a/n: This one's based off of an exceedingly old SnK story I wrote all the way back in 2014. Originally functioned as a small part of a much larger tale, a sort of pseudo-novelization of Shingeki no Kyojin. Suffice to say I'm kind of impatient, and it never really took off.
Also, confession time: despite my absurdly plentiful output of Eren/Annie, I'll let it be known that the scene where nine year-old Eren Jaeger saves nine year-old Mikasa Ackerman from the would-be traffickers is probably my all-time favorite moment in the series, anime or manga-wise. .u. Yep, I actually am a big fan of their relationship, though I don't necessarily see them getting together in a romantic sense.
But that's not the point. I've always wanted a good excuse to write Mikasa!
Mikasa listened to the tell-tale patter of rain upon the roof, hiding behind the darkness of her closed eyes.
She felt wood beneath her body. Her hands were bound, her calves and elbows scraped through her thin shift and slightly muddied. She could taste the dampness in the air as she opened her eyes and saw the dead light of afternoon shining in from the windows above.
This was not her house. She was alive, but she did not feel alive in the slightest. Her head throbbed where she had been struck. She shut her eyes again to blot out the pain and the rush of returning memories, but her own body betrayed her by continuing to keep her awake.
Each shallow breath she took was only a cruel reminder of the present. It was unreal, in a sense, like becoming conscious in the middle of a bad dream. But she was not dreaming, and her mother and father would not come to wake her….
Mikasa found she was too empty to produce tears. Too resigned. Shouldn't she feel something?
She was not alone. Even now, the men that had taken her were talking in low, panicked voices. One of them stole a glance at her. "What are we going to do with the girl?" He got up, and approached. With his foot he turned Mikasa over, keeping her head steady with the sole of his boot. "She's pretty, I suppose. Nothing I'm interested in."
"I didn't ask about your preferences," sneered the second man. "The girl's an Oriental, don't you understand? Her race was supposed to have died out years ago."
The first man scowled. "Her father wasn't Oriental. The mother was a pureblood." He took his boot off the girl's head and she fell, limp and ignored. "And you killed her."
Now the second protested, "She attacked me first, I had to defend myself!"
"She was one woman!" the first man growled. "You're telling me you can't handle one fucking woman? She was worth more than the three of us put together, and you killed her!"
"It doesn't matter," a third voice cut in, chastising. "We can still sell the girl. There are all sorts in the Underground that would pay a fair price for something like her."
In her naïveté, Mikasa could only think of selling livestock, but something about the way the third man had spoken made her wonder what they truly had in mind…. As the third man left his companions, she continued to stare into empty light, wishing she could close her eyes and never wake up again. She did not care that she had survived, nor that she was to be sold to an unknown fate, for what could be worse than this emptiness?
But as Mikasa drifted further and further into a place no-one could reach her, there came a new sort of creak; the door was ajar. The two men sprang to their feet.
"Check it," said the first sharply.
The second man went over to the door and flung it open, the violence of the gesture causing it to bang against the wall. "What the hell—?"
But he stopped quite abruptly, taken aback by what he saw in front of him. It was a boy, dressed heavily in woollen garb and a dark red scarf, and he jumped back, cowering when the door came swinging open.
"I—I'm sorry, sir," he began rapidly, clearly terrified. "I—uh, I saw your cabin, and I supposed there was someone…." The man turned to the first, who waved him away impatiently. The second man scoffed, turning back to the shivering child.
"Are you lost?" the man asked. The boy nodded timorously. Now the man smiled; this would be easy enough to deal with. "Aren't you frightened? There are wolves in the forest, you know."
The child's reaction was puzzling, devoid of fear or surprise, like the man had expected. Instead, the boy glanced calmly back the way he had come, as though he were expecting something…or someone. In fact, as the man studied the boy's face he noted that the child did not seem in the least bit frightened anymore. This gave the man pause. Was the boy part of a set-up, a lure meant to distract him from ambush by the MPs? But he dismissed the thought quickly; the rain would wash away all tracks their party had left. This was a remote settlement, after all, and the Military Police couldn't care less about one more missing person, especially not in such an unpopulated area. The village would probably have to bribe the lazy bastards to go out in this weather when it was already pretty likely that the worst had happened. Besides, no child was going to get in the way of this.
"You're pretty brave, kid," the man complimented, ruffling the boy's hair. "If you aren't fazed by wolves, then I'll be damned if I ever find out what does faze you."
The boy smiled in return, but it did not reach his eyes. This was somewhat disconcerting.
"But no fear," the man continued, "we'll take good care of—"
There was a flash of silver in the dead light, and the man's breath hitched, the sound thickening on the end.
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir," said the boy with a forced air of calmness; there was no trace of fear in his voice, and his green eyes were alight with a cold fury that seemed to clash with his young face, "I understand."
