Vigilantia Pretium Libertatis

by aradian nights

Five years ago, an accident freed Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlelt from an experiment that forced the most extraordinary powers onto them. After five years of being raised apart to be heroes by a set of three very different adults, they meet again. As they uncover the truth behind their captivity they realize being free and being heroes are just illusions. Hero AU.

36. free yourself (from hell)

libera te tutemet (ex inferis)

Ashland, Virginia

a.d. Non. Nov., 2766 A.U.C.

When Marco had disappeared, the relief had been palpable. Of course, none of them had been convinced that this was the end of the struggle, but for the moment it was a small victory. They had not come to destroy Marco, after all, only retrieve those who needed to be retrieved and possibly get some answers. It was still hazy, more or less, to most of them.

Upon Marco's disappearance, Armin fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, disbelief stretching in his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was such… such a fool… I was so stupid, and I wish I'd been smarter, but I needed to know these things before I—"

"Shut up," Eren said, dropping to his knees beside Armin and pulling him into a swift, tight hug. "Nobody gives a flyin' fuck, okay?"

Armin's disbelieving words were muffled against Eren's shoulder, and Eren thought this was so surreal because he'd been losing faith in the idea that he might see Armin again. But here he was. Alive. Sick as hell, but still alive in spite of everything. Eren could not believe Armin's strength. He could not believe Armin's will. It was so astonishing and so gratifying, and Eren was left with a loss of words.

Erwin's plan had been catering to the idea that Marco was indeed alive and actually the head honcho of the entire situation, which was good, because it had ended up being true. He'd picked Annie and Jean specifically because he wanted Marco distracted. Neither person was someone that Marco could just ignore if they came knocking on his doorstep. Jean had been marginally filled in about the plan, but not enough to tip Marco off. Connie had managed to use his speed to their advantage, running to California and back to retrieve Rico.

Basically, Erwin had ran his plan on a hunch, and he fucking succeeded because Marco was a lot more unstable than any of them had anticipated.

"Um," said a weak voice from behind Annie. Eren glanced up and saw, with a bit of irritation, that it was Bertholdt speaking. After Rico had gotten them all inside undetected, they'd run into Reiner, Annie, Bertholdt, Ymir, and Historia. Eren had no time for reunions, though, because he wanted to be the first one to greet Marco. "What's going to happen now?"

"They're not going to execute you, Bertl," Ymir said dully, whacking the tall boy on the back. "Chill, ese."

"I'd like to personally speak with you all," Erwin said, pointing distinctively to Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, and Ymir, "individually. But not here."

"That's just fucking dandy," Levi said coolly. "But since we're here, shouldn't we do some recon?"

"I know almost everything Marco knows," Armin piped up, removing his head from Eren's chest. "I mean he did manage to hide some things from me… I haven't a clue what the formula is to create the serum he used to engineer us… but I'm glad I don't know things like that."

"Would you happen to know where Marco went?" Hange asked gently. "If they're still in the building, or—?"

"No, he left." Armin slumped against Eren's side, looking exhausted and spent. "I don't know where he went. But I don't think he'll be bothering us anymore."

They all were quiet. Mikasa bent beside Armin, rubbing his back very gently. Their mindlink was kicked back into use as Armin's fleeting thoughts trickled through their heads. Thank you, he thought, thank you, thank you, thank you…

Eren could feel Armin's love for them expand like a balloon inflating. He loved them. So much so, that it was almost too heavy an emotion to bear without some restraint. But Eren and Mikasa could manage. They were good at sharing the loads, and this feeling was so important that they could not afford to let it fall.

You'll never have to deal with something like this alone again, Eren thought to him firmly. Never.

We'll be here, Mikasa thought without missing a beat, her body leaning closer and her emotions bare for them to feel as contentment and fear toiled up like a storm within her. We're here for you. Forever. Don't ever try to go it alone again, Armin, please.

Armin's bony shoulders began to shake. There was no sound as he buried his face in his hand, but he was sobbing, and his fear and pain and loss were so immense that Eren felt his eyes sting and his throat close up and his heart wrench from the earth quaking power of it blasting through his mind. He bore it though. He could bear any agony if it meant keeping his friends by his side.

"I'd hate to interrupt such a tender moment," Rico said, materializing from within the wall behind them, "but there are guards in this facility. And numerous doctors. I actually just barely dodged Dr. Jaeger."

"My dad?" Eren blurted, his head shooting upward in alarm. A frantic sort of pressure pushed upon his chest at the thought of facing that man. "He's here?"

Rico glanced at him as though she had forgotten his last name was Jaeger, and she blinked confusedly. "Uh," she said, "yes. So I'd suggest leaving as soon as possible. I can take two or three people at a time, but only for a very short period. As most of you already know, but there are some new faces here."

"Bertholdt and I can hold off any guards coming this way," Reiner said, looking directly at Erwin. Eren was surprised, because had he not been loyal to Marco not ten minutes ago? What the fuck was up with him?

Eren, Armin thought, a wavering sound that fluttered in and out of his head like the beat of a bird's wings through the current of the wind. I think you should go talk to your dad.

"What?" he blurted aloud, leaning away from his tiny friend. Mikasa looked surprised as well, her lips parted open as she stared at Armin confusedly. "Why would I do that? Why should I?"

Because, Armin thought, clearly not trusting his voice, he loves you, and you may never see him again. Eren, our lives are so fleeting. Don't live on and regret not taking my advice in this moment, don't let this loose end go untied. Talk to your father.

If it had been anyone else, even Hange, Eren would have argued and pitched a fit so furious it would've shaken the entire building. But it was Armin. And Eren trusted Armin unconditionally. He nodded vacantly, pressing his hand to Armin's limp hair and wishing there was something he could do to make his suffering end. Armin did not deserve to be under such terrible stress, to believe that there was so little hope left. He'd given up on living already, Eren could sense it just from his shaky body and his shaky mind, the connection drawn and so telling that it hurt.

"I'll be right back," Eren swore, rising to his feet.

"Eren, where—?" Hange started, looking a little startled but mostly curious.

"I'm gonna go find my dad," he said, marching forward. "I've got a few things I gotta say. Don't try to stop me, 'kay?"

Hange blinked at him in disbelief. "Stop you?" They threw their head back and laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulder. He glanced at them in surprise. "Do you know how long I've wanted to talk to Grisha Jaeger? I'm just aching to ask him all my questions!"

"You two are nut jobs," Rico stated dully. "He's on the floor below us if you really want to get yourselves trapped here."

"That won't happen," Eren said firmly. "I won't let it. Hange?"

"Let's go, bud," they said, ruffling his hair and starting forward through the crowd of them. Historia was watching him the most keenly while Bertholdt and Reiner merely looked astonished. Ymir looked bored.

"I'll go with you," Historia said, stepping up in time with Eren's footsteps. No one objected. After all, she was more than capable of killing any of them.

She was capable of killing Marco, if she was in the mood to do so.

For a such a little thing, she was really creepy and terrifying.

"Cool," Eren said, resisting the urge to beam at her. "Why, though?"

"He's a doctor," she said simply. As if it were obvious.

"We're going to get Armin out of here," Erwin said, bending down and scooping Armin into his arms. Eren stared, and noted how alarmingly tiny Armin was in comparison. "Anyone who wants to come with us may as well. Though I'm warning you, I want explanations for your behavior up until this point."

"That's something we can definitely do," Reiner said.

"You three," Levi said, addressing Eren specifically with his dark eyes. "Hurry up. Or we'll leave you here."

"Yeah, okay," Eren snorted, whirling away and striding down the hall. He had no patience for anything at the moment, and his mind was fixated a bit on the thought of speaking to his father. He'd gone through this before. In London, in Paris, in Rome. He'd been through this anxiety and confusion, and he was done wondering and caring what his father had meant by getting involved in something as horrendous as human experimentation.

The truth was, Eren didn't know if the things that had happened to them were as bad as he thought they were. They'd been cured of terrible maladies, true enough, and it wasn't as thought they hadn't been willing participants. It all boiled down to the morality of it, and Eren just wasn't sure if he was right or wrong to judge his father for the things he had done.

They did run into a few guards on their way to the lower floor, following the doors to a stairwell that descended a further into the ground. Hange took care of them with some swift thinking and a swifter gun hand. Yeah, they were knocked out pretty fucking fast. Eren would never not be in awe of his adoptive parent. They truly had a gift for fucking shit up. It was beautiful.

"Are you okay?" Eren asked Historia as they moved down the steps. She was looking rather distant and bemused, not unlike her normal self, but Eren couldn't help but be concerned. She'd been with Marco for a little while, and who knew what the guy did to her head, right?

"Tired," she admitted, staring vacantly ahead of her. She turned her face away, and shrugged meagerly. "Sad."

"Sad," Eren repeated quietly. "Why?"

She glanced at him. Eren was consistently thrown for a loop when it came to Historia Reiss. He didn't know what she was thinking or feeling, and he didn't get why she was always so gloomy. He wanted her to be happy, but not that weird fake-happy shit she'd pulled for the first few months he'd known her. Sometimes Eren thought she was a lot like Armin, but other times he was just utterly lost at how they were even related.

"I just am," she said dully. "Do I need a reason?"

"Yeah, kinda?" Eren blinked rapidly, and he jumped when Hange's hand clapped on his shoulder. He glanced up at them, and he saw their sharp warning look. That confused him even more.

"Eren," Hange said, "come on. Sometimes sadness is like that, don't be rude about it."

"Oh," Eren said. He thought perhaps he could understand, if only by Hange's prompting, that Historia's sadness was more or less her depression peeking through. Eren didn't have any experience with that sort of stuff, so he couldn't be sure. He knew Hange knew better, though. So he listened to them. "Sorry, Historia."

"Don't worry about it." She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking a bit miserable. Eren wished he could make her feel better, but he didn't know how, so he was left feeling inadequate and stupid. He caught Historia's arm as another guard came rounding the corner, pausing upon looking at them. Then the guy promptly threw his hands up. Hange smiled at him brightly.

"Thank you!" they laughed, twirling their stungun. "Can you point me to where Grisha Jaeger is?"

"Down the hall a bit," the guard said, "uh… left. Go left. Big door, can't miss it."

"You're great," Hange said, rounding the man and gesturing for Eren and Historia to follow. Eren decided to flip the guard off just because, and Historia stood beside him, watching him with dull eyes and a small smirk. "Oi, Eren!"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, taking Historia's hand and drawing her forward. He felt a sensation of great pride as she turned around to flip the guard off just the same. The guy just looked at them like they were fucking crazy. "Hey, so what happened that night Ymir kidnapped you? Like how are you not mad at her about that?"

"Would you be mad if Mikasa or Armin dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night to go somewhere?" Historia glanced at him, and he scowled. She nodded, clearly already knowing the answer. "Yeah. See, I love Ymir. She's ridiculous, but I love her, and I'm okay with what she did for the most part. She was under Marco's thumb a bit, so I understand her reasoning. I know you hate her, though."

"Yeah, well, that can't be helped." Eren shrugged. His feelings about Ymir hadn't changed too much, but he wasn't gonna kill her or beat her up or even vocally express his hatred. He understood it wasn't fair, but he couldn't help his feelings on the matter.

"Is this it?" he asked, pointing at a large metal sliding door that greeted them as they neared the end of the hall. "Looks like you need a special pass to get in, Hange."

