It's been almost a year since I updated this. I'm sorry; life happens and also I'm a piece of shit.
Each chapter has been rewritten or heavily revised so please, if you've read this trainwreck before, start over from the beginning.
This is the second and final time I have rewritten this story.
And with that, please enjoy.
trepidation: (n) a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen
syn: unease, anxiety, apprehension
Sleeping was the thing Eren looked forward to the least. His dreams were almost always dark, like he was stuck in an infinitely-long tunnel with no sign of light to signal an end approaching. It was as if an overwhelming, unimaginably heavy consciousness was following him, threatening to overtake him. And despite his speed and the distance he struggled to keep between himself and it, he was always within its reach, constantly lapping at him like snapping, cracking whips.
It was a driving force in his back as he limped forward weakly, blind in ink, with a hefty boulder atop his staggering shoulders. No matter how fast he urged his legs to run, no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how long forever felt as he forced himself to keep going, Eren never made it to the end. Like there wasn't one.
Other times, quite few in number as of late, there he dreamt in a time where there were no mindless giants banging down his door and snatching up his loved ones. Dreams of peace, where he could wake up without his heart racing, blood pounding in his ears and tears stinging his eyes. Usually in these dreams he was alone, walking nowhere in a place he'd never been before. Sometimes he was joined by many friends, ones he could regocnize by the backs of their heads. Sometimes it was just a couple of them, and even fewer times, only one.
But most nights, in between the seemingly endless hours he stared up at nothing, Eren would find himself in that infinite tunnel, never another shred of daylight or warmth until his eyes pried open and blinded him with his unsettling reality. In the back of his mind he counted the ceiling panels to keep himself even a little sane, until he could fall back asleep and repeat the cycle, or kick the sheets off his body and pull himself out of bed, uncaring of the early morning hour.
Usually these acts disturbed his partner, who could almost always sense his distress. The difference between the two of them was that Mikasa was strong enough to shut out her anxiety long enough to let her sleep, at the cost of feeling like no time had passed when she woke. She didn't have dreams anymore, and Eren loathed her self-calming abilities.
Even if she was there for distraction, she couldn't stay awake with him forever. Mikasa was never good at fighting sleep, no matter how much she wanted to protect Eren from the loneliness he suffered in the late hours of the night. She could only keep her eyes open for so long before they would flutter, and Eren would give up his hopes and coaxe her to sleep.
There was no need to make her suffer through insomnia with him. He was grateful enough that she would attempt to fight tired eyes for him; it was less time he spent alone with his thoughts, which had grown horribly detrimental. Following those were tortorous tunnel vision nightmares in which he was drowning in isolation, or even sometimes peaceful dreams that, upon waking, left him wondering if today would be the day that somebody else died.
Either one left him hurting in some form or another.
He almost always woke up with a deep, unbearable pain in his chest, one he couldn't escape whether he fell back asleep, or lied awake for hours, or even rose from the bed and made his company with the squad members, putting on a brave face and pretending he wasn't aching.
It was a ruthless cycle that Eren couldn't seem to escape, and it started several months ago, on the most fateful night for all of humanity.
This said night took place in an abandoned cabin, once a temporary headquarters for the former Special Operations Squad.
A failed excursion beyond Wall Rose sent what was left of the Survey Corps, the soliders that hadn't been jailed by the Military Police, the ones brave enough to trek beyond the walls' security clad in civilian clothes-as opposed to uniform-in symbol of breaking away from the monarchy, retreating within the walls.
All hope was gone. They had been desperate, and what had become of it? The Survey Corps was small enough to begin with, and now there was barely a handful of them left now. They had been turned against, their bases and barracks burned to the ground. There was nowhere for them to regroup, with no strength to defend themselves. All they could do was run with their tails between their legs.
All the effort and time put towards the benefit of humanity, along with all the losses endured, and they hadn't been any closer to the secrets of the basement than they had been four years ago.