The man tried to speak but only gurgled horribly on his own blood, spraying flecks of it and saliva across the boy's face. Without another word, the boy grabbed the man by the front of his coat and, grimacing with effort and wrath, hauled him to the side where he fell to the floor as dead-weight, convulsing feebly.
"OI!" The dead man's companion sprang to his feet with a roar, "What the hell is this?"
The boy seemed to realize what he'd gotten himself into and for a moment, he froze, fear taking over. Then he bolted for the nearby closet in a surprising show of agility and slammed the door behind him, securing the lock almost automatically.
He knew he had only seconds. He could hardly see but he had his knife, still slippery with fresh blood, and that was all he needed. The man was much larger and stronger than he was, and probably would be carrying a weapon. The handle of a broom caught his attention, and an assortment of many knives and other cutlery that glinted wickedly in the light.
The boy exhaled shakily.
Grabbing the broom in one hand and a larger blade in the other, he got to work. First he cut the rope to a length he would need—every second counted here—and took the clean knife, tying it hastily near the end of the broom. It was not the best job, it would probably only work once but it was enough.
Just as he had completed his task, the door was flung open and the second man shouted: "Come on out, you little shit!"
As if on cue, the boy burst into view with a howl. The second man hesitated, unsure whether to advance or retreat but that would cost him his life, and so the boy raised his makeshift weapon without fear and charged. The spear pierced the side of the man's chest and continued through, yet the boy was unmindful to the agonized scream.
They fell to the ground, the weapon forced even deeper, pinning the man where he lay. But the boy wasn't finished. Grasping his original knife in blood–slicked hands, he fell upon the man, screaming, "You BASTARDS! You think I don't know what you were going to do?"
Each sentence was punctuated by a violent stab. "You think I don't—recognise what you are?" Another flash of steel; blood sprayed over him and he was inconsolable in his tiny fury.
"You're just a pack of—animals, and you have to be put down, you have to—to—"
Emotion rendered him incoherent. His arms were aching from the sheer force it took to drive the blade home, but adrenaline kept him going. He didn't stop 'til long after the man had stopped breathing, stopped resisting, and when he did he was calm, though his own body shook.
Slowly, he collapsed across the corpse, panting, soaked in blood and sweat, nearly dizzy with coursing adrenaline. It was only then, and at last, that the boy turned to the where the girl still lay, motionless.
"It's going to be all right now," he said hoarsely, clambering from the bloody corpse that had once resembled something human. "He's dead." Just to make her feel better, he kicked the corpse in the ribs; it jolted upon impact, but moved no more. "See?"
To his dismay, her expression did not change. She didn't even flinch, just laid there in defeat like a beaten animal. The sight gave him conflict between lingering fury at the men and a strange combination of sympathy and faint, inexplicable unease.
"Aren't you Mikasa?" he asked softly, coming over to her. She blinked, her dark eyes fixing on him. "I'm Eren," he told her, hauling her up into a sitting position, working at the restraints. "Eren Jaeger. I think you've met my father, Doctor Jaeger." The binds came loose, and the girl rubbed her wrists absently. "I went along with my dad to your house for business, and—"
"There were three of them," she said quietly, her voice a wisp of a thing.
Eren stopped dead. "What?"
Mikasa's head turned instinctively, and there was a creaking of floorboards. The third man had returned. He recoiled, taking in the scene before him. His two companions lay dead. The girl was unharmed. There was a boy—
"You!" he spluttered, pointing a trembling finger at the blood–stained child. "You did this?" Eren dove for the knife, but the man was larger, and he moved quickly, kicking the boy across the room with a frightening ease. Eren crashed into the wall with a cry of pain, but he was not down for long; the man hauled him to his feet, slamming him against the wall, two hands clasped around his smaller neck. "Answer me, you little bastard!" he roared.
Eren found Mikasa's terrified face and gasped, "Help me!"
The girl shrank back, shaking her head.
"If you don't—" The man slammed Eren's head into the wall and he choked on his words, "gck—fight, you have to fight or we won't make it!"
Mikasa stumbled back, and her hand brushed something wet and heavy—
The hilt of the knife.
Without thinking she took it in her hands, wielding it before her, clumsy in her apprehension as she scrambled to her feet.
"I can't!" she cried, but as she looked from the struggling boy to the man, something occurred to her, strikingly clear. She'd seen this before, the struggle, and the strange and fearsome light in Eren's eyes, that will to survive. Nature ran its course; predators conquered prey. Nature did not stop to mourn her parents. Nature would not miss her, nor would it miss the boy who had almost saved her. Her life was not an option, but a privilege.
"Fight!" Eren wheezed again, his face colouring with lack of oxygen, and Mikasa's eyes fell upon the third man. Her hands steadied, grip tightening on the bloody hilt, knuckles white. And she launched herself towards the target with a cry, raising the weapon high and coming down with all the force she could muster. The man screamed, there was a spurt of red warmth on her hands and arms when she wrenched the knife back. Mikasa shrieked, driven by instinct, shoving the blade further into his insides, twisting. The scream became choked, a mutilated gargle. She gave one final shove and the hilt was lost to warm, blood-slick flesh. Both Eren and the corpse tumbled to the floor.
