lorem ipsum

washington d.c.

a.d. iv non. nov., 2677 a.u.c.

Armin's first nightmare had been a surprise, to say the least. He could recall the dimness of the hotel room, the familiar lumpy discomfort of the couch, the musty scent of decay and bleach that seemed to cling to every surface. Shafts of moonlight had trickled in from above, and he had only just calmed his mind enough to fall into a blanket of dark sleep, his mind trained to keep dreams away.

The scream had been like a bullet crashing into the dirt beside his head.

Erwin recalled awakening, expecting a gun in his hand, ammunition weighing him down, a grenade close at hand. But he had been asleep in a pair of faded gray sweatpants he'd coined from a Laundromat, deciding to use what little money he could scrounge up on Armin.

The boy was a twisted white apparition in a hazy dream, and Erwin had not known what to do.

He used to have night terrors. Not so much when he had been on duty, but when he'd been sent home, that had been the truest hell. He used to awake all alone in an apartment, to complete and utter blackness, to faces crawling across his stolen sight, memories burning into his mind, and he'd cried on the floor, his body unused to the luxury of his bed, and he'd forced himself to do something constructive such as exercises or walking around his apartment or writing down memories of sights he'd never see again.

Armin's night terrors were worse than Erwin's had been.

His tiny body would not stay still, and he was sobbing, sheets caught between his curling limbs as his voice fluctuated, small and reedy, and he'd gripped his head and screamed. Erwin had lurched to his feet, his heart pounding, because he had no idea what to do. If this had been a comrade, he would have knocked some sense into him, but this was just a child, a child Erwin had barely known at the time.

"Armin," he'd said with a hoarse voice. The boy had moaned, his eyes snapping open, and upon seeing Erwin standing over him, he had screamed some more. "Armin!"

Erwin had did the only thing he could think of. He'd sat down on the edge of the bed, taken the boy by the arms, and hefted him upright. "Shh," Erwin had tried, hopelessly trying to recall any child soothing techniques he might have picked up over the years. "Shh, Armin, it's alright. It's okay. Look at me."

Armin had strained himself to stare fearfully into Erwin's face. Tear tracks glistened in the shivering light, and a tiny sob escaped his lips. Suddenly, recognition sparked there, and he'd stopped struggling. "Erwin?" the boy had croaked, shaking pitifully.

"Yes," Erwin said, smoothing back the boy's hair tentatively so it wouldn't get wet with drool and tears and snot. "Hello. I hope I didn't frighten you too badly."

"I…" Armin had been mortified, and he'd looked ready to burst into tears again. "O-oh god, I'm sorry, oh god—"

"We all have nightmares, Armin," Erwin had told him as gently as possible. "You are not the first boy to be scared of something that isn't really there. Here now, get up. Let's play a game."

"A…?" Armin had looked minutely horrified. "Erwin, it's… it's late, are you—?"

Erwin parted the curtains above his ratty couch, letting moonlight spill vicariously across the dull room. Armin had squinted, and Erwin recalled his shaking, his face sickly as though he were about to puke.

"Yes, a game." Erwin sat down on his couch, moving the blanket out of the way. Armin did the same, wiping the drool and snot and tears on his sleeve, blinking his glassy eyes through the glare of moonlight. "I'll say three facts about myself, and you have to guess which one is a lie."

"What?" Armin had been stricken with confusion. "But—"

"One," Erwin had said, "I've eaten a shoe."

"Ew," Armin had blurted, laughter struggling into his voice. "That's gross!"

Erwin had smiled. "Two," he said, "I've been arrested for a DUI."

Armin said nothing in response to that. He'd merely studied Erwin, blinking his tearful eyes and slumping.

"Three," he said, "there is a very large graffiti mural in Baltimore that I tagged with my actual name to see if Erwin Smith could be traced."

"Why would you do that?" Armin blurted.

"I don't know," Erwin had said, smiling at the small boy. "Did I really do it?"

"Yes," Armin said firmly. "You've never been arrested, so clearly the second one was a lie."

"How do you know that?"

"You were a high ranking military official, duh!" Armin shook his head furiously. "You were trusted with secrets. You can't have a felony for that."

"That's not entirely true," Erwin had said. He studied Armin's face. He'd been impressed, to say the least.

"So why did you tag the mural?" Armin had asked eagerly.

Erwin had explained that he had simply wanted to see what would happen.

He'd explained in such extraneous detail that Armin had fallen asleep. That had been the start of what Erwin considered one of the most rewarding relationships he'd had in his life.

Armin always had nightmares. They were on and off, erratic in nature, but inevitable. Erwin became used to waking up in the middle of the night to soothe the boy, and there was a sense of trust between them that Erwin knew Armin did not hand out very easily. Erwin was so used to awaking in the middle of the night to Armin's nightmares that it was a little strange to have months go by without one. Had Erwin simply not been paying attention? Had he missed something crucial?

Aside from the fact that Armin barely slept?

Erwin had gotten a vision once. His visions were quick, erratic, like channels flickering past on a television screen, numbers ticking by, only ever going up. The channel had flickered. It had stopped. The year was uncertain. It was long past the date Erwin had been living at that point in time. The color had been sapped from the future, monochrome dreams washing over Erwin's mind.

In this future, there was a boy in a hospital bed.

An intravenous drip hung from his bony arm.

His eyes were a burst of color, a murky blue in a sea of gray.

His pasty, chapped lips had trembled as he'd smiled, miserable.

His voice was a dull thrum in the back of Erwin's mind.

"I'm so glad you didn't see this coming."

Erwin rubbed his face tiredly as he leaned back in his chair. He was sitting at an outside table at a little café, coffee steaming from the cup before him. It was a chilly day, which was to be expected from early November, but Erwin didn't mind. He enjoyed the cold weather. Erwin rested his hands against his eyes, reeling at the thought of Armin's peculiar behavior. That boy trusted him, sure, but like hell he'd tell Erwin anything.

"Tired?" a familiar voice asked, the squeak of the chair across from him jolting him from his thoughts.

Erwin dropped his hands into his lap and straightened up. He smiled warmly as he stood, reaching across the table and grasping his old friend's hand. "Nile," he said, keeping the handshake formal. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Nile said, his face older now than it had been a few years ago. He had wrinkles now. That was interesting. Did Erwin have wrinkles? "Yeah, wow. Didn't think you'd be contacting me again, honestly."

"Ah, yes." Erwin sat down, keeping his posture straight as Nile mirrored him. "We didn't leave on the most cordial terms."

"Well," Nile said, his shoulders rising and falling in a meager shrug, "confessing your love to your best friend's wife will do that to a relationship."

Erwin laughed. That had not been the last time they had seen each other, of course. This meant that Nile was being tailed. Typical. "I cannot apologize enough for that," he said, shaking his head in disbelief at his younger self. "Though, technically, she was not your wife then."

"You know, I think she would've gone for you if you weren't up for a tour," Nile said, his smile thin. "You always were better looking."

"I sincerely doubt she wanted anything to do with me." Erwin had not thought about this in years. It had seemed so huge then, like the world would end if he had not told this one girl that he loved her before he fought in a war, but now he felt as though he'd been tricked somehow. Society had prepared him for a life like any other. A successful job in law, a beautiful wife to come home to everyday, a happy life, a fulfilling life.

That had never been the life for him.

"I'm not complaining," Nile said with a snort. "I'm glad you bailed. Got a family now, thanks to your fear of commitment."

"I am not afraid of commitment, Nile," Erwin said smoothly.

"So you've settled down?" Nile quirked a brow, and Erwin stared at him placidly. He took a sip of his coffee, letting it scald against his tongue and peel off the skin of the roof of his mouth. Nile snorted. "Thought not."

"I'm not married," Erwin admitted, setting his coffee aside. "I never intend to get married. But I do have a son."

Nile's eyes shot wide for a moment.

They wouldn't speak of it in public, but Nile Dawk had committed a rather large felony at Erwin's request a few years ago.

That had been the last time they had met. Nile had handed over a test tube of inky black liquid, Erwin had thanked him, and Nile had sworn they were even.

As far as Erwin knew, no one had suspected a thing.

"A son," Nile said slowly. Incredulously. "You have a son?"

Erwin smirked. "Did I not just say," he said, bringing his coffee cup to his lips, "that I have a son? You aren't so old that your hearing is impaired, Nile."

"Ha ha." Nile grimaced. "Glad to know you haven't lost your sense of humor. But seriously, a son? Whose son?"

