#ereani

Summary:His connection to Armin carries the same significance as the scarf he wrapped around her throat. Each day, he clings what’s left of his own innocence. — Eren/Annie, Armin/Annie, Armin/Eren.

[Ao3 Link]

After Wall Sina, after Shiganshina, Eren’s not of-age for the military draft. So that means two years of manual labour in Wall Rose. Fieldwork. Survival becomes a matter of spite. Each evening, hunkering down in the overcrowded almshouse with Armin and Mikasa, with the other survivors of Wall Maria. In the summers there’s heatstroke and insects. In the winters someone always dies of hypothermia.

All through these two years Eren wakes up with phantom splinters in his palms, tangled in ragged sheets. The strain in his muscles from hard labour fades over months of acclimation. He’s always been active, even during his life behind the Walls; chopping wood, drawing water, running the streets with Mikasa. But whenever the sun got too high, or he got hungry enough, there was always a home to come back to. Food on the table. 

Now he is never well-rested. Now there are rats. They get between the sheets and brush up against his limbs. The screaming from the other kids, or adults, it’s all the same in his dreams. It cannot abort with a snap of inhuman jaws. Unlike Titans, rats have no concept of cruelty. They’re just trying to escape. Like any prey animal they are stupid, the same way cows are docile and unquestioning behind a sturdy fence. It wouldn’t take much effort to catch a rat, break its neck. He’s so desperate he would eat a rat whole.

Meat is reserved for the residents of Wall Sina. Some survivors are tired of waiting for government aid after a year. Last week around forty of them cornered a man with cart and horse coming from Karanese. The mob tried to grab what they could. If not for Mikasa, Eren might have been one of the kids throwing rocks at the driver. Thanks to the threat of military intervention, there are no reported casualties.

There are a lot of stories, though, about this group of survivors outside of Trost overwhelming a cart. They thought it was food, but all they found under the tarp was munitions. ODM gear. In the confusion, both the horse and driver were killed. So the Garrison rounded up those responsible. The official statement is that the perpetrators were sent out into the territory beyond Wall Rose. To reclaim the land, the adults say. Armin grits his teeth and says nothing.

Normalcy is waking up covered in sweat, no matter the season. The iron key burns cold against his breast. Whenever Armin or Mikasa ask about it, all Eren can tell them is, “It’s to the basement, at my house.” He grounds himself in the sound of their voices. Mikasa’s hands on his face. She’s saying something, probably his name. All he sees is his mother. Scolding his childish ambition. Arguing with father. Trapped under his childhood home. Even if he had gotten there in time, the damage to her legs and abdomen could be fatal. Begging Mikasa and him to save themselves. There’s a lump in his throat. Eren blinks furiously and looks at Armin instead. “Are you OK?”

Armin nods, looking at his own dirty knuckles, scabbed over. After Shiganshina, the three of them are never not OK. Even when, last winter, Armin got so sick Eren was convinced he was dying. He stayed up half the night reading out of a nautical almananc that belonged to Armin’s grandfather. Armin told him a little about celestial navigation. All Eren could think about was his quiet voice, clammy hands. He stayed with Armin until Mikasa dragged him away and told him it was up to the nurses to make sure Armin was going to be all right.

Out of the three of them, Armin gets sick most often. His childhood was spent behind books, avoiding the wrath of neighbourhood kids looking for an easy target. The transition into hard labour hits him hardest. Yet he never complains. He just makes himself smaller. Forgets to eat. Sometimes Mikasa has to sit with him until he eats, like a little kid. Sometimes Eren wants to grab Armin and snap at him that he can’t be acting stupid. Whatever he tells Armin, it always rolls off his back.

A compulsory draft of all the healthy able-bodied kids between twelve and fifteen into Wall Rose’s 104th Trainee Corps. Eren goes from sleeping in a huddle with Armin and Mikasa each night, to picking his own bed out of bunks. Finding purpose in morning drills. Skinning potatoes. Laundry duty. Standard schoolwork. He sits with Armin in the shady birch outside the courtyard when the weather’s nice, reviewing the internal mechanisms of the ODM gear. The instructors are no better than Shadis in the field or in a classroom. For the first time since Wall Maria fell, Eren has a name and a purpose outside of his status as a refugee. A place to sleep without fear of rats.

Days turn to weeks. Eren has a lot of bruises. He wakes up on the floor, pain in his shoulder, but his mouth twists into a toothy smile. The nurses call him shell-shocked. The boys skirt around him and talk to each other about training and their own experiences back home, if they’ve got a home, while Armin quietly elects to take the top bunk.