Eren was no longer leverage at this point. The public wanted him and his shifting abilities gone and forgotten about, never to be remembered. And those who wanted his powers for personal gain knew he could be replaced.
But Erwin Smith wasn't the commander of the Survey Corps just for his good looks and charming personality. Crucial events took place that crucial night, due to the bravery of one man and the brokenness of another.
Should someone murder enough men and commit so many sins, they would lose their sense of shame. This was evident in the brutal beating given to the disabled ex-commander, slightly before his informal tribunal with the King. They tied his lone arm behind his back and forced him to kneel. The man looked on with a swollen, bleeding brow obscuring his vision, his heart pulsing calmly with the knowing oncoming of death.
This is what all his actions had come down to. He'd ordered countless men to die to see the man before him sit smugly and send him to his own demise. An eye for an eye, one he undoubtedly knew he deserved.
And Erwin also knew this king would get his own one day. And after a careful second of thought, he supposed it was more wanting to believe in that sentiment, rather than anything else.
Erwin was then asked if he had any last words.
Oddly, possibly unsettling to the nobles who'd been hoping to see him quiver, a smile formed on chapped lips. Of course, they couldn't understand. This was it. Finally, he was free of these burdens, and he could get the justice he sought to endure.
Even facing death in the eye, even with the guaranteed annihilation of mankind and his complete and utter failure dangling in his face, Erwin Smith proved to be outstandingly strange until the end. He was not afraid.
His life didn't flash before his eyes, his heart didn't race. If anything, he was relaxed, and eerily calm. He'd never felt so relieved in his life; the knowledge of his fate was like wiping a slate clean.
He was free.
But then he realized how caught up in selfishness he was, for there were others who were not. And regretably, if he was to die, then his job had to be passed onto someone else.
Being unable to carry this burden for his comrades until the end was perhaps his single regret.
And like a bead of sweat that dripped from his forehead, splattering in the smallest of circles on his bloodied trousers, an idea started to form. He inhaled slowly, snapping his head up, gaze staring directly into another with equally terrifying, stone-cold eyes, as lifeless as the spirits that haunted him.
Somewhere much farther away, a group of five were treading on horseback, racing to a place of uncertain security. The captain leading the group sought after the cabin, fighting off his uncharacteristic anxiety with the hope that it was still abandoned.
One of them, Historia, was hysterical, and the rest of them were not far from the state. The journey to and beyond and back from the wall awoke some especially painful memories of a very old, very special friend, and the tears were endless.
Eren was the last to enter the cabin, having stood outside alone for what seemed like hours but was, in reality, a few minutes. He had stared at the outline of the building, hands in fists at his sides. The last time he had seen this cabin was four years ago, when he was just fifteen. There had been a small, meager amount of hope in their hearts then, but it was mountainous in comparison to now.
The door his eyes were boring into opened with a small creak, Mikasa's hand reaching through the crack and pushing the door open. She poked her head out, and Eren's stomach churned when their eyes met.
Even strong, determined Mikasa looked pale, worried, and otherwise dead in the face. Her large, almond-shaped eyes held a dull, sickening gloom that she had worn twice before but never in front of him.
"Eren," she said, her voice quiet and lonely. He didn't respond. He only looked at her. His body reacted to her call, and he strode forward, fists still clenched, walking away from the night shadows that continued to haunt him, where the cries of his dying comrades from hours before could be heard.
Eren paused in front of her, bowing his head to meet her gaze. He had grown some since the last time he stood here, and it took him until now to realize that Mikasa was no longer the taller one-even if it had only been barely. He reached above her head to pull the door open enough for the two of them to step in, his ears catching the sobbing from inside.
Historia—who was still a shrimp—was sobbing in the not-so-scrawny arms of Armin, whose usually bright blue eyes met his equally dull mossy green. Armin had grown some, and was finally taller than Mikasa, and though he'd been wearing his hair in the style for a long time Eren had yet to notice the pony-tail of longer blond hair.
It seemed a lot had changed and he had never bothered to notice. Where was the time going? Why did it even bother ticking by, still, if there wasn't going to be a future to remember them?