"Son," they said, rolling up their sleeves. "Please. I am an expert."

"Yeah, okay, you do your thing," he snorted.

He leaned back and waited as Hange set to work on hacking the sensor. Historia folded her arms across her chest, staring ahead of her with that same vacant stare she always wore, because she was sad, or because she was empty, or because she was just as lost as what to do now as he was.

"What will you do?" Historia asked him without sparing him a glance. "When Armin dies?"

"He's not going to die," Eren snapped at her, his anger too immense to rein in. She glanced at him with a plainly incredulous gaze, and she shrugged.

"Eventually he will," she said simply. He opened his mouth to object, but she went on without letting him, her voice becoming harder and bitterer with every word she spoke. "I've been thinking about it since I got here. Marco kept telling me that I could stop it, stop all of you from growing old and dying, and I… I want that. I want to be able to keep you all young and healthy like me forever." She turned her face away, and her entire body seemed to crumple like wet sand. "But as selfish as I am, I won't take away your lives just so you can humor me for a few centuries. I'm… I'm stronger than that, I think. I'm stronger than Marco."

Eren didn't know what to say. He'd never expected this from her. What was this? A candid sort of declaration from a girl who seemed to hate herself more than Eren could understand? He wanted to be here for her, to let her know that it was okay if she wasn't strong, but he appreciated her words, and he wanted her to be right.

"Historia…" Eren clapped her on the shoulder, making her jump in alarm. "I'm gonna make you a promise. You will never, ever have to be alone. We'll be here… for as long as we possibly can. And when we're gone, I guess, you'll have our kids— which, I mean, I'm sure some of us will have kids!" Eren found himself flushing in shock of his own words. "Hell, I never even really thought about it before, but like, hell, I might have kids, and they might have kids, and you can be a part of their lives like you're a part of mine. So you don't have to be scared, or sad, or anything because you think you'll be left by yourself." He smiled at her firmly. "You ain't gonna age, right? Well, you can make sure my like, great great grandson doesn't fuck up his entire future and join a gang or do some hyped up future drug or somethin'. You can just tell him that you didn't deal with his great great grandfather's bullshit so he could fuck up his entire life, like Jesus boy."

She was laughing. It was nice to hear her laugh.

"You're so weird," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands and turning away from him to muffle her giggles. "Maybe I don't want to babysit your descendents for the rest of my life, ever think of that?"

"Who wouldn't want to hang out with a bunch of baby Jaegers all day?" Eren asked blankly, fully satisfied when she laughed harder. "Anyway, seriously. Don't sweat the whole loneliness thing. Marco was just really fucked up, I think."

"He was," Historia said cautiously after she stopped laughing. Hange was standing by the sensor, listening to them. Eren realized they'd finished hacking already, and had been waiting patiently. "But… I do think he had the right intentions… and so did I. When I almost killed him. I wanted to… to give him the freedom he wanted so badly. But then I got scared. And then Armin stopped me. So now he's out there somewhere, and he might be anywhere. I don't know. But as glad as I am that I controlled it, I almost wish I didn't, because then we wouldn't have to worry about him ever again."

"Don't beat yourself up over that," Eren sighed. "I… I mean, I beat the shit outta him, yeah. But you've done so much already, and if you felt like he didn't deserve to die, then I trust that."

She stared at him in awe.

He let her stew in that awe, if only because his attention was shifted to the door and more importantly the man who resided in the room behind it. He started forward, leaving Historia to think on her own, and he nodded to Hange. The door slid open for him to enter, and as he did he felt his anxiety return with a grand swoop of fear and rage and uncertainty.

The room was rather like what Eren imagined the laboratory of a mad scientist would look like, if that mad scientist were more organized and less chaotic than Hange (who had their own mad scientist lab of a different caliber). There were so many different instruments all around Eren that he felt like he'd just walked into a biologist's safe haven— there were microscopes so advanced that Eren could hear Hange's breath catch in utter disbelief and excitement. He was kinda excited himself, in all honesty, because holy shit this was a lot of equipment.

He stared at the back of the man sitting across the room, leaning over a microscope and ignoring them like the asshole he was. He found himself flipping through a white rectangular box sitting on one of the tables near him, which was full of the kind of homemade slides kids made in their first year biology classes. Only each slide was a small blot of blood staining the surface of the cover slip, and each slide was marked accordingly with a name.

He pulled out the slide marked Eren Jaeger and began to twirl it between his fingers.

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse and shaky. "Dad."

The man did not crumple or jolt or react in any remarkable way. In fact, he did not react at all. He merely continued to peer into his microscope as though Eren had not spoken at all. It made him feel furious and foolish and above all, fatherless. What a joke this had been.

Eren dropped the slide onto the floor and crushed it beneath his heel.

"Did you go fuckin' deaf?" he snarled at his father, twisting his ankle to grind his heel into the shattered glass, listening to it crunch. "Or are you really so scared to look at me that you just think ignoring me, like you've done my entire life, will make me go away?"

His father turned. He wasn't so different than how he'd been when Eren had been younger, but now his face was a bit gaunt and sunken and his eyes a little duller and his hair a little thinner. Little whiskers of his mustache were salted gray. There were dark, plump circles ringing the lids of his eyes beneath his glasses. He did not straighten up, nor did he look at Eren directly. He merely stared dully at the space beside Eren, as though the shadow he was casting was a far more interesting sight than that of his missing son.

"Hello, Eren," his father said, his voice crisp and clear. "You look healthy."

Eren wanted to shout at him that he actually was not, that he had diabetes and was narcoleptic and that the motherfucker would know that if he'd even bothered to come and fucking find him, but he didn't. He bit back his rage filled words, and he stared at the man who had half raised him, wondering what kind of man could do what he had done to so many unfortunate, unwilling souls.

Eren didn't need to say a word. There was a long, shrill cry of fury, and the meaty smack of a fist hitting flesh, and Eren merely watched in muted awe as Hange decked his father so hard he went toppling into his table.

"Whoo!" Hange hooted, shaking their hand a bit. "Ah, did I break your jaw? Sorry, I've just been wanting to do that for years."

Hange is my hero, Eren thought as he stared at his adoptive parent with sparkling eyes, leaning forward excitedly as they turned around and peered into his father's microscope. "Hey, these are some fucked up blood cells!" Hange laughed, twisting to face Eren. "Look a bit like yours, boy wonder."

"Just broke mine," Eren said, lifting his foot and listening to the glass clink together softly.

"Huh," Hange said, grasping the slide and pulling it away from the microscope. Eren's father merely watched, looking rather somber as Hange held the slide up to the light. "Wowie, would you look at that! Historia, it's your blood!"

Historia was standing just behind Eren, looking just as somber and unamused as his father did. She folded her arms across her chest, and stared at the man pointedly.

"I got blood work done this morning," she said carefully.

"Why the fuck did you get blood work done?" Eren's eyes flickered to his father's face. The man simply stood, and he stared, and Eren felt furious once more. "That's so like you, ain't it? Just take things for no reason for the sake of your goddamn science project!"

"Eren…" Historia whispered, catching his elbow. When he glanced down at her, she shook her head at him furiously, and he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. He was wrong. "I asked for Dr. Jaeger to take my blood. I thought it might help. Armin, I mean."

"Oh," Eren said flatly. Well, how was he supposed to know that, huh? "Well, what's that gonna do?"

He heard his father take a deep breath. When Eren glanced at him, the man was a bit hunched over, his eyes focused on the ceiling. It was a strangled sort of breath, the sound of someone inhaling sharply in distress. Eren frowned.

"I wanted to see if it was possible," he father said slowly, "to synthesize an ink from Historia's blood that would work to strengthen a person's immune system to the point where the chances of becoming ill with anything are exceedingly low."

"An… ink?" Eren asked distantly. He noted Hange's eyes on his father's face, the look of startling interest and unwavering curiosity. They almost looked at his father as though they knew exactly what they were talking about. "Like, inside a pen? That makes no sense."

"Not like a pen, Eren," his father sighed, closing his eyes. "Tattoo ink."

Oh.

Eren stood with his mouth open as he registered those words.

Then it hit him.

"Oh!" he gasped, holding his head and jumping up and down, "oh, oh, oh!

"What?" Historia asked weakly.

"Levi!" he cried. "Levi's tattoo! It keeps him healthy!"

"Okay, but…" Historia bit her lip, and she took a step forward. "Dr. Jaeger, would that sort of thing… because it's Armin's skin… would it be able to get rid of a tumor?"

"I'm not certain I could even create the serum and then synthesize the ink, Historia," his father told her gently. "And if I was… the chances of it being ready in time…"

"You're useless," Eren hissed. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. He was so angry, and he was so sick of looking at this man, but his throat was closing up and he felt like sobbing.

"But say, hypothetically," Hange said urgently, "that it was. Would it get rid of the tumor?"

"When we first did Armin's procedure," his father said carefully, "we removed the tumor before using the serum. If possible, I would suggest doing the same again. Tumors are mysterious things, and I would not risk leaving it up to an experimental healing ink when the problem could be easily eradicated."

"Huh," Hange said, leaning back against the long table his father had been working at. They had a look on their face that suggested they knew something very important, but would not tell a soul out of spite. They smirked, and whistled lowly. "Well, then! What would this ink even do, if not heal him?"

"It'd prevent the tumor from ever returning, for one thing," his father said, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them on his coat. "I… I'll be the first to admit, this is all a guess of sorts. Armin has be the singular most difficult patient I've ever encountered while working on this project in terms of how… poorly his body receives treatment." His father shook his had fast, looking a bit distraught. "Don't get me wrong, Miss… ah, Hange?"

"Hange is fine," they said, tilting their head a bit as though what Eren's father was saying was fucking fascinating. Which, maybe it was, but he was too angry to care.

"Armin is extraordinarily gifted," he said firmly. "He has, by far, the most brilliant brain I've ever encountered. He has a frightening amount of power built up inside of him, with no place to store that kind of raw ability, and he's astonishingly willful for a boy with such a frail body. But even a child with his mental strength cannot fight a failing body, you must understand that. There is a very good chance there is nothing I, or any other doctor, can do."

"Fuck you," Eren snapped.

"Eren," Hange warned. "Apologize to your father."

"What?" He took a rapid step back, spluttering as he went, and he jerked a finger at the man and spat, "You just fuckin' punched him!"

"Yes, because he's an asshole who abandoned his son, that's been established," Hange said, their eyes narrowing as they smiled brightly. "However! Your dad is doing his best to try and save Armin, despite the fact that he hasn't any real reason to, right? Now, he's in this lab working on a cure of some sort for him, probably knowing Marco jumped ship. Am I right, Dr. Jaeger?"

His father merely nodded, staring at Hange with a vacant sort of surprise.

Eren stared at Hange, trying with all his might to keep his cool, to keep his anger in check, to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.

But he couldn't.

He rounded on his father, his eyes welling up with tears, and he spat at him with a croaky voice, "Why didn't you ever look for me?"

And his father looked at him, perhaps for the first time since Eren had entered the room, and there was this worn look of resignation that bent upon his face, sinking into the hollows of his cheeks as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing pitifully. His glasses were hanging limply in his long fingers and his eyes were the same crystalline green as Eren's down to the tears gathering in the depths of them.

