It's dark in the warehouse where the MP left them. In the quiet greyness, Armin can hear Jean's breathing coming out a little louder than usual, a little less steady than usual, and it makes Armin's heart chug nervously. He can see well enough to notice the knit of Jean's brows and the lock of his jaw. This isn't an uncommon look, Armin has seen it nearly every day for the past few months whenever Jean has to do something that makes him nervous, especially if it's a result of something related to Eren Jeagar. But today the look is even more pronounced than usual—and for good reason. Armin and Jean are sitting in wooden chairs that face each other, about ten feet apart, their wrists bound behind them to the poles on either side. And Armin has long blonde extensions knotted up in his hair.
They don't say anything for several minutes. Armin just sits and listens to Jean breath. Jean tests the ropes that hold him to the chair and finds he can't break them. And if he can't break them then Armin most certainly can't, so his worry doubles.
"Test the ropes," he says anyway. Maybe, by some miracle, Armin's are looser. But they're not. A few seconds later Armin shakes his head. They're trapped.
But that was the whole point, wasn't it? Jean thinks, fighting the bitterness that he's been holding back ever since the order was first given. Not quite willing to except the idea of complete helplessness, Jean asks again, "You're sure you can't wriggle your wrists out? You're skinny."
Armin tries again. He tries until it burns. He glances up to see Jean staring at him from under a creased brow, so he tries once more until it burns too much and he knows the outer layer of skin on his wrists has curled up. Then he shakes his head no. Definitely no. The long blonde hair swishes around his shoulders and makes Jean feel unsettled.
"Damn," Jean mutters, dropping his head slightly.
"It's alright, Jean."
His raises his head again to look across at Armin. They've become good friends over the past few months. They've gone on dangerous missions together, they've made plans together, strategized and grown as soldiers. Somehow, sitting here tied to chairs, staring at Armin wearing a dress, seems entirely backward.
"It'll be fine," Armin says again. "Someone will come soon. They just need us to stall until they can hide Eren and Krista someplace safe."
Jean knows this, he's heard it over and over again, first from Commander Erwin and then in his own head for the entirety of the carriage ride to the warehouse while the MP tied him down and prodded him with their rifles, calling him "Eren Jaegar."
"Don't try anything, Jaegar," the squad leader growled at Jean when they first pulled him and Armin off of the street. They tossed him down in the corner of the carriage and jammed their guns in his face. He couldn't even see Armin, there were too many soldiers blocking the line of sight. They stared down at him with fear and disgust written across their faces, like they were looking down at an animal.
This is how Eren must feel all the time, Jean had thought as his heart started to pound. Before long the carriage stopped and the soldiers grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him out of the carriage. He tumbled to his knees and when the blinding pain subsided the first thing he did was look for Armin. When he finally caught sight of him, Jean saw that they were dragging him off by the fake blonde ponytail. All thoughts of pain or anger had immediately vanished and all he could think about was that ponytail staying in place. What if it came off? What if they discovered that Armin was actually a boy? What if the MP figured out that they were Jean Kirstein and Armin Arlert instead of Eren Jaegar and Krista Lenz?
And now, with the realization that they were completely helpless until someone came to rescue them, those questions carry even more weight.
The sounds of footsteps drawing near cuts into their thoughts. Armin casts one quick look in Jean's direction. There is nervousness in those blue eyes. When they flick away, Jean feels like he's lost something.
There is only one pair of feet. Clip clop, clip cop. They round the corner. Armin hangs his head, trying to hide his face from the approaching figure. Jean considers doing the same but then he changes his mind. Better to draw attention away from Armin. If the soldiers notice that he's a boy, then the whole operation will be jeopardized.
"There's my favorite prisoners!" comes the voice of one soldier. Jean turns his head to the right and sees the man walking around him. He stands in between them, blocking his view of Armin once again. He is a large man in his fifties, an old soldier whose jacket hardly fits. There is a look about him that makes Jean feel uncomfortable. His head is too small. His top is too fat. He nearly jiggles when he walks.
"The brass have been after you two for a long time now, you know that?" the man says almost happily. He's look at Jean. "It feels nice to finally have you here."
Jean stares back at him, trying to maintain an expressionless face. Who the hell is this bozo? He looks like an old geezer not a squad leader…not even a soldier.
He stops looking at Jean and turns to face Armin. Something changes in his posture. "My, my!" he practically cries. Armin's head pops up. His brows knit up in surprise when he sees the large man. This is not what he was expecting. "Such a pretty face!" the man gasps, and Armin instantly regrets looking up.