Erwin thought back to the facility. Rose had been very quiet, even before her procedure, and he had never thought to get to know her. He regretted that now. If I'd known then, he thought. If my precognition worked the way it's supposed to… Ah, it couldn't be helped. Rose had been doomed from the start, and Erwin would not have Armin without her untimely mental instability.

It was terrible, of course, to be thankful for a woman's insanity. But Erwin never pretended to be anything less.

"He's not mine biologically, Nile," Erwin assured the man, pulling his phone from his pocket. "But he is my son."

"I never pegged you for a parent type," Nile admitted, sounding awed. "Too self-absorbed."

"You flatter me," Erwin said, his thumb sliding through photographs on his phone. "The word you're looking for is narcissistic."

"There we go!"

Erwin smiled. He turned the phone to Nile, who took it carefully and peered at the photo. The man's eyes flickered over Armin's picture, a simple photo of him from about a year previous. He'd been in the library where Erwin had once worked, cooped up between two shelves with a small mountain of books at his side. He'd looked up upon Erwin's intrusion, and the boy had smiled wanly at the camera. His eyes had been brighter then. His face fuller, his cheeks rosier.

"A teenager?" Nile actually sounded impressed. "Damn. You've always been gutsy, but taking in a teen is tough work."

His phone buzzed.

It was a struggle.

"He's a good kid," Erwin said, watching Nile flick the screen. "Far, far better than we were when we were his age." Or worse, when Levi was their age. Erwin thought about it sometimes, the misfortune that was Levi's life. Erwin didn't know everything about Levi, of course, just the basics. The prostitution, the abusive father, the substance abuse. None of it was Levi's fault. Erwin would never blame the man for his temperament.

Nile glanced up from the phone. His fingers flew hastily across the screen as he spoke quietly. "I see."

Erwin nodded. He took a sip of coffee, and he waited. Nile was typing very quickly, and he began to speak, his voice slow and measured. "Do you remember," the man said, "how terrible we were? Taking hits outside the school, fucking girls under the bleachers…"

"Mm, no," Erwin said, glancing up at the gray noon sky. "No, I don't believe I ever fucked anyone, that was all you."

"No, you did, I remember." Nile never looked up from the phone. It had buzzed again. "You got drunk at a football game—"

"Ah." Erwin smiled grimly at the memory. "Yes. I remember that. But no, there was no fucking that night, I can assure you. I got slightly buzzed and played it off in order to get out of watching football for another two hours. I ended up going home."

"You were an incredible dork," Nile said with a scoff.

"I won some money off that game," Erwin recalled. Even before the facility, he'd had an uncanny ability to predict the future outcome of things. Such as high school football games.

"Hey, I didn't say you weren't smart." Nile turned the phone back to Erwin. It buzzed, a message popping up and quickly disappearing. Erwin was not focused on it. The blocky letters underneath his message read, They're always following me. Be careful. Erwin had asked how long he'd known he was being followed.

This complicated things a bit.

"I can really never apologize enough," Erwin said carefully, "for the last time we met."

Nile studied him. Yes, the man was catching on quickly. "It didn't end badly," the man said. "And you had your reasons. I'm sure."

"I'd tell you if I could," Erwin said earnestly. "But it's for the best, I think. Shall we put this thing behind us?"

"Well, that's why I'm here."

Erwin was overtaken by a blunt vision just then. Smoke spread over his eyes. Milky white smoke, blooming slow. Fire. Yes, fire. Broken glass danced across the screen of smoke, and a head dashed into a steering wheel.

Blood.

So much blood.

An accident, someone whispered. Smoke billowed from their mouth. Perhaps it had been the smoke that had whispered it.

No. It was no accident.

Nile Dawk's bloody face was pressed into his dashboard. His breaks had been cut.

Alive, though. The man groaned. Smoke burst around him. Alive.

Erwin tore himself from the vision, blinking the smoke away. Nile was watching him curiously. Erwin was breathing a little heavier than before, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. The scent of smoke burnt his nostrils. His phone buzzed.

"Nile," Erwin said sharply, looking straight into the man's eyes. "You drove here today, yes?"

Nile watched him quizzically. "Yes…?"

"Take the subway back," Erwin said. "Do not use your car. Get it towed, bring it to a shop. Just don't use it."

Nile sat, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. He turned his face away, and nodded slowly. "Sure," he said. "I'll do that. But, Erwin, you could do me a solid and tell me why."

He could. Nile was already aware of a good portion of it. He was, after all, the Chief Editor of The Brigade. He knew things. He hid things. He was the reason Erwin Smith had signed a contract handing over his life to a facility that promised him something he thought impossible. When Erwin had revealed the conditions of the facility post-escape, Nile had been utterly distraught.

"Children?" Nile had whispered, horrified and blanching. "No… no why… why children…?"

It had been then that they had struck a deal. Nile would procure a very specific substance from the facility's lab, wherever it was, and hand it over to Erwin. In turn, Erwin would never ask a favor of Nile again. Which was fair. And the reason why they had all gone through such great lengths to get into The Brigade's computer system.

This was the first time they were speaking in several years. It would've been nice if they weren't being watched.

His phone began to ring, and he scooped it up, glancing at the caller id. He blinked at Nile, and held up a finger, quickly turning away to answer it. "Hello?" he said gently. "Historia?"

"Erwin," the tiny girl gasped, "Erwin, you… you weren't answering me. Where are you?"

"Catching up with an old friend," he told her. "Is everything alright?"

"No," she breathed. "No, I… oh, I don't know!"

"Please calm down," he said gently. "Panicking will make everything so much worse. Now, very slowly, I need you to tell me what's happened."

"I…" Historia sounded close to sobbing. "Oh, Erwin, can't you just come here? I don't know. I don't know what's wrong, no one tells me anything, they think I'm nine!"

"Nine?" Erwin didn't know how to pacify her over the phone. He'd have to improvise. What would make Armin feel better? "A mistake on their part, you could almost certainly pass for a twelve year old."

"Erwin!"

"I'm only teasing you," he sighed. "Please calm down, and tell me where you are. Is Armin okay?"

"That's the whole problem!" Historia groaned.

"I can't help if I don't know where you are," Erwin reminded gently.

"Oh." Historia sounded breathless. "Um, H-Howard University Hospital…? I think?"

Erwin stood up, nodding slowly. Her breathlessness mingled with his dread, the sound putting ambience to his cloudy sense of futures. He saw possibilities in everything, but there was no future in Armin. Everything around him was a deep, thundering blackness. Everything he touched turned dark. He was a lightless path in a twisted, foggy forest. Pursuing him felt like running headlong into a tree.

"I'll be right there," he told her. He adjusted his scarf, glancing at Nile apologetically. The man took a sip of his coffee and shrugged.

Erwin listened to Historia's shallow breaths, and he wondered if she was crying. "Hurry," she whispered, her voice muffled against the phone receiver.

She hung up.

Erwin was left to stand for a moment, searching the channels of the futures that could be, the endless strings of limitless possibilities floating before him.

Armin was not anywhere in the ever flowing current of time, nor the branching off variables that spiked out from the main loop.

Armin might as well not even exist.

"I'm so sorry, Nile," Erwin sighed, tucking his phone away. "My son—"

"I heard." Nile tilted his head. "Is everything alright?"

"We'll see." Erwin grabbed his coffee, pushing his chair in. "I'd love to do this more often. Perhaps you could come to New York one of these days? My roommates are always interested in playing host." Well, one of them, anyway.

"You have roommates?" Nile asked curiously.

"Circumstantial arrangement," Erwin explained. "For Armin."

"Your son," the man clarified. Erwin smiled.

"Yes," he said. "My son."

"So weird," Nile chuckled. "Well, I might take you up on that offer. One of these days, at least. We really must talk more."

"I couldn't agree more," Erwin said. They shook hands.

Years and years ago, if Erwin had looked into the future and saw himself here, now, undeterred by the prospect of his best friend's possibly imminent death, the boy would balk.

He'd been a nobler man when he'd painted buildingsides and had romantic notions and believed in futures because he could not see them.

Wartime had jaded him.

The facility had broken him.

Armin had given him stability.

A real future.

Not the cookie cutter kind that Erwin had been pursuing before it had all been busted by reality. Armin had handed Erwin the keys to something greater. A life that could mean something. In Armin, Erwin had sought a brighter future than even his precognition could reach.

Erwin drove as fast as he could, but there was an immense amount of traffic. He was left to his own musings. And the subtle shift in futures. Nile Dawk would live. For today. Tomorrow he could die just as easily. But Erwin saw that there was no malice in that possibility. If he died, it was out of fate, not human design.