"I did, Eren," his father said softly, putting his glasses on and turning away. "I saw that you were safe. And happy. And loved. I did not want to take such a precious future away from you, not when I had nothing left to give."

If Eren had been someone else, someone thick skulled like Jean or detached like Annie, maybe he could have just brushed off his words and hated him for his crimes against him, but everything in him was screaming to run at his father and hug him and beg him to never leave again, for this to be a scene from a movie that everyone cringed at because it was such a sickly sweet sight, so corny and dumb and overrated, but Eren wanted that so dearly, he wanted to be able to hug his father and tell him that he forgave him for what he'd done.

But he didn't forgive him.

Eren could hardly look at him without feeling sick.

And even still, tears wear falling hot and steady against his flushed cheeks, and he was shaking in his rage and his confusion, and he wanted to scream and throw a tantrum and beg and beg and beg for his father to forget all that had happened and forget that he'd been so wrong and come back to New York and live with all of them and Hange and it made no sense but he wanted it. He wanted that safe feeling of being loved, and being secure, and knowing that this man was the father that he should have been for all the years he'd been gone. A father should be kind, and a father should be loving, and what had Eren's father been if not a distant shadow flitting in and out of his life since birth?

"You," Eren whispered, his voice nothing but a spitting wisp of a breath, "were right about one thing. You don't… hold… anything for me… not meaning, not love, not anything. And I wish you could see what a mess you've made. Of me, of everything— but honestly, I— I'm done with you. I'm done. I'm done searching, scared of what I'll find, because now I know how pathetic you really are!"

He whirled away, rubbing his face furiously and biting his tongue as a sob came crashing like a hurling wave up his throat and against his teeth. He'd scream if it could've helped, but instead he washed his face in his tears and let the sound of his own footsteps serve as a beat to the future he would make without his father to contaminate.

Hange ran after him, catching him in the hall by the arm and pulling him hard into a hug so tight he could not breath without a strange spike of pain jolting through his ribs. Hange had been there. Hange had taken him in, fed him and clothed him and let him cry and speak his mind and go out of his mind with the things he was passionate about. Hange had never once judged him, and they had always made their choices with Eren in mind.

He bent his head into their shoulder, and he began to sob, because he could not hold in his sadness any longer, and he could not imagine having anyone else with him at that moment. He was so grateful for the gift he'd been given, almost thankful that his father had abandoned him in order that he live a happy life at Hange's side. Because Hange listened, and Hange understood, and Hange was here. They held him, cradled his head as he wept, and rubbed his back soothingly.

"It's okay," Hange breathed into his hair. "We're okay. Keep crying, you deserve it, Eren, you deserve to be upset that he abandoned you. You deserved better."

He was breathless and shaky and dizzy and sickened, but even in his disoriented state, even with his hiccups and sobs and broken words, he managed to pull himself from Hange's arms and stare them right in the eyes with tears reddening his cheeks and glassy eyes that made him look furious and half-dead as he spoke.

"I had better," he whispered. "I did. I had you…"

Hange stared at him, looking vaguely astonished, but mostly proud. They laughed, and they said, "Oh, boy. Then you're gonna love what I found."

Eren stared back, his eyes wet and his vision bleary, and by Hange's beaming expression, he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

---

Manhattan, New York

a.d. pr. Id. Nov., 2766 A.U.C.

Armin explained what he could about the institute, Marco, and the situation they were in. He tried to make it clear, but he was having trouble speaking properly, and it became difficult for him to talk for long periods of time. So he told them in parts. Gave them little ideas about how truly sad Marco's life had been. Mikasa didn't know if she cared of if she was still enraged for being tricked for so long.

There were a lot of things that needed to be sorted out. For one, Armin had to be operated on. Mikasa was scared of that, solely because she didn't know if she trusted anyone to do the job correctly, and she didn't want Armin to be in any more pain or discomfort. But she had no say in this matter, so she kept her feelings to herself and let the adults debate on when and where and who, while Armin sat quietly in a chair with his bare fingers tracing the lines of Eren's hand.

Then, of course, there was the question of the journalists.

Erwin apparently had connections within the Brigade that no one knew about, and since he'd become acquainted with Hitch of all people, he was working a bit over time to straighten out the newspaper. That involved a merger between the Brigade, and Pixis's paper, the Garrison, which Rico worked for. Rico was not happy about it, and came over often to complain to Erwin, only Erwin was hardly ever home so she ended up just settling for whoever would lend her an ear.

"I don't want to work here," Rico said firmly. "I loathe New York, I've always loathed it, ever since I first came to America."

"That sucks, bro," Reiner said, scooping up a great dollop of hummus onto a pita chip and tossing it into his mouth. Since they'd gotten Armin and Historia back, Reiner and Bertholdt and Annie had returned to living with Hange. Ymir had decided to stay with Connie and Sasha, strangely enough, despite the fact that it separated her from Historia. Historia explained that she and Ymir had agreed that they didn't need to be together all the time, and Ymir was very fond of Connie and his family, though she wished she wasn't.

"I'm not your bro, mate," Rico said to him coldly. "I'm still pissed that I'm not allowed to do a story about any of this."

"You'd be revealing our existence to the entirety of the world," Bertholdt blurted, his eyes widening. "Yours included!"

"Yeah, so?" Rico glared at him, and she adjusted her glasses. "The people deserve to know."

"Have you never seen X-Men?" Jean asked dryly. In the week after the rescue mission, he'd prompted his mother to move to New York. After all, he was a bit alone in Chicago, and he was hardly ever there anyway. His mother was taking care of preparations while Jean stayed in Ymir's old room.

"Don't you think the world is a little more advanced than to start a holocaust to rid themselves of people like us?" Rico asked him with narrowed eyes.

"No," Jean snorted, snatching the bag of pita chips from Reiner and sticking one between his teeth. He'd recently stopped smoking, and Mikasa noticed his teeth were whiter. That was nice to see. "The fact that you do is kinda alarming."

"Don't rag on her just because she believes in people," Eren snapped at Jean. He'd been abnormally somber since the entire mission, and Mikasa found herself constantly at his side, trying to make things easier for him. But she knew what he'd said to his father that day, and she knew how it was eating him alive, and she knew there was nothing she could do to help but be there for him.

"I think what Erwin is trying to do," Reiner said, waving a chip around, "is give you and anyone else who knows about us a way to report us to the media without actually giving away all our secrets."

"That's what the Brigade was initially for," Bertholdt piped up. Everyone glanced at him, even Reiner, who looked bewildered. "Reiner doesn't remember being told that, but yeah, that's why the Brigade was created, so the abnormalities could be regulated and the media could be satisfied with the scraps of information they were given."

Annie entered the room at that moment, wandering over to Jean's side and fishing a chip out of the bag he was holding. Jean looked properly irritated, but he was growing used to the pains of sharing an apartment with so many people, and merely accepted it.

"Where have you been, princess?" Jean asked her, a bite in his voice. She looked at him so coldly that he turned his face away, a small choking sound gathering in his throat.

"With Armin," she said dropping into a kneeling position beside Reiner. "He's sleeping now, though."

"Ooh, with Armin, huh?" Reiner wiggled his eyebrows, and Annie gave him a long, withering look. "Oh, don't give me that look, you totally like him."

"Reiner," Annie said, straightening her shoulders. "I think you're confused. Please get that childish bullshit out of your head."

"And she was also with Historia," Eren pointed out. "So nothing happened, clearly."

"We'd know if something did," Mikasa admitted.

"Not that anything would," Eren continued, "because it's Armin. And stop looking at me like that, Annie, holy shit, you're exactly the same. Of all the people living in this house, you two are the least likely to hook up."

"Okay, I'm outta here," Rico said, standing up and whirling away from them. Mikasa though she heard her mutter that she hated teenagers, but she couldn't be sure. The woman left through the wall without a thought.

"So what were you doing?" Jean asked, glancing at Annie as she nibbled on the edge of her pita chip.

"Talking," she said simply.

"That's boring," Reiner snorted. "You're so boring."

She glanced at him sharply, giving him a look that prompted Eren to think that she was offended that he had the audacity to even speak to her. When Reiner began to look uncomfortable, Annie turned to Eren and asked him if they were patrolling that night.

Things had calmed down enough that none of them really knew what to do with their lives at this point. Their missions had been linked to the institute in some way, every time, but now they had no worry or care about what the institute had in store for them. Reiner and Bertholdt had explained to the adults their reasoning for siding with Marco, and though Mikasa had not been told, she could guess. Marco was… charismatic and sweet, and he had an amazing talent that focused on making people feel loved. It was a nice talent to have, but with Marco it wasn't so nice because Marco was also… manipulative, unfortunately, and lonely. She was angry she'd ever let him worm his way into her heart, and even then she was sad when she even thought of his face, because even though she was enraged and disgusted by all that he had done, she pitied him.

Anyway, the adults had accepted Bertholdt and Reiner, but they had a lot to prove. They were willing to do anything to get back in good favors, but they were also getting counseling— for a number of reasons, but mostly because they were both a bit mentally unstable. According to Armin, at least, and Armin would know. Both boys had agreed, because they seemed to understand that they actually truly needed the help.

They'd begun patrolling at night around the city, which was a familiar sort of boring activity that she'd never particularly liked, but here she was, doing it all over again. It wasn't as exciting or as organized as going on missions, but she did not expect it to be. Also, it was actually a little more gratifying to beat up thugs for a change.

Somehow, though, she felt as though there was something missing.

She spotted Levi moving through the foyer, and she hastily excused herself. Levi had been in his room for most of the evening, and she wasn't sure why, but now she had a chance to ask. He glanced at her as she appeared behind him at the door, and he grabbed a jacket from a hook and tossed it at her. He didn't seem to be in the mood to argue, and she was glad. She followed him out of the apartment, shrugging on the jacket— which she knew right away to be Eren's by the scent and the fact that it seemed to fit her well.

"You're worried," he noted.

"No shit," she replied, shooting a sharp look at the back of his head, which he promptly ignored. As they descended the stairwell she adjusted her scarf so it would cover her mouth, bracing herself for the oncoming spat of wind she'd face when they walked outside. "You won't tell us anything about Armin's condition. Armin barely knows anything about his condition! And he's a telepath!"

"Sorry to say," he said, pushing the door open and ducking into the great snarl of icy November wind as it slapped her right across the face, "I don't know every goddamn detail about the kid's illness."

"But you know some things," she said desperately, quickening her pace to keep up with him. "You know when the operation is going to be."

"And how do you know that?" He glanced at her, and he scoffed. "Fucking kid needs to keep out of my head."

"He can't help what he hears sometimes," she said coolly. "If he wanted to read your mind, he would know everything he'd need to by now, but he really tries not to. Which is why I'm asking."

"You're wasting your breath," he told her as they moved down the street. "I don't know that much. Erwin's been keeping it very hush-hush, because he's a fucking asshole, and Hange… fucking Hange knows everything, but hey, who am I?"

"Uh," she said vacantly, the sound of the wind and her footsteps blending with the screeching lull of the city around her, "24601?"

"What?" Levi eyed her quizzically, his dull face scrunching up a little. "No. Oh my god. You're a fucking nerd."

"Yes, and you raised me," she sighed. "Congratulations."