He walks around the back of Armin's chair. Jean watches, feeling his stomach sink when the man reaches out and pets Armin's long blonde hair. "So beautiful," the man goes on, stroking the blonde lengths and running the tips of his fingers through the soft fringes surrounding the boy's face. Armin's eyes are wide. The sausage-like fingers brush against his temples.
What the hell is he doing? Jean wonders, starting to feel anger prick at the edges of his mind. He looks away from the man's hands wandering over Armin's head and watches his friend's face instead. But that's even worse.
Armin is looking down, his eyes cast to the right—away from the man leaning over his left shoulder, exhaling foul breath against his neck, stroking his cheek. His big, blue orbs shiver in fear, newly forming tears making his eyes glimmer as the man snakes an arm around the front of his thin body and coos into his ear, "Come on, sweet thing. I want to hear your voice, since you're such a beauty."
Armin's jaw starts to quiver and he tries to control it. "Come on, now," the man half-whispers. He leans in closer and Jean sees his lips scrape over Armin's jaw. He tilts his neck to the side, trying to escape the unnerving contact, but the man's other hand holds his head in place. Jean sees sparks of panic flicking through Armin's eyes as they dart around, looking anywhere but at the man, anywhere but at Jean. "Say something, darling," the man practically begs.
Armin's mind is working like an old clock, ticking with furious effort. How can he talk? He may be dressed like a girl but he still has the voice of a young man. It'll give them away. When the man asks him to speak up again, Armin mutters, "Umm…" He tries to make his voice higher. He tries to figure out how to sound natural. He tries not to think about how humiliating all of this is.
But when the man's hands wander away from his head, down onto his shoulders, his throat, his chest…Armin's eyes stop evading contact and his gaze slams into Jean's. He's scared, now. Jean feels his heart drop. He'll notice how flat Armin's chest is!
We should have put padding in his shirt like Levi said, Jean thinks, biting his bottom lip. He sees silent, frightened tears start to fall from Armin's wide eyes and he looks away.
"Do you understand the mission?"
Erwin's question hung heavy in between them, like a weight. Like a big heavy joke. A mission? Don't make me laugh, Jean thought, still too surprised to be angry yet. This wasn't a mission, it seemed more like a punishment.
"According to our intel, the MP is going to try to take Eren and Krista into custody sometime in the next few days. They will not hesitate to use force to get them away from the Recon Corps. As you are well aware, Eren Jaegar and Krista Lenz are instrumental to our plans to retake Wall Maria. Without their powers, we can kiss our chances of victory goodbye. After much deliberation, we've come to the conclusion that our best option is to have the two of you offer yourselves up in their place. Arlert, you'll disguise yourself as Krista. Jean, you'll be Jaegar."
The words of Commander Erwin's briefing stuck in Armin's head, especially the part addressed at him. Arlert, you'll disguise yourself as Krista…
He nodded his acceptance when Erwin asked for it. He said, "Yes, sir!" when the nod seemed unsatisfactory. The next thing he knew, Erwin was gone and Levi's new team were fitting him in a long, baby blue dress.
"That works well," he heard Levi saying. There was an amused quality to his voice, as if the simplicity with which Armin eased into women's clothes was something to snicker at. Only he didn't ease into them. He shrank deeper into himself with every button the Recon Squad fasted down the front of his body. "No wait." Levi raised a hand to his lips and the other soldiers paused to look at their commanding officer. "Shouldn't we give him a little something? He's so scrawny his chest practically caves in. What do you think, Arlert? Some padding would do you some good."
Armin's face fell a bit. Why? Were they trying to humiliate him? He looked up from the blue dress draping over his body and met Levi's gaze evenly. "Is that completely necessary, sir?"
Levi shrugged. "Ehh…well I suppose not. Let's put a cloak on him. And on Kirstein, too. The hoods will help. I want Arlert's hair long. Someone find something."
Jean didn't have to dress up in anything special to pose as Eren. He stood by watching, looking agitated while Armin was transformed into a woman. He could see the smaller boy's discomfort carefully hidden under an impassive expression.
Soon they had cloaks thrown over their shoulders and Levi stood before them, no longer joking around, saying, "I don't know when they'll come for you. It could be two weeks from now, it could be the second I send you out those doors. Your orders are to maintain these appearances until you are captured, and continue to do so until we come to rescue you." He paused to look each boy in the eye in turn. "It may not seem like it, but this is an important thing that you're doing. Your cooperation is very much appreciated. Good luck, both of you." They all saluted one another and then the boys turned to leave.
