She was fitful.

Mikasa was reliving everything. She saw her father crumple and choke, her mother screech and fight, the blood everywhere (inescapable). The sparks burst before her eyes again as the man hit her. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew that that much blood wasn't supposed to come out of someone. And her Mama, her Papa- they looked like any other dead creature to her.

There was a twist this time. When the blackness disappeared and the cold crept into Mikasa's bones, the men weren't talking about taking her away as they should have been. The men were doing to her what they'd done to Mama and Papa. But this was slow; this was deliberate and methodical. They cut down the inside of her arm, from her wrist to her elbow. Their eyes were pitch-black and lifeless.

Mikasa strained and yelped inside herself, but her body did not move. She'd lost control; nothing moved, no matter how hard she pushed it to. The men moved on to her other arm as soon as the first was neatly sliced open. One man began to cut her hair. They worked over her like she was a craft, a doll they were cutting up to reuse the stuffing.

When Mikasa was finally able to move her lips- a trembling, sobbing "help"- one of the men settled his dulled gaze directly into her eyes. Mikasa's heart pounded so hard it hurt. He slowly crept toward her, his knife ready. Her nausea rose with every inch he closed.

Gently he pressed the blade down her lips in a silencing gesture. They split easily. Mikasa began to choke on something warm.

"Papa!"

Something was around her neck, strangling her.

"Help- help-"

Mikasa gasped the word. The covers were suffocating.

Little fingers brushed her neck as the choking thing was removed. Mikasa thrashed around in panic, screaming. Her face was covered with tears; she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe through them.

"Mikasa."

The thrashing stopped at the sound of that voice.

The little girl knew this voice.

It had introduced itself in raging demands, spitting words too dark and savage for its innocent sound.

The voice belonged to someone crazy, a killer.

But-

Let's go home.

It also belonged to safety.

Hands enveloped her own beneath the covers. Mikasa's snot pooled into the nice pillow she'd been lent for the night. The face across from her was the steadiest thing she could remember. She held onto its solidarity.

Eren looked her in the eyes.

"You're safe," he said. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone touch you."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Don't worry about me."

Eren watched her in the dark room, waiting for her trembling hands to settle. When they did, he waited a moment before letting go.

"I'll protect you," he said. "No one'll hurt you again, I swear."

"Why me?" she asked, dumbstruck by his determination. He didn't know her. They'd never met before. Yet he risked his life and ended two others just to save her. Mikasa didn't think she'd do the same. He had to have a reason, didn't he?

"They killed your mom and dad," he said. "They stole your home from you. No human being deserves to have their home taken from them. So this is your new home. We'll never leave you; I can promise that."

Seven years later, after several broken promises and many stolen homes, Mikasa has a nightmare.

Half-asleep, she crawl's into Eren's bed, laying the scarf between their heartbeats. It's the exact same way they were that first night.

"I'm home," she whispers, crying herself back to sleep.

Sometime later, before their friends find them and startle them from their slumber, Eren comes close to consciousness. He holds the hands in front of him, his brow low over his heavy eyes fiercely, sleepily.

"You're safe," he mumbles. "We're safe."

I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin or its characters. Art by shoujo-addict on Tumblr.

Thank you for reading! :D