mens sana in corpore sano
Manhattan, New York
a.d. iv Kalendas Septembres, 2766 A.U.C.
There was a sense of vacancy in his mind. The sort of shady, eerie hollowness of a school at night, or a bar in the daytime. He recalled things from memories that were not his, while his own memories were glossed over with a gleaming white paint, glimmering sadly and faintly. The institution felt like a bad dream. Sometimes he woke up screaming, and he couldn't be sure why. His was a power that could not be discerned easily. It could barely be explained.
As a rule, he didn't talk about the institution. Neither did Erwin Smith, the man who had admitted to blowing it up. Armin had escaped by following Erwin out of the building, and following him until the man finally noticed that there was a child tailing him. At the time, Armin had not been thinking of Eren and Mikasa. At the time, all Armin had been thinking about was surviving.
It was the sort of regret that appeared like a blot in his vision. And then it grew. Armin tried his best to reach out through the established link between himself and his friends, but there was nothing. Just… a vacant, heavy void that hung heavily where two distinctive presences should be. It was worse whenever he had to let other people in his head. He didn't like the feeling, the unfamiliarity and the acrid aftertaste, leaving him feeling worn and senseless.
The truth was, Armin's powers were pretty volatile. Without Mikasa and Eren to share the burden, Armin was forced to experience the vicious backlash of being a telepath. There was loneliness in bearing the thoughts of others. Upon leaving the institution, Armin had to face the exposure to thousands of voices daily, and feel them squirming inside his head. He had to focus to make them all stop. And worst of all, he couldn't control the telepathy upon physical contact. The thing that had made him, Mikasa, and Eren so close before was now his downfall. Someone could brush their knuckles against the back of his hand utterly by accident, and Armin could gain a rush of memories and anxieties while giving up his own frantic thoughts. It usually ended up with Armin in the nurse's office, curled up with his knees hugged to his chest.
Armin was eleven the first time it happened. Erwin had sent him to a public school after promising to take care of him, and Armin was immediately apprehensive of his classmates. He didn't like the way their thoughts felt in his head. He didn't like the heaviness of their stares whenever Armin answered a question correctly (always), and he didn't like how simple they were. He didn't like the emptiness inside him, and he didn't like that no one seemed to understand.
He'd been elbowed off a swing on the playground, and the book in his lap, a collection of Cicero's letters, collapsed in the sand as he went skidding on his hands and knees. He'd been stunned in the first place, slumping in the dirt as he peered at his skinned palms. Grains of sand burned his shredded flesh, and tears prickled his eyes. He wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't run from the burning building. He wished he had gone looking for Eren and Mikasa. He wished he knew how to find them, if they were…
They were alive, though. Armin felt as though he would know if they were dead. Their connection was too strong.
The recess monitor had seen Armin fall, and she'd come to see if he was all right. She had bent down and taken Armin's hands gingerly to look at the damage. Upon her touch, Armin felt the world screech around him, the air hot and palpable as a barrage of thoughts tumbled into his head, hissing softly in his ears at a speed that he could not fathom, and he felt his fingers shaking as a filthy taste spread across his tongue, bitter and burning and blackening his teeth like tar. He felt the words on his hands, bleeding through her skin into his and contaminating his nerves.
He had screamed, and she had screamed, and he'd torn himself out of her grasp and flung himself from the playground, tears streaming down his face and her panicked thoughts sledging through his mind. It wasn't like reading a mind. Reading minds was easy, like hearing bits of conversations in passing. It was easy to tune in and out. But what had happened was more like the woman's entire mind had bled from her skin, and washed over Armin, and he could taste her in his mouth and feel her on his skin, and he knew she could feel him in her head too. She knew him, and she didn't understand, and she was scared.
He'd ended up collapsing at the front of the school, clutching his chest and heaving. He felt pressure on his lungs, as though something was constricting his ribs, pressing onto them until the felt ready to give and cave in on him. He was rasping and shaking and sobbing, his bloody hands scrubbing helplessly at his face, and his eyes, hoping to wash away the stain of the woman's mind, hopelessly digging at his head in vain to erase the connection, to erase the sensation of invasion that clung to him, bruising his brain and bleeding from his heart.
The ambulance had been called, and Armin had been given an inhaler, and told he had asthma, and he was bandaged up and sent home. Erwin was a tall, charismatic man, who smiled when need be and masked his true feelings better than Armin ever could. Erwin had been affectionate with Armin enough in front of the doctors, but when Armin was alone with him in the car, the man had looked Armin straight in the eye and said, "We need to control this."
Armin could say nothing, do nothing. He was ashamed, and close to tears again. He rolled his new inhaler in his hands, his lips trembling, and Erwin eyed him. Streetlights rolled by, illuminating the tears that tumbled onto Armin's cheeks as he hiccupped, and curled up in the front seat, sniffling into the sleeve of his cardigan. Armin looked up, very startled, as Erwin pulled the car over to a curb. He stared ahead of him for a moment, and then glanced up at Erwin fearfully.
"I-I-I—" Armin choked, his eyes flickering down to the bandages on his palms. "I don't… I just…"
"Take a deep breath," Erwin said. Armin did, sucking in air and exhaling it shakily. "Tell me exactly what happened."
"I don't know," Armin gasped, clapping his hands over his eyes. "That's the prob-b-blem!"
"You've never acted this way before when reading a mind," Erwin said, his pale gaze flickering over Armin's face. "So what's different here? What happened differently?"
Armin wiped at his eyes, and shrugged. "It felt— I… I don't know, it felt bad, like I couldn't breathe, and I could just… I could taste all the bad things just rolling on my tongue, all the bad thoughts and feelings, and she could too, and it was so, so, so awful…"
Erwin nodded slowly. "It's okay to not be in control all the time," Erwin said gently. "But you sent that woman into shock, whatever you did. So now we need to be more attentive to how powerful you really are."
"But," Armin said faintly, "I'm not powerful…"
Erwin stared at him. He twisted his body in his seat to face Armin, and he reached forward and took Armin's tiny hand. Erwin was unreadable. Armin had theories as to why, but it was still amazing to him that Erwin's mind was completely out of his reach. And it was calming too.
"You are very powerful," Erwin said, his large hand wrapping around Armin's dainty fingers. "You have an extraordinary gift, Armin. I know you think it's scary, but I need you to accept it." Erwin's eyes flashed in the darkness. "Or else you might become very dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Armin couldn't help but laugh scornfully, his voice thick and his tears lessening. "Me?"
"Yes," Erwin said. "And me. And anyone else who was in that facility. We are all dangerous people, and we all must embrace that fact. Now, Armin, do me a favor and make the car invisible. I want to catch the evening news."
"The entire car?" Armin squeaked.
Erwin turned his face back ahead of him. "Yes," he said, a mild smile on his lips. "Can you do it?"
Armin was shaking in his seat. "I…" He took a deep breath. Focus, he reminded himself. "I can try."
They made it home in time for the evening news, though Armin felt a little lightheaded, and Erwin had to carry him in. The man apologized, though Armin could not be sure if Erwin was genuinely sorry for pushing Armin's power. Armin decided he liked it that way.
Erwin began sending Armin to school with gloves on when Armin was twelve. Armin began to appreciate them, though sometimes there was no way around brushing someone's skin. By that point Armin was used to the nausea and disgust that came with an unwanted mindlink. It was a part of him. And he hated it. He hated it so much that he did anything he could to avoid physical contact. He was excused from gym class due to asthma, and he ducked away from people in hallways, careful to never be touched. It marked him as odd, and rumors began to circulate that he was afraid of germs, or antisocial, or something. Eventually people seemed to get over it, and he made friends, but there was always a bit of a stigma to his condition.