As he walked out of HQ, Armin heard Levi call after him, "Hey, Arlert! Don't run your mouth too much. They'll know you're not her."
The MP did not come for them right away. It took over 26 hours.
"Let's go to the market. I want some food," Jean said at hour 3. They'd been wandering around in public for that time, literally presenting themselves as bait for any passerby's. If the MP came looking for them, it would save everyone time and aggravation if they were easily found out in the open.
"And don't struggle too much," Levi had said during the final instructional encounter. "We don't want you getting injured if you don't have to."
Jean's suggestion to go into an even more heavily populated area did not sit well with Armin. He didn't want to be out in public like this. Walking around as Jean's female companion was embarrassing enough, but the starry-eyed stares he got from other men were even worse.
"Let's eat somewhere private," Armin returned.
"Private?" Jean laughed suggestively. "Geez, Armin! I mean, Krista. You're pretty forward for a young lady." He'd only meant it as a joke, something to lighten the tense mood, but Armin frowned angrily. Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What's the matter? Can't wait til later?"
"Stop it, Jean!" Armin snapped, turning red.
"Eren, you mean. How could you forget my name, Krista? I'm hurt." His tone is sticky sweat and mocking, not to be cruel—just to keep his mind off of his own anger over this ridiculously demeaning assignment.
But Armin was upset. "Cut it out, Eren," he muttered, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching his elbows tightly. He wanted to disappear.
Jean paused long enough to notice that Armin was genuinely uncomfortable and he felt a little bad. "Just kidding. No need to be a wuss about it. Orders are orders," he said. Armin didn't reply.
And now Jean feels terrible about those words. Nausea has already started pooling in center of his chest and every little noise Armin barely makes as he tries to figure out how to get out of this makes the pool throb threateningly.
The man's hands are wandering all over the top of him, touching his ears as he talks directly into them, rubbing his shoulders, stroking his angel fine blonde hair. "What's the matter?" the voice has darkened a bit and Jean senses the escalation before he hears Armin's sharp intake of breath. The man has snatched up a fistful of Armin's hair—his real hair on the back of his scalp. "What's wrong, darling? Cat's got your tongue?"
The man leans in even closer and, to Jean's horror, he stretches out his neck and nibbles on Armin's lips. As soon as Armin feels what's happening, he scrunches up his face in disgust. His eyes fall closed, beyond mortified.
"Hey!" Jean says, but his voice comes out too weak for the others to hear. The man doesn't stop, even as Armin pinches his thin lips together and tries to pull them out of his reach, distorting his face into something that is most definitely male.
"Oh, she's a feisty one!" the man exclaims, finally pulling back. Armin bends his neck down as far as he can and his face vanishes under his hair. The man turns his neck to look at Jean. He's smiling, a sick, gleaming smirk. Jean glares at him and realizes for the first time that his own face is beat red, almost as red as Armin's. "That's alright," the man's voice lowers into a frightening, seductive snarl, "I like feisty little angels."
Jean's eyes widen and his mind stops working for a split second. Armin…
What should I do? What can I do? Armin's mind races at speeds rivaling the time when he had to talk the Garrison out of killing Eren. That voice, that tone, those words!
"That's alright, I like feisty little angels."
His eyes are wet but his mouth is dry. His trembling lips cannot close, he's too frightened. The man is returning, the hands find their way back to his head and jerk it up to meet him. Armin's eyes are wide, quivering blue orbs staring up at that old, pudgy face, too scared to look away. The hand that clasps his jaw is hurting him.
"What's the point of that pretty little mouth if you won't talk to me? Hmm?"
"Our future is outside of the walls! Can't you see that? If we just sit in here for the rest of our lives then we'll never get to see all of the neat stuff that's out there!" He speaks with great pomp and conviction for a child, face glowing with excitement. His little fists flop around as he speaks.
The other boys don't like what he has to say.
"Shut up, loser!" one of them says, kicking him in the gut. He was already lying on the ground, sprawled out again due to their shoving. He gives a muffled shout of pain and looks up at the boys. Why can't they see what he sees? And regardless, why were they always hitting him? He can stand the punches, he can even handle being pushed down, but it really hurts when they kick him. He bites his lips, not wanting to cry in front of them.