He called Levi while in the car to make sure everything was going smoothly. Things tended to pile up when one group went off on their own. Erwin was not in the mood to deal with futures he could not predict outright.

"I'm still in a hospital," Levi said thickly, "so it's going pretty gross."

"Good to hear." Erwin watched children crash into a pile of leaves in a park across the street from where his car was all but parked. "Mikasa's still there, I expect?"

"Yeah, you wanna nag at her? Go ahead." There was a pause, and Erwin smirked as the connection shuffled. Mikasa's voice was hoarse as she spoke. "Erwin?"

"Hello, Mikasa. I didn't intend to speak with you. Levi is simply being an ass."

"Yeah, well, what else is new..." She sounded pensive. "Is Armin okay?"

Erwin's mouth went dry. This girl. She could probably sense it from Manhattan. The unrest between the words Armin and okay. Perhaps she could hear the battle raging on in the spaces from four hours away.

"Armin's on a mission," Erwin said. "But I'm positive he's fine."

"Oh," she said. "O-okay, bye, Erw—!" She was cut off as a brisk voice took over the phone. "Hi, yes, hello, this is Eren speaking, can you cut the shit and like, make sure he's not passed out in an alley somewhere? 'Cause he would push himself that far. You know he would. He shouldn't even be on a fuckin' mission, and it ain't 'cause I think he's weak, it's 'cause he's gonna fuckin' break down if he doesn't take a breath of fuckin' air—"

"Give me that, brat." Levi's voice was almost welcome in comparison to Eren's snappish southern drawl. "You managed to piss off the peanut gallery, congrats."

"They're not wrong," Erwin admitted. "Armin pushes himself too hard."

"Yeah, are you gonna check that shit out?" Levi sounded skeptical. "It's not exactly normal. But neither is the little creep, so what do I know."

Erwin understood. This was the sort of thing that had been weighing down for a while. Everyone had noticed. A string of heavy words was about to snap.

"I appreciate your concern," Erwin said mechanically, "but I can't force Armin into anything he's not comfortable with. And he hates doctors."

"Well, so do I," Levi said, "but here I am, rotting in a hospital."

Erwin sighed. "Yes, well, Armin's predicament is a little more extreme than yours." Erwin checked the time. He'd been stuck in traffic for half an hour. If Historia had been panicking before, Erwin expected she was close to throwing a tantrum. Even so, he wasn't sure exactly what he was heading into. His sight could not reach his immediate future. Armin made the world go dark. Thus Erwin was going in blind, knowing nothing but Historia's panic over the situation.

"I honestly don't give a shit," Levi said. "Was there an actual reason why you called? Or do you just like giving me grief?"

"I'd like details about Eren's time in Oregon," Erwin said. "Have him write down everything he can remember. I'd like Jean Kirschstein's account as well. I also want to speak to Connie Springer personally about what happened."

"The kid's house almost burned to the ground," Levi said dully. "You really wanna give him a heart attack?"

"I'm not particularly keen on the fact he withheld information."

"So did Petra," Levi reminded. "Whatever. Do what you want."

"I intend to."

"Yeah, yeah. Can you speed that shit up, because I want these bandages off already." Levi sounded irritable, which was unsurprising. Erwin smiled.

"You can live a few more hours in a hospital," Erwin assured him. "But yes, we'll be back soon. I expect."

"Fine. Bye." Levi hung up, and Erwin couldn't help but thing he was an incredible man-child.

Erwin leaned out the window, calling to a bystander standing at the sidewalk. The traffic was still not moving. "Excuse me," he said, "but do you know what the hold up is?"

"Hm?" The man glanced back at Erwin. He shrugged. "Ah, I think there was a security breach up at the White House."

"Oh?" Erwin settled back in his seat, grimacing. Figured that Armin and Historia would cause the mess that prevented him from actually reaching them. "That's terrible."

He was aware that they'd been taking a risk with this particular objective. Confronting Reiss outright had been Historia's idea. She wanted to see him or, more aptly, she wanted him to see her. He understood. She was attempting to gain back some semblance of agency, and to do that she had to face the man who had taken it away from her. Erwin could only hope the mission had not taken a wrong turn. If they had gotten caught, there was little Erwin could do for them.

Erwin knew a lot of people in this city. He knew them, but it was unlikely they knew him. At least not the Erwin Smith who fought against monsters and corrupt organizations. No, they either knew Erwin as the soldier he used to be, or the boy that had died somewhere along the way. He wasn't sure. It all depended on the person.

Finally, after an hour of anxious waiting, Erwin parked his car and entered the hospital. The scent was the first thing that hit him. The stinging smell of antiseptic and bleach. The masked scent of sickness. Dread crept upon his lungs, and hitched his breath. His eyesight became fuzzy as he closed his eyes, and let himself recollect.

He'd spent too much time in hospitals as of late.

"Hello," he said, walking up to the front desk. "I'm looking for my children, they might have come through here earlier?"

"Names?" the girl at the desk asked dully.

Historia would not have used her real name. She was smarter than that. "Christa Lenz and Armin Arlelt," he said. The woman checked her computer screen, typing quickly. She turned her gaze back up to Erwin, nodding her head with a frown. "They went to the Psych Ward. They haven't left, I don't think. Try floor three. Can you just sign in here?" She pushed a pen and paper toward him, names trailing down to a block of empty spaces. He spotted Armin and Historia's names. He signed quickly, and left her to find an elevator.

He did not find Armin and Historia in the Psych Ward.

In fact, he had not even been admitted into the Psych Ward. He'd been told at the doors that there were no teenagers fitting Armin and Historia's descriptions visiting.

He texted Historia to ask where she was.

Well, Erwin thought, this is strange.

He filled with dread as she replied.

Pediatric ward.

He was not good with handling things he could not predict. And he could not predict this. So, rightfully, he felt as though he should be wary as he proceeded. He asked for directions to the Pediatric Ward, and he found that it wasn't too far. It was easy to get lost, however, and Erwin nearly found himself in a Cancer Ward by mistake, but a kind nurse pointed him in the right direction.

His brain was scrambled. His concern was reaching a peak.

"Historia," he called.

He found the girl right outside the door, sitting on a bench just below a brightly depicted cartoon rainbow. Her face was buried in her knees, which were pressed firmly to her chest. She looked up upon hearing her name, her eyes hollow and sunken and her cheeks and nose plainly flushed as though she'd been keeping herself from crying. Her hair was in disarray, flaxen strands sticking to her ruddy cheeks, tucked at her forehead and stuck up all around the crown of her head, static forcing it to stand on end. She leapt to her feet at the sight of him.

For a moment he thought she would run up to him. But she stood frozen, her lips parted and her eyes darted from his face. He composed himself. He didn't need to see the future to know something had gone terribly wrong.

"Historia," he repeated in a softer tone, walking up to meet her. "What's happened?"

"I…" She struggled to speak. Her voice wavered pitifully, thick with sadness and strangled by fear. He could sense her panic. "Oh… I don't even know how to…" She took a deep breath, smoothing back her hair. She sniffled once, and bowed her head. "Nobody tells me any details. But, um, Armin's getting a CT scan. Or he was, three hours ago. CT scans don't take that long, right? I don't think they do. I think he might be getting an MRI too, I don't know, but three hours is such a long time, I don't really know how it could take so long, and they're not telling me anything!" She scratched her hair in frustration, and Erwin felt the urge to grab her wrists and hush her. He didn't, of course. He wasn't really her father. He understood where his boundaries were.

"A CT scan," Erwin said. He tried to wrap his head around that.

He sat down.

Historia stood before him, nodding. Nodding. She was such a tiny girl, her jacket didn't even fit her, and she was wrapping the sleeves around her hands nervously as she spoke.

"I was told," she said shakily, her voice thicker now, "he collapsed in a hallway, and was immediately brought here. He had a concussion, so they took him for a CT scan. That was the only thing they told me, and that was when I first got here. Three hours ago. I… I didn't want to bother you… I thought it'd be quicker than it was…"

"He had a concussion?" Erwin's hands itched to rub his face. His stomach churned at the thought, and it was strange and terrifying. When had Armin stopped talking to him? When did I stop noticing these things?

Damn it. Erwin had been so focused on seeing an answer to the facility beyond what he knew to be true, that he couldn't see a foot in front of him.

He was blind in the here and now.

He was a god in the futures he could see.

Historia took another deep breath. He listened to the way it hitched in her throat. She was so sad. It didn't take a man with his attention to detail to notice such trivial things. But he knew there was more to this girl than sadness. She had an emptiness to her. And perhaps, maybe, even a cruelness. If she was Armin's sister in more than blood, he could understand it. She seemed to be like him in most sense. And Armin could be a cruel little thing.