"I didn't raise you to be a fucking nerd, you did that all on your own, kid." He stuck his hands into his pockets, peering up at the darkened sky as faint trickles of twilight hung on the horizon, bright around the peaks of the skyscrapers that jutted out like jagged teeth in the cumbersome earth. "Do you want a hot chocolate?"

"No," she lied, as they passed by a small, cozy looking café that she'd seen countless times while walking this block. Levi took one look at her, and he disappeared through the door, leaving her out in the cold to bristle at how transparent she was. She decided to follow him into the café, catching him by the elbow as he stood in line. "I said no, Levi. Don't you ever listen?"

"You think I can't tell when you're lying to me?" Levi rolled his eyes. "Besides, I know you. You're just saying no to spite me."

She folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. He was utterly infuriating, but what could she do? There was no controlling Levi, and she should know better than to try.

"Mikasa?"

She whirled around at the sound of her name, unused to being recognized in public and a little shocked as she spotted Mina Carolina's round face near the window. She was waving her over eagerly, a bright expression on her face, and Mikasa felt she had no other choice but to wander to her side.

"Hello, Mina," she said quietly, glancing at Levi. He'd taken no notice of her absence, or maybe just ignored it. "Are you here alone?"

"Oh, yeah," Mina laughed, toying with one of her pigtails a little sheepishly. "Well, to tell you the truth, I snuck out. My dad was being super annoying, and I have this show on Saturday that's been driving me nuts. So I left my lesson early to come here." Mikasa noticed that Mina was wearing a heavy white coat that went to her knees, likely hiding her leotard and shorts, because she was still wearing her beige tights. "Come sit with me!"

"Oh," Mikasa uttered, her eyes darting to Levi's back. "Oh, Mina, I… I don't know if—"

"Excuse me," Mina called. "Mr. Levi!"

"Mina," Mikasa said, holding out her hands in order to make the girl stop before she harmed herself.

When she looked back at Levi, she found that he was glaring at her, not Mina. So she sat down hesitantly, if only to keep him from making a scene. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I didn't expect to see you, and it's… a bit hectic at home right now."

"Annie told me." Mina's eyes were cloudy with sympathy, and Mikasa found herself partially enraged and partially awed that Annie trusted Mina so thoroughly. "Oh, it's so awful. I've never met Armin, but he sounds like such a sweet person— if Annie likes him, than he must be really charismatic."

"He's…" Mikasa was at a loss. Armin was sick, and it was showing, but he was so much better now than he'd been in the previous months. He was eating better, and he was sleeping more, and despite his health worsening his face was fuller and warmer than it'd been in such a long time. It was strange how medicine worked. "He's one of the most amazing people I know."

"Coming from you," Mina said, her eyes bright with something alarmingly like adoration, "that's really something!"

"I…" Mikasa was taken aback. She didn't know why Mina thought so highly of her, but it was strange and it made her feel silly. "Um, thanks. I think."

"I've been meaning to ask you since Halloween," Mina said, taking a sip from her coffee. Mikasa could smell it. It was the faint spicy tang of pumpkin, something she knew was common for this season, but she'd never tried it herself. "Mikasa, have you really never considered a career in dancing?"

"A career?" Mikasa repeated, her voice heightening a bit in shock. "What, are you serious? Me?"

"Yes," Mina said, giggling a little. "You! Listen, my manager is really interested in you— he saw the show, of course, considering you were pretending to be me. It took me my whole life to get to the level you are at now. I know it sounds strange, because I should be jealous, but I really want you to succeed in dancing. I think you must be a dancing prodigy, and you could easily get into Julliard if you wanted to."

"I'm not any sort of prodigy," Mikasa muttered, feeling embarrassed and confused. "I'm just really strong. My body's just really strong. I'm good at physical things like that."

"Dancing is so much more than physical activity, though!" Mina gasped. "It's an art, Mikasa, and you're a natural. Please consider it. What are your plans for after high school, anyway?"

Mikasa was speechless. Her plans? She'd thought about it, of course, but not seriously enough to really pick out a college major or a place to go. She figured she'd just follow Eren and Armin, and study extra hard if they got into a place like Harvard or Yale.

"College," she said, "I guess?"

"Then you have no real idea what you want to do with your life, I'm guessing?" Mina looked amused, and Mikasa flushed. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, it's okay! I'd be lost right now if my dad didn't push me into this from the day I could walk. But listen, you could make an incredible career in dancing, so I think you should pursue it. I know the performance on Halloween didn't go all that well—"

"That's a fucking understatement," Mikasa said dryly. She glanced up at Levi as he set her cup of hot chocolate beside her arm. She saw a teabag dangling from his own cup, and she was not even remotely surprised.

"Hi, Mr. Levi," Mina said cheerily, as though she didn't find him intimidating at all. "Um, I'm Mina. I don't think we've formally met, but I heard about you from Mikasa and some people at my dance company. You're healing okay, right?"

"Peachy," he stated coolly. "It's just Levi. My last name is Ackerman, if you want to call me that. I don't really care."

"Oh, good, you're related." Mina sounded relieved, and Mikasa merely glanced up at Levi, feeling as though she should object, but she had no reason to. She didn't know if they were related or not. She didn't want to know. "Well I was just telling Mikasa that I think she can get into Julliard."

Levi stared at the girl, and Mikasa thought perhaps he would scoff or even maybe laugh at the comment, because it was so ludicrous, but that was not the case at all. He merely looked from Mina to Mikasa, and he raised his cup to his lips. "She's not experienced enough," he said simply.

"Oh, no, of course not," Mina said hastily, "I know that, I trained her myself. But because I trained her myself, I know her potential, and I know she can do it. You should really convince her to go for it!"

"Mina, this really isn't necessary," Mikasa sighed.

"You've seen her dance, right?" Mina pushed Levi, somehow completely undeterred by his chilly demeanor. "You know too. I know you've both got your Nio and Freiheit stuff, and I respect that, but I can't see why she can't be a hero and a ballerina, you know? Or, you know, maybe not even a ballerina, maybe she can be a whole different kind of dancer, but the point is she's got a shot. Please think about it, I'm like, I'm begging you, oh gosh." To prove her point, Mina folded her hands and gave them both a pleading stare. Mikasa didn't know why she was pushing this, because if Mikasa became a successful ballerina, what would that do to her career?

Levi had the same thought. "How do you benefit from this?" Levi asked suspiciously.

"You don't like to trust people do you?" Mina looked a little uncomfortable then, and she smiled wanly. "Well, truthfully, I'd definitely get recognition because I taught her. But otherwise, I don't really have much of an investment. My career as a ballerina is already set. Unless I get a terrible injury, I'll do fine in my life. So, yeah. I'm just really enthusiastic about Mikasa getting out there, because I've never met such a talented dancer, and I mean, this is my life. You have to understand, my entire world revolves around this. So, like, I'm really sorry if I'm coming off too pushy and enthusiastic, but when you've been groomed to be a ballerina, you kinda get a one track mind about things. Luckily I'm not competitive much, so I don't care if she becomes more famous than me, or anything." Mina took a sip of her coffee, and she smiled genially at Mikasa. "I'm content with where I am, I think. I just want you to be able to live up to your potential, y'know?"

Mikasa didn't know. She had no idea. She was stunned by this, and she didn't know what to say or do or think or feel. Her future? A ballerina? For real? Little girls dreamed of that stuff. Mikasa had only wanted to be with her friends as a child, but now she was with them, and she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"It's a really nice thought, Mina," Mikasa said hesitantly, "but I don't know if I'm cut out for that sort of thing. Can I think about it?"

"Oh, yeah!" Mina waved her hand hurriedly. "Yeah, of course! I guess I'm being super pushy, but I don't know when I'll see you again, and I just…" She laughed a little, glancing away from their faces. "I just want you to continue dancing, that's all."

"That's very sweet of you," Mikasa said, though she didn't know if she believed that. She felt Levi's hand on her shoulder, a sign to stand, and she did so without comment. He was watching Mina with a slightly furrowed brow, and it was strange to think he was considering her suggestion. Mikasa had never felt that she was particularly talented, just lucky to be born with an incredible power. She wondered if he was proud of her, or if he was completely against the whole idea of it.

"I'm sorry to keep you," Mina said, turning her face away. "You can go now, it's okay. You have my number, and I might see you again soon because of Annie, who knows."

"Right," Mikasa said distantly. "Yeah. Thank you."

"Nah, thank you," Mina said brightly. "I'm so glad I got to speak with you again."

Mikasa was a little bewildered as she took her hot chocolate and followed Levi out of the café. He was watching her with a somewhat concerned glint in his eyes, and she quickly made herself look a little more focused so he'd stop shooting her sharp glances as though she would tip over at any moment. She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and she relished in the fact that it seemed to burn the skin right off the roof of her mouth as it sloshed and seared down her throat.

"That was strange," Levi admitted.

"I don't think I'd be a good ballerina," she muttered, feeling foolish. "I'm not…"

"You're not…?" Levi gave her a sharp look, which actually managed to startle her, because he looked angry for some reason. "What? What are you not?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "What kind of goal is that? Being a ballerina? Aren't you going to tell me it's a child's dream?"

"It is a child's dream," he said. She closed her eyes, and she listened to the sounds of the city, of the car horns and the feet clapping and the doors slamming and the laughing, chatting, hissing voices that gathered up all around her. She was used to cities, but this one was like a dream, and she realized she might spend the rest of her life here. Where Eren and Armin were. A child's dream come true. So, what was a ballerina? "Mikasa, I hate to break to you, but you're still a child."

"Don't be stupid," she hissed at him, throwing him a vehement glare. "I haven't been a child in a long time. You know that."

He shook his head, and took a great gulp of his tea, shaking his head even more to emphasize how truly he did not give a fuck. "No, see, that's the thing," he said in a hoarse voice. He did not look at her. "I didn't have a childhood. But like hell I didn't try to give you one. And for the most part, I've sheltered you from a lot of terrible things."

"You think," she said slowly, "what you did was sheltering me?"

"Honestly, yeah." Levi shrugged. "Like, you know I didn't actually have a childhood. At all. For real. So despite all the shit you've been through, yes, Mikasa, I still think you're a child. Which is good. Be a child, for fuck's sake. You don't get to be young forever like Historia."

"Oh, don't bring that up," she sighed. Historia was always distant and quiet and reclusive, but since she'd been rescued it seemed as though her depression had worsened. She spent all her time with Armin except when she had to go to school, in which case she hung by Eren's side, and by default Mikasa's. Armin admitted to them inside their heads that he believed she was terrified of being alone, and she often slept in Armin's room nowadays with the excuse that she had nightmares. Since Ymir wasn't around much, Armin was Historia's crutch. He hated that. He wanted her to be able to be independent, but he couldn't very well tell her to sleep in her own room, not when he was scared he might not live much longer. Mikasa and Eren argued with him on this over and over, but he told them it didn't matter, and that he had to think about stuff like that.

"You know what I mean," Levi said. "Just… come on. You're going to grow up eventually, but for now just take it a day at a time. If you don't want to be a dancer, don't do it. But don't let thoughts like "Oh, I'm not pretty enough", or "I'm not talented enough" dissuade you from making that decision. They're not true, so don't do that."

She considered his words as she held onto her cup, watched steam rise in slight curls across the bitter evening air. She stared down at him, finding herself at a bit of a loss. "Did you just call me pretty?" she asked, unable to keep the shock from her tone.