Shuffling into the mess hall in the morning, Mikasa sidles into place while Armin breaks away to discuss something with Marco Bodt. After two years of training, they no longer stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Eren watches Armin in line while Mikasa studies her watery bowl of bean-and-potato stew. Despite the objective failure that was the initiative to take back Wall Maria, there is never enough food to go around. 

“You should eat,” says Mikasa.

Eren shrugs. “Not hungry.”

Her eyes sharpen. “You can’t afford to skip meals.”

With an influx of cadets and a smaller pool of instructors, training accidents are frequent. A split lip here, a broken arm there. Even the wooden rifles can chip a few teeth. Serious injuries are usually from misuse of ODM gear. In the first year for the 104th Trainee Corps, rib fractures were common. Eren’s malfunctioning wires and closed-head injury become the prime example of why mantainance is very important. On the wires, you learn to pivot your weight.

Yesterday afternoon, the 104th Cadet Corps took it in turns through the obstacle course; a series of hoops and platforms distributed through forest terrain. A boy named Heinrich went to jump off of the starting platform. The instructor had to kick him. In free-fall, when he pressed the triggers, the wire in his gear shot out and curled itself around the wooden hoop. He was unable to right himself in time. His body hung limp until the instructors called off the exercise for the day.

The medical officer chalked up his death to poor trigger discipline. Heinrich wasn’t special. By the end of the week Armin will take his spot at twenty-ninth best. Heinrich’s family will get a letter and a small funeral. Rotting in the ground rather than excised in the maw of a monster. To the remaining 104th Trainee Corps there is no reprieve. A grimy, rot-smelling maw of his nightmares. It could be the insides of his own head spooling out onto hot dirt and rocks. Armin’s hair matted crimson. Mikasa’s dark eyes open and unseeing. But somehow he always finds himself back to the house. The bloated arm coming down out of the sky, into the rubble and–

“Eren,” says Mikasa, taking his hand in hers like she’s checking for a pulse. “I promised Aunt Karla I would look after you.” She’s looking at him sharply but all Eren sees is the hollow in her cheeks. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

At ten years old, Mikasa would find Armin with a busted lip and dirt in his wounds, shouldering Eren aside with a stern look at his own torn sleeves, busted nose. And Eren would hold his tongue. Armin had never won a fistfight in his life.

Armin was his friend, first. Armin taught Eren how to skip rocks. How to measure the height of a building using only its shadow. Eren had always been there to protect him from bigger kids. At fourteen, Mikasa clings to Eren tightly, because he is all she has left. But Armin has nothing. 

Armin’s shoulder brushes his when he takes the empty seat on the bench. “Sorry. I got held up in line.”

“Someone giving you trouble?”

“No. Just talking with Marco about last week’s lecture.”

“Oh, right.” Eren smiles mechanically. “What did you think of it?”

“It was interesting, I suppose.” Eren is looking at him still. Armin sighs through his nose. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I’m not worried,” says Eren, squaring his shoulders. “How would you know, anyway? You’re just a kid." 

Armin wheezes. Mikasa looks up. Eren grabs his shoulder and Armin shrugs him off. It’s the first time Eren’s seen him smile in weeks. "Eren, you’re the same age as me.”

“So?” Armin stirs his gruel but says nothing. Eren bumps his shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like–I’m sorry, all right?”

Armin shrugs him off. "We need to stick together,“ he says, but he looks at Mikasa. "Now more than ever.”

Eren’s best defense against a crumbling, illogical world is anger. Hatred of the known enemy turns to mania. Loss has hollowed him out. Unlike Armin, his conviction against the Titans holds no water in a political or pragmatic sense. Childhood dreams of the Scouting Legion shift from aspects of heroism to zealotry. Death is never an option. Each day, he is drifting further away from the ten year-old with sunbleached hair and blistered cheeks and the quiet girl. His connection to Armin carries the same significance as the scarf he wrapped around her throat. Each day, he clings what’s left of his own innocence.

Between classwork and field exercises there’s not a lot of extra time to talk. Mikasa’s the standout of the corps. Eren is clawing his way into the low-to-mid-range, between Bodt and Kirschtein. Armin struggles to hold a spot in the top thirty on the foundation of his technical skill with ODM gear and written tests alone. Put any one of the boys in the top ten next to Reiner and there’s no contest of strength. Reiner, ironically, takes a shine to Armin. Bolsters him like an older brother and Armin starts hanging around Eren and Mikasa less and less. He and Marco play chess in the courtyard. Pretty soon he’s trading notes with Jean and Sasha.