They had begun sleuthing when Armin was thirteen. Erwin had a precognitive power that Armin still couldn't quite comprehend, and all of a sudden he was using it to stop massive crimes before they happened. And Armin was helping. They tracked down criminals, locked them up, talked them down, and never lifted a finger against them. Armin and Erwin had no need for violence. Their power was in the mind, and in the mind it stayed. The public had given them their own monikers when the media had finally caught them (a year and a half after they had begun using their powers for heroism). Erwin, whose power had somehow been leaked as precognition, was called Augur. No one had ever really seen him. Armin kept him invisible, though they both had acquired costumes to suit the bill. Erwin wore a short black cloak, and Armin wore the same one in white. Their costumes were the same, with the color inverted. Armin's suit was black, but his sides were streaked with white. His arms were white as well, though inky words were scrawled across the fabric as though written with a thick marker in Armin's own handwriting. The words moved around the white fabric, constantly changing to suit Armin's thoughts. Erwin didn't have this detail in his own costume. He'd developed it just for Armin, and Armin thought it was the most amazing thing he owned.
The media called him Cicero. It was because once, during a hostage situation, Armin had made himself visible before the shooter. And he'd talked. And Armin could not recall what he had said, but he remembered the words spewing from his lips, the calm, aggressively empty words that had gone on and on and on, catching the undivided attention of everyone in the room as Armin read the man's face, and scanned through his thoughts, and made words appear with a quiet fury. His voice had echoed, and his words had hit home.
And when he was done speaking, the gunman had turned the gun and put the barrel between his teeth.
"What did I do wrong?" Armin lamented later to Erwin. The boy stared at his fingers, watching words appear rapidly, a flutter of literature curling across his fingers. He thought he recognized a few lines from A Tell-Tale Heart, and he had to close his eyes to keep himself from crying.
"Nothing," Erwin replied. "Do you think you did anything wrong?"
"That man died," Armin murmured, never looking up. "I did that to him. I made him kill himself."
"That was his own choice," Erwin said. "You aren't at fault here, Armin. You saved a lot of people."
Yeah, Armin thought numbly. But did I have to take a life to do that?
He never quite got over it. He continued to try and save people, and continued to feel hopelessly lonely despite all the good things Armin had. Erwin wasn't a bad guardian. In fact, Erwin cared about Armin a lot more than Armin had ever expected of him. Whenever Armin woke up from nightmares, Erwin was there to placate him, and Erwin was there to make everything okay again. Erwin was Armin's tether to the world, and Armin was unbelievably thankful for him.
But sometimes it felt like the man was only playing Armin like a piece on a chessboard.
"Up," Erwin said, flicking on the light in Armin room. Armin blinked dazedly, curling against his blankets, and he mumbled softly into his pillow. His head was pounding viciously, and he felt sick to his stomach, as though something had been clawing at his abdomen for the majority of the night.
"Five…?" Armin grimaced, and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow as Erwin yanked his blankets off him.
"No," Erwin said. "Now. There's going to be a shooting."
Armin was barely lucid, and his head felt like it was about to split apart, but the word shooting did catch his attention. Armin turned his head, brushing his mess of blond hair from his one open eye. "Shooting?" He sat up, and caught the costume Erwin threw at him. He glanced out the window and saw, with great despair, that it was still dark out. "What time is it?"
"Other vigilantes stay up all night patrolling," Erwin said, raising his chin at Armin. A sign that he was teasing. "I wonder if they complain as much as you."
"I've got school," Armin reminded, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.
"It's only the first week," Erwin said stiffly. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Now get dressed."
Armin frowned. Against his skin fingers, the light white fabric of his uniform glittered faintly as Armin's handwriting appeared in a thick, clean script. He vaguely recognized the words as "Rip Van Winkle". The words were fuzzy, and he blamed that on his bleary vision. He was just sleepy, was all. He sighed as Erwin turned away toward to door, and Armin rose to his feet groggily.
"I bet Robin never had to deal with stuff like this," Armin called after him. Erwin paused in the doorway, and he glanced back at Armin with his thick eyebrows raised. He stood for a few moments, and then smiled.
"You should read more Batman," Erwin said. And then he left the room, leaving Armin to scowl and glare down at his uniform.
"I don't even like comic books much," Armin mumbled, tugging his shirt over his head. "When did my life become one…"
He checked the time after donning his suit, and he shook his aching head in disbelief. It was four in the morning. Sure, his sleeping habits weren't exactly the best, but that was because he had intense studying habits that were infinitely more important. He hated it when his heroing habits got in the way of his life. He would need coffee. He would need a lot of coffee, and probably some chocolate and motrin and something fuzzy to get him through the day.
"It's four am," Armin informed Erwin as he exited his room, pulling on his knee high boots. "I don't like being a super hero anymore. I think I'm going to quit."
"Do you enjoy giving me anxiety?" Erwin asked, glancing at Armin curiously. The boy managed a weak smile, and took the white cloak he offered out. "You know I can't do this without you."
"Yeah…" Armin threw the cloak over his shoulders, fastening it to the left. "Yeah, I know. I was just joking."
"Of course," Erwin said. He fastened his own cloak, and nodded to Armin curtly. "You can sleep in the car if you're really that exhausted. Also you might want to grab some clothes, just in case."
"What?" Armin asked flatly. He stared at Erwin, who merely stared at him, and Armin groaned and whirled away. "Where are we going? Are we leaving the state?"
"Please pack lightly," Erwin said.
"We're not leaving the country, are we?" Armin kicked a bookbag from his closet and into the center of the floor. He tugged a sweatshirt from his drawer, and then a pair of jeans. "What am I packing for? Because I'm not packing any short sleeves, I'm drawing the line there."
"We're going north," Erwin said, leaning against the doorframe. "You should still pack some shorter sleeves, though. It's hot."
"Yep," Armin said glumly. "I know. Not taking any chances, though."
"It's going to be about ninety degrees," Erwin said. "You sure?"
"We're going to be in our suits all day, probably," Armin said, shoving a pair of flannel pants and a very baggy Les Misérables tee shirt. "Look. A tee shirt. Happy?"
"Moderately." Erwin folded his arms across his chest, and he smiled. "Hurry up. There are lives on the line."
"Yeah, I know…" Armin glanced around, and spotted his gloves sitting beside his ipod. He grabbed both and tossed them into his bag, zipping it up and tossing a strap over his shoulder. "Okay, ready."
"Good." Erwin nodded, and they moved toward the door of their small house. Armin focused his energy, and when he looked down his hands had disappeared. They left without a word, and once he got into the car, he kicked off his boots and curled up on his seat, quickly falling back into slumber.
He dreamt of a man with warm eyes who gave him a little cup full of pills, and told him that they would make him better. He dreamt of white walls and white faces, and he dreamt of his white skin with blue veins webbing visibly beneath like rivers of dying nerves. He dreamt of a girl and two boys who looked the same, and who watched him with sympathy. He dreamt of Eren and Mikasa, pressing their hands to his and murmuring that it'd be okay. He dreamt of a woman with blonde hair and tired eyes, who plucked him up and rested him on her knee, bouncing him until he giggled hysterically. His laughter melted as she began to sing to him, her hiding her hands behind her back.
"Meine Hände sind verschwunden, ich habe keine Hände mehr, ei, da sind die Hände wieder, tralalalalalala…"
He woke up with a terrible headache.
"Coffee," Armin murmured, rubbing his eyes. Across his hands, words were dancing wildly, frantically grappling for Armin's attention. They were not making sentences, only fluttering fractured bits of a book from Armin's recent memory. Intense spurt of coughing— almost inspired— his blue eyes stared at the floor— seeing nothing. Ah, right. The Book Thief. His subconscious was being very strange today.