"What's the point of hitting me so much?" he grits, fighting hard not to writhe. "You know I'm right. Think about how great it would be to—"
Another kick, this one in between his legs, and it shuts him up for a little while at least.
"What's the point of blabbering on so much?" says one.
"You're crazy!" says another.
A third crouches down and grabs the little blonde boy by the throat. "My dad says you're a heretic," he spits. Armin flinches at the words. The boy squeezes the soft flesh of Armin's scrawny neck until he squeaks. Then all the boys laugh.
"Like a little mouse! Hey, you know what?" begins the tallest, "Somebody should teach him to give head. That'd be something useful for that big mouth of his."
Armin perks up at the idea of a suggestion in which he can become useful to other people. "I'm a fast learner," he says innocently, smiling through the pain. He's eight years old and has no idea what they mean.
The boys are silent for a second, staring at him, then at each other. They explode with laughter. His throat is released. Someone kicks him and he falls from his elbow to his face.
The man let's go of Armin's jaw and smacks him too fast to register. Armin doesn't even see the hand, he only feels the familiar sting. "What's your name?" the man demands, glaring deep into the blue eyes.
"Ka—Krista…" Armin stammers in the most natural sounding feminine voice that he can muster. His voice waivers.
He is struck again, even harder this time. "I already know that, dumb bitch. See? Talking's fun." The left side of Armin's face has turned splotchy red. With a swing of his leg, the man is suddenly straddling Armin's legs. Then he plops down on his lap.
He's heavy. Fuck, he's heavy. Armin gasps at the weight. His legs are pinned, crushed, getting smeared into the splintered chair. He wants to scream but he doesn't dare. He doesn't have the heart to imitate a woman's shriek.
"No!" he cries as soon as he understands their meaning. There are hands on his head, on his shoulders, his wrists. There is a foot on the small of his back, pushing him down, pushing him toward the tall boy who has unbuttoned his pants.
He struggles and fights but there are many of them and only one small Armin. His knees scrape raw on the stones of the street and it hurts. His chest hurts. Finally he lets his body go limp and the tears break free. He's sobbing like a baby and shaking violently under their hands.
They laugh at him. They call him a little girl. But they don't have the heart to do it and they release him. "Fucking tease," says the tall one, buttoning things up again. He's angry so he beats the boy back down into a corner.
When the man grabs Armin's face again and pulls him against himself, Armin's expression goes blank. His eyes empty out and stare at nothing. Those fat lips, like two slugs, grind up against his own. He sits, frozen, trying to focus on the pain in his legs instead of the aching sickness in the middle of his chest.
Ten feet away, Jean can't see anything but Armin's shins and feet sticking out from the hulking form of the man on his lap. Oh no! He'll…he'll feel it! He'll know he's a boy.
Jean's head buzzes with fears and he feels himself sweating. How could the man not realize that Armin is a boy? He's sitting right on his lap, his hands have wandered all down the front of him. There are no breasts, no womanly figure, not to mention the lump in between the boy's clamped thighs. How could he not realize?
And then—a new thought shocks Jean out of the buzz. Maybe he does realize and he's playing with us.
A noise of pain escapes Armin's lips. Jean hasn't seen what the man did to him, he can't see, he can't even bring himself to look in that direction. He stares down at his own lap. Where are they? They should have come for us by now…What would Eren do? He grits his teeth at the thought, but—after all—he is supposed to be Eren Jaegar. Maybe he should start thinking like the little bastard.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jean snarls at the man. Yes, Eren was always confronting people like that. "Get off of—her, now!"
"Shut it, boy."
Jean's face scrunches up angrily. "I said get off! You'd better leave her alone, or else."
The man laughs in Armin's face. "Or else what?"
"Or else your superior officers will have your balls for breakfast! We're valuable test samples, isn't that right?" Jean spits disdainfully. "Why'd you bag us off of the street anyway? Just to play with her tits? What the hell kind of soldier are you?!"
Suddenly the weight disappears. Armin's eyes focus again and he sees that the man has swung his leg back around and is leaving him. Thank God, he thinks, but it's a hollow respite.
"I wasn't at your first trial," Armin hears the fat man saying as he turns his back on him and faces Jean, "but I heard that you're a big mouth, too. Apparently it's true."