"We didn't say anything," she said, loosening her grip on her sleeves. She caught them again in her tiny fists, and wrapped them up around her knuckles. "I told him to, but he just wouldn't listen. When… when Bertholdt and Reiner left, Bertholdt skinned me… and I attacked Armin."

"And this led to a concussion," Erwin said slowly. Her face was stricken, and he shook his head. "I'm not angry, Historia. Please, I only want an explanation. You won't be in trouble for hiding this from me."

"It's not even that," she sighed, rubbing her eyes furiously. "It's that I couldn't… I didn't fight Bertholdt off when I could have. I just let it happen. It was nice to not… be in control for a little while, I don't know. I don't know what I was doing. But then, suddenly, I hit Armin, and his head hit the tub, and oh, Erwin, there was so much blood—"

"He bled?" Erwin peered at her face, but she would not look at him. Her eyes were covered by her skinny hands. "Ah. Well, I'd imagine there'd be some damage then." His panic was easily hidden. He felt sick to his stomach.

She lowered her hands, her expression devoid of emotion. Her lips were parted before she spoke, uncertainties pushing forward. "I was thinking internal bleeding," she admitted in a low, bland tone. "Or bruising. That'd be the reason they'd take a CT scan, right? Just to make sure. And— and I've read about this, I know I have, I made myself read about medicine when I was younger, just in case, um…" She sighed. "I should be able to help, but I can't. I'm sorry."

"It's beyond your control," Erwin said. "You said you've been waiting for three hours?"

"Yeah…" Historia wrung her hands. Her hollow blue eyes moved to Erwin's face, and he could see her internal struggle beneath the stormy glaze of vacuity. "The nurse wouldn't tell me anything. I don't know where he is right now. I told Armin to get the concussion looked at, but he didn't listen to me."

"Armin is…" Erwin struggled to find the right words to describe the boy. "He's very independent. He doesn't want to be a burden on anyone, so if he's not in good shape, he won't say anything. He'd rather deal with it on his own."

"That's stupid," she said dully. "Everyone needs someone."

"Of course he needs people," he sighed, "he just doesn't want to… seem too clingy and needy, I suppose. It's a flaw in him. He's got very little self-regard."

Historia said nothing. She stared at Erwin, her dull eyes softening, and she plopped down beside him. She covered her mouth with her hands, her pink sleeves smothering half her face, and she stared vacantly ahead with her gauzy eyes unmoving. She looked half a dead girl, honestly. But then, Armin looked half a dead boy.

They were mirrors of each other, it seemed.

"How did everything go?" he found himself asking. "Otherwise?"

She lowered her hands in order to speak, but her entire body was stuck frozen in her current position. "Fine. My father told us what we wanted to know. That's what led us here." She flattened out her skirt, her entire body seeming to crumple under the weight of her words. "Our mother is in the Psych Ward."

"Rose," Erwin recalled. Historia said nothing, but she did scratch her wrist, her lips tugging into a frown. "I remember her. How is she doing?"

"She's…" Historia tilted her head, and her lips moved soundlessly as she blinked, her voice struggling inside her throat. She sounded pained. "She's nothing."

Erwin quirked an eyebrow. "Nothing?" he echoed.

She exhaled sharply, digging her nails into her skirt and bunching the fabric between her fingers viciously. "Nothing." She gritted her teeth, and Erwin listened. Molars cracked against one another. Skin hissed against cloth. Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. "Nothing, Erwin, she's nothing. Just… an empty shell… without any mind or… or feelings… or voice… of her own…"

"That's a little unfair to say," he said, watching her face as she turned away. "She's disabled, Historia, you can't blame her for the way she acts."

"Yes," she said. Her voice was thick and dull and coarse. "Fine. I'm a horrible person. I couldn't stand being near her. It made me want to throw up."

Erwin thought about the kind little girl who had appeared to them only weeks before, and he understood. That girl never existed, he thought firmly. There was never Christa. Only Historia. He'd seen through the lies, of course, and it was a bit of a relief to see her for who she truly was. Human. And hateful. And hurting beyond relief.

"You are not a horrible person." Erwin shook his head, not understanding why these children were filled with such self-hatred. "You're merely directing your anger in the wrong place."

She rubbed her eyes. "Can we just go home?" she asked weakly, turning her red rimmed, hazy gaze to his face. "I have a Chemistry test on Monday, and I'm failing, so…"

"Why don't you get Hange to help you?"

She flushed, her eyes squeezing shut. "I'm very bad at it," she admitted. "I've never really taken science classes before. When… when I was younger, I was taught a lot of things. Lots of reading and writing and history, and even Latin. But never math or science."

"You were taught Latin, but not math?" Erwin couldn't help but smile as she buried her face in her hands. "Your father certainly had his priorities straight."

"I know basic math!" Her voice was muffled by the heavy fabric of her pink jacket. "I just don't get why there are letters! Everywhere! What does that even mean?"

"Have you ever thought about asking Armin for help? He's quite good at math."

"I don't want to bother him with stuff like that," she mumbled. "He works his brain hard enough as it is."

"Alright." Erwin nodded at her. "Tell me what classes you're failing."

She peeked over her hands, her pale hair curling around her eyes. "Um… Chemistry…"

"Yes. Go on."

She swallowed thickly and lowered her hands. "Algebra II Trig… Civics… and, um, Spanish."

That surprised him. "Historia, you know Spanish," he said slowly. "Ymir spoke fluent Spanish. How could you possibly be failing?"

"It's hard…" she said, biting her lip. "It's… I can speak it, a little, because of Ymir, but the… the tests…" She winced. "I'm not a very good test taker…"

"Hm…" Erwin nodded. "Alright. I'm sure Hange would be more than happy to tutor you in Chemistry. If Armin can't help you with Algebra, I'll tutor you in that and Civics. And since Connie withheld some information from us, I think it an apt form of community service to tutor you in Spanish. How does that sound?"

Historia stared at him quizzically, her brow furrowed and her eyes wide. "You'd…?" She didn't seem to know what to say. So instead she nodded. "Um, okay…"

He nodded, patting her once on the head before standing up. It didn't escape his notice how she went rigid upon his touch, but he thought it an innocent gesture. He did it to Armin all the time, and he intended on gaining her trust in some way or another. Baby steps. She was a useful piece in a grand play, yes, but she was important beyond that. Armin saw a future in her that Erwin couldn't. And Erwin always trusted Armin's judgment.

"Excuse me," he said, walking up to the nearest desk. Historia followed him obediently. She kept her distance, however.

"Nanaba," Historia said. The nurse at the desk looked up.

"Oh!" they gasped, eyes flitting between Historia and Erwin. "Is this your father, Historia?"

She glanced up at him warily as he answered for her. "Yes," he said. "I am. Could you tell me what room my son is in?"

Nanaba chewed on their lower lip, and they shook their hand somberly. "No," they said. "Sorry. I haven't been informed of what room he's in, and you'd need the doctor's permission."

"He's my son," Erwin said sharply. "That must mean something."

"It's out of my hands." Nanaba stared at him, their eyes apologetic. They were androgynous, bright eyes, no makeup, tightly trimmed hair, sharp features. Erwin stared them down, feeling that this was not the time to be keeping him from Armin. "I'm sorry."

"But it's been hours," Historia blurted, striding up to the desk and gripping it with her tiny hands. "You must know something!"

Nanaba shook their head. Erwin sensed Historia's rage, and he stepped in quickly. "I'd like to speak with the doctor responsible," he said. "I am Armin's legal guardian, and you cannot keep him here without telling me what the hell is wrong with him."

There was a soft sort of silence. Nanaba's eyes lowered. They sighed. "He asked that no information be disclosed to his family," they said slowly, "until there is a conclusive diagnosis."

"He's sixteen," Erwin said in a very low tone. He watched Historia take a careful step away from him. "He can't keep that sort of information from us."

"Please," Nanaba said desperately, "wait until a doctor comes. I don't know enough to give you the kind of information you want."

"But you do have information!" Historia cried. Erwin placed a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he shook his head.

"Thank you," he told the nurse in his kindest voice. Inwardly, he felt like kicking the desk over. "We'll wait for the doctor."

Nanaba nodded hesitantly, and Erwin led Historia back to the bench. She was shaking.

"I'm going to punch him," she hissed, her eyes alight with rage and fear. Erwin nearly laughed.

"I'm going to advise against that."