"It's nearly eleven," Erwin said. He didn't tear his eyes from the road. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Mm," Armin rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Yeah. I've got a headache, but it was worse this morning."
"I'll get you some aspirin," Erwin said.
"And coffee," Armin said. "Please."
Erwin got him what he requested, thankfully, but Armin didn't feel much better. It wasn't surprising. Armin's headaches were chronic, and weren't easily placated. He blamed it on his power, which used so much energy that his brain probably just couldn't deal with the stress. Armin was used to it by now, but it felt like they were getting worse recently. He woke up with migraines a lot.
"Feeling better?" Erwin asked.
"Yeah," Armin said, stretching his arms. He blinked rapidly as he glanced out the window. "Is that the empire state building?"
"Probably," Erwin said, his thumbs drumming idly to the beat of the Queen song that had come onto the radio. "Also, don't ask. We don't have the time for any plays."
"I feel like it's your goal in life to make me unhappy," Armin mumbled, folding his hands in his lap. "Hopelessly, hopelessly unhappy."
"You have school, I have work," Erwin sighed. "We can't stay longer than the night."
"You're a librarian," Armin said. "They can live without you for a day or two."
"No," Erwin said. "No plays."
Armin frowned, and leaned his cheek against his first. "Fine…" The afternoon was heavy, and sort of languid, sitting with heat and humidity and causing Armin to grimace. He didn't like days like this. It was hot and sticky, and it made it uncomfortable to wear long sleeves and gloves.
"How'd you know it was in New York?" Armin asked, glancing at Erwin.
"I recognized the mall," Erwin said.
Armin didn't want to ask about how he knew the mall, or if he'd lived in New York City before, or anything. Armin didn't want to pry. Erwin's business was his own, and he didn't talk about if very often. Armin understood that the man deserved his privacy, so he never asked too many questions, but he was still desperately curious.
"I'm going to warn you ahead of time," Erwin said as he parked the car. Armin pulled his boots back on. "You're going to meet someone you know here. A girl."
"A girl?" Armin could feel his heart jump excitedly. "Is it… is it Mikasa?"
"I wouldn't know," Erwin said, tugging his black hood over his face. "I never met the girl. But possibly."
Armin couldn't help but jump excitedly at the thought of seeing Mikasa again. But what if it isn't Mikasa, he wondered. What other girls do I know? In truth, Armin didn't interact much with people. He talked to his classmates, sure, and he had friends, but he couldn't recall ever being attached to any girl aside from Mikasa. He felt the prickle of memories trying to surface, prodding at the layer of soot and snow that buried his unsavory past.
"Armin," Erwin said. They were making their way into the mall, invisible and unnoticed. "I've been curious about this. You've never wanted to look for your missing friends before. Why is that?"
Armin had been thinking about it a lot lately. What he would say to Eren and Mikasa if he ever saw them again. If they were angry that he'd never sought them out. But the truth was, Armin felt that they were both better off without him. Armin was kind of just dead weight. He'd hold them back, in the end.
"I know they're alive," Armin said. "They don't need me. I've never had a problem with getting left behind. It's just my fate, I think."
"Left behind?" Erwin sounded vaguely surprised. "Is that what you think?"
"Well," Armin said, "it's just the most logical thing to do, I think, because I know I can be a burden."
Erwin was silent as they moved forward, and Armin couldn't help but feel nervous. He'd never really talked about his insecurities to Erwin before. He'd never thought he had to. He always thought Erwin just knew Armin, and read him as easily as though Erwin was the one with telepathy. Armin had never questioned it. He'd always gone along with Erwin's uncanny intuition. But now he was beginning to feel sheepish, as though he should not have spoken at all, as if he should have just left it alone.
"You are not a burden," Erwin said suddenly. His voice was unbearably sharp, and loud enough to turn heads. Armin froze, and he glanced back at Erwin. Armin could not see him, but he could sense his presence inexplicably, despite not being able to read his thoughts. There was something different about invisibility that was on a different mental level. "You can't afford to think like that. We don't have the time to be so trivial, Armin. Either you accept what you're worth, or you become worthless. Choose."
Armin's breath caught, and he stared ahead of him numbly. His head was hurting vaguely, and he wanted to snap something irritably at Erwin, like that he just didn't care if he was worth anything or not, because it never felt like he was, but Armin couldn't. He couldn't fight back, and he couldn't speak, and he wanted fling his head back and scream. He nearly lost all focus and composure, and he saw the ink of his suit flutter into visibility, glistening in midair and laughing at him.
They moved quietly, expertly, and made it to the food court little effort. Armin was always stunned at how precise Erwin always was. His timing was always impeccable, and he was never at fault with location. Erwin simply always got things right, as though his precognition was more of a divine guess, and Erwin was simply playing at omniscience.
Armin knew Erwin's power was far from omniscient. It was still a little scary, though.
If Armin could have three wishes, he had no idea what he'd use the last two for, but his first wish would be to read Erwin's mind. It would be so much easier if Armin could just… connect with him. Not just any connection, but the kind of connection that Armin had with Eren and Mikasa, the kind of connection that was unbreakable despite all weathering, but natural in its manifestation. A calm, painless connection. Erwin was someone Armin felt desperately attached to, and admittedly dependent upon, so it was hard to know that there was a chasm between them. With Eren and Mikasa, Armin had always felt content. Safe. Loved. With Erwin, it was a guessing game. Was Erwin using Armin for his powers, or did he truly care? Was that smile real? Was that head pat affectionate, or manipulative? Did Erwin know that Armin didn't trust him as much as he let on? Did Erwin sense Armin's insecurities, and ignore them?
And the fact that Erwin and Armin could not communicate during these situations was so inconvenient! A mental discussion was all Armin would need to know when to stop talking, and start listening. A nudge, or a command, anything. It could have saved a few lives along the line. It could have shut Cicero's mouth, and disarmed a gun. It could have saved Armin from feeling so terrible, too.
But Armin didn't think Erwin wanted Armin to stop talking. In fact, Armin was certain that if Armin and Erwin did manage to forge a mindlink, Erwin would not hold Armin back. He'd probably want Armin to speak more often. And that, in truth, was the last thing Armin wanted.
The only future I want, Mikasa Ackerman's voice cut sharply into the careful barriers of Armin's mind, is a future with Eren in it.
Armin stood breathlessly for a moment as a familiar taste washed over his tongue. Like peppermint tea, prickling his senses and sending a sweet, fresh alertness through his tired soul. Armin felt the familiarity like hearing an old song on the radio for the first time in a decade. There was static, a nostalgic whir of emotions blurring his senses, and then there was a click, a natural progression of rhythmic connections flickering between him and her, a quiet mind and a coarse one.
Mikasa? He called her name tentatively. The connection was faint, but still there, and he felt that he could hold onto it and lose himself in it, sing its silvery tunes like it was a melody long forgotten, but suddenly resurging through a series of flippant memories. Armin drew closer to her, staring at her in disbelief. She'd changed. She looked bigger now, steadier and harder and fiercer. Her black hair was a stubby ponytail at the nape of her neck, layers of too-short hair framing her doll-like face. Armin saw she had numerous piercings in her ears, metal studs glinting against the summer sun that streamed in through the skylight.
Mikasa? Armin repeated, keeping enough distance from her to not be caught by the plastic knife that she whipped toward him, her eyes darting wildly. She could sense him, but she could not sense that it was him. She must have become sensitive to his powers in their years apart. Perhaps their connection had been completely lost. Perhaps there was nothing left of it, and Armin was yanking at a severed cord.