Mikasa was still breathing fast, eyes wide and her arms and front stained generously with red, her own adrenaline seeping away like the blood pouring out of the third man, leaving her strangely exhausted.
"Is it…over?" she asked, after Eren had disentangled himself from the dead weight.
"I think so," he replied, glancing at the body. Then he grinned at her and added: "Wait, let me check." He gave the corpse a hearty kick in the ribs, and she jumped. "He's dead," Eren reassured, turning back to her, beaming triumphantly.
Despite the stench of piss and blood, Mikasa could not help but smile in return.
"Are you sure that someone's coming for us?" she asked softly.
Eren nodded, sitting tentatively beside her on the floor. "Yes. We just have to stay put."
It was funny, Mikasa thought. Eren had attacked both men without so much as a suggestion of hesitation, but neither of them wanted to look at the bodies they had left behind.
She wondered what had compelled him to fight with such ferocity if he was just as scared as she was.
"How did you find me?" she asked quietly, staring at her knees, hoping that a change in subject would put them both a little more at ease.
"I followed the tracks," Eren said. "It was raining, remember? There were three pairs of feet and they were all adult-sized, so I followed them here."
"Oh."
"You know, Mikasa…I was actually kind of stupid back there. I didn't think about what might happen if I couldn't save you, I just rushed in." He chuckled weakly. "We're both probably lucky to be alive."
"Yes," she mumbled, not really believing it but wishing she could pretend to do so. She curled tighter into herself, shivering involuntarily. The rain had stopped a little while ago, but there was still a dampness about the air that chilled her.
"Are you cold?" Eren asked suddenly.
She side-eyed him. Eren unravelled the scarf from his shoulders and wrapped her up in it, clumsy, but genuine in his purpose. Mikasa was too numb to do much else but stare at him. He pulled back, smiling gently.
"It's all right if you don't feel better immediately," he told her. "That just proves you're human."
Mikasa felt something tighten in her chest. "You sound like mum," she whispered.
Something changed in the boy's eyes, like he was wounded, guilty. Mikasa turned away.
"Mum and dad told me to run, but I couldn't," she professed.
Eren was stricken. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice strange and hoarse.
"Don't apologise. I know they're not going to…" She stopped prematurely, hiding her face in the warmth of the scarf as all the emotions that had been held back by shock and the thrill of survival came pouring out, and now Mikasa wept, her tiny body wracked with a hysterical kind of grief.
She felt Eren's body shift in hesitance, like he wanted to put an arm around her but was too scared to do so. She was glad he did not. Somewhere in the throes of grief she felt his hand envelop hers, and she clutched it tightly, and did not let him go. She was inconsolable for a while, but eventually there came a time when she couldn't cry anymore.
"Mikasa," he said, gently, but no less solemn for it. She looked up at him from the safety of the scarf, snot-nosed and timorous. "Right now, you and I are alive. And you have to put all your effort into staying alive, so your mum and dad didn't sacrifice themselves in vain. Understand?"
She blinked, but did not move elsewise. Eren sighed slowly, but did not take his eyes off her.
The Military Police arrived within the hour, and after the initial surprise wore off ("Did the children do all of this?") they were escorted to the porch outside.
A new man stood there to greet them, bespectacled, pale with worry, dressed in a suit and carrying a case. He looked at the two children, covered in blood and trembling. His gaze rested on Eren and he was quiet for a moment.
"Eren. What have you done?"
The boy seemed torn between newfound defiance and apprehension as he replied, softly: "I wanted to protect her, sir."
The man scowled, took the boy into his arms and hugged him tightly. "Damn it, Eren, I told you to wait for me!" He let the boy go, kept him at arm's length. "Don't you realise what you've done?"
"They were going to sell her," Eren said tersely, "and I stopped them."
He glanced half-heartedly at Mikasa as if hoping she could confirm this; she did not meet his eyes.
"You could have been killed!" said the man harshly, "and the Military Police would have never known what happened!" His voice trembled, but only slightly. "Your very survival is nothing short of a godsend!"
Now Eren was shaking, as well, and he looked down at his feet. "Father," he mumbled, "I wanted to help."
The man was silent for a moment, then he turned to Mikasa, addressing her much more softly: "You are Mikasa Ackerman?"
She nodded, but did not meet his eyes.
"I'm Doctor Jaeger. You might not remember me, you were small last time I visited you. Eren is my son."
She nodded again. They regarded one another for a while in silence. Then Doctor Jaeger said this:
"Why don't you come home with us?"
Mikasa stared blankly up at the man. As if understanding her confusion, he continued: "You'll need a place to stay after everything you've been through."
And when she remained silent, Eren took her arm.
"C'mon," he said, with a gruff sort of kindness. "It's getting dark. We should head back home before then."
Home. Mikasa tasted the word, cherishing it.