She scrubbed at her eyes, and glared up at the ceiling. She was very clearly not used to being in this position of helplessness. She looked around as Erwin sat down, pressing his folded hands to his lips pensively.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," she said suddenly, whirling away. Erwin watched her go. If Armin didn't want them to know what was going on, it likely was not good. Why would he keep this from us? Why can't he understand that closing himself off helps absolutely no one? Erwin was anxious to find a doctor, but he was equally dreading the conversation he would have to have. Armin was probably a terrible patient, in that his power would make it difficult to do anything remotely productive.

If Historia's power worked on him, it would make things a hell of a lot easier.

Historia.

Erwin jumped to his feet. She'd been gone at least ten minutes. What had he been thinking, letting her wander off in a hospital?

He found her in a room with two children in it. One child was sleeping, curled up in the tiny hospital bed, while their parent was slumbering on the chair at its bedside. The other child was sitting upright, chatting amiably in hushed tones to the tiny blonde girl. She turned her head toward him as he walked in. And suddenly, the entire room sparked a brilliant, mesmerizing gold. He blinked.

The child had gone very quiet, looking puzzled as he squinted. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, his intravenous drip shaking against the back of his hand. Historia stood up, brushing past Erwin, and he followed her out the door without sparing the child another glance.

He caught Historia by the arm as she stalked off.

"You can't just heal people like that," he told her.

"Yes I can." She shrugged him off. "Why can't I? Isn't that what we do? Help people?"

"You can't heal everyone."

"No." She looked up at him, and he saw gold had singed inside her gauzy blue eyes. She was smiling dazedly, looking a little high off her own power. "But I can try."

Erwin studied her face, her starry eyes and her parted lips and the liquid that seemed to leak like molten gold from her tearducts. Bloodshot, red rimmed, gold flecked, cloudy. Her eyes told him she was hardly even there. Her mind was in a haze. Her power had half consumed her, and she was drinking it all in.

"Come with me," he told her sharply. She didn't seem to want to, but after an acute stare, she followed him with unsteady steps. He held her by the shoulders.

They returned to the Pediatric Ward twenty minutes later, two cups of coffee and a sober Historia better for wear. She sipped tentatively at the steaming liquid, looking a little exhausted. She apologized for what he power had done to her, but Erwin assured her it wasn't her fault. He wondered why her power had such an intoxicating effect, however. Perhaps it was a cautionary sign.

"I never thanked you," she said suddenly after some more time had passed. Erwin was keeping an eye out for a doctor, but none had come him way just yet.

"Thank me?" Erwin peered at her, smiling dimly. "What for?"

"Saving Ymir." She took a sip of her coffee, keeping the Styrofoam cup at her lips as she stared sullenly ahead of her. "I guess I didn't really appreciate it then, but I do now. It's better that she's alive… and away from me… than dead by Eren's hand."

"I never intended any harm to her," Erwin said. Though that was not entirely a truth. He had not had any real plan for Ymir. First and foremost he'd wanted to capture her, but beyond that had to be up to discussion. "It's unfortunate she's so lost to us now. It seems as though Eren's no longer out to murder her."

"Yes," she sighed. "I'd like to find her. If that's alright."

"We'll figure something out."

Historia lowered her cup of coffee, glancing at Erwin over the twirling rolls of steam. "Can you not see her future?" she asked confusedly. "She's not with Armin. Shouldn't you know where she'll be?"

"I should," he said. "However, my foresight is not always reliable. And also, strangely, I'm unable to see Ymir's future at the moment."

She snorted into her coffee, and Erwin peered at her, surprised. "Your power kinda sucks," she said quietly.

"I'm plagued by misfortune," he said, chuckling. She smiled minutely, and took another sip of her coffee.

They sat there for another ten minutes, finishing up their coffee and speaking in low tones. Erwin had not expected this day to be so long. It wasn't incredibly bothersome, but the longer they stayed here, the more concerned he grew. His dread was rapidly increasing with every second that passed.

He took Historia's empty cup and went to throw it away in the nearest trashcan down the hall. He stood there for a moment after he disposed of them, and he rubbed his face tiredly. He could weather this, of course. That wasn't the matter at hand. It was Historia and Armin. Whatever happened, could they handle the pressure? He wasn't certain enough to make a gamble on it.

"Erwin?"

He turned slowly, startled at the familiar voice. It took a lot to startle him, but this voice had. The man only just behind him was taller than even Erwin, a scruffy looking man with shaggy hair and a stubby beard. His nose was particularly large, and Erwin found that was the most recognizable feature of his old friend. He smiled wanly.

"Mike," he said, unable to keep his shock out of his tone. "Well, this is a surprise. How are you?"

"Uh, fine." Mike's eyes were wide as he stared at Erwin, his mouth dropping open. "Where's your cane?"

"My…?" Erwin froze. He'd forgotten.

Ah. What a fool he was.

Mike Zacharias studied his face, his expression only growing more and more alarmed. "You can see," he said, very clearly uncertain. Erwin nodded, unable to speak. "That's… damn, Erwin, that's amazing. I could've sworn your vision was permanently impaired."

He smiled grimly. "Yes," he said, "well I suppose the diagnosis was wrong. I've regained full visibility."

"Ha!" Mike grinned broadly. "How about that! Well, I'm glad to hear it. Say, if it's not too much trouble we should grab a few beers and catch up."

Erwin noticed his scrubs for the first time, and he mentally scolded himself for being so inattentive. "You work here," he observed.

"Yeah, went from nursing soldiers to nursing infants." Mike laughed. "Nah, but it's not so bad. It's more rewarding, in a way. So who're you here for?"

Erwin was reluctant to speak. He wasn't prepared for what this unseen future had in store for him. "Armin Arlelt," he said. He watched Mike's face change rapidly, his eyes blinking in alarm as he averted his gaze. "You know him."

"I've been with him," Mike said cautiously. "Yeah…"

"Then you know what's wrong with him?" Erwin took a step forward, searching Mike's face for any sign of what laid ahead. He was only very keen on avoiding eye contact. Which was not a good sign.

"I can't really disclose—"

"Mike," Erwin said sharply, his eyes flashing with fury. "He's my son."

And just like that, Mike's expression seemed to crumple. He turned his eyes to Erwin, watching him, searching him, and finding whatever truth he was looking for. He stood, tightlipped and hunched, his eyes softening and hardening and softening again. He looked at Erwin as though he didn't know him, as if the years they had spent as friends had been nothing but a hazy dream.

"I had no idea you had a son," he said tersely.

"It's been awhile, Mike," Erwin said. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Mike's face was the kind of somber that made him look years and years older than he truly was. Silence stretched before them as Mike gave a short, curt nod. He glanced away, his body coiling with tension. "Follow me," he said.

Erwin nearly did without thinking. "Wait," he said. Mike stopped, and shot him a puzzled look. Erwin turned around, taking a few strides down the hall. "Historia!"

The girl looked up at him, very clearly startled. He waved her over, and she jumped to her feet, moving very slowly at first. Then she broke into a sprint until she was at Erwin's side, her eyes darting wildly between him and Mike. She looked just about ready to sink into the folds of her oversized pink jacket.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Is it Armin?"

Mike peered at the girl curiously. "And who's this?" he asked, smiling. Erwin pressed his arm to Mike's chest, shooting him a sharp look.

"My daughter," he said. "Don't sniff her."

"Hey, I'm in a professional work area!" Mike shook his head, his shaggy hair bunching around his ears. "I would never."

"Don't think I buy that for a second." Erwin angled himself so Historia was behind him. "Take us to Armin, Mike."

Mike took a deep breath, glancing between them uncertainly. "Oh," he sighed, "alright. Come on." He ushered them forward, and Erwin felt his stomach churn once more. He grimaced. "I just have to ask you a few questions, Erwin, if that's okay."

"It's fine."

Mike nodded, his broad shoulders moving as he turned completely forward. "How often does Armin get headaches?" he asked.

Erwin stared ahead. "Often," he said quietly.

"Has he experienced any vision changes recently?"

He walked forward. He recollected the time before he'd "permanently" lost his sight. This was all beginning to sound very familiar. "He recently had to get glasses," Erwin said.

"How about unexplained nausea?"

"I'm not sure."

"Vomiting?"

"Yes," Historia blurted. Erwin glanced at her. "Yes, very often."

"How are the sensations in his limbs?"

"I… don't know."

"His balance?"

"Not very good," Historia said.

"Does he have difficulty speaking?"

"I'm not sure what would constitute, but I suppose he does sometimes…"

"Slurred speech, stuttering…" Mike waved his hand. "That sort of thing. What about behavioral changes? Loss of interest, or mood swings?"