Levi wasn't in the room, but that was all Eren could care to observe. The four of them stood alone, Historia's cries the only noise in the otherwise-silent room.
Eren's attention was drawn to a tugging on his sleeve rolled up to the crook in his elbow. He didn't have to look to know it was Mikasa's, as slid her hand beneath his cloak and clung to his arm. He could feel her broken gaze on his face like glass and could practically hear the silent tears dripping down her cheeks, just like his.
He glanced around the room, eyes adjusting to the dimly-lit area, avoiding the eyes that he knew were dead and dark. Instead he focused his gaze on a single lantern placed on a table to light the cabin, and offered his arms to take in her trembling figure, though his own trembles surely didn't offer much comfort. He met Armin's teary look when she, herself, started to cry.
Her sobs were small and quiet, muffled by his shirt gripped within her shaking fingers-unlike Historia's wails, which were loud and cracked and filling the insatiable void growing through the night.
He probably stood in that open doorway for an hour, listening to Historia's weeps slowly fade as she cried herself to sleep in Armin's arms, who took her away to one of the bedrooms to lay her down with heavy bags under his eyes. He didn't return, and was probably crying silently to himself. Eren didn't blame him in the slightest.
The breeze coming in through the open door eventually blew the lantern out, casting the two of them in total darkness. Their shadows could be seen in the floorboards thanks to the silver crescent shining in the ink above them.
It hit him like a tidal wave; the laughter of his old squad mates rang in his ear, and suddenly Eren was inside the doorway sweeping. A cloth was wrapped around his head, the sounds of their jokes casually breezing in through the open door on a sunny day, crates of potatoes, bread, and fresh vegetables in their hands. Life had seemed so bleak then, and it was even bleaker now. Almost as if it didn't exist.
He was paralyzed. He was trapped in that tunnel that he couldn't escape, even in his dreams. The faces were beginning to appear in midair before him, starting with Marco's and ending with Jean's. He could feel the droplets of Connie's blood on his skin. The joyful sounds of Sasha's laughter quickly rippled into her ear-piercing screams.
Eren couldn't stand in that room anymore. His feet were running, pounding down the porch steps and heading frantically towards the stables. He needed to get away from this nightmare, but didn't know where he could go.
"Eren!" He didn't hear her voice anymore as he scrambled to find the saddles in the dark. His eyes were wet and he couldn't see anything. He tripped over the stacks of maneuver gear boxes, so he knew he was in one of the corners of the stables, but he couldn't remember for the life of him which one it was. It didn't matter. He was sure he was sporting many blisters with his hands clawing along the posts and rails, searching desperately for a way out.
He felt a hand grab his in the dark, but he snatched his limb back and shouted for them to get away. He needed to get out of here.
"Eren!" His ears weren't working, and neither were his eyes. He stumbled, felt himself fall to the ground. And then there was a weight pushing him into the dirt. His shirt was getting damper and the weight was shuddering and clinging to him, despite his best efforts to shake it off of him.
Eren then remembered his body, that he had hands and a way to fight off this living nightmare. He could very easily get rid of this pest that kept restraining at him and pushing him down. He brought a friigid hand to his mouth, preparing to bite down. Instead he met something soft in his grip, and something even softer on his lips. It was surprisingly warm. The whole thing was warm. Shuddering, but warm.
It seemed fragile, like it was cracking. Maybe it wasn't a threat. He tried to hold it still with his hands, but it didn't stop rattling in his grip.
He tried to keep it still by rolling over, pressing the warmth into the ground beneath him, still feeling its temperate touch on his face. It was getting wetter, on his cheeks and in his mouth. He felt something cling around his neck, strangling him. He suddenly reached for the noose and found two ends of it, so he pinned each one down with tight fingers and more strength in his arms than he once thought he had.