"Oh boy," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are dumb as a brick."

"You've never called me pretty before," she said, unsure if she was happy about this development or not.

"I didn't think I had to, oh my god."

"It's just strange, that's all," she murmured.

"You're fucking strange, man," he said. "And annoying."

"And you're fucking rude, and an old man, so, like…"

They were quiet after that, the sound of their feet clapping against the pavement the only sounds emitting from them. Mikasa had never considered herself close to Levi, not really, but she was beginning to see more and more that she was wrong. Levi was hardly kind and loving, but he did care about Mikasa immensely, and that was clear now. She wondered what his life would be like without her. She wondered if he'd be sad, or lonely, or lost. She was glad to have him, but equally irritated beyond belief by the very nature of his callous personality.

"What will you do?" she asked him hesitantly. "When I leave, go off to college, or move away, or whatever?"

He did not respond. That wasn't all that strange, but the question seemed to cause him to close up, which was not something she'd expected.

"Or you can just not answer," she sighed, taking a long swig of her hot chocolate. He was such a frustrating person, she didn't know why she bothered sometimes.

"I have no idea what I'll do," he said simply.

She glanced at him. Truthfully, Levi had barely so much as hugged her in all the time that she'd known him. But she felt as though she was missing something now, and that he was having difficulty expressing himself. That was typical of him.

"You're good at a lot of things," she said, though she wasn't sure if that was necessarily true. "I'm sure you could find something that interests you."

"Maybe," he said distantly. It was strange, because he was an adult, and he was in the same boat as she was in terms of the future ahead. He just didn't know, and she thought maybe that might scare him, as it scared her.

"You can talk to me, you know," she said. When he did not respond, she shook her head slowly. "I know you hate talking about your feelings, but sometimes you really just need to say what's on your mind. I won't let Armin see it, if that's what you're worried about."

"Drop dead, you brat."

She was growing increasingly concerned, which wasn't good because she was already riddled with anxiety because of Armin's uncertain future. "You won't go back to drinking and drugs or anything, right, Levi?"

"I'm not a fucking idiot."

"You could have fooled me," she said coolly.

"What do you want me to say?" He did not look at her, nor did his face change at all from its miserable resting position. "You want the truth? Here it is. I have no idea what'll happen to me. I'm not concerned. My goal right now is to make sure you and all the rest of the squalling little brats live long enough to graduate college."

"Including Armin?"

"He's the one I'm most concerned about," he said flatly. "But yeah, I don't want him to die. I'm not a monster, Mikasa."

"You hate him," she said quietly.

"I'm… put off by him, yeah," he sighed. "But like fuck I'm gonna let that kid die."

It seemed to her that he was being unnaturally sweet. Perhaps she was over thinking it, but it was so strange. This was Levi. Certainly he was candid enough on a regular basis, but he was so reclusive and awkward she could never pull his true feelings out of him. Not that she was much better, but at least she had friends.

Mikasa stared at him, running her fingers over the edge of her cup. She was nervous about this uncertain future, and she knew he was too.

"Levi," she said quietly. "Is Armin going to be okay?"

He looked at her, and she could see the lines of his forehead wrinkle in the dimness of the streetlamps. He didn't know, and he didn't want to say so. She understood there were risks to a brain operation, and she understood that she could very well lose Armin. But what then? How could the would possible go on without him? She didn't understand it, and she felt a cold feeling slithering insider her chest, squeezing in an empty space left inside of her from the day Eren had found her huddled in a panic room, breathless and traumatized from the sounds and the screams and the muffled words of her parents' murderers.

And suddenly she was stumbling back, feeling something hot splash against her ankle and shin and it scorched her skin as hot chocolate soaked into her shoes,. She didn't want to look at her hands, because she was too horrified about her clumsiness, and she didn't think she'd be able to see them because her vision was swimming pitifully. She didn't know what to do.

If she looked at him, she knew he would be expressionless, because she knew that Levi had no idea what to do in this kind of situation. She hardly ever cried, and this was certainly a surprise for them both, because she didn't know how to stop it or what had brought it on. It was just a terrible swoop of emotions overwhelming her, and no matter her strength she could not hold them down. She swallowed very hard, and she could hear her own uneven breaths as the world seemed to tip over and flood up, water turning lights into pale, flickering streams, and Levi's face nothing but a shadow floating blearily before her.

"Mikasa," he said. His voice was distant and quiet and strangely soft. She crouched down, dazed and sickened, and she picked up the busted cup from the sidewalk, staring at it as it shuddered in her shaky hands. He took it from her carefully, prying it from her fingers as though it were something dark and incriminating, and he tossed it in a garbage can, his left hand still gripping hers.

He led her carefully to a bench, pulling his jacket off and laying it down so she could sit on it. She was a little too upset to notice or care, and she sat only because she felt as though her legs were about to give out.

How pathetic she was. She, who was one of the world's strongest, weakened and weepy because of some fleeting memory coming to surface upon an eve or the eve of an eve of a day that'd determine Armin's fate. She folded her quaking hands in her lap, and she wrung them a bit nervously as tears trickled against her cheeks, hot and unrestrained, and her eyes were stinging from the moisture and her throat was dry and sore from the strain. If she spoke, she thought her vocal cords might snap and due further damage like lacerate the walls of her esophagus.

To Levi's credit, he did not speak as she cried. Perhaps he didn't know what to say, or he was to awkward to say it, but she was glad he made no comments because it made the embarrassment easier to bear. She was utterly shattered at the idea of losing Armin, and it was taking its toll on her. She'd been strong until this point, optimistic and resolute for him when around him, but she felt these doubts now, and she felt them streaming inside her and screaming as the collided with her fears and anxieties and despairs. She was strong. She was.

But she was human. And she was scared.

She didn't think she was the type of person who needed reassurance or comfort, but she was craving it so badly that it made her muscles ache, and she was so glad when Levi put his arm around her that she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob. It was humiliating, and she didn't want him to see her in such a distraught state, but if anyone could understand her at this moment, it was Levi.

It was a struggle, she realized, all her grief welling up inside her, flooding her with waves and waves of horror and sadness, to remember her father and mother's faces. She tried to imagine her father holding her instead of Levi, imagine him with his arm slung carefully around her shoulders, tentative touches from a tentative soul, but she could not muster up the will to recall that far back, and when she called for her father's face, all her mind gave her was Levi's.

That made her even more upset, and now she had to deal with the consequences of that. When she and Levi returned home, Armin would know immediately that she was sad, and Eren would notice she'd been crying almost certainly, so how was she supposed to face them? How did she admit that it had all become too much, that the pressure had made her truly weakened and sickened by the prospect of an unclear future?

"I…" Mikasa wiped at her face, her voice reedy as it slithered from her throat. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Don't apologize," he snapped at her. Or perhaps he'd merely said it too briskly, and it'd sounded like a snap, she didn't know because her ears felt like they were full of cotton balls. "You're upset. Cry. If you bottle it all up, it'll eat you away. And trust me, Mikasa, that can kill you."

She sniffled, feeling pitiful and childish, and she did not dare look at him. "Was this how it felt?" she whispered. "All the time, for you? Is that why you turned to the… the drugs and the liquor so it'd just go away?"

He did not reply. Instead he wrapped his other arm around her, and turned her to face him. She did not know why, but she was expecting there to be an actual expression on his face. She was mistaken. He looked the same as he did when he was making his shit jokes. But still, she could sense a change in his demeanor, and it almost made her want to scream at him and run away, because this was not how they did things. They were distant creatures at best, and together they were downright dysfunctional.

But here he was, holding her close and urging her to cry.

"Bad things happen," he told her, sounding like he wasn't sure of his words as he spoke them. "People die. People leave you. It's just gonna happen, and you'll be sad about it, but life goes on."

"I know," she choked, "I know, but—"

"I'm not gonna scold you for crying," he told her. "I've cried more than my fair share, and over stupider things than this, I'll fucking grant you."

"I just don't want him to die," she whispered, rubbing her eyes furiously. "I'd do anything… anything to save him…"

Levi held her by the shoulders, and she was too dazed to really care how his eyes narrowed at her. "Even," he said cautiously, "let Marco have him for the rest of his life?"

She closed her eyes, and she felt the tears seep through her eyelashes, splashing across her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to scream at him for bringing it up, but the truth was that she did not know. If it kept Armin alive, was it such a terrible prospect? But then, was captivity even truly worth living for? Oh, she didn't know. It was so confusing, and she was so lost, and she only wanted her friend to be healthy and alive.

"You are an idiot," he muttered, pulling her into a stiff hug.

Initially she had no idea how to react, because her face was pressed against his chest, and her tears were blinding her, and she could hardly breathe properly even without him holding her as tightly as he was. She didn't think she'd ever been this vulnerable before, but she knew that wasn't true, and it was hurting her pride very dearly just to let herself be hugged by this man and to know that he meant well. She'd never call him a good father, or a real father by any means, but even so she was greatly indebted to him, and the more she sat and let his shirt soak up her tears, the more she felt content in the strange friendship she and he had developed over the years.

She didn't know, nor did she want to know, if she was truly related to him or not. Levi was her family, that she could very well admit to herself as she hugged him tight and let herself be soothed by the feeling of his hand carefully smoothing back hair. He was hardly an affectionate man, and he was awkward even on his best days, but for once he seemed to know what he was doing.

They did not speak anymore, for there were no real words to speak, and they were not talkative people to begin with. All they did was hold each other, and Mikasa thought that maybe that was the nicest thing about it, because the memory was ingrained into her mind forever, and she didn't think she could ever truly pretend to hate Levi as she often did anymore, because she owed him for the love he hardly showed and the pain he never showed and the uncertainty that he most certainly did show.

She did not want to lose any part of her family. Not today, not tomorrow. She'd die first before she let it happen.

But here she was, powerless to stop it.

Please, she thought, closing her eyes as Levi wiped her cheeks with the folds of her scarf, please don't take anyone else away from me, please…

---

Manhattan, New York

a.d. XI Kal. Dec. 2766 A.U.C.

"You have a cure," Armin said distantly, trying to reaffirm and recollect, because he had no idea what to make of this new development.

"It's not really a cure per se," Hange laughed, waving their hand quickly in the air as though to bat off a gnat. "You're still scheduled to have surgery tomorrow, but considering the, uh, nature of your affliction we think it's best if we make sure it really never comes back."

"I don't understand," he said weakly, his hands folded in his lap. They'd gotten him alone by taking him to the hospital, and now they were telling him that he had a cure. How was that even possible? "Please explain, Hange, I'm totally lost."

"Feast your eyes, kiddo!" Hange stuck a test tube of what appeared to be thick black liquid into his face, and he reached for it carefully but they pulled it away from him, waggling their finger. "Ah ah, no touching. If you drop this, you're dead. Well, no, not really, that's an overstatement, but you won't survive a third tumor, I'll tell you that much."

"What…" He peered at the dark substance, attempting to analyze it simply by sight. It was a bit soupy and strange to look at, because it looked as though it was gathering up on the sides of the beaker intentionally, collecting itself in beads of shiny black liquid. And then, to his astonishment, the liquid began to rise. It stirred like a cat being awoken and it floated to the top of the test tube in a gravity-defying stream. "What is that?"

"Ink," Hange said, sounding a little awed as she tipped the test tube over, and the substance did not move. "Weird ink, for sure. It's really reacting to you!"

