why?”

“No reason…well, maybe that’s not entirely true.” The puff of air was thick when he loudly sighed. Armin knew there was something he needed to say, but in contrast to long ago, he also knew that Jean would, in fact, say it. “Shideski called the flat this morning, just before we set out. Wanted to check on the mobility of my arm.”

Armin hadn’t heard about the doctor in some time. “And?”

“Told her it was good. I only feel pain when I push on it directly with my arm raised, otherwise it’s completely healed.”

“That’s fantastic, Jean.”

“It is. I need this to use the gear.” He rotated his arm around, proving his flexibility. Armin waited for him to continue, knowing he wouldn’t need prompting, and after a few moments, Jean’s arm hit his leg as it fell down. He sighed again. “And…she warned me not to check the papers for a few days.”

This made Armin’s face turn. “Why?”

“Well, of course, the first thing I did after I got off the phone was go looking for the paper.”

“As one does.”

“Levi had it. When I asked for it, he gave me that stare of his. Told me I didn’t need it. When I started to argue, he…he just told me what the article was about. Seemed he thought it would be a mercy to just rip the bandage off rather than watching me read it myself.”

Armin tried to swallow. “And what did he say?” he asked on a whisper.

Jean leaned back on his elbows, staring off into the night, watching the flurries flitter about on the calm breeze. “They’re giving Saint Claire a posthumous award for protecting Marley’s interests. They’re calling him a hero. Highest honor a man can get; broadcasted over the radio and everything. Died in the line of duty. Some other similar bullshit.”

While Armin’s lips parted in shock, he was too taken aback to speak. He found himself looking at his hands as the words settled, studying the lines of his knuckles, watching the red of his fingers embolden as his heart rate increased.

“Oh,” was all he ended up saying.

“But it’s alright, Armin. I’m good. Are you good?”

“I…” Armin tried to swallow again and it was becoming more difficult. “Uh, I…”

He wasn’t certain which memory came to him first, or if it was possible they all piled upon him at the same time, but Armin suddenly felt himself crumble under the remarkable weight of their assimilation.

It was Jean, trying weakly to lift himself, and it was Saint Claire wrenching his hand behind his back. It was the tangled strands of hair gathered between gnarled knuckles as his head was forced backwards to look up at him. It was that smile he made, so depraved, lined with cruelty, the sight of blood as it seeped out between wound and knife, the tendrils of rope littered, forgotten, on the ground, the distress, the anguish, the fear–

“Armin?” Jean asked fervently, gripping his shoulder. “Hey, you alright?”

Armin was breathing hard, grasping at his coat, clutching at it and making his red fingers go white. They’re making him out to be a hero, he screamed inside his head, scrambling to gather himself and failing horribly. His legacy…will be one of heroism…! Oh, god–

“Shit,” Jean cursed quietly. “I’m sorry, Armin, I should have told you more gently.”

“It’s fine,” Armin gasped, waving him off. He blinked harshly. “It’s fine.”

There was a weight on his shoulders and a warmth at his side, and then he felt a gentle tug. Jean wrapped a strong arm around him, pulling him into a sitting embrace.

“What matters is that he’s dead,” Jean said quietly. “They’re just trying to send a message to Eldians by using this award, since they don’t have a way to replace him. It’s a good thing. Means their resolve was weakened at his death. Alright?”

“How are you taking this so calmly?” Armin gasped. “I feel like I’m going to be sick!”

“Because you and I are still here, and he isn’t,” Jean answered simply. He shifted to remove Armin’s hand from the cloth he was grasping painfully at. “Take a few deep breaths. It will pass.”

“It will pass,” Armin repeated faintly, feeling a thin, slow tear escape down the corner of his eyes.

“It will pass.”

“Jean…” Armin croaked.

“Hm?”

“I’m…I’m really glad you’re still here…”

There was a smile in Jean’s voice. The steadiness in him, making his words, his hold, his presence strong, was more effectively comforting than Armin could have asked for. “Yeah, me too. Both of us.”

The night quieted, encouraging Armin to swallow his panic and stifle his own noise. He hadn’t expected such an onslaught of memory, and he certainly hadn’t expected to hear such devastating news, but the hold around his shoulders was firm, and warm, and familiar, and he felt his snap of terror wither away. He took in a shaky breath, then released it on a solid stream of air. It pushed outwards in a thin cloud, the vapor radiating with distance and blending into the night.

“You alright?” Jean asked kindly.

“Yeah,” Armin said, but despite his confirmation, Jean put his other arm around Armin and brought him into a full hug, squeezing him tight and resting his head on Armin’s shoulder.

“I love you, Armin,” he said calmly, as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said something like that to him. It made the ice in Armin’s chest thaw immediately and he was instantly filled with warmth, making him blink at the spin of his emotion, as his hands moved to grip Jean.