"Mike…" Erwin said, staring at the man's back. "What are these symptoms of?"

"Armin has mood swings sometimes…" Historia said quietly. "It's a little creepy."

Mike nodded. "How's his appetite?"

"Nonexistent," she said. "He thinks if he doesn't eat he'll throw up less."

"That's… troubling." Mike glanced back at them. "He might have an eating disorder. I'm going to recommend a nutritionist for him, okay?"

"We live in New York, Mike," Erwin said. "So unless your nutritionist travels…"

"I know a few nutritionists in New York, Erwin, don't you worry." Mike didn't sound very playful at all. It was jarring. "Okay, here's a biggie. Seizures?"

"Once," Erwin said thickly. "Not too long ago."

"How about memory?"

Historia laughed. It was a bitter sound.

"Mike," Erwin said darkly.

Mike paused before a door. He turned to them, and he nodded. "He's in here," he said quietly. Erwin felt a tiny hand at his back, bunching a fistful of his coat anxiously. He looked down at Historia, and saw that she was staring wide eyed, her lips parted and her expression dazed. Mike gave them a sympathetic glance. He pushed open the door.

Of course Erwin had been expecting to see Armin in a hospital bed, but it was still strange. He was a tiny lump in a huge cot, nothing but a candlewick of fluffy yellow hair supporting the theory that there was a boy somewhere within that expansive white mattress. An IV drip ran in a squiggly line down under the thin white covers, disappearing somewhere amongst the empty space and Armin's tiny body. Erwin could hear him breathing soft, shallow breaths.

"He's asleep," Erwin murmured.

"Yeah, we sedated him." Mike shut the door behind them, and Erwin looked at him very sharply. He noticed, and he held up his hands. "Whoa there, it wasn't unwarranted. He told us he has trouble sleeping. As in, he gets an average of half an hour of sleep per night. This week alone he's only slept four hours. Last week he said it might've been six." Mike was now looking at a clipboard, scratching his beard as he frowned. "He doesn't know. He's been losing track of time recently. He can't read the numbers on the clock. He struggles with understanding letters and numbers, and he says sometimes when he does fall asleep he wakes up in strange places, and he hasn't a clue how he got there. He sleep walks. He has hallucinations, Erwin."

Historia turned away, wandering over to Armin's bed and sitting down at the edge. Erwin watched her, feeling sickened and sad. Armin's ragged breaths gave them enough assurance that he was alive under that lump of white, but it was so hard to be sure. Erwin remembered waking up in a hospital bed once. The scents had been excruciating. Antiseptic and bleach. Sick people. Old people. Dead people. But he'd seen none of it. Only the hollow blackness of his own brain.

"Did you know about any of this?" Mike asked.

No.

"Somewhat," Erwin said levelly.

"Will we wake him up?" Historia asked, staring at the boy in the bed. "By talking like this?"

"He won't be waking up for a while," Mike said. "Which is a good thing. He needs the rest."

"Mike," Erwin sighed. "I'm tired. What I need right now is for you to tell me what the hell is wrong with him."

Mike closed his eyes. He nodded, and then turned to Historia. "Would it be okay if I talk to your dad alone?" he asked her gently.

She shot him a long, withering look.

"No," she said in a quiet, throaty voice.

He grimaced, his eyes turning to Erwin's face worriedly. Erwin shook his head. "She's not a child, Mike," he said firmly. "She can take it."

"Yeah," Mike sighed, "yeah, okay. Well, the good news is that his concussion is very mild."

Erwin stared at him expectantly. Historia had settled at the corner of Armin's bed, watching the slow rise and fall on his tiny form. Mike was very clearly reluctant about telling them. There could be a number of reasons why. The diagnosis, or the situation, or it could be simply that Mike knew Erwin personally, and his personal feelings were mucking up his judgment.

Mike referred back to his clipboard.

"We performed a CT scan," he said, "and then an MRI scan. The results are not a hundred percent conclusive, as they will have to be looked at by a specialist, but we were able to determine an intracranial growth."

"A tumor," Erwin said. His mouth had gone dry.

Mike nodded. "We're preparing to do a biopsy," he said, "in order to determine if the tumor is malignant or benign."

"It's malignant."

Erwin turned to Historia. Mike's eyes had risen to her as well, his mouth parting in confusion. She glanced between them, and she shrugged. "He had a tumor when he was little," she said.

Mike stared at her in bewilderment, and he came closer to her. "Can you tell me how old he was?" he asked.

She shrugged, plucking at the ends of her skirt. "Between… six and nine, I think…"

Mike took quick note of that. "And the tumor was malignant? You know for sure?"

"I doubt there was anything benign about it." Historia buried her mouth in the collar of her jacket, her eyes dropping to the floor. She looked very small. Very young. Hardly a teenager. And Armin looked like a child too. Perhaps it ran in the family.

"Even so," Mike said, continuing to scrawl onto his clipboard, "we're going to keep him here overnight, and then run some additional tests."

"That's not necessary."

Historia jumped to her feet, whirling to face the bed with wide eyes. Erwin watched as the tiny lump stirred, the white woolen blanket sliding from the boy's hollow face. He was pale. Dazed. He looked about the same as he had that morning. Only now Erwin knew why. It was a strange feeling of emptiness. There wasn't much relief in knowing. Not this time.

"Armin," Mike said, sounding surprised. "You're awake."

"It's hard to stay asleep when you've got tastes going sour inside your mouth," the boy mumbled, his face half-buried in a pillow. Erwin could not for the life of him tell if Armin was drugged, or if he was just feeling particularly candid.

Mike seemed to take it as the former, for he smiled. "Tastes, huh?" He hugged his clipboard. "What kinds of tastes?"

"Something like pine scented airfreshners and lemon peels."

Mike wrote that down. Armin's one visible eye followed the movement of his hand. The boy's dull yellow hair curled against his cheek. "Armin, you understand the severity of your situation, don't you?" Mike asked.

"Mm…" Armin did not lift his head from his pillow. "You mean, do I understand that I'm dying?"

"You're not dying Armin," Mike said firmly.

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Armin…" Erwin said. There was an unspoken warning in his tone that he seemed to catch, for he sat up, his blanket crumpling into his lap.

"I'm sorry," Armin said, his voice soft and slurred. "Please continue. What are my options?"

Mike glanced at Erwin, but did not pause in his response. "Judging by the location of the growth— the fourth ventricle— as well as your age, it's very possible you have an ependymoma tumor. We'll have to remove it as soon as possible."

"Of course," Armin said dully. He huddled in his blanket, staring vacantly ahead. "And if it's inoperable?"

Mike stared at Armin, and Erwin found himself smiling. Armin had an extraordinary ability to make something uncomfortable and make it even more so for anyone who he found grating. And Erwin could tell Armin wasn't very fond of Mike. It wasn't something he could be blamed for.

"We'll determine that after a neurologist looks at your scans," Mike said cautiously. Armin watched him, the corners of his lips quirking upward, but he said nothing. "Hopefully we can remove the growth quickly and efficiently. Armin, I don't want you to be scared. This isn't a death sentence."

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Thanks, Dr. Zacharias. But can I get treatment for this, um, maybe like… at home?"

Mike grimaced. "That's… not something advisable—"

"I'll sign whatever waivers you need me to sign, you don't have any responsibility if I drop dead on the car ride home." Armin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Actually, that's my job," Erwin pointed out.

"Oh." Armin blinked blearily at him, and he nodded. "Right. Erwin will sign. But you might want to give him the papers now, because he's going to dissect every solitary word before he puts a pen to it."

Mike nodded vaguely, and he smirked. "Sounds about right." He jerked his chin. "Erwin, can I talk to you out in the hall for a moment?"

Historia watched them, backing slowly toward Armin until she was sitting on the bed beside him, her dull eyes following their movements toward the door. Mike shut the door behind them. The man took a very deep breath, and he shot Erwin an apologetic glance.

"This isn't going well," he said with a weak little laugh. "I… damn, I'm usually better at these sort of things."

"It's fine," Erwin said. "In all honesty, I don't think any of us are surprised. But what we really need right now, Mike? It's home. We can't stay the night."

"You can't let something like this go, Erwin." Mike's eyes were narrowed, and he clapped a hand against Erwin's shoulder. "We don't know how long it's been growing, and leaving it alone only increases the risks."

"I appreciate everything you've done," he said, "truly. But one night won't kill him, and all he wants is to go home. Out of curiosity, how did he react when the nurses had to touch him?"