"I… why?" Armin shook his head furiously, his mouth dry and his heart thundering. It was so odd to him that this weird liquid was dancing around in a test tube just because it was near him. He'd seem some weird stuff over the past few years, but this took the cake, probably. It was wriggling around, splattering and rolling up in a swirl of black goo, and it was off putting to say the least. This was his cure? He wasn't sure if he wanted it!

"Let me explain," Erwin said, taking the test tube from Hange and holding it gingerly between his fingers. "Levi was the last of us adults to have his procedure, and though his took the longest, it was by far the most painless. The serum used for him was a mixture of the usual serum we received, and also what I imagine is tattoo ink. As I understand it, the supply of serum was running low at the time, so they used the remainder of it to create this ink. They used half to give Levi his tattoo. The other half they put in storage."

Armin wanted to ask how he knew such a thing, because it was such an obscure bit of knowledge to have. If Erwin had known this all along, why hadn't he spoken up about it until now? It was dreadfully confusing, and his head was hurting a lot. He wished Mikasa and Eren were in the room with him.

"Um…" Armin shot a hurried glance at the test tube, and he felt a sinking sensation as though he'd been lowered into a vat of that particular dark liquid, swallowed up by the syrupy consistency of it.

"A few years ago," Erwin continued, his eyes leveled on Armin's face, "I decided I wanted to slow down the facility's progress. So I asked my old friend, Nile Dawk, who works for the Brigade, to procure the ink for me."

Armin was alarmed. His senses were numbed by the medication and the thoughts around him were streaming through him again, so he couldn't make any sense of his surroundings, but he felt the drag and the pull of that strange liquid in the glass, and it was pulled to him too. There was so much of the world that he did not understand, and this thing, this squirming ink, was only part of a greater unknown.

"How'd he manage that?" Armin asked softly.

Erwin smiled amusedly. "Oh, he's got a few tricks up his sleeve," he said, handing the test tube back to Hange. "Flattery, manipulation, blackmail. He's very good at what he does."

"No wonder you're friends," Levi said dryly from the doorway. He'd been quiet, as usual. Armin strained himself to not dip into the stream of pain that was Levi's mind, and he calmed himself through a series of unsteady breaths. He controlled this uncontrollable power. Everyone told him he was strong, and powerful, and that he was so amazing, but he never felt that way. He felt weak. Powerless.

"Okay," Armin said, his voice scratchy as it left his lips sharply. "What have you been doing with it until now?"

Hange laughed. Armin resisted the urge to glare at them, but he felt so spent and so shaken that he couldn't bear the sound, so he placed his head and his hands and focused on the sound of his heartbeat.

He felt a hand on his back, and he lowered his hands a little to glance up at Erwin. Armin wished so dearly that he could hear the man's thoughts, if only to have a place to focus his energy. He took a deep breath, and took Erwin's hand in his, focusing on the prickly feeling of his skin brushing skin. He'd done with a million times, but even so it was strange.

"You know what I did with it, Armin," Erwin said gently. "Just think."

"I'm tired of thinking," Armin said, though his thoughts were whirring inside his brain, flitting like wasps and attacking his nerves. He felt the fluttering of emotions from Hange and Levi both, the concern and wariness, the strangled fear, and he wished they could understand what it was like. He pulled his hand from Erwin's, and he stared down at them, recalling the panic the day he'd first had a seizure, the day when he'd made a mess of his classroom and broken down in front of so many people that their horror had spilt like acid corroding his tongue.

In a flourish, spindly words materialized upon his pallid flesh, dancing along the grooves of his palm and blinking at him innocently. Like ink from a pen or paint from a brush, the calligraphy gleamed and glistened, spitting truths and lies in one grand gesture.

memento mori memento mori memento mori

He offered up his hand to the glimmering light, watching it shake pitifully, and the words shook like leaves in a storm despite being only an illusion on his hand.

They all watched him.

"Cicero," he said, finding that he was close to laughter and close to tears. "My suit. You spilt the ink on my suit, and it formed my thoughts."

"Yes," Erwin said, taking his hand and examining it. "This is amazing, Armin."

"It's simple," he mumbled, washing away the words with a flick of his wrist, watching black water splash into the air and fade out of existence. "I can change the way people see me, even if I can't completely read their minds like you. I could change the fabric of reality if I was stronger, but I'm glad I'm not, because that would be frightening."

He rubbed his head, feeling sick and exhausted. He was anxious because he knew his operation would come soon, and though he'd been through it before, it was hard not to dread it with everything inside him. He'd rather lay out in the middle of a road and wait for a car to hit him than go through with this, but then, he was being over dramatic and he was moody from the medicine.

"That's disconcerting," Levi said flatly.

"Thank you for that assessment, Levi," Erwin replied. He took Armin's hands, and he stared into his eyes. "I have every ounce of my faith in the fact that you will recover from this. I'd bet my entire life on it."

"I wish you could see my future," Armin murmured, feeling silly and sad, "so you'd know for sure."

"I don't need to see your future to know that you'll survive," Erwin said, squeezing Armin's hands tightly. Then, much to Armin's surprise, he leaned forward and kissed his hair. Armin felt himself begin to break apart, and the world around him came to ashes and rubble. He closed his eyes and let himself have this moment, even if his feelings were muddled and his senses were muted.

He'd been scared of his power for so long, and scared of Erwin for taking advantage of it, but he understood his error.

Erwin loved him for his weakness and his strength.

That was a comfort to a boy who was a man-made god.

"Do you think I'll become weaker?" he asked uncertainly. Erwin studied his face, his eyes flitting carefully in order to try and understand Armin's reasoning behind his words. "I mean, my power. Do you think I'll be weaker without the tumor?"

"Why would you ask that?" he replied, confusion knitting up his brow.

"I became more powerful when my physical condition progressively got worse," Armin sighed, his fingers itching to wring at something. He settled at twisting the hem of his shirt around and around until he felt it cutting off the circulation in his fingers. "Once the tumor is removed, I don't supposed I'll be able to do the kinds of tricks I used to fool Marco, or…" He turned his eyes to the cup of water his doctor had left for him. He turned his chin up at it, letting his fear prickle up inside him until it was piercing outward, and attaching itself to the cup like invisible tethers. It drew upward shakily, tipsy and shuddering as Armin reached out his hand, beckoning it closer and closer until he could not handle the strain, and it dropped. He blinked rapidly as the paper collided with the floor, spilling water across the linoleum and causing his fingers to twitch. "Ah. I messed up."

"That's creepy," Levi said vacantly.

"That's amazing!" Hange cried, jumping up and down excitedly and rushing to grasp Armin's bare hand. He squeaked at the sudden flow of their mind barreling into his, the rush of thoughts and feelings that were so unfamiliar and raw, and he could not breathe with the strange mixture of excitement and anxiety that plagued Hange's cluttered mind. He tried to calm himself down, tried to remind himself that he trusted Hange, but the truth was that he didn't think he really did trust them, and now their chewy taste, the staleness of tobacco and sweetness of cherries and crispness of kale. He wanted to tear at his own face and scream and cry and snap at Hange for being so careless, but he could not, he could not, he could not.

They knew how he felt anyway.

He was sixteen years old. He'd been burdened with this power for years and years, restricted from physical contact and terrorized by his own mind. Hange was no threat to him. He had no reason to fear them, to distrust them, and yet they hurt him unintentionally. He was saddened by this fact, and it made him want to scream more and more, like the scream had been living inside him, starving for some air, and now it was clawing up his throat trying to break free.

He swallowed it down, and let it rot in the pit of his stomach.

"I guess it is, Hange," he said in a timid, shaky voice, squeezing their hand and feeling as though something had been broken inside of him. Like a chain snaked around his heart had been struck at too many times, and not the links were too battered to stand alone. He took a deep breath. And he smiled.

"Armin…" Hange said slowly. "Oh, don't cry, Armin…"

"I'm okay," he choked, shaking his free hand hurriedly. He didn't think it was a lie. "Really! I'm just… overwhelmed, I think. Don't worry." He looked from Hange to Erwin, and he nodded firmly. "I'm going to be fine."

Later that night, when he was allowed to return him, he explained his situation only to Eren, Mikasa, and Historia. His sister sat at the corner of his bed while Eren and Mikasa lounged on the floor. Eren was lying with his head resting in Mikasa's lap, using her legs as a pillow as he tossed a baseball up in the air and caught it lazily. It was not Armin's baseball. Armin had no idea where he'd gotten it. Eren didn't even like baseball.

"So you're getting a tattoo," Eren clarified.

"Yes, I think so," Armin said, gathering the covers of his bed up around him, and tugging them over his head. He relished in the softness of it against his hair, which would be gone in a few short hours. "Though I'm a little scared because Levi's doing it. I don't want to wake up with a dick on my face."

"Technically you could just remove the dick if you really wanted to," Historia pointed out.

"You're a nice sister," he replied, feeling even more anxious because of her comment.

"It's true," she murmured, pulling her baggy shirt over her knees and letting it swallow up her feet. "You could just make the tattoo disappear."

"Maybe," he sighed, nestling his face into his blanket. "I don't actually know how powerful I'll be without the tumor, so we'll see. Just… guys, please don't let him put anything obscene on me, okay?"

"I'll break his arm if he tries," Mikasa said. With all seriousness. Armin shook their mental link, and thought to her, Don't do that.

"It's exciting though," Historia said quietly.

"What is?" Eren asked her, rolling the baseball in his palm.

"Getting a tattoo," she sighed wistfully. "I want one."

"Yeah?" He sat up, tossing the ball up and catching it with ease. "What kind?"

"Ah," she sighed, tugging at her hair. "I don't really… know for sure. I thought maybe roses, but…"

"It leaves a bad taste in your mouth," Armin observed, his eyes moving toward the wall of roses he'd colored in a stupor. He wondered if that had been Marco's doing, or if he'd truly just been having some kind of episode.

"Yes," she whispered.

It had been two weeks since they'd gone to meet their mother, and he still felt a vague emptiness about the entire ordeal. He knew Historia felt similarly, if not worse, and he wished he could be of more help to her, but the truth was they just didn't know each other that well. She was certainly attached to him, and him to her, but they couldn't pretend that they were anything more than strangers who'd bonded very quickly.

"Well," Eren said thoughtfully, "I mean, it's not like you can't get a different kind of tattoo, right? Just make sure it means something, because forever is… a little longer for you than it is for us."

Eren, Mikasa chastised him. Historia's tiny shoulders hunched at his words, her eyes widening momentarily before dimming. Eren looked incredibly apologetic when he realized his mistake, but Armin shook his head.

No, he said to both of them. Don't coddle her. She needs to face this thing if she wants to ever overcome it.

Eren and Mikasa glanced at each other. Eren's thoughts spoke up, bubbling up inside Armin's mind tentatively. That's surprisingly harsh, considering you're her brother.

I don't think, Armin thought to them curtly, that she's going to get better if we just dance around the problem. She needs to accept that one day we aren't going to be here. We can't pretend like it won't happen.

"You guys are talking about me," Historia observed.

They shot hurried glances at one another, and Armin sighed. He understood her, sometimes, but other times he was utterly lost to what she was thinking and that was strange to him. She was such an enigma, and as much as he enjoyed her presence he could not figure her out.

