The Roomba buzzed determinedly across the classroom floor, alert and on the hunt. The knife taped to its back glinted in the florescent lights.

"This'll be our replacement for Coach Levi while he's serving out his house arrest, alright?" Coach Hanji nudged the robot with her foot, gently guiding it out of the corner it'd rolled itself into. "Kinda was pressed for time cooking it up; I only just heard the news. I'll have a more fancy replacement by week's end, promise you."

The Roomba seemed to have Coach Levi's basic personality down, Eren thought, as it roombed ominously past the students' desks, patrolling with knife at the ready. His main concern was the robot's coaching abilities, especially in the field they faced – the kitchen. Could they really trust this mechanical creature to guide them to victory in the culinary arts? Could they really –

"Oh! Forgot the other feature I added!" Coach Hanji strode over to the Roomba, and pressed a button on the small pack hastily secured to its back.

"Poop," the Roomba said, clinical and monotone. "Poop, pooping, pooping on a toilet. Smelly poopy. Doody."

Coach Hanji sighed wistfully. "Almost like having the real thing here. Team's just not the same without that sweet little face around…"

The Roomba beeped in distress as its rotors clogged on a hunk of dust. Armin rose his hand, and Hanji gestured for him to speak as she knelt to deal with Roomvi, speaking to it in the gentle tones she used when her pythons had something they shouldn't halfway down their throats.

"…the cooking competition against the Titans is this weekend. Before Coach Levi left, he, ah, hadn't completed our training–"

"FART BUTTS FULL OF POO," shrieked the Roomba.

"–which is to say that he didn't teach us much of anything regarding the cooking process that didn't involve bleaching countertops and industrial washing machine cycles–"

Hanji chuckled good-naturedly, her hand shoved into the Roomba's mouth-hole as it yelped further exclamations about pooping. "Aww, is that what you kids are worried about? The fact of the matter is that I'm a real artist when it comes to the kitchen. My specialty this time of year is the Mellocreme Pumpkin and Peanut Butter Sandwich. What you do is you take your little pumpkins and mash 'em up good with your palm, then you put the peanut butter on the bread, and the mush on the peanut butter, and–"

"Shit," said the Roomba mournfully. It gave one last garbled honk of distress before its motor coughed out a puff of smoke and dust. Hanji gaped at the flat-lining patient in her arms for but a moment before springing into action. She swept the front bench free of her normal mess, gently set the dying creature down, and began emergency surgery.

The team was stone-faced, and came to a solemn conclusion: as usual, they were on their own.

"No," Eren said. "Fuck no."

Armin gently cupped his cheek, turning Eren's face to meet his gaze. Eren resisted as best he knew how – the power of Armin's gaze was as terrifying as it was beautiful and absolute. Alas, he caught sight of their shining blue, and he was paralyzed.

"Jean's the best cook out of all of us," Armin said. "His mother will even help us plan the menu. All we have to do is let him be temporary coach, and we'll do fine in the competition…"

"Temporary." Eren nearly spat out the word. "You know his type. You give him an inch and he takes over the whole team and sells us to the Titans and makes you let him touch your hair for stupid reasons."

Could Armin really not see Jean's devious plan? From the look Armin was giving him, it was clear that only Eren had him figured out. First the cooking competition, then the world, and then he's sleeping with a lock of Armin's hair under his pillow. Armin shook his head at Eren's valid concerns, and returned his attention to the papers in front of him.

"…we don't have much of a choice, unfortunately. After Coach Hanji wasn't able to repair her Roomba, she's locked herself in her office, and hasn't come out for days. Of all of us, Jean's the only one with any real experience with cooking in that kind of setting, with his family's business…"

"That doesn't mean we've just got to—bend to his rule," Eren shot back. "There are plenty of us that can cook, and lead the team without running us into the ground. Mikasa's a good cook."

Armin paused in sorting through his papers, picking his words carefully. "…I thought it best that we take a less…intense approach to the competition."

Mikasa stared balefully from across the room. "The meat must be fresh. I will easily be able to butcher the cow and prepare the steaks during the allotted time limit."

"…and?" Armin said, as gently as possible. "What about for the other cooking categories? Vegetarian dish, pasta, dessert?"

Mikasa looked lost and confused.

Armin sighed and squeezed Eren's hand where it was clenched, white-knuckled, on Armin's thigh. "It was down to Sasha or Jean, and the fact of the matter is, Jean is the better choice for leadership. I know—I know you don't want to hear that, Eren, but..."

It happened. It had finally happened. The dearest golden treasure of Eren's heart, Armin Arlert, had been stolen away from him by the adversary. The hole he left in Eren's soul ached with awful longing, and tears began to pour down his cheeks. How? How was he to go on in a world such as this? Where even the most beautiful and pure souls could be tainted by the machinations of huge douchebags with terrible haircuts?