Eren is ranked top of the class when it comes to unarmed combat. He hasn’t seen Annie in a couple weeks, which is a little odd. If anything, his progress is thanks to her.

“She’s trying to keep up appearances,” Reiner says, nudging Eren in the ribs, “so don’t take it personally.”

Eren frowns. “She’s going to lose her spot if she doesn’t take this seriously.”

Reiner grunts. “I’ve tried to get through to her, but it always runs off of her like water. She’d listen to Bertholdt, probably.”

Bertholdt is trading blows with Armin. Eren squares his jaw. “It’s stupid.”

“She’s always been like that. I should know, I grew up with her.”

“Yeah?”

“Most of the time she likes to keep to herself. You might’ve spooked her off with your, uh, enthusiasm.”

“What’s it to her? She can just find someone else, she doesn’t have to skip because of me,” Eren insists, but Reiner’s still smirking.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you had unarmed practice with someone else?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Eren raises the wooden dagger. “Come on. Disarm me.”

Half a minute later, Reiner’s still got the dagger. Eren’s walking off a couple new bruises on his shin and his ribs. Reiner hits a lot harder than Annie, even when he isn’t expending much effort. Reiner says, “You need a minute?”

Eren shakes himself. He reaches for his leather flask, takes a pull of water. It’s lukewarm and tastes like copper. He blots his mouth. “Nah. You?”

Reiner shakes his head. “You sure you’re all right, kid?”

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“That wasn’t the move we’re supposed to be learning, you know.” Eren blinks. “It’s not a big deal. God, I shouldn’t say it like that, what kind of example am I setting for you?”

“When it comes to points, we might as well be on latrine duty.”

Reiner shakes his head. “It’s all important. And I bet Annie would be happy that someone’s paying attention to her. You’re the only one that’ll spar with her voluntarily.”

“That’s nice.” Eren shoulders past him. It’s like shoving a horse. “I’m gonna find another partner.”

His shoulder collides with a smaller body. Blonde hair. Armin, he thinks. Then Armin gets in his face.

“Jaeger,” snaps Annie, “watch where you’re going.”

“Where the hell’d you come from?” Reiner calls.

Annie just looks at Eren. She’s got a wooden knife of her own. Her knuckles are raw. She presses it into his hand, takes a couple steps back, puts up her fists. For the next couple mintues they fight for control of the wooden knife. Annie’s a smaller opponent than Reiner. Can’t use her own strength against her. She goes for his joints. If he can’t knock her down, he can keep parrying until she makes a mistake.

“That looks pretty bad.”

She shrugs. “It’ll heal.” She glances at his face. “You should treat that.”

If he goes to the infirmary, she won’t be here when he gets back. He says, “I always heal up quick.”

“You think you’re healing quickly because you’re an idiot.”

“No, I mean–you should’ve seen me, last time. I had a sprain down my calf.” He pats the flesh to illustrate. “The nurse said I couldn’t walk for a couple days. But by the next morning the medic said I was fit for training. Said it was a miracle. But I’ve always been like that.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You’ve seen me,” he protests. “You’ve had me on the ground. And then there was that other time…”

Annie watches his eyes light up. In another lifetime, that desire to survive might be a thing of wretched, patriotic beauty. Instead his fate is surely some pathetic death on the battlefield, or in a training accident. Perhaps if he were more intelligent he’d drop the heroic idealism and go back to farming. Honest work. There he’d die from consumption or pnemonia.

“…you’re more of a a realist, I guess. Hey, are you OK?“

Annie puts some weight on her leg. She says, "Pulled a muscle.”

“Hey, don’t push yourself too hard.”

“You sound like Arlert.”

He guffaws. “C'mon. What good are any of us for killing Titans if we don’t take care of ourselves?”

“You know, they do a lot more in the Regiment than kill Titans.”

Eren looks elsewhere. The line of his face drawn taut. “Of course I know that.”

“They’re not going to let you in if you keep talking like a fanatic.”

“You know what? Jean is right. You’re a fuckin’ pain in the ass.”

“You finally figured it out.”

“At least he’s got an excuse to be as stuck-up as he is. You’re in fourth place and you don’t even try." 

"It’s not my fault you aren’t proficient at the theoretical exams.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Look at you! Throwing around big words like proficient. You must think I’m stupid.”