The heat on his mouth disappeared, appearing seconds later on his neck. Then there was a ringing in his ears, and he let out a deep sigh. It was nice here, with this warm thing beneath him. It needed some taming, but it was comforting, like distant memories of a long-forgotten summer. He felt a heart beating in his chest, but it wasn't his. It was something real, something that wasn't him.
While it was soothing on his neck, Eren much preferred the warmness on his mouth. He found it again with his lips, this time feeling it, discovering the shape of it, and exploring its insides.
Suddenly his lungs were burning, his chest felt like it would explode. Eren then remembered how to breathe.
By the time Eren had come around to a sensible state where he could open his eyes, it was too late. He felt his body moving in ways he'd never knew he was capable of, and the sounds escaping the girl beneath him were unlike any he ever imagined he would hear.
It was Mikasa, and from what he could tell, the lower half of her harness was detached and removed along with her trousers, and his own pants were unzipped. His mind was still clouded, and his eyes didn't quite open all the way. His body was moving on its own, as if there was a another entity, separate from him, telling it what to do.
His lips were on her neck, and his fingers were curling around something so tightly he started scraping his nails into the dirt.
Deep down in his consciousness, Eren knew this was very probably wrong. But he couldn't bring himself to stop. He felt whole. This felt good. He was alive.
Never before had he been this alive.
He could feel Mikasa's legs wrapped around his waist, and identified her wrists in his choking grasp. Eren released them at the sight of her abnormally pale hands, finding her wet hair to tangle his fingers through. It was raining, the skin on her neck slick. It was cold all around them, but she was blazing.
"Mikasa," he managed to whisper, finding some control over his throat. He lifted his head and hovered it over hers, blocking the rain from her face. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment, meeting his half-lidded gaze. The dull pain in her eyes was not gone, but it was masked by something else that Eren couldn't figure out. He knew his own eyes probably held the same mysterious tint.
The strange sounds coming from mouth suddenly ceased when his lips returned to hers, and they picked up again moments later, muffled through her colored cheeks, red from the cold and pink from other things.
Rain pelted roughly into his back. The cloak was drenched and his hair was dripping. He could feel Mikasa's body shuddering, and it took a moment to connect the dots. Her lower half was exposed to the bitter air and her skin seemed paler than it should've been.
Her eyes were closed and he knew she wasn't sleeping. From what he could see she looked exhausted, both physically and mentally. He wondered how long he had been holding himself up since they had finished, why they hadn't bothered to push him up off the ground.
Eren sat up, finally, Mikasa gasping at the loss of warmth and the rain pouring in her face. She was pale and her lips were an abnormal blue hue.
Eren scrambled to find her sopping pants, but didn't bother pulling them up her legs.
There was nobody inside the front room when he kicked the door open, which had swung near-closed with the wind, trailing in with water dripping and pooling at his footsteps. Minutes later both sets of clothes were piled in a wet heap in the corner, a fresh gown fished from her backpack clothed her cold body, and she was wrapped in a blanket, laid on the floor in front of the small fire Eren had managed to start.
He had ventured into the back rooms to look for more blankets and pillows, and returned with an armful. He found Armin sitting on his knees in front of the fireplace, Mikasa's head in his lap, silently stroking her soaked hair.
He approached without a word, his footsteps on the creaking floor giving his presence away, but Armin didn't turn his head to greet him. Eren dropped everything on the floor besides a single blanket and draped it around Armin's shoulders, who took it wordlessly.
Two more blankets were laid on top of Mikasa, and Eren held the pillow in his lap, sitting beside Armin. The three of them stared together into the dancing flames, nothing whatsoever running through their heads.
Minutes of solitude turned into an hour, and soon they were joined by a set of quiet, light footsteps, though they didn't have to turn around to see who it was. They could hear the sounds of chair legs scraping across the floor as it was dragged, and Historia took a seat behind Mikasa, a quilt from her bed enveloping her small frame.
Still, not a word was said. Not even when Levi emerged from the shadows and stood behind the small group, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, tear stains evident in the flickering light.
There was nothing to say, too many to mourn for, and no hope for the future. That was all they had left.