“Yeah, I know,” Armin said, feeling his eyes burn with tears of affection. The next tear that escaped him wasn’t like the one before. “I love you too.”

“Thank you for every….every single thing you’ve ever done for me. Just…just thank you.”

“Where is this coming from?” Armin asked as he let himself melt into the hug. It was kind and comfortable. He didn’t want to let go.

“From a place of honesty,” Jean replied. “From me.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” Armin sighed deeply, surprised at himself, even impressed, at how soon he’d been able to control the rise of something very, very near to a panic attack. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Even keep to yourself that I said I loved you? Sasha and Connie are gonna want that next.”

“Even that.” Armin laughed softly. “You say it to them once, you’ll have to say it every day.”

Another moment passed. “Do you mind if we keep hugging?” Jean asked a little timidly. Armin’s smile deepened and he closed his eyes, squeezing his hands around Jean’s back as affirmation before even using his voice. While he knew Jean was taking this recent news remarkably well, he also knew he needed comfort for it, even if he didn’t explicitly realize it himself.

“Not even a little.”

“There’s a coffeeshop on the corner of West Alley and Main…” Jean said into the hug. “Wanna go tomorrow?”

“Why do you keep trying new cafes?” Armin asked into his coat. “You always get the same thing.”

“They still taste different.”

“A regular coffee can not possibly taste different. Why don’t you try something new?”

“Like what,” he teased, “a hot chocolate?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

Armin laughed again, but despite the playful roll of his eyes that Jean couldn’t even see, Armin agreed. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go tomorrow.”

“I’ll try something new,” Jean conceded.

“I will too.”

“It’s your turn to ask Levi for coin, though.”

“Agh, I changed my mind, let’s not go tomorrow.”

“Too late, you already agreed.”

“Nope, I changed my mind.”

“We’re going. And you’re asking Levi first thing tomorrow.”

“I think I’m busy at that time.”

“Armin,” Jean admonished, smile evident on his voice. “It is your turn, and you’re not squirming out of it.”

“Fine,” he said, not the least bit bothered.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

The wind blew calmly, its howl mellow and low to the ground. Swirls of light snow brushed at the influence, curling in before drifting down after the pass of the breeze. Armin’s nose had been cold, but tucked into Jean’s coat, he felt it warm.

Although quiet, the continued embrace they shared was comfortable and reassuring, like Armin had found a spot in bed that soaked up all his exhaustion and fatigue. The love he felt for Jean mixed with the affection he was receiving, this bond between them intertwined and inseparable and completely impenetrable, was everything and anything and all that he needed.

There had been a time where Armin feared the cloak that had been draped over them, made of rat’s skin and stinking of pesticide, would be the end of their lives. Eklon Saint Claire, the people he worked for, marked them both as sewered, wretched four legged creatures. They’d had their humanity stripped away, like layers of skin peeled from muscle, muscle from bone, bone from core, to reveal broken people who had no chance to be human again. They’d made them into something less than whole. Fractured them so deeply that Armin almost forgot what they’d even looked like before their fissure.

But the pieces they’d put back together were done so gently, if not clumsily, by the hands of the other and by the nimble fingers of the rest in their home. The fault lines of Jean’s being were visible and present, but they held strong and Jean as a whole was as easily recognizable as he’d been before. Armin looked in the mirror himself and saw the man he needed to be look back at him.

This life may have been suffocating by design, but it had a profound beauty in it that made Armin continue to wake every day. The sea; the smell of wildflower fields; the grooves of shells; the love for a person.

In novels he’d always read, it was suggested that good would, in the end, always overcome evil. That the nature of the world valued love and altruism, and no matter how damning, how enveloping, the cruelty of that same world could be, it would never persevere. Armin stopped believing in that for a time. It made him confused, unrecognizable, because in his heart, Armin was always an optimist. He wanted to believe in his stories. He wanted to live in the world that conquered atrocity. And when he didn’t, Armin lost himself.

The world they lived in gave Eklon Saint Claire a medal, but it was Jean’s love that Armin fell into. It was his warmth that dispelled the panic. It was him, his presence, that grounded Armin so easily.

Between his arms was this beacon of strength, a guidance towards something better, a reminder that Armin’s novels weren’t entirely created in the throes of fiction. In the flat upstairs were heroes, so kind and silly and reinforced by unyielding, magnificent sentiment. In Armin himself was a resiliency he admired.

They’d been cloaked in the garments of rats, but never once did they become them.

Their casted light did not die, nor did it stifle, but it only flickered in the face of a shadow its influence soon, forever overcame, and knowing that, feeling that be true in his heart, made Armin smile into Jean’s coat and bring him closer. The night could be as cold as it wanted.

Armin was warm enough.