Mike looked puzzled. His brow knitted together beneath his shaggy fringe of hair, and he frowned. "Actually, he asked that we wear gloves," he said. "He said skin contact makes him highly uncomfortable, to the point of panic attacks. We thought it'd be best to minimize that kind of behavior, since he'd need to keep still during the scans."

"He's very sensitive, yes." Erwin didn't know how else to describe it. But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Armin had found a way around forging unwanted connections with the nurses and doctors who treated him. It was Armin, after all.

"Erwin." Mike gave him a long, level stare. "It's really not as bad as it seems."

"You know," he said, smiling dimly, "people told me that when I lost my eyesight."

Mike's smile was wan, and it was close to crumbling as he swatted Erwin playfully on the ear. "Hey, see!" He nodded firmly. "And you got better!"

Erwin found himself shooting Mike a dark look. This was not what he wanted to hear, and it seemed Mike caught on, because he bowed his head. "He's been through a lot," Erwin mused aloud. "He didn't need this."

"I'm sorry," Mike said, looking and sounding very earnest. "He's a good kid. But trust me, he's got good chances. I can recommend some really good surgeons. Hell, I'll make it my priority to get him exactly what he needs to make a full recovery."

"Mike, you don't—"

"Nah, I do." Mike smiled. "I'll go get the forms you'll need to discharge him. I'll schedule him in to get looked at by a specialist in Brooklyn on Monday, since the scans should be verified by then. You live near Brooklyn, right?"

"Yeah," Erwin said. "That's… that's perfect. Thank you."

Mike snorted. "Not even a problem." He squeezed Erwin's shoulder reassuringly. "Actually, one question."

Of course, Erwin thought amusedly. "Shoot."

"Why does he call you Erwin?" Mike moved very slowly past him, watching Erwin as he went. "And not dad?"

"He's not my biological son." Erwin ran a hand through his hair, feeling his scalp and closing his eyes. "Neither of them are really mine."

"Ah," Mike smiled grimly. "That explains a few things."

"Yeah. You'll probably need to take that into account, since you can't look at my medical history for answers."

"Very true." Mike winked. "Always thinking, you are."

Erwin shook his head in disbelief. It was strange how his old friends seemed so keen on being loyal to him. He couldn't say it was surprising, exactly. He knew he was charismatic. He utilized that. But after years and years of silence, these men still remained friends to him. Amazing.

"It's pure, unadulterated talent, I imagine," he said.

Mike laughed, backing away slowly. "Hey, do me a favor," he said, pointing at him as he retreated. "Talk to him. And don't make him feel like he's broken, or something. He doesn't need any of that bull."

"I'll keep that in mind," Erwin said, nodding distantly. He watched Mike disappear down the hall, and he stood for a moment in the perpetually off-white corridor that stretched endlessly from side to side. Erwin closed his eyes, and he tried. He imagined Armin's face, and her pushed through the fogs of his mind, begging for some inkling of a future. But there was nothing. Just a familiar inky blackness.

There was too much irony in Armin blinding him.

Erwin reentered the room, finding Historia and Armin facing each other, sitting cross-legged on the bed. They'd stopped talking upon his appearance, two pairs of dull blue eyes falling on his face in synchronized tilts of the heads. How eerie these two were.

Historia climbed off the bed, smoothing out her skirt. "I'm going to get you food," she said suddenly, staring at nothing in particular.

"Historia—" Armin objected as he struggled to sit upright.

"Shut up."

She moved past Erwin, her head bowed, and he stopped her at the door. "Don't make any extra stops," he warned her. She stared at him vacantly, and then puffed out her cheeks in indignation. She nodded curtly and brushed past him, hurrying out the door.

Erwin stood, his back to the door, and Armin watched him with his vague, distant gaze. He pulled up his knees to his chest and embraced them tightly. Erwin watched, uncertain and unable to move. Armin looked so much younger than he truly was, with big eyes and pouty lips. His hair was disheveled around his head, a mop of unruly yellow strands.

"Hey," Erwin said.

Armin studied him, resting his cheek against his knees. He was very quiet, and Erwin wondered if it was a struggle for Armin to see him. He didn't have his glasses on, after all. Erwin made up his mind and took a few long strides to Armin's bed, until he was directly at his side. His eyes trailed upward, focusing on Erwin's face.

"Hi." He straightened his neck, blinking a little dazedly. "So."

"So…"

It was an awkward silence, short and full of anxiety and tension. They both knew exactly what was the matter, and it was difficult to process. Erwin wondered how he felt about all this. If he was relieved to know what was wrong, or if he was terrified. It was all very strange. Sadness wasn't the feeling, exactly. More like… an absence of understanding. The world seemed suddenly too big.

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long," Armin said quietly.

"Don't be silly."

"It wasn't supposed to take this long…" Armin closed his eyes, resting his body back against his pillow. "Maybe it would've been better if we never came. Historia's upset about our mom, and I don't think talking to Reiss did her any good. And then this happened."

"Armin." Erwin sat down near his feet, turning his body to face him. They were now almost eyelevel. His eyes opened hesitantly, and he squinted at Erwin's face. "How long have you known?"

He smiled vacantly. He tilted his head, his eyes cast down toward his knees. "Since my seizure," he said.

"Armin!"

The boy sat up straight, dropping his knees and staring into Erwin's eyes. "It's not important, Erwin," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's not a priority. I… I didn't want to distract everyone from… from what was really important. I didn't want to be a burden."

"Armin, this is your life." Erwin could not contain his anger. How? How could someone have such little self-regard? Had Armin learned nothing? "You are important. You are a priority. You need to get it out of your head that you're a burden."

Armin bowed his head. There was clearly a lot going on in it that Erwin would never understand, but this was ridiculous. He couldn't keep putting himself down in favor of other things that he deemed more important. It was a little frustrating.

Of course, Erwin struggled with his perception of the value of human life. But not Armin's. Armin's life meant something.

It possibly meant everything.

"The institute," Armin whispered, his eyes rising hesitantly to meet Erwin's. "It was never about… about creating human weapons."

Erwin tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

"Erwin." Armin's eyes were suddenly very wide. "D-don't you see it? The experimentation was never about creating a destructive force, it was… it was about healing."

"Armin—"

"Armin Arlelt, brain tumor," he cut in, and his eyes brightened considerably under his resolve. "Historia Reiss, comatose. Eren Jaeger, muscular dystrophy. Annie Leonhardt, leukemia. Reiner Braun, lung cancer. Bertholdt Hoover, melanoma. My mother had a severe type of epilepsy that went without medication for a really long time. Levi had HIV. Connie was hit by a car, and then Ilse came along and gave him something that made him be able to walk again. Rico said she was sick when she was approached about the institute. And you…" Armin tilted his head, smiling grimly. "You went blind after you hit your head in Afghanistan, and left the concussion unchecked."

Erwin sat, feeling stunned as he let this sink in. How had it never occurred to him before? Of course, he'd gone into the facility knowing they were going to try and get his eyesight back. But he'd always assumed there had been some sort of ulterior motive beyond that. But, as a collective, it did seem like their goal had been to cure an array of different maladies.

"And… Mikasa and Ymir?" Erwin watched Armin's face as his smile tightened. "What was wrong with them?"

"Nothing… at least, not with Mikasa." Armin rubbed his temples, and he grimaced. "I think there's something else up with Mikasa. And Levi. They're… both Ackermans, right?"

"I haven't a clue if that means they're related."

"Well, I think they're connected somehow. Mikasa was never sick, as far as I know, and I've got no idea about Ymir. Maybe Eren knows something, or Connie, or Petra." He scratched at his knuckles, staring dazedly into space. "The trouble is, I guess, that my illness came back. When I… when I realized what was wrong with me, I was mostly concerned about the idea that maybe…"

Erwin's heart sank into his chest.

"The positive effects of the procedures might not be permanent," Erwin finished.

Armin glanced at him. He sat in his hospital bed, looking half a corpse as he smiled. His bony shoulders rose and fell. "There were so many side effects," he said, leaning back and forth, his body swaying to in fro as though he was an impatient child waiting to be given a cookie. "It was always experimental, Erwin. But, if this is happening, then I would like it to start and end with me."

Very suddenly Erwin tried to imagine a life without Armin. It was as if every future open to him had gone black. What would all this work amount to if Armin could not witness it? Erwin had urged Armin to become a hero out of faith that Armin's abilities could change the future. But it had been too long since Erwin had seen a future with Armin in it.

"You won't die," Erwin said.

Armin blinked. Dull eyes. Blue eyes. They seemed to be the most colorful thing in this room. "You don't know that."