"You know, I'd lie and say we weren't but…" Eren grunted as Mikasa smacked him hard on the back, forcing him to drop the baseball. It rolled slowly against the hardwood, and they all watched it go with a mixture of vacancy and sadness.

The door to Armin's room burst open, and he jumped a little, feeling the odd clash of tastes and minds as they spilt forth onto him. He was a little overwhelmed at first, and did not even understand the reasoning behind this sudden barrage of people shuffling into his room.

"Yo," Reiner said, giving a two finger salute as he tossed a great mound of blankets onto the floor. Armin peeked out from beneath his hood of covers, glancing wildly between Historia, Eren, and Mikasa. But none of them knew what was going on either.

"What are these for?" Eren asked, crawling up to the mound of blankets and tugging one out of the pile. It was adorned with a large picture of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"A sleepover," Reiner replied, staring at him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Armin's mouth dropped open, but he couldn't find it in him to object as Annie walked over and set a stack of pillows on his bed.

"Oh, I…" Armin pushed away his blanket hurriedly, kicking them away hurriedly. "Um, why… exactly…?"

"We figured since you're going to be in the hospital for a little while," Jean said, setting down a large stack of bowls with an assortment of bags sticking out, junk food like chips and popcorn and pretzels, "we might well keep you company."

"Unless you don't want us," Bertholdt blurted, his words a bit muffled by his stock supply of pillows and blankets that seemed to be too big even for him. Armin felt guilty, because Bertholdt's mind was muddled and frightened. Armin didn't think that he was using Armin's power to peek into his mind any longer, but it was hard to tell.

"Oh," he said, shaking his head. "No, don't be silly. I'm just surprised."

"Well isn't that an impressive feat," Annie drawled, her eyes never meeting his. "Surprising you."

"Don't flatter me," he said weakly. "I might have a lot of power, but I don't particularly know how to use it."

"This is my baseball," Jean said, toeing the ball Eren had been playing with earlier. "What is it doing in here?"

"Golly," Eren said dryly, "hell if I know."

"You—!"

"If you start fighting," Annie warned, appearing at Jean's side with flashing eyes, "I will give both of you frostbite."

Eren blinked rapidly at the threat, and then he grimaced as Jean fumed. He got up, and Armin watched in awe as he began to lay out the blankets on the floor, smoothing them out carefully. Mikasa began to help him, and suddenly his room was transforming into a makeshift campsite.

"So you're really getting a tattoo?" Jean asked later after everything was set up and they sat inside a clumsy pillow fort. There was nothing to give them light but a few strategically placed cell phones and an actual flashlight set up in the center of their ring. They'd called Ymir, Connie, and Sasha, but they hadn't answered. Historia mentioned that they were probably sleeping, because Ymir didn't actually like to stay up late.

"Yeah, I guess," Armin said slowly. "I mean… it's not a huge deal, is it? Lots of people have them."

"I have one," Mikasa admitted.

They all looked at her. She stared back vacantly.

"Can I see?" Historia asked, peeking over Annie's shoulder.

Mikasa nodded, rolling up her sleeve to her elbow and tugging what appeared to be a small handkerchief from her wrist. Armin was amazed to see a dark smudge of jagged lines, nothing about the tattoo truly concrete. It looked half finished. He saw Historia take Mikasa's hand to peer at it more closely, and when she touched it Mikasa pulled back.

"Where'd you get a tattoo?" Jean asked, bewildered.

She looked distant, but in truth Armin could taste how sheepish she was, her embarrassment crawling across his tongue in a sour burst. "My mother gave it to me."

Armin felt compelled to shout something, but he could sense Jean's mind running at the same frequency as his own, and they'd both come to the same conclusion without even speaking. So he glanced at him, and Jean glanced back somberly. He'd been overwhelmingly sad the past few days… weeks… and Armin wished he could help but he had no idea how. He knew that Jean felt lonely and isolated, and he wanted to change that, but it was difficult when he could feel the nostalgia dotting Jean's mind every time he so much as looked at Armin. It was uncomfortable to both of them how much he reminded Jean of Marco.

"Mikasa," Armin said gently, "your mother worked with the institute."

She did not respond. He had not told her previously to this because he'd be unsure of what she'd say or how she'd react, and it had not been so important in comparison to the other things going on in their lives.

And, in a naturally Mikasa fashion, she merely shrugged.

"That's not surprising," she admitted.

"How are you taking that so well?" Jean blurted. "Mikasa, that tattoo could be some of that weird voodoo ink that Levi's got!"

"That'd be funny if it was," she said.

"Funny?"

"I just mean," she said, "that we're very much alike, and we're possibly related, so it'd be very funny if we both had a tattoo like that. But I don't think it's magical by any means. I'd have known years ago."

Jean opened his mouth to tell her that yeah, she was related to Levi, but Armin crawled into his head and chastised him. She doesn't want to know, he whispered to Jean, who looked at Armin confusedly. Don't tell her if she doesn't want to know, Jean. That's not nice.

"I don't remember your mother," Annie said dully.

"She wasn't a doctor," Armin said, looking to Mikasa pointedly. "She did research, and helped with stuff like stem cell research. She was very good."

"That's nice to know," Mikasa murmured.

"I don't really remember my parents," Reiner admitted.

Annie sighed. She'd let her hair down for the night, and it was tucked carefully behind her ears and out of her eyes. Armin sensed that she was sad, and the icy prickle of it darted across his tongue, making him wince.

"I don't remember mine either," she admitted. "Sometimes I think I can remember my father, but then his face just turns to Marco's. It's unsettling."

Armin considered this fact, and he understood how disheartening it was to not know what the faces of the people who should've raised you. His mind travelled back, gazing in wonder at the beautiful eyes of his mother, and he tried his best to pull at that memory, to hear her singing and to feel her warmth, but all that was fading now.

He hoped he'd be all right enough, when this was all over, to visit her once more.

"Marco did a lot of damage," Armin murmured. "To you three… especially…"

They all turned to face him, and he felt their uncertainty and wonder and disbelief. Odd tastes clashing with odd feelings and he felt strung up on a clothesline in the middle of a hurricane, ripped apart under the streams of wind and rain and snarls of lightning.

"I'd like to undue Marco's mistakes," Armin said, staring between them and clasping his hands in order to calm himself. "I've thought about this a lot, and I think… it's only fair that I use the power I was given, his power, to bring back what he knowingly and unknowingly stole from us. And, maybe even the world."

"That's a lot of responsibility," Annie said, her eyes narrowing a bit. "Are you really willing to do such a thing?"

"Am I willing?" Armin smiled at her vacantly. "It isn't a question of will or strength. It's about choice. And I choose to be the medium between Marco and the world. He's not gone, after all, and I'd like to be able to speak with him on level terms sometime."

"He's evil," Eren pointed out.

"He's misguided," Armin replied. "I don't think anyone is especially evil or heroic. I came to that conclusion… a long time ago, I think, but it never really became relevant to me until now. I am not a good person—"

"Armin—" Mikasa began, leaning forward.

"No," Armin sighed, "no, it's true. I'm not… what anyone would or could consider purely good. I don't think any of us are. We've chosen to act the part of heroes, which is all well and good, but we'll always make mistakes, no matter our good intentions. That's what was wrong with Marco. He understood his actions were bad, but he did the things he did because he felt that it was necessary. For selfish reasons of course, but I understand his reasoning."

"Kenny Ackerman is evil," Historia spoke up in a soft, empty voice.

"Okay, you've got me there," Armin said, smiling at her dimly. "Marco is not, though."

"Are you saying we should forgive him?" Jean asked cautiously.

"No," Armin sighed. "Forgiveness and sympathy are different things entirely. If you don't forgive Marco, don't forgive him. He did terrible things to you— to all of you, and me as well. But in his own twisted way, he did care about all of us. So if we're going to proceed, and if we ever encounter him again, I think we should just remember that not everything is black and white."

"And if we don't agree?" Annie asked.

"Then you're under no obligation to agree with me," he told her gently. "I might use my powers in similar ways to Marco, but I'll never influence your choices. I'd give it all up in an instant before I controlled any of you."

"Well that's reassuring," Jean snorted.

"This is all really serious stuff," Reiner said vacantly. "I hate it. Let's talk about America's Next Top Model."

"Nobody here watches America's Next Top Model but you," Mikasa pointed out.

"That's because you're all clearly uncultured. Love yourselves and watch it."

"That's unlikely," Annie sighed.

"American Horror Story is better," Historia piped up. Eren glanced at her, and he frowned.

"You're creepy," he said.

"I watch it too, Eren," Armin reminded.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Eren said blankly. "You're kinda creepy too, but in the best way."

"Okay, what about American Ninja Warrior," Jean said, grinning broadly. "Come on, I bet all of you watch that!"

"Shh," Mikasa hissed, pressing her finger to her lips. "You'll wake up Levi."

"Aw, no man the little grandpa could here me," Jean said, waving offhandedly. "He's all the way down the hall, isn't he?"

"You'd be surprised what he hears," Armin murmured, rubbing his temples. He didn't sense Levi approaching, but he knew that the man was awake and listening.

"I don't watch television," Annie admitted.

"I do sometimes…" Bertholdt looked a little nervous as he spoke. "I mean, it really depends… there are a lot of weird shows…"

"You watched Dance Moms, didn't you," Eren observed.

"Um…?" Bertholdt said weakly.

"I just watch cartoons," Mikasa said, resting her chin in her hands.

Jean snorted. "You still watch Gravity Falls, I'm guessing?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Nah, it's just funny."

"I like Gravity Falls," Eren said.

"Wow," Jean said, closing his eyes. "I don't know why these things surprise me anymore."

It was then that they began to doze off one by one, the lights of their phones dying as they tossed blankets over one another and threatened to muffle the person next to them with a pillow. Armin was surprisingly content in spite of the hushed minds pouring into his head all at once, tastes clashing into a stream of watery dreams. He curled up between Mikasa and Eren, sandwiched between the two with his arm extended in order to hold Historia's hand. She was lying opposite him, the crown of her head brushing his own.

In truth he was surprised at them all. He hadn't realized they'd cared this much. It was a little alarming even without the shuddering dreams, but he allowed himself this comfort.

The sound of breathing was the only sound he could hear, deep and shallow and mingling together, breath upon breath upon breath, and he heard it like he heard the wind howl and like he heard the thoughts snarl and like he heard his own heartbeat trembling inside his chest.

He felt an ice cube press onto his tongue and rest there until it was numb.

Armin?

He turned his face from Eren's chest toward the ceiling, listening to the breaths, feeling Mikasa and Eren's tickle his neck in hot bursts. They were clinging to him so tightly, he didn't think he could pry himself out of their grip.

Annie?

The silence trickled onward and the dreams melted like springtime frost.

You're a good person, she thought to him. She was hazy and distant, and her words flashed and dissipated like snowflakes meeting a puddle.

He mulled over this thought of hers, trying to understand why she'd reach out to him and tell him this of all things.

He closed his eyes, and he smiled.

Doesn't that just mean I'm a good person to you? he thought to her. Or I'm good for you to use?

No, she thought back. I just think you're a really good person.

He considered this and all its odd springtime glory, tasting it like it could agitate his allergies at any moment, and he smiled.

Even if it's not really that simple, he thought, I think you're a good person too.

Don't make this about me, moron.

You brought it up, didn't you?