"Mikasa?" A small woman with short strawberry blonde hair sat across from Mikasa, and spoke with the tenderness of a mother to a child. Not that Armin would know, but he'd collected what he could from the thoughts of others. He learned from Mikasa's thoughts that the woman's name was Petra. "What's wrong?"
"Did you hear that?" Mikasa asked, sounding anxious and alarmed, her thoughts thudding through Armin's brain. She was scared, and confused, and she didn't know what was going on. Armin had surprised her, and in the worst way possible. Her fear sent a vicious wave of acidity crashing against his tongue, and it burnt his throat and his eyes, and he had to rub them with the heels of his palms, massaging the hollows of his skull in hopes to placate his worsening migraine.
"Hear what?" Petra asked slowly.
"Nothing," Mikasa said, bowing her head. "It was just—"
Armin was surprised when the gunshot rang out. He had not heard the gunman, nor was he prepared for this. He would deal with it, though, because this was what he was here for. This was his job. He was a hero. He had the responsibility to deal with the bad guys.
Erwin caught Armin by the arm as the room turned to chaos. "Which one is the leader?" he asked, his voice just loud enough for Armin to hear over the cacophony of shrieking, the clatter of chairs and tables and feet clapping against tile.
Armin paused to focus his energy on the flickering networks arising around him, the twisting webs of thoughts that brushed against his cheeks and snarled at his throat. He felt them vibrating against his lips. But even the bits of frantic, screeching thoughts could not be discerned into identification. Armin realized with a start that it was purely because the gunmen, several of them, all in a menacing group, had no thoughts to feed into the pool of tangled words and pulsating emotions that Armin was forced to digest.
"I—" Armin felt a little dizzy, and he blinked rapidly. "I can't. I can't read them."
"What?" Erwin asked. Armin held onto his arm, and took a deep breath. Focus, he thought to himself firmly. You need to focus! "All of them?"
"Yes," Armin said breathlessly. "What should we do? I don't know if I can do this without reading their minds."
Erwin was quiet as the gunmen forced the remaining people in the room to kneel down. Erwin had seen this. The hostages, and Mikasa, and the gunmen. But not the fact that Armin could not read them. Erwin had not seen that, and Armin was bitter about it. What an incredibly important detail.
"Try," Erwin whispered. And Armin closed his eyes, feeling the pressure of that word as it bent Armin completely backwards, and threatened to snap his spine.
"Okay," Armin said. He took a deep breath, and spotted Mikasa kneeling not far away. He nodded furiously, and raised his head high, though he knew Erwin could not see it. "Okay."
He marched toward his old friend, maneuvering through people as though they were merely obstacles on a children's playground. He listened as she thought about saying something very snappy at one of the gunmen, and Armin shook his head in disbelief. Mikasa, he thought sharply, don't you dare! He thought that perhaps he should be more gentle, because after all, their connection had been weakened to the point where Armin was not sure that Mikasa could even recognize his presence. But nonetheless, he let his mind extend outwards, reaching Mikasa's precariously.
Armin? Mikasa's voice was heavy and forceful, ricocheting in Armin's head and booming in the vacancy of Armin's mind. He could feel her shock and desperation as she craned her neck, her dark eyes darting wildly as they searched for him in the frightened faces around her. Her eyes flickered right over Armin, as expected, and he couldn't help but feel sad, even though there was no way she could have possibly seem him.
Yes, Armin said, his relief escaping from him in a word, drifting slowly before reaching Mikasa. It's me. I'm right behind you.
Mikasa whipped her head around, but of course she could not see him.. No, Mikasa thought. Armin pulled the glove off his right hand, and bent down beside Mikasa. I don't— Her thoughts halted with a jolt as Armin's hand pressed against hers. There was a strange burst of warmth at the point where their skin brushed, and Armin was surprised and exhilarated because it had been forever since he had touched someone aside from Erwin. Even longer since he'd touched someone, and that touch was pleasant. In fact, Mikasa's touch was more than just pleasant— it was a relief in itself, like crawling into bed after pulling three consecutive all-nighters, like taking a sip of water after a marathon, like stepping into an air-conditioned room after spending an afternoon in the desert. Armin wanted to hug her, and maybe begin to cry.
You can't see me, Armin said to her, because I don't want you to. I figured out that I can trick peoples' brains into thinking I'm not really there, and now I'm invisible, but tangible. See? I mean, of course not, but you know what I mean.
"Oh…" Mikasa breathed. She tightened her hand around Armin's, and there was clarity inside of Armin's head again. His migraine was like a distant ache, and he felt a little more lucid, and a little more confident just by standing in her presence.
I'm so, so glad to see you, Armin said. He smiled in awe, because he was. He was so happy, and he didn't know how to express it. He didn't know what to do, and he was angry that Mikasa had to be in danger when they were finally reunited. I wish it was under different circumstances, though.
"Ye—" Mikasa stopped, and Armin nearly laughed. She was clearly not used to mindlinks anymore. In truth, Armin wasn't either. It had been awhile since he'd intentionally connected with anyone's mind, and when he did it intentionally, he usually did not touch them. Yeah. I've been looking for you.
I know, Armin said. He had seen it in her mind, and he felt a little guilty for it. But he laughed it off mentally, and he could taste her happiness as she smiled and leaned into his touch, a sweet and brilliant sensation that tickled his tongue. Your thoughts aren't exactly hidden. I didn't even need to touch you to figure that one out.
Oh, Mikasa thought, is that why you're holding my hand? To read my mind better?
Oh, no, Armin said. I don't need physical contact to initiate a mindlink anymore. I just missed you, that's all.
Mikasa squeezed his fingers as he locked them between hers. Me too. Armin had to take a moment to absorb the positivity of having Mikasa in his head again. For so long, connections through touch had been terrible to experience. Armin could not stand the feeling of skin against his own unless it was Erwin, and even then the man was cautious with Armin's comfort. Mikasa was special in that her mind was molded perfectly to fit his. There was no pain or fear in their connection. Just inexplicable relief.
It's weird, though, Armin said, after taking all the time he could spare basking in the comfort of just being able to touch someone. I can't read any of their minds.
"What?" Mikasa whispered, glancing behind her. She looked through Armin just as expected. Who?
Everyone who has a gun, Armin replied quietly. He let go of her hand, saddened by the chilly feeling that followed their skin separating. He pulled his glove back on. It's just… this happens with certain people, where I can't read their minds, but it's never happened with a group of people before. It's incredible. Except now I can't talk them down.
What do these people even want? Mikasa asked bitterly.
I wish I could tell you, Arimin said. He knew that their connection was probably slightly weaker, and less comforting now, but he couldn't keep it up. He couldn't cling to Mikasa like he was a child. He had to be Cicero now. He had to be strong enough to hold himself up. Mikasa's sudden, fleeting vision of Armin getting shot entered his mind, and he almost laughed. The boy in her imagination was small and almost sickly pale, with a shaved head and tears in his eyes. It only reinforced his resolve.
Mikasa, please don't worry about me, Armin thought desperately. I don't need you to protect me. This isn't the first time I've had to talk down someone without using my powers.
You're not trying, Mikasa responded firmly. I'll just beat them all up.
Bad idea, Armin sighed. How many gunmen are there, anyway? You can't take them all on your own without someone getting hurt. And don't forget, you're still human despite all your strength.
Do you have a plan, Armin? Mikasa asked. He could sense her distress. Do you know that you'll be able to talk these people out of this? Because I think they'll just shoot you on the spot.
I have other tricks besides telepathy, you know, Armin said, glancing around him. He tried to count the gunmen, but he couldn't for some reason. He couldn't focus on keeping himself and Erwin invisible, maintain a mindlink, and count at the same time, he supposed. And anyways, I always have a contingency plan.