"Eren? Oh, Eren, not again. You've got to talk to your father about these flashbacks!"

It was all too much for Eren's heart and soul to handle; his entire being felt not long for this world. It was all he could do to close his eyes, and let his mind drift off to happier, simpler times…

Eren barreled up the sidewalk to Armin's house with the single-minded drive and determination that came to children on the hunt on that most joyous of holidays: Halloween. Last year, his mommy made him wear an M&M costume and he'd started crying the moment he stepped out on the porch and then fell asleep on the couch. But this year was different. This year, he had Armin to accompany and protect on their perilous safari through the wilds of their local neighborhood. And this year, he was dressed in a fashion far more suitable to such an expedition.

Eren reached the door, and leapt up and down to pound his fist on the doorbell repeatedly.

"Trick or treat! Trick treats Armin come out!" Eren yelled. His Yoshi costume imbued his soul with the power for a mighty roar.

Finally, the door opened, and there…there stood Armin, hand-in-hand with his grandfather. There stood Armin, dressed as a bumblebee, his antennae bouncing as he carefully stepped outside. Eren felt woozy. Such great power he already had, dressed as his role model, and now, now Armin was dressed as a bumblebee, with bouncy antennae and little stinger on his bottom. The stinger had a sparkly yellow pom-pom at the end. Eren felt the real and insistent urge to pass out and have a flashback, but was cruelly interrupted by the smack of a plastic katana on his head. He whirled around, eyes welling with tears, to glower at Mikasa.

"Cowabunga," Mikasa stated.

Being dressed as a Ninja Turtle gave her no right to interrupt his time with Armin, especially since Raphael was way cooler than Leonardo would ever be. Eren wiped his nose on his sleeve and grabbed Armin's hand (Armin's mittened hand, with black and yellow stripes to match his costume, and Eren felt ready to pass out at any moment). It was time – it was time for Eren to guide Armin on a journey through a Halloween Wonderland, and bring to him a mountain of goodies, and Eren would give him all his peanut butter cups and maybe, maybe Armin would let Eren give him a kiss on his cheek while he was in the bumblebee costume with his antennae and stinger and mittens, and Eren would never, ever forget it ever in his life –

Eren woke up from bleary dreams of mittened hands and pom-poms. His head was pillowed on Armin's lap as Armin was writing something up on his laptop. Armin stroked his hair from his forehead.

"Good one this time? What about?"

Eren pondered for a moment, pressing a kiss to the center of Armin's palm as it wandered into range.

"I discovered the source of my long-term resentment against mutant turtles, and also remembered that I always wanted to take up beekeeping."

"Good. I was chatting with Bertholt about Mathletes plans. Jean's finalized the menu for the competition and wants to meet with us tomorrow at the fundraiser to discuss."

Eren's eyes narrowed. "Us?"

Armin considered his answer carefully. "…me," he clarified. "But I'll be including the rest of the team so we all can—Eren! No more of that!"

Armin pinched the back of Eren's neck, bringing him out of his rapid descent back into the forgotten realms of memory. So Jean was trying to get Armin into his clutches, alone? Eren would fucking see about that, he sure would. He'd see about that with his fist in Jean's goddamn face—

Armin's fingers slid into Eren's hair and began to scratch his scalp. Eren found he was helpless under their assault, his righteous fury fading. But damned if he wasn't still able to work up a big old sulk about things, and so, he lay there, brooding, and plotting his magnificent counterattack.

The plan they'd come up with for fundraising was to host a haunted house. Eren was somewhat on edge – he'd seen enough horror movies to know that this would be the perfect opportunity for their carefree teenage antics to attract the attention of a wandering serial killer and/or ghost and/or swamp monster. All it took was one person taking off their clothes to go shower in the spooky bathroom, and it was all over for the rest of them.

Eren would've liked to be at Armin's side to protect him from any and all serial killers/ghosts/swamp monsters/miscellaneous, but alas, Armin had been assigned bookkeeping and receptionist duties at the front of the attraction. Eren gazed at him mournfully as he was hustled into the back by their substitute coach. He was leaving Armin behind, Armin dressed in a waistcoat and vampire cloak, and neither his heart nor his boner could bear it. Alas, but he would be strong – he would stay strong.

"Alright, that's–" The substitute, Coach Moblit, trailed off, flicking through his notes nervously. "—I think you guys are back here. I think that's what Coach Hanji's notes say. They're—they're a little soaked with tears and snot."