She did not respond, and he opened his eyes. He could feel her presence not too far away, but he was afraid to stir lest he awaken Mikasa, who was a light sleeper on a good night. He felt Annie in his mind, but he also knew that she was opening hers up to him, which was exciting and terrifying. They trusted each other thoroughly, it seemed. How extraordinary.

What's going to happen now, Armin? Annie asked tentatively.

Huh? He felt Historia squeezing his hand, and he wondered if she was having a nightmare. He breathed into the minds around him and granted them the best dreams he could make up, but for Historia he could do nothing but hold her hand and hope. You mean, what does the future hold?

Yeah, I guess.

I can't see the future, Armin told her, his mind drifting off slowly into a fog. But if I all I want is a future where I can be with all of you.

Her silence caused him to sink further into the depths of his mind, and he thought that this was nice, that forgetting all his troubles and letting these minds wash over him in a blanket of soft dreams was nice.

That's a fool's dream, Annie told him, though he felt her hope and he felt her fear, and he blew at her a dream that would make her smile.

If it is, he thought to her, letting her sink with him into a happy place, I must be the greatest fool to ever live.

She did not comment that his wish was more or less Marco's without the complication of skewed morals.

She merely let him drag her into a sweet dream.

The next day, none of the adults made any comments about their sleepover. Everyone was oddly somber, and when Armin had awoken he'd been completely oblivious as to why.

Of course, that didn't last long. His surgery was scheduled rather early.

"Is it okay to be scared?" he whispered to Erwin as he settled into his hospital gown.

Erwin managed a smile, and Armin for the life of him could not tell if it was real or not. It was still infuriating, after all these years, how Armin could not read him.

"You have every right to be terrified," Erwin said to him calmly, brushing his hair from his forehead, the last time he'd be able to do it for what Armin imagined would be a long time. "You're smart, Armin. Your fear is a result of that."

"I don't feel especially smart right now," he mumbled. He leaned into Erwin's touch, and he wondered what the world would be like later on, if there would be a shift in his perception or if the world would not change at all.

"You are," Erwin said, smiling down at him, "the smartest person I have ever met. You never cease to amaze me, Armin. Even now."

"Now?" Armin croaked, flushing and feeling sheepish and dull. "I'm a mess right now, Erwin, a total freaking mess."

"You're brave," he said softly, smoothing back his hair, "and you're brilliant. And I don't want you to ever forget that."

Armin felt as though something was crushing his throat, so he managed a quick hug, squeezing Erwin tightly and feeling as though the world was an ocean rising up to wash him away.

"I'll probably be out of it when I get my tattoo," Armin said, deciding to change the topic quickly as his time ticked away from him, grains of sand pouring into his eyes as his life moved past him and was gulped down a great maw of a drain. "Please make sure it's not something terrible."

Erwin smiled knowingly.

"I think I can arrange for it to be something bearable," he said.

He didn't remember much of the surgery. Being awake was only part of it, and most of it was a hazy blur of sensations he couldn't explain and words that did not fully reach him. He was asked to do things as he was operated on, like speak and count and identify pictures, and he could not fathom how that was relevant when he was lying with his head cut open and his brain exposed. The world was filmy and dark and he was utterly entranced by it, and utterly revolted by the numbness and the starkness of pain.

It was a struggle, because he did not know fully what was happening around him, and nothing seemed to make any sense. If he was so smart, why couldn't he solve the simplest of puzzles? Why couldn't he put two and two together? Why was he such a fool?

Numbness and emptiness came hand and hand.

He slept it off.

When he woke up, it was to bleary lights streaming in lines of white across the blur of his vision. He was uncertain about what had transpired, and where he was, and how much time had passed since his conversation with Erwin, but now things were muddled and disorienting and he felt almost sick. He was dull and numb and feeling like there was pain somewhere, like a bite from a bug that he just could not find no matter how much time he spent prodding at his skin.

"Armin?"

Historia was sitting by his side, watching him with her face in a cloud and her eyes like twin pools of murky water fluttering against an onslaught of violent wind. She was sweet to see, but he hadn't a clue why she was there or where she had come from. He was lost.

"Hist…oria?" He groaned, and he sunk into the fluffy depths of his fluffy cloud bed, feeling like someone had taken a knife and driven it into his head over and over and over and over again until his brain became mush and leaked out of the hole left behind.

"I'm here," she said, taking his hand. She felt soft. She might've looked like a haze, her features shifting and nothing but her eyes concrete, but her skin was soft and real and nothing could numb that feeling. He was happy.

"Where's Erwin?" he murmured, blinking dazedly. "Eren? Mikasa?"

"Erwin will be back soon," she told him gently. "Eren and Mikasa are waiting."

"I wanna see them now…" he sighed, feeling the urge to squirm but lacking the energy.

"You'll see them soon, I promise," Historia swore, squeezing his hand. He looked at her. He believed her.

Time passed, but he couldn't be sure how much, and he tasted nothing but the sourness inside of his mouth.

"I picked out the words, you know," Historia blurted.

He turned to her, his face pressing firmly into his pillow. He felt as though something was missing, and he realized he'd been expecting his hair to fall into his eyes. But it was gone.

"What words?" he asked her confusedly.

She stared at him, all fuzzy and sweet, and she pointed.

Armin's eyes trailed away following her finger in a slow motion. They fell upon his exposed arm, which was covered by a bandage. With shaky, clumsy fingers, he tore at the bandage in a furious daze of emotion and listened for an objection from his flickering haze of a sister, but found that she gave none. The bandage came off with a rip, and he watched as it fell to the floor beside his IV drip.

He stared at his reddened forearm, his mind clicking on in a rush of emotion.

"I hope you like it," Historia said nervously. "Eren and Mikasa approved it before I told Levi. I thought… I thought it was a good reminder. For all of us."

The ink curled around his skin, dancing in the grooves of his flesh in slow motion, a tribute to how foggy the world was.

He felt numbness shatter inside him, a glass grenade erupting inside his throat, and he blinked as tears gathered up inside his eyes, slipping easily from his lashes and splashing hotly against his cheeks.

He couldn't speak, he couldn't think.

But he'd never been so grateful in his life.

The words sang to him.

Memento vivere, they called to him.

Remember you live.

---

Salem, Oregon

a.d. Kal. Dec. 2826 A.U.C.

The snowflakes were falling rapidly, clumps of fluffy white ice drawing across the bitter air and gathering along the rows and rows, smoothing out small layers of white blankets as it went. Something in the air tasted like smoke. Had someone been burning something? The distinctly sharp scent of it billowed against the current of wind and made nostalgia rev up like an old busted machine, whirring madly and sadly in the dying daylight.

The day was dying, it seemed, and the light was being sucked up and away, leaving blotting darkness and dots of snow.

Graveyards were peaceful, of course, but too sad in truth to visit often. They were somber places. The dead could rest in peace, surely, and leave the leaving to rot. It was too harsh to stay for very long, and the conditions were terrible at best. Snow was biting and wind was slicing and the day's seams were unraveling and spilling darkness across the ashen sky.

He could smell smoke like a memory scorching into the side of his brain.

It was rising up inside of him, and he wondered what sort of miasma would leave his lips if he exhaled— smoke or mist?

He'd walked for a good five minutes. The snow was pressing heavily upon his feet. Snowflakes were melting in his hair.

He remembered the night he'd fucked everything up. It had been snowing then too, hadn't it?

Oh, but that had been nearly four hundred years ago now, and he was quite tired of remembering such sad things.

He'd come here for a purpose.

The daylight seemed to pour right out of the sky the moment he turned from the snow-covered path into a long row of protruding graves and buried plaques. There was a mound of blackened snow shadowed in the close distance.

There was a tiny figure standing just beside it.

He considered turning around and fleeing, but he was too frightened to move.

The wind began to toy with the tiny silhouette's cropped yellow hair, whirling it around flushed cheeks and tickling his jaw.

This boy was not possible.

"Armin?" he called, listening to snow crack beneath his feet. He was moving without thought. Tastes were dry, and there were none, and that was amazing. "Armin, is that—?"

The boy standing beside the mound of snowy dirt had a pale roll of smoldering paper stuck between his teeth. His fluffy blond hair whirled and whipped against the furious hand of the early winter wind. Snow had clumped against his long eyelashes, accentuating the fire in his bold blue eyes as he watched patiently, smoke curling in a dance of gray around his baby doll face.

"Actually," Historia Reiss said, blowing smoke into Marco's eyes, "it's Cicero now."

He wanted to object and say that was silly, but he was so transfixed by how her face mirrored Armin's so perfectly that it frightened him. She'd shorn her hair to a length that allowed her to look exactly like her younger brother, and in the grayish sunset, she looked especially boyish.

He found his voice just as she took another drag from her cigarette.

"You'd forsake your name again?" he asked her, unable to keep the coy teasing from his voice. "I'm disappointed. You nearly killed yourself reclaiming your identity."

"Oh, I'm still Historia," she said to him coolly, smoke splashing once more into his face. "Just to the people I trust. That, Marco, does not include you."

"I'd imagine not," he said quietly. His eyes swiveled to the mound of dirt, but there was no plaque nor gravestone yet. The funeral had been earlier in the day. "You look so much like your brother, you know… I think I lost my wits when I saw you. I'm sorry."

"I cut my hair because I wanted to look more like Armin," she told him with a vague little shrug. "I'm okay with admitting that. Though when I did it he told me I was silly, and that I should've cut my hair the way I wanted for myself, or whatever. He's always been very adamant that I develop my own opinions and become my own person."

"You're a very good sister," Marco told her, pride welling up inside his chest and expanding rapidly. Despite her youthful appearance, this girl had grown up so much since the last time they had met. He'd seen her here and there over the years, but never up close. He'd been exiled from the family he'd created, and he'd accepted that.

She scoffed at that. "Nah, not really," she said, glancing up at the sky. "I try, though. I guess that counts."

"It does," he assured her. "It really does."

"So why'd you miss the funeral?" she asked casually, as though he'd been invited or something.

"Um…" He watched as she pinched the roll of her cigarette, tossing the ashes onto the snowy dirt mound. "I certainly would've if I thought I was welcome."

"We were all expecting you to show up," she said. "I had a bet going with Connie."

"How is he?" he found himself asking eagerly. "He's lost so many people in such a short time—"

"Ymir died like, ten years ago," Historia told him sharply. Yes, how could he forget that? He hadn't gone to that funeral, nor had he even been to see her grave. He was so mortified, and so sad, because that girl had been his little sister and he had loved her. And she had loved him. And he felt as though he'd abandoned her. How could he face her grave? "Eliza's been dead longer, and his parents died forever ago. Yeah, Sasha died last year, but he's… okay. I think. Marigold and Mark are still alive, and he's got his kids and grandkids."

Marco did not know the details of Sasha's death, but he understood that she'd died in her sleep. Rightfully so, considering she'd lived a life so adventurous that many compared her to Theodore Roosevelt in terms of demeanor and stamina. It helped that she had won numerous Olympic gold medals for archery.

"And… how are you doing?" he pressed Historia. "I mean, without Ymir."

"I'm okay," she said in dull tone. He knew she was lying but he let it go because she was glaring at him. "She was pretty old. And she wanted to die."

"You offered to heal her, didn't you?" he asked her excitedly.

"I asked them all if they wanted me to heal them," she told