Annie holds his gaze. If she says yes, you’re an imbecile, maybe after a few weeks of sulking, he’ll finally leave her alone. On the dusty field, thirteen years old, everyone cowered from her gaze but Jaeger. She flipped him on his ass and all he did was grin. Coming back each session, and no amount of bruises or broken noses or shit-talk could dissuade him. The perfect training dummy. 

She says, “I put up with you. That’s all.”

His eyes light up. “We should go another round.”

“We have class in ten minutes.”

“Oh. Yeah, all that slacking off must be pretty time-consuming.”

Annie kicks him behind the shin. Just like that, he’s on the ground. Unlike Braun, he yelps like a dog when surprised. “You don’t listen to a word I say.”

He grunts. “Nah. I shouldn’t let my guard down.” Already on his feet. She doesn’t offer a hand up. “But you might run into a situation where you get yourself outnumbered, and all those kicks can’t help you against a Titan. It’s not just about playing soldiers.”

A week ago, she, Springer and Jaeger were on kitchen duty. The boys all looked at Jaeger like a madman and the girls made an effort to be nice but they were always talking to each other. They’d rather be with Kirschtein, or Braun, or Hoover. Not suicidal Jaeger with a paring knife, sitting over the wooden tub, peeling potatoes. His above-average skill appreciated by none, save for Annie.

Then Jaeger said, “You want to switch off? My wrist’s starting to cramp.”

“I’m all right.”

“Come on. We can split the work, it’ll get done faster.”

Annie took the knife from him. Too blunt to be a real weapon. If she cut herself herself it would just heal over. She couldn’t ask the instructor to show her something her father never deigned to teach, but she was going to look like a fool either way. Maybe she should’ve asked Carolina.

“Annie?”

She bristled. “I’ve got it.”

Jaeger grabbed her wrist. “You’re gonna cut yourself like that. Here.”

One week later, Annie is peeling potatoes without the risk of steaming away the blood, or blowing up half the building. Carolina has gotten it in her head that Annie’s trying to impress Jaeger. So Annie starts skipping out on all the classes that don’t count for points. She’s got a reputation to uphold. Nevermind that a paring knife is as useful against a Titan as Brazilian jiu-jitsu, but she’s not going to break Jaeger’s heart over this.

On the training field she turns away from Jaeger and says, “We’re done for today.”

“OK, fine.” He’s trailing behind her like a lost puppy. “We should talk more.”

“Hm?”

“It doesn’t have to be sparring. We could study together.”

“I’m OK by myself.”

“All right.” He falls into line beside her. “You’re, uh, easier to talk to. Most of the other guys think I’m stupid.” Annie side-eyes him. Eren glances right back. “You’re not so bad now that I’ve got to know you better. Besides,” he says, “I think I’ve learnt more about self-defense from watching you than any of the instructors.”

“It’s not my job to be your friend.”

His brow furrows. “I guess not.” He bumps her shoulder. “Well, I like talking to you.”

Annie pauses. “Why?”

“I just do.” He grins. “Partners next time?”

“Ask Braun or something.”

“Sure–” he walks in front of her, comes to a stop “–only if YOU promise not to skip out.”

Annie exhales through her nose. “Sure.”

His face lights up. He’s got what some girls would call a pretty smile. “Great, see you next time!”

She could kick out his ankle and have him on the ground. Just to see his eyes go big. His pulse wild against her fingers. Probably a bad kisser. Not that she’s had much practise. Disregarding Ackermann, he’s too single-minded to pay her any attention.

“Don’t faint, all right?” He claps Arlert on the shoulder. When he leaves, Arlert shrinks into himself. Annie pauses.

“Does he bother you?”

Armin looks up. The top of his head, tip of his nose, is pinkish. “Did he ask?”

“No.”

Arlert frowns and returns to his book, his shoulders hunched. Mindful of her, but unfettered. Perhaps growing up beside a beast like Ackermann has tempered his fear of outsiders. He frowns at the book. Up at Annie, who blinks but doesn’t prod. Back down at the book.

“He feels obligated because I’m ranked lowest out of all the male soldiers in terms of physical endurance. I appreciate where he’s coming from, but I wish he’d just focus on himself.”

Braun’s second-highest in the group overall. Not that it matters to her. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. It’s basically a free ride.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re in the top five. I don’t have the physicality for much besides farm work.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Once Shiganshina was…” he averts his eyes “…you know, I didn’t have any family to rely on. Neither did Eren and Mikasa. We just stuck together as well as we could and somehow we’re here. I suppose you’d say I owe them my life.”