Coach Moblit gingerly turned a page with the tips of his fingers, and wandered out of the room, mumbling to himself in concerned tones. Eren sullenly glanced at his scare-mate. Annie usually boycotted any and all team fundraising activities unless forced bodily into them, but she had been surprisingly on-board with this – had even offered suggestions. Disappointment had been clear on her face when each and every one was denied due to things like "liability issues" and "concerns about patrons living through whatever you're diagramming on the whiteboard", but she had nevertheless swallowed her sorrow, and thrown in her support. Eren could take her example, separated as he was from Armin in his waistcoat. He would endure.

Annie was now in the rafters, carefully assembling a pulley system, presumably for the capture of passing patrons. Eren admired her work from after, feeling a little pain in his heart at the memories of the times those same pulleys had captured him and Armin, of the long and peaceful weekends with him imprisoned in Annie's basement as bait for Mikasa, of how Armin had the foresight to start stashing caches of food and books down there to sustain them while they awaited rescue. Annie wasn't an impolite host, of course, but the dead bears she tossed down to them for food were raw, and sometimes not so dead.

Unbidden, Mikasa's voice echoed through his head – "The meat must be fresh." – and a tender smile came to Eren's lips. Those two crazy kids were really meant for each other.

The night went pretty smoothly, in Eren's opinion – he thought he was an acceptable scare-er, but Annie apparently thought otherwise, and strung him up in the pulleys with the firm instructions to watch her and learn. Indeed, Annie was a masterful scare-er indeed – one memorable encounter had her face-to-face with Ymir, who was perhaps the only team member with a worse track record of team spirit. If Eren's assumptions were correct – and he was pretty damn sure they were – Ymir had gone into this haunted house with Krista with the intent of impressing her. Ymir was clearly already a wreck by the time she'd reached their room, clinging to the back of Krista's shirt, sweating and shaking while Krista determinedly marched them through.

Ymir locked eyes with Annie as she lurked through the rafters. Annie held her gaze for an agonizingly long moment.

"Heterosexual intercourse," Annie hissed from the shadows.

Ymir ran shrieking from the room in an instant, hauling Krista behind her by the collar of her shirt, very nearly lifting her from the ground in her flight. Eren cheered uproariously, as he had done for every successful scare that evening. Annie delivered a roundhouse kick to his capture sack, as she had done every time he cheered that evening, but it was delivered with less force than usual.

"When scaring, one must prey on the deepest fears and primal terrors of your target's mind. Learn this or you will not survive," Annie said.

Eren nodded. Annie had delivered many such pieces of advice to him that evening, and it seemed like a lot of them ended in him dying if he didn't obey.

The night grew long, and the lines of patrons shorter. Finally, it was time for Eren to be freed from the sack, free to run shrieking down the hallways and into the tender bosom of Armin and Armin's waistcoat. That is, until Reiner barreled into the room, dragging Bertholt behind him with a camera. Reiner whirled around in his sexy witch dress, braced one fishnet-stockinged leg on a dusty box, and flexed for the camera.

"I'm Reiner Braun and this is Ghost Spookers! We spook ghosts–" Reiner flexed, ripping the bodice of his witch dress further. "—before they spook you! We're here in this haunted house looking for the spirits of the lost and damned–"

Armin entered the room, interrupting Reiner's monologue. "—Reiner, I was trying to tell you, this is just a cheap tourist attraction built a few years ago…"

Armin trailed off when he spotted Eren in the rafters, and Annie still lurking nearby, her gaze locked on Reiner and her hands poised and ready to hurl the nearest blunt object at him. Eren waved at Armin from the sack.

Armin sighed. "Look, if you want to ghost-hunt, I know plenty of historical spots around town that are open to tours tonight–"

"GUYS I FOUND A OUIJA BOARD LET'S SUMMON THE SPIRITS OF THE LOST AND DAMNED," Sasha bellowed, storming into the room with a Ouija board held high and proud.

"WHOO! ALL HALLOWS EVE IN HERE!" Reiner bellowed in refrain, tearing off his witch dress completely with his enthusiastic flexing. Bertholt seemed to be a really devoted and professional cameraman, Eren thought. He wasn't taking that camera off Reiner no matter who burst in the room.

While the others set up the summoning circle, Armin gently lowered Eren to the ground by the pulleys to the sounds of Mikasa confronting Annie in the rafters. However, Eren's joy at their reunion and his freedom from the sack was short-lived. The adversary approached. Eren's eyes narrowed.

"…So I was thinking, like we were talking about up front, that Caribbean jerk chicken would be a really solid entrée…" Jean started, scratching behind his ear because he probably had lice or something.

"Wouldn't that be cannibalism for you?" Eren shot back. "Because, you're a jerk chicken."