Mikasa nodded. Okay, she said. I trust you, Armin. He smiled at her, and nearly hugged her then. But he didn't. He was distracted by another familiar presence, this one tasting heavy and acrid, like dark chocolate melting on Armin's tongue. There was an intrepid burst of emotions stemming from the presence, and Armin could taste all of them. They soothed his headache while simultaneously worsening it.
There was struggling somewhere near the stairwell. Armin moved tentatively closer as gunshots rang out, and a boy burst into the room without a care in the world. Armin's heart was thudding wildly in awe. Armin, what's going on? Mikasa asked, as a voice bellowed, "Hey! Recognize me, huh?"
I don't know, Armin said. I—
The sight of Eren's face sent their connection to shambles. Armin grappled at it senselessly, feeling it slip through the cracks of his mind and stream around him like tattered ribbons. It felt horrible to have Mikasa disappear, but Armin could not focus any longer. His focus was so jostled by the sight of Eren Jaeger, in fact, that Armin felt his powers give a vicious signal that they were about to take over. Because Armin's mind and his powers could not coexist if one could not handle the other. Armin shuddered, and he felt himself become briefly visible. Erwin was standing across the room, watching with a hard expression.
Armin met Eren's eye, and the boy stopped dead in his tracks. There was an giant arm attached to his own, a goliath of a mass of flesh that stretched into the air, somehow lifted up by Eren's skinny shoulder. There was no way that was physically possible, Armin realized, but it happened. Eren was holding up an arm that was larger than his entire body and Armin's combined! And yet, as Armin drifted closer to Eren, he saw that the arm was falling apart. Muscle was sloughing off bone. Skin was bursting apart, shredding into steaming pink filaments that shriveled up and dispersed upon touching the ground. The arm was melting away, and falling to bloody chunks as veins and nerves were exposed. Armin peered at them, and noticed that they were extending from the pores of Eren's skin. They snapped as though severed by a god's careful swipe, and even they fell away into steaming inexistence.
It's Eren, Armin said, recollecting the fragile, broken connection of his mind and Mikasa's. Eren was looking around, whirling in place as his mouth dropped open. Armin could see green paint dribbling down his cheeks, shading his eyes from view and properly disguising his face from anyone who didn't know it. Armin wondered for a moment why he did that, but then his attention turned back to the steaming remnants of the colossal arm that had been attached via artificial nervous system to Eren's dark skin. Rogue, Armin realized, keeping the thought to himself. Eren is Rogue. That's amazing.
Armin, Mikasa said, her voice faint inside his head. It grew very harsh suddenly, frantic and unsteady. Armin, he's looking for you. Link us. Link all of us. The three of us can do this.
I'm going to try, Armin thought. Let me get his hand— As Armin reached, however, five shots boomed against the ether around Armin, colliding with a skinny body and causing a fountain of blood to bloom outwards in a hot, thick cascade, and it splattered heavily across Armin's cheeks, dribbling down his nose and across his lips, gliding against his teeth and washing across his tongue in a thick, warm, acrid wave. All connections were broken. He felt them shatter— his connection with Mikasa and his connection with Eren— and burrow into his eyes in white-hot shards, blinding him with a blazing, stinging pain, and Armin felt the void collapse on top of him, laughing at him with such a sadistic glee that it crushed him.
Fuck, Eren thought, his inner voice faint. I fucked up, I fucked up, oh my god, I fucked up.
There was no line between Armin's power and his restraint. There was only Armin. There was only a boy who stood with blood sinking into his skin, forcing him to become a red silhouette in the face of the glinting summer sun. His heart had broken apart, and his mind was in shambles. The only thing inside Armin unbroken was some kind of fierce, angry power that had built up over time, hiding itself in nooks and waiting for the moment to strike. Armin fluttered into existence like a light flickering on, and he felt himself fading between void and visibility, viciously tugged from one realm of perception to another, and it was forcing him to see the world in shades of reds, of burgundies and vermilions and cherries and blessed, bloody crimsons.
Eren, Armin called into the hollow air. Armin felt his mind. He felt it failing. He felt it fading and falling away into oblivion. Armin was certain Eren couldn't even hear him, which was distressing because all Armin wanted was for Eren to hear his voice and to be okay.
Eren dropped to his knees, and Armin buckled. He couldn't take it. He was crippling under his own despair, his own power flooding through him and taking control, sending him spiraling into a pit of fury and desolation. Tears were prickling inside Armin's eyes as a scream ripped from his throat, bursting into the ether and ripping it to shreds. There was no ether. There was no void. Armin would destroy it all. He'd scream until it was all wasted, and he'd scream until the world shattered, and he'd scream and scream until his head stopped hurting, and he'd scream until his heart stopped, because he couldn't fathom a world without Eren in it, no matter how far away Eren had been for years and years and years.
"Armin!"
He was still screaming when Erwin clamped a hand over his mouth from behind, one strong arm hooking around his waist to prevent struggling. It didn't work. Armin thrashed against the man, still howling and screeching away, his screams thundering inside his head and tearing him apart bit by bit. He felt the warmth of Erwin's body, and normally it'd be a comfort of some kind just to have him close, but Armin had never wanted Erwin to leave him alone more than in that moment. Tears were streaming down Armin's face, hot and splashing against his skin, melting the still wet blood smeared across Armin's flushed cheeks.
"Armin," Erwin said, dodging Armin's arms and successfully muffling Armin's screams with his palm. Armin's head whipped back, slamming against Erwin's chest, and Armin felt the need to claw at Erwin's face until he bled. He fought against the man's arms until he couldn't fight anymore, and his screams turned into broken, breathy sobs, and he collapsed onto his knees, staring at Eren's corpse with a mixture of rage and misery. Erwin held him closer, squeezing his tiny frame, and Armin vaguely heard his voice hushing him softly as he smoothed back his hair, pushing back his hood, and let him sob against his chest. "Just breathe… breathe…"
After a few minutes, Armin was left completely numb. He'd quieted down, but he was still clinging to Erwin with a sickening hopelessness, fistfuls of the man's cloak crumpling beneath Armin's fingers as he sat like a small child curled in his father's arms. Erwin's chin was resting against the top of Armin's hair, despite the blood that stained it.
"We need to go," Erwin said quietly. "I'm going to pick you up."
Armin said nothing. He was scooped up like he weighed nothing, which was likely true enough, and Armin's eyes traveled back to Eren's corpse. Armin saw, sickened, that there was steam rising from the boy's five bullet wounds. No, Armin thought. Don't do that, don't evaporate, don't go away, please. More tears filled Armin's eyes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't—
The ceiling shattered.
For a moment, Armin looked up. All he could see was a pair of wings, glistening against the rays of sunlight in sharp, angular ribbons. The wings were massive, both spanning the entirety of Armin's body, and they were colorful and glossy, like glass suspended in midair and connected by some ethereal filament. They were attached to a falling, spinning body, which was tucked and rolling through the air with the skill of a master acrobat.
Armin was stunned as Erwin's body curled around him protectively, his massive shoulders working as a shield as the man dropped to his knees and slid across the floor to get to cover as a hurricane of glass came spiraling down from above. Armin sat, shaking against Erwin's chest, tears still flooding freely down his flushed, bloody face, and Erwin looked down at him with a frown. The glass skittered across the floor, narrowly missing the unconscious hostages— why are they sleeping, what happened to Mikasa, what's going on, what happened, what have I— and crunching under the weight of a pair of black boots.