Now that the man is looking at him, Jean feels his tenacity slipping through his hands. Fuck, he thinks, don't look scared. But the man is big, his face is fat and hard. He's like a small Titan—ugly and terrifying. His eyes are dark and shiny and staring straight at him. His heart starts to pound. If there's any chance that he hasn't realized yet….gotta keep him away from Armin. Jean gulps down the lump in his throat and tries one more time.
"Who's in charge here anyway? Because he's gonna have to answer to Commander Erwin. This is—" He doesn't have a chance to finish the sentence before the man kicks him square in the chest and sends the chair tumbling backward.
Jean yells in pain as the crushing weight of the chair and his own body all land on his upper arms, but he doesn't even get a moment to recover. The man towers above him in a blink. "You're right, we brought you here to experiment on you. Since you're so eager…" he kicks Jean and the chair turns on its side. "Let's get started right away, then."
No not again….not again….
He had gone numb, gone blank, accepted it. Now he was awake again and he had returned to an even worse reality. Once again he had to be protected by someone else. Once again, Armin Arlert was a burden.
Across the room Jean is on the ground, the left side of his face grinds into the filthy warehouse floor, the bridge of his nose crinkles angrily, and his teeth grit from the pain. The man is talking. He is looking down at Jean with a hungry, amused look on his face and saying things that Armin cannot understand. Words get lost in the fringe, all Armin can see is the knife.
And then something catches. "They say you can re-grow whole limbs? Right, Eren?"
Jean's face flickers and then stills. The man shrugs in the silence. "Supposed to be experimenting, right, hot shot?" He crouches down and grabs Jean's right hand, still tied to the chair. "I'm curious."
Armin stares in horror as the man rubs each one of Jean's fingers in turn, as if trying to decide which interests him. He mutters things that Armin can't hear. Jean doesn't bother trying to pull his hand away, there's no where for it to go. Then, slowly, the man's hand crawls upward like a spider and settles on the wrist.
"What are you doing?" Jean growls through his teeth. It's the first thing he's said in minutes. His voice is odd and Armin recognizes the fear seeping out.
"Let's give it a try," says the man. "Should be interesting for both of us." And he presses the small blade just under the bone in Jean's wrist.
"No!" Armin gasps.
Where are they? What's taking them so damn long? They should be here by now!
The man starts sawing slowly. It such a small blade that the strokes, even though applied with great force, do little damage. But it hurts like hell and the blood starts trickling down Jean's fingers immediately. He groans and groans. He can't still the heaving of his chest as the blade cuts deeper in. He bites down a scream. His right eye finds Armin and sees the boy shaking, staring, pale as a ghost.
It's too small…it's too dull. Not only will it never grow back—he'll bleed out! Armin feels the acidic urge to vomit and looks away. He cannot stomach this. Not when it's all his fault. He shouldn't have spoken up for me, he thinks, and at that moment Jean's tattered scream escapes.
It's too deep, now. It hurts too much. Jean turns his face against the floor and his eyes slam shut. The blood bubbles against the blade. His chest heaves.
Armin screams, "Stop!"
Jean's shoulders hunch forward as far as they can and he lets out a sob. Don't, Armin…
"Stop it! Stop, please!"Armin yells as loud as his shaking voice can manage. "It won't grow back! Please, it's pointless, the hand won't re-grow. He's not a Titan."
"What?" The knife pauses, buried horizontally in the Jean's wrist. Crimson drops—big and heavy—fall from the handle and stain the hands of both men. In the silence, Jean's sobs come out dry.
"Don't," he heaves.
But Armin can't allow this. He simply won't. "He's not Eren Jaegar."
The man pulls the knife out with a jerk and a sloshing spray of blood follows. Armin can see the pain written all over Jean's face, making his whole body stiff. I had to tell him, I had too.
"He's not…Eren Jaegar?" the man repeats, not sounding as dubious as Armin had expected.
"N—no, he's n—not." Why is he looking at me like that? Is that…a smile? "You g—got the wrong people. That's Jean Kirstein and I'm—"
"Not Krista Lenz, I'm assuming."
Armin can't help but be terrified of the strange, amused expression on the man's face. His throat constricts and he finds that he can't get the word out. So he just nods his answer. A smile, the one that had been tickling the fat face for so long, finally emerges. And his words chill Armin to the bone.
"I already know that…dumb bitch."
A/N: Hello everyone~ I also posted this one on my ao3 about a week ago, but I know that there's different fans on who might enjoy it. Thank you so much for reading! Please comment and let me know what you think. I'm planning on continuing this. Thoughts?