Fuck, that was probably the sickest burn Eren had ever burnt with. Jean's whole face went red, and he sputtered for words.

"I'm not a bird! Fucker!" Jean shot back, finally.

Armin looked distinctly pained, and Eren clammed up almost instantly, abashed. The sounds of Connie chanting broken Pig Latin phrases as Sasha hurled handfuls of salt at the walls were distant to his ears, and he barely heard the commotion of Annie and Mikasa hurtling to the ground beside him. It didn't matter if the burn was sick (though it was). Armin deserved a peaceful evening of damned spirits.

They settled in a circle around the board, holding hands. Or rather, holding on to the pullstrings on the time out sack, in Annie's case. Annie stared with beady eyes out of the hole before retreating to its depths. Eren looked around nervously. His horror movie senses were tingling. Reiner was already down to his underpants and fishnet stockings (and wow, Bertholt was still a really dedicated cameraman); the evil serial killers couldn't be too far off.

"So, uh." Connie squinted at the board. "Who are we summoning?"

"Summon Marco!" Sasha insisted. "He owes me twenty bucks!"

A surprised murmur came from the group. ("Marco's dead?" "When did that happen?" "Wait, who are we talking about, again? Was he that blond guy with the muttonchops?")

Sasha shrugged absently. "I just kinda assumed. One of Coach Hanji's snakes was lookin' a bit chunky lately."

Reiner stood up and stepped forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. "Let's just play it by ear for now and see what ghosts are spooking around here." He thumped his chest with his fists, once, and yelled at nothing in particular. "HEY GHOSTS! YOU'RE DUMB! YOU DON'T SCARE US SO COME TRY TO SCARE US! DO IT, YEAH, DO IT, COME ON!"

Sasha helpfully threw a handful of salt at him to speed the process. While Reiner leapt around the room yelling challenges at the walls, Eren swallowed hard, and squeezed Armin's hand. Ghosts didn't exist. They definitely didn't. Nor did swamp monsters or probably werewolves, maybe. They'd be fine as long as they…

Armin dragged the Ouija board over closer, placing a hand on the roller thoughtfully. Eren gaped at him, scandalized. Mikasa regarded Armin evenly as she reclined on the Annie Sack.

"It is scientifically unsound," she noted.

Armin nodded in agreement. "True," he sighed. "And that's unfortunate. I'd like to summon some figures from the past, I think."

"Like who?" Eren and Jean said, in unison. And glowered at each other, in unison.

Armin steered the roller around the board with his index finger, hmming in thought. "Some of the anti-establishment thinkers from the European Enlightenment era would be fascinating to speak to. And perhaps Thomas Edison, so I could tell him he's a thieving hack."

All of a sudden, there it was – Eren's worst nightmares come to life. Eren bundled Armin close to him. A spooky bedsheet ghost moaned from the room's entryway; agitated from rest, perhaps, by Reiner's challenges. Reiner stood his ground, legs firm and planted wide. Bertholt scrambled between them to lay on his back on the ground, still filming – probably for the dynamic angle, Eren assumed.

"Zombie ghost, leave this place!" Reiner commanded, pointing at the ghost accusingly.

"But this is my hoooooouse," the ghost moaned, mournfully. "Give me your caaaaash and Halloween treeeats. But nooooone of that tooooothbrush buuuuullshiiiiiiiit."

And Eren's heart fell – the ghost could live here no longer, for they were a zombie ghost. He choked out a sob, burying his nose in Armin's hair. Reiner nodded, and flexed sympathetically.

"Zombie ghost, we'll kill you again and ease your suffering," Reiner said, kindly.

The ghost paused, and trailed off in its moaning. "…uh. No, uh, you caaaaaan't kiiiiiiilll meeeeeee. Just giiiiiiive us your fuuuuuuucking caaaaaash."

Armin's voice was muffled in Eren's armpit as he tried to speak. He squirmed up until his mouth was free – Armin was brave, too brave and kind and good, he was going to try and confront the ghost to save them all and –

"Ymir, we can see your shoes!" Armin finally was able to say.

The ghost halted in spooking, freezing in place just long enough for Mikasa to approach and yank the sheet off. Ymir had Krista on her shoulders. Ymir's eyes darted back and forth.

"Uh. Boo."

And lo, was the Ghost of the Spooky House conquered. Ymir cursed loudly as she was stuffed into the time out sack in Annie's place, noting that she would have gotten away with her dastardly plans, had it not been for her meddling classmates. Halloween was saved, and Eren and Jean reluctantly shook hands as they exited the building – one does not live through such a harrowing ordeal without becoming fast friends.

They had lived to greet a new day, and a new dawn.