His eyes are a darker blue than her own, and Braun’s. They are graced with the kind of profound despair that no fourteen-year-old should have to carry around. The burden of knowledge she contends with each day would surely split his back in two. “Annie, do you have friends like that?”

Annie shrugs. Bertholdt and Reiner are each others’ friends. “Not really. I’m just here to get my badge.”

“I can respect that." Arlert smiles. "You’d get along great with Mikasa.” Annie scoffs. “Don’t be an ass. You have a lot in common.”

“She’s an overachiever.” And a try-hard, like Braun. At least Jaeger has a decent reason to be so overzealous.

“She’s had a rougher go of things than most. Don’t be so dismissive.”

“A lot of cadets here had a rough life. They don’t fall all over themselves trying to compensate for their lack of social skills.”

Arlert frowns. “Why don’t you go bother Eren or something?”

“He doesn’t need me to hold his hand.”

“Bertholdt’s nice. He talks to me about you sometimes. Go hang out with him or something.” Annie hesitates. “Anyway, you’re the only one in the top ten that skips.”

God, this kid is a smartass. “What’s it to you?”

“Training is optional today. You’d know if you attended regularly.”

She straightens up. “It’s good for you that you’re so smart. You’d make a pretty bad farmer.” Arlert’s shoulders tense. She shouldn’t bother with a kid this frail but she hesitates. “I mean. You shouldn’t sell yourself short just because you don’t make the MPs, or wherever you want to go." 

"Thanks.” He looks up at her in a way he never has before. “You shouldn’t, either.”

The hint of compassion in his tone twists like a knife. Leonhardt retracts her hand. “Don’t get soft on me.”

Arlert grins. “I won’t if you won’t.”

Annie walks away. This kind of idealism doesn’t fit on a kid without the same manic drive or physical aptitude as Jaeger. At least Arlert’s got sense. One day he’ll make a pretty decent politician.

Tomorrow they’ll be back to ODM training, as usual. After two years they’ve all grained some muscle mass and a few scars. The bruises on naked flesh in the shape of ODM straps, fading to mottled greens and yellows, never quite heal over. On Armin’s body they are prominent.

Before Armin climbs into his bunk his hand catches on Eren’s shoulder. Coordination without words, the same as putting together a rifle. He scales the ladder while Eren lies back. In a few minutes it will be Lights-Out. He closes his eyes, but his shoulder is still warm.

“Armin,” he says, “don’t worry about me, all right? I can look after myself.” Armin says nothing. Either he’s reading, which it’s too dark for, or he’s displeased. Eren opens his eyes. Armin can’t be asleep, because he’s sitting on the side of the bunk. Eren scowls up at his bony feet dangling overhead. “Armin?”

“You could have cracked your head. Mikasa was worried.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “I didn’t crack my head.”

“That’ll end your military career faster than most accidents. If you broke an arm, you might be OK. Puncture a lung and you have a few minutes, depending on the severity of the wound. But you have a higher probability of a closed-head injury on the wires, or the obstacle course. Especially if you don’t have a good grasp on the wires.”

“You get all this from your book?”

“They went over common injuries in class. They go into more detail in the medical texts, which we don’t need to read.”

“I know they talked about it. Sounds like you’re just nervous. Once you get thrown around a bunch, you get used to it. You don’t worry so much.”

Armin’s weight shifts on the bunk. “I understand my own limitations, Eren. That’s different.”

“That’s selling yourself short.”

“It’s not a soldier’s job to get in pointless fights.”

“I meant the ODM gear. Not a fistfight. It’s not even the same thing.”

“God,” snaps Kirschtein from the furthest corner of the dorm, “who do you think you are, his mum? At least Mikasa can take a hint." 

"Jean,” says Marco, “just go to sleep, it’s not worth it.”

Connie sits up. Samuel says, “Are you two gonna take this outside?”

Eren averts his eyes.

“That’s it? Not gonna fight without your sister around?”

“Say that to my face,” Eren snaps.

“Both of you, shut up,” Braun snaps, “or you’re gonna get Shadis down here.”

Eren grits his jaw. Kirschtein mutters something to himself and the sheets rustle.

“She’s too smart to get involved in any of this,” mutters Armin.

Eren laughs.

“Piss off,” says Kirschtein.

The lights cut.