Armin couldn't see who had fallen from the ceiling, but he didn't really care. He stared ahead of him as Erwin attempted to wipe up Armin's tears with the hem of his black cloak. It was merely dampened with blood, and it made Armin's skin feel sticky and cold. Erwin smoothed his hair back again, but Armin's bangs merely fell right back into place against his forehead. Armin wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to sleep, and pretend this was all a terrible nightmare. That Eren was still alive somewhere, that Armin could go looking for him with a newfound desperation.
The man who had fallen from the ceiling was now standing amongst the unconscious hostages. Armin could hear his thoughts, but they were nothing but a faint buzzing in a mass of vivid dreams swirling around inside Armin's head. Armin didn't have the focus to pick apart dreams from lucid thoughts, and lucid thoughts from specific identities. Armin saw the man, small and shirtless— no wings to speak of— and firmly muscled, bend down somewhere in the crowd of bodies. Armin stared, his heart thundering, and his head feeling heavy and ablaze, as though a fire was raging through all his thoughts and feelings and turning his insides to ash.
Armin saw the man gingerly prop up a body against his knee.
Mikasa, Armin thought. He struggled to his feet, pushing Erwin away and stumbling forward senselessly. No, I can't lose her too. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—
Armin wanted to speak, to tear the man to shreds using words and thoughts, but he couldn't. Armin's tongue sat in his mouth, heavy and inflexible, and his jaw was fastened closed as he quietly maneuvered through unconscious bodies, their dreams echoing loftily inside Armin's pounding head. Armin didn't know what he was going to do. Punching the man would do nothing— Armin had never punched anyone before, and he knew he would only hurt himself in the end— and Armin could not bring himself to speak.
Armin stopped beside the man. He stopped, and he stared at the man with glistening eyes until he finally looked up, and observed a tiny, bloody boy watching him with an eerie emptiness as he put a finger between his lips and tugged a white glove from his hand with his teeth. The glove was going wild with words, terrible, sketchy words that were scribbled frantically as though by an injured man. Armin caught nothing but a glimpse of the writing, his thoughts in shambles and his emotions conflicting with his senses, but he did manage to read a wobbly sentence. But indeed these Things are nothing; if God should withdraw his Hand, they would avail no more to keep you from falling, than the thin Air to hold up a Person that is suspended in it.
"What the fuck do you want, kid?" asked the man, glancing up at Armin with a bored, irritated expression. Mikasa's head was resting in his lap.
Armin exhaled sharply though his nose, Eren's blood trickled down his cheeks, and he reached down and set his bare fingers between the man's shoulder blades, resting the tips of them against a black, white, and blue tattoo that enveloped his entire back in a massive, fractured set of overlapping wings. At Armin's touch, the man's back arched in shock, and the taste of him lapped over Armin's tongue like brine and sea foam, a shuddering, bleeding taste, acrid and chilly and too strong, and it burned Armin's senses like bleach washing down his throat.
There was panic. Frightened, vicious, wild panic, and Armin felt it like a maelstrom beating against his body, sending him drifting in the air and crashing to the ground without pity or care. Armin felt the man's thoughts flood into his head, a flurry of disjointed, confused, breathless thoughts that sloshed around and hissed like a cigarette tossed into a puddle. Smoke billowed from Armin's mouth, the taste of it blooming like a wave of heat, and Armin knew it wasn't real but he could still taste its pungency as though he'd taken a joint to his lips and sucked down a vicious array of carcinogens.
Armin saw the man, whose name was Levi, he now knew, through the tangle of their minds like red and white ribbons unraveling into a small mountain of strings that could not be discerned or separated, and Armin saw his memory in the most terrible light. Armin saw the hazy image of a dingy hotel room, curtains drawn and darkness crawling like maggots beneath Armin's skin, and he could feel his heart beating very hard, and he could hear someone breathing against him, and it scared him— Levi— and it made him sick. The image changed rapidly, melting away swiftly, but Armin still felt the fear and rage and disgust even after the memories flickered, and his throat began to burn from the aftertaste of vomit, a woman appearing before him and wiping his lips and murmuring about how useless he was, and Armin could hear the thundering, bitter thoughts of a child, You're gross and miserable, and I hate you so much.
Armin watched the image change again, a memory burning into another, this one hazier, of a syringe in hand and a tourniquet cutting against his flesh, and in his head a voice whispered, unclean, you're unclean, you filth, you monster, you— Armin felt the needle prod against his arm, and the memory changed again just as Armin realized he could not take any more of this hell that was Levi's mind, and he dug his fingernails into the faint scars that traced Levi's spine, too light to be seen over the tattoo, and Armin felt his mind quake with rage.
Let go of her, Armin's voice said, echoing as it ripped apart the memories that lashed out inside Levi's mind. Let her go right now, or I'll— I'll—!
Armin could do nothing. Levi broke out of the daze that Armin's mind had set him under, and the man leapt to his feet and curled his hand into a fist, delivering a blow to the side of Armin's head that threw off his equilibrium and would have sent him flying if Levi had not caught him by his cloak and slammed his knee into Armin's stomach. Armin didn't even feel it.
Armin blinked as another blow came, Levi's knuckles grazing Armin's cheek— just sign so you can get back on your feet, just fucking do it, it can't hurt— and then another— this was stupid, I'm stupid, I can't take care of myself let a lone a child, they should just take her, we'd both be better off, we'd both be safe from each other, it'd be better if she was just taken away— and he listened to Levi's thoughts though he could not understand them, and Armin realized he was crying and shaking, and he felt a little laugh escape his lips, shocked and pained.
"Stop."
Erwin had caught Levi's arm as the man pulled it back to hit Armin again. Armin stared at him blankly, tears flooding his bloody cheeks, and Armin tasted blood in his mouth, warm, fresh blood that could only be his own, and he was beginning to feel the aching of the beating he had just received, and Armin knew he deserved it.
Levi dropped Armin, and Armin hadn't even realized he'd been lifted off the ground until he crumpled beside Mikasa, coughing and gasping, his fingers twitching toward his chest. Armin gratefully accepted the inhaler Erwin thrust at his lips, and after a quick dose Armin felt a little better, and his mind felt a little clearer, and he shuddered and blinked and stared at his bare hand in horror.
"W-wha…" Armin breathed, slumping against Erwin's arm. "What did I…?"
"I'm not sure," Erwin said. "Do you know what just happened?"
"No," Armin whispered, touching his nose gingerly. It didn't feel broken. His head was pounding like hell had been unleashed inside it. And he was almost positive that it had been. "I… I have no idea, I…" Armin glanced around him wildly, at the unconscious bodies and the blood and the shattered glass and Armin swallowed hard. "Oh… oh my god, did… did I do this?"
"Yes," Erwin said, plucking Armin's glove from the floor and carefully sliding it back over his palm. The fabric was a mild comfort against his skin, which felt prickly and unclean, filthy, disgusting— but he didn't know why. "You sent out a mental shockwave when Eren was shot. Do you remember that?"
"No," Armin choked, shaking his head furiously. Thoughts rattled there, and they felt like nails carving up the hollows of his mind. "No, I… I remembered I screamed, but I don't… I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Erwin said gently. He glanced up, and so did Armin. Levi was standing over them, looking furious and implacable, and Armin saw that there were more tattoos and more scars, and he was very confused. He needed to go to sleep. For a really long time. He just needed to not be here now, because he couldn't think properly. "You didn't mean to hurt anyone, right, Armin?"
Armin stared up at Levi, and he took a deep breath and continued to shake his head. "No," Armin gasped. "I don't know why I…" Armin rubbed his forehead, and took another deep breath. "I'm sorry. I need to think…"
"You do that," Levi said icily. His eyes flickered to Erwin's face. "What the fuck, Erwin?"
"Nice to see you as well," Erwin said placidly, rising to his feet. "I'm sorry for what Armin did to you. I can assure you, it was worse for him."
"I sincerely doubt that," Levi said. Though he glanced at Armin, who was hugging his knees to his chest and scooting closer to Mikasa. He wondered if he could wake her up. "What the hell is he?"
"A telepath," Erwin said. He frowned for a moment, and unfastened his cloak, offering it out to Levi. The small man stared at it for a moment as though it was something that would corrode his skin if he touched it. He then took it, looking at it glumly, and he threw it over his bare shoulders. "He followed me from the facility, so I took him in. I see you did the same."
Levi blinked down at Mikasa as he carefully fastened the cloak. "Yeah…" Levi shrugged. "We have the same power, so I wanted to make sure she didn't end up like me."
"Understandable," Erwin said, nodding. Armin stared at Mikasa for a moment, and he looked up at Levi sharply.
"You took care of Mikasa?" Armin squeaked.
Levi looked at him sharply, and Armin knew that the man hated him. "Yes," Levi said dully. "Aren't you supposed to be a mind reader?"
"I… yeah, yeah, I am, I just… I wasn't really focusing when I touched you, so I—"
"I really don't care," Levi said, his attention returning to Erwin. "What happened to the shooters, anyway?"
Armin looked up suddenly. He looked around. Erwin did as well, and then they shared a look. "I have no idea," Erwin said. He blinked around them, and shrugged. "It's not really important right now. We need to get out of here before the police realize the gunmen are gone and decide to storm."
"What were you two even doing?" Levi asked. He blinked down at the cloak around his shoulders, and frowned. "Are you two fucking superheroes?"
"Aren't you?" Erwin cocked his head. "Freiheit?"
"I maim criminals on a regular basis," Levi said, averting his gaze. "So I guess it's more like reckless vigilantism."
"It's all the same," Erwin said. "I don't think the media knows the difference. If you wear a disguise and fight crime, you're a superhero. There's no going back at this point."
Freiheit. Armin knew that name. Isn't there a hero in Chicago called Freiheit…? Armin was stunned. That meant that Mikasa too was… and Eren!
Armin's heart nearly stopped at the thought of Eren. He buried his face in his hands, and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He needed to think!
Rogue, Armin thought. He had to try and recall the videos on the news that he'd never paid attention to. Rogue's power set is… a mild form of shapeshifting, isn't it? And… when he steams it means he's—
Armin jumped to his feet. Levi took a step back, and Armin felt something stir inside the man from their brief connection that had not been severed. Fear. He's afraid of me, Armin thought. It was almost too much to handle. Armin wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was, but he couldn't.
It was as though everything had fallen into place. Armin's mind was clearing up. He wiped the blood streaming thickly from his nose, and he took a deep breath. Mikasa, Armin called into the void. He felt it reassembling as his mind snatched up all of the power that had escaped it. He saw his friend stir, and Armin focused solely on her, severing the connection he had made with Levi and latching onto the eternal one that existed from his mind to hers. Mikasa, wake up!
She jolted awake, her body curling into a defensive stance. "Mikasa," Armin said. His voice was thick from the blood pooling in his mouth and flooding from his nose. She looked at him, and her eyes widened, darting across his face wildly, and she moved very suddenly upright, and her hands grasped his face, turning it from side to side.
"Who did this?" she asked, her thumb running over the bruise Levi's fist had left on Armin's cheek. Now that Armin thought about it, Levi said he had the same powers as Mikasa. Meaning, he had super strength. Meaning, Armin was very lucky to still have his head on his shoulders.
Armin took her hands, and shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said quickly, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry I knocked you out. I lost control of my powers for a little bit."
"I've done worse to you," Mikasa reminded him, rubbing her head. Armin couldn't help but smile grimly at the memory. "Where's Eren…?" Her eyes widened for a moment, and then Armin watched them dull. "Oh."
"No," Armin said, shaking his head furiously. He grabbed Mikasa's hand and pulled her forward as the two adults eyed them both suspiciously. As he led her to Eren's body, still lying crumpled where he'd been left, Armin heard the distant breath of someone running. He watched as a person came rushing up the stairwell, skidding to a stop before them. They had messy brown hair yanked up in a ponytail, and glasses that were set askew on their long nose. They looked around, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Wow," they laughed, running their fingers through their hair. "Gosh, that was a trip and back. So, where's my son?"
Armin stared at them, his mouth dropping open. Before he could read their mind to find answers, Mikasa lifted her arm and pointed at Eren. Armin glanced at her confusedly, and then he looked back at the person near the stairwell. They were looking Eren with a frown. Armin tuned quickly into the track of her thoughts. Well, they were thinking, that sucks. Eren liked that shirt, and now he's gonna whine at me for a week because he can't wash blood out of anything at all… is that paint?
They wandered over to Eren's body, and then bent down, prodding Eren's cheek gently with the tip of her finger. Mikasa lurched forward, her eyes flashing, but Armin caught her by the arm and dragged her back. Rogue, Armin recalled. And Polymath. That makes sense. Eren was adopted. Armin wondered vaguely why Erwin had never adopted him.
Do you know who that is? Armin asked, plucking at his mindlink with Mikasa.
Mikasa's voice was clipped in reply. Hange Zoë. They adopted Eren about a year ago.
"Excuse me," Armin said, stepping forward. "Hange?"
They looked up at him, and smiled genially. "Hey there," they said, glancing between him and Mikasa. "Uh, I can explain."
"You don't have to," Armin said, pulling Mikasa closer to Eren's body. She didn't stop him, but he could feel her squirming to put some distance between her and the "corpse" of her best friend. "I know he's Rogue. How… how does his healing power work, exactly?"
Mikasa looked at Armin sharply. "Healing," she said, her voice heightening in pitch.
Armin looked up at her, and he smiled. "Rogue's got regenerative abilities," Armin said, rubbing the blood crusted on his face. At the institution, Eren's powers had never really manifested. They couldn't have known. "Though I guess his blood doesn't evaporate when he's in his normal body."
"Ha ha," Hange smirked up at him and sat back on the tile floor. "You're pretty smart. And I think I recognize that outfit, too. Cicero, right?"
Armin flushed, and continued to rub at his cheek. "Uh, yeah…" Armin glanced at Mikasa. "And… Nio…" Mikasa wasn't listening. She'd already dropped to her knees beside Eren. Armin watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and rest her cheek against his bloody chest. Armin couldn't help but want to do the same.
"Whoa." Hange's eyes flew wide. "Whoa! Wait, okay, Nio, Cicero…" They craned their neck to look at Levi and Erwin, who Armin knew were talking behind him. "Ha! Augur and Freiheit too! How'd we all end up here?"
"Well, we were—" Armin paused as a soft sob escaped Mikasa's lips. Armin had never seen Mikasa cry before. It was alarming, and disheartening, and Armin blinked suddenly as tears filled his eyes, and he looked away from Hange, biting his lip which tasted like blood, of course, because his entire face was a bloody mess, and his entire body was aching, and he took a deep, rattling breath to try and steady himself. He was so close to Eren that Armin could feel their connection, still alive despite all odds, and he couldn't help but reach out and latch onto it. Eren, Armin called. Please… please wake up now… please…
Armin dropped to his knees as Eren's body buckled in shock, his eyes fluttering open. Mikasa did not let go of him, and Armin saw her arms tighten around him instead, her face buried in his chest. He blinked rapidly, green paint drying on his cheeks, and his mouth opened and then it closed. He patted her head awkwardly, his brow furrowing.
"Mikasa…?" He sat up, and then he winced. "Oh, shit. Shit!"
"What?" Armin squeaked, putting a hand on Eren's back to support him. "What's wrong? Are you not completely healed? Do we need to get a doctor, or—"
"No, I completely healed." Eren grimaced. "I… oh, hey, Armin." Eren's eyes brightened. "What the fuck happened to you? Do I have to beat someone up?"
"No," Armin sighed. "The blood is mostly yours. What's wrong, Eren?"
"Oh." Eren laughed weakly, and shrugged one shoulder. Mikasa was still hugging him. "Uh, well, this has happened before, but like… I kinda healed around the bullets, so…"
"Oh." Armin's eyes widened. "Oh my god. Okay."
"Yeah…"
"Don't worry," Hange chirped. "I've got a very steady hand. All we need to do is get out of here and back to the apartment."
"I can get us out," Armin said. He felt Eren's eyes on him, and Armin wanted to hug the boy so badly, to start crying and sobbing too, but he couldn't. No one else could get them out of the mall undetected.
"You're Armin, huh?" Hange asked, tilting their head. Armin stared at her in surprise. "Eren's talked about you. And Mikasa. It's really nice to meet you!"
"Y-yeah," Armin said, blinking confusedly. "Uh, same." He looked back at Erwin and Levi, who had finally decided to wander closer to them. "I'm going to make us all invisible, but I'll be the only one who can sense everyone, so it might be best if we held onto each other."
"You're not getting in my head again, brat," Levi said. He was watching Mikasa hug Eren, though, and there didn't seem to be much bite to his tone.
"I don't need to touch you," Armin said, rising to his feet. "I don't even need to touch your mind, really. Just hold onto Erwin, if I make you that uncomfortable."
Levi seemed to bristle at that, and his eyes snapped to Armin's face dangerously. "You're a little punk," Levi told him.
Armin couldn't find a real response to that, so he just nodded, and spun around to face Eren again. "Can you stand?" he asked Eren desperately. Armin knew he might pass out at any moment, and so he wanted to get them all out of there as quick as possible. Making so many people invisible at once would definitely weaken Armin, but… it didn't really matter at this point. He had no choice.
"Um…" Eren shook his head, and he frowned. "I… shit. Hange, I need to take my insulin."
"Wait," Hange said, their eyes widening. "Seriously? You didn't take it before this… okay, I'm not really surprised, but wow. Someone needs to give you an ass whooping."
"Tell that to the five fucking bullets in my chest, Hange," Eren retorted snidely.
"I will!" Hange beamed, their teeth gleaming as they laughed. "When I surgically remove them from your sternum."
"You're a scary bitch, you know that?" Eren frowned, and blinked as Mikasa let go of him. "Um, hey. Are you okay… or…?"
"I'm… fine," Mikasa lied. Armin could sense she was lying. By the look on Eren's face, he could too. "W-we need to get you out of here." Armin watched as she picked Eren up easily, much to his dismay, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"What the fuck?" Eren's eyes flashed to Armin's face. "Don't laugh at me! I have a disability!"
"I-I'm sorry," Armin gasped, stifling the laughter with his hands. He felt blood seep through his gloves, and pulled his hands back to see that his palms were completely stained red. Armin whirled to face Erwin, and he held out his bloody hands. "Will this wash out?"
"Depends," Levi said. Armin was surprised the man was speaking to him, after what Armin had done. "If it's a delicate fabric, put dish soap on the stain before you wash it."
"Oh," Armin said, his eyes widening. He glanced at Erwin, who gave a small nod. "Thank you."
"I still think you're a little scumbag," Levi said. And then he shrugged. "But Erwin and I talked about it, and I can't really blame you for wanting to protect Mikasa. Also, it was pretty ballsy of you, since doing that apparently causes asthma attacks." Levi shrugged. "But don't touch me ever again."
"I really, really don't want to, so don't worry," Armin said quietly. He moved to brush his hair back from his neck, but he remembered that it was in a ponytail, as it always was when he was Cicero. "Um, can everyone hold onto each other?"
Hange all but bounced over to Erwin and Levi, locking their arms between theirs. Armin smiled a little, because Erwin looked genuinely amused, while Levi looked ready to decapitate someone. "Hey, there, fellas," Hange said. "I've got this weird feeling we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other."
"Hange!" Eren called from Mikasa's arms. "Don't be creepy!"
"Says you, you zombified little—!"
"Fuck," Levi said suddenly, breaking away from Hange and spinning away from her. Hange paused, and frowned, glancing up at Erwin as Levi went running back to the hostages.
"Was it something I said?" Hange asked.
"No," Erwin assured her with a gentle smile. "He's terrible with people. Don't take anything he says personally."
"You know," Armin said, "you never told me about anyone else from the institution."
"I never felt it pertinent," Erwin replied. "I just assumed it was an unspoken rule between us to not talk about it."
"Well," Armin said with a frown, "it's not like I can remember much of it anyway."
"True enough."
Levi returned to Hange's side with a body in his arms. Armin recognized her as Petra, and he was surprised, because he had forgotten all about her. As had Mikasa, it seemed. "Kay," Levi said. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
"Right," Erwin agreed, his eyes meeting Armin's. "After you make us invisible, wake everyone up."
Armin took a step back in surprise. He glanced away, his eyes following the path of bodies across the floor, and he couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief. "I… I don't know if I have that kind of power…" I don't know if I have the energy, Armin wanted to say, feeling desperate and scared. He had no idea how to reach so many minds at once. "Can't we just let the police deal with them?"
"Armin," Erwin said, his voice a sharp warning. Armin bowed his head in shame. Hey, Eren whispered into Armin's head. Armin nearly jumped. Want me to beat him up?
You really, really want to beat someone up, Armin thought, laughing aloud, and quickly catching himself. Erwin studied him with vague suspicion. I have to sever our connection okay? I can't focus on this many things at once. Armin watched as Mikasa and Eren nodded at him.
Armin took a deep breath. He took Erwin by the arm, and then reached out for Mikasa. She moved closer to him, and he took her by her bare arm, sending a quick mental apology for getting blood on her. She didn't seem to care much though, and Armin noticed Eren had sort of just curled into her arms. He had probably passed out.
After cutting away all that he could of his links to Mikasa and Eren (he'd never be able to fully be rid of them, unless one of them died permanently), Armin closed his eyes, and focused his energy on shielding all of them at once. It was arduous, and it took a few tries, but after about a minute, he looked around and saw nothing. He could sense them all there, though, and that was comfort enough.
"How does this even work?" Levi asked.
"What?" Armin asked, his focus breaking away from trying to figure out the links of all the minds in the room.
"The invisibility," Levi said. "Are you just cloaking us? Because you clearly don't need to be in our heads to make us invisible."
"Yeah…" Armin sighed, and he closed his eyes. "Something like that."
Armin had no way to grab onto all the minds in the room at once, but he'd done it before, so he figured he could do it again. Armin usually had plans for these sorts of things, but he couldn't manage to think beyond what was in front of him at this point. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and if he didn't act fast they could all be in a huge amount of trouble.
So he grappled with the links of a hundred unknown minds, and he latched onto them, digging his fingers into them and tearing them all open. He could feel a hundred dreams pour into his head as he opened up his own mind and shouted, WAKE UP!
The jolt was palpable. It blew across the air and scattered, causing a massive, universal gasping of slight pain, as though they had been pinched, and then they merely blinked in confusion. Armin severed the connections as swiftly as he possibly could, shaking as he squeezed Erwin's bicep and Mikasa's wrist.
"Let's go," he said numbly.
They went. Armin managed to get them past the barricades and the crowds before he collapsed, falling to his hands and knees and letting his exhaustion take over him, save him from the vicious pounding inside his head, and save him from the aching and the crawling. Armin just wanted a little relief.
He wasn't sure he'd ever get any, but it was nice to dream.