"Does it matter if I know something for certain?" He reached out, and he took Armin's hands. They felt oddly cold. Soft, but cold. And bony. And small. And Erwin felt as though he had missed something crucial in raising this boy. He must have done something wrong. The blame was inevitably pinned on him. He'd rightfully bear it.

Armin smiled. Chapped lips. White lips. They stretched into a thin little line. "I'm so glad you didn't see this coming," he whispered.

His words echoed inside Erwin's brain. They were a dull thrum, like an old song that had been overplayed and reduced to nothing but a vacuous tune. A tune he knew well.

But I did, he thought, feeling sickened by his own failure. He stared at Armin's tiny, bony hands, and squeezed them tightly.

Erwin had made a lot of not so nice choices in his life. He'd lived with them. His current position as a pacifist made him feel a little at ease with his crimes, but even still. He'd compromised too many times in his life for him to be deemed a good person by any standard. Perhaps that was what his crusade had been all about. Atonement. Self-assurance. He'd wanted something good to come out of what he'd done, and what had been done to him. And he supposed Armin was the complicated crux of the solution. He'd pushed Armin into a future that he wanted so badly, and now there wasn't any future that had Armin in it. How cruel.

Something warm and wet hit his knuckles. Beneath his hands, Armin's were quaking, and his body was no different. He shook like a leaf in a torrential downpour, and he sniffled, turning his face away in shame as he attempted to wipe away his tears on his shoulder. Erwin let go of his hands, and he quickly tackled the thick streams of tear tracks that glistened on his flushed cheeks. His breaths were hollow and thin, and his lips were parted as he covered his eyes, shaking his head profusely.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, "I'm sorry…"

"Shh," Erwin hushed, edging closer and taking him by the shoulders. "You don't need to apologize, I understand your reasoning. But reason isn't everything."

"I'm tr-trying to see a bright s-side," he hiccupped, curling into himself. His voice was strained, thick with tears, and a sob was perched upon his tongue. "I… I don't know. I'm scared, Erwin…"

"It's okay," Erwin whispered, pulling Armin to his chest as the sob he'd been holding was released, crackling against the air like a burst of electricity. He felt as though his brain had been fried. His fingers were jerky as they combed slowly through Armin's hair, helplessly trying at some semblance of comfort. "Armin, it's fine to be scared. Everyone gets scared."

He didn't respond. He clutched at Erwin's coat, grasping fistfuls of it as he sobbed into his chest, hiccupping and shaking and coughing and wheezing. Every once and a while he'd throw in a choked, "I'm sorry…" Erwin held him tightly, feeling as though he'd gone back in time, and this was that terrified little stranger who'd followed him out of a fire. It was hard to accept that this was a truth, that they would have to deal with this, address it, treat it. And if they failed, it could be fatal.

Erwin felt like crying too.

He kissed the top of Armin's head as his sobs began to die down. He smelled familiar, a strange mingling of ink and dust and something sweet, such a different smell than the antiseptic sting of the hospital around them. He listened as his sobbing drifted into soft, heavy breaths, and his forehead rested against Erwin's chest as he sniffled. Erwin rubbed slow circles around his back, listening to him hiccup and feeling him burrow his face further into the folds of Erwin's jacket.

They were both very quiet for a few minutes. There was a knock at the door. Armin pulled away from Erwin, sinking into his cot and turning onto his side. "Dr. Zacharias," he murmured.

Erwin nodded, rising to his feet. He made his way to the door, shooting a glance back at the boy. He was curled up under the blanket again, his breaths back to being ragged and shallow. Perhaps they were always like that, and Erwin had never noticed. He left the door open as he exited, turning his back to Armin.

"Mike." Erwin nodded to the man as he handed over a thin packet of papers.

He began to read through the forms he'd been given. Ultimately, it seemed straightforward. He filled out the papers, thankful for the health benefits he had as a result of his service. It wasn't as tedious as Armin had bemoaned about. It had actually been quite simple. He handed to forms back to Mike, and he flipped through them quickly, nodding.

"Well," he said. He entered Armin's room, and Erwin followed. "Looks good. Let me just get the IV out, and then he can get dressed into his regular clothes… wait, what the hell?"

The bed was empty.

At the corner of the carefully made cot, Armin's hospital gown was folded neatly.

Erwin would never understand that boy.

"How…?" Mike looked around the room wildly, whirling in place with a slackened jaw. Erwin turned away, nodding to Mike curtly.

"Don't worry about it, Mike," he said. "Thank you for everything you've done. If you're ever in New York, you have my contact information.

"Erwin, your son just fucking disappeared," Mike stated in a flat tone. "Can you explain that?"

"I could, actually," he said, backing cautiously away from the man. "However, I don't really have the time. And you might need a few drinks to really process it. Maybe another time."

"You're kidding me."

"Afraid not." Erwin stalked toward the door, feeling furious and distraught. "Goodbye, Mike."

"Uh, bye?"

He couldn't have gotten far. He had to still be in the building. Erwin pulled his phone from his pocket and checked where Armin's phone was. It wasn't difficult to track. A floor down. Okay, Erwin thought, striding forward. Okay, he must have a reason. Armin doesn't do things without a plan. There's something I'm missing in what he's feeling.

"Erwin?"

Historia was standing at the landing of the stairs outside the Pediatric Ward. She had a bag of chips in her arm, and a bottle of chocolate milk. Erwin gestured her to follow him as he headed down the steps. She quickly fell in time with him, her eyes widening as they went.

"Wait, what's going on?" she asked slowly. "We can't be going, can we…? Where's Armin?"

"He ran off," Erwin said. "I'm tracking his phone right now."

"What?" She didn't sound too surprised, which made Erwin wonder how well she knew Armin. If she truly did know him better than he did. "Why?"

"Historia, I've already told you." Erwin exited the stairwell, pushing through a pair of doors and finding himself in an elongated hallway. "I don't think I'll ever understand Armin."

She followed him down the length of the corridor, her head whipping around slowly. "This feels weird," she said. The hall was like the rest of the hospital. Off-white everywhere, in a blindingly bleached out sort of way. The expanse of the hall seemed to go on and on both ways. A tunnel to nowhere. Erwin paused. He dialed Armin's number. "Erwin… I don't like this."

The sound of distant ringing filled the empty hall. Erwin whirled around, pulling his phone from his ear in order to get a better grasp on where the ringing was coming from. "There's something…" Historia whispered. He moved down the hallway, growing more and more determined as the sound's volume increased. It was like a steady thrum in his head. An echo of words he wished he'd never heard. I'm so glad you didn't see this coming. "I don't know… hazy…" Her voice was a comfort, if nothing else. It reminded him what he was listening to. The sound was blasting in his ears. "It just doesn't feel right here."

Erwin stopped before a potted plant beside an exit door. The blaring red sign burned into Erwin's retinas. He stood, his phone gripped in hand, and he listened to Historia's soft footfalls as she neared him.

"Armin's not here," she said quietly, "is he?"

Erwin stared vacantly ahead.

"No," he said, fishing the boy's phone out from between the snaggled roots of the plant inside the pot. "He doesn't want us to find him."

"Are you sure…?"

Erwin peered at the screen. He stared at it, and he understood one thing for certain about Armin. He could not be pinned down.

He turned the phone to Historia.

It said: Found lead, got to follow. Don't tell others about tumor. Love you both.

Sorry.

Well. There it is.

Mm, I think I got emotional at some point during this chapter, but I can't remember when or why. Anyways, shout out to Bec for reassuring me while I was writing this chapter. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive about it because I understand that the storyline could be problematic, but it's something I've actually had planned out since chapter one. Seriously, not many things are like that.

Another thing I'd like to note is that I'm actually a little familiar with the effects of brain tumors, since my grandma had one, and I do have vague recollections of how that affected her. I understand that it sort of just eats away at your personality, and I can't even imagine what that must be like. But yeah, I don't remember too much of it because she lived five hours away and, frankly, I think I just really isolated those memories and decidedly ignored a lot of what was happening around me when I was around her.

Illness is... um, well, it makes people uncomfortable. That's the thing. I'm not immune to that. People just don't know how to act when a person is sick. I was trying really hard to get into Armin's head with this, to try and understand what he might be feeling with all of this on top of the bullshit he already had to deal with.

As excited as I was to write this chapter, it's probably best to keep in mind that I'm not an expert, and this could probably still be insensitive, even though I tried really hard. I'm not sure how much of a twist this even really is. Steph ended up guessing it yesterday when I asked her to tell me her theories. But I hope it explains a few things pertaining to Armin's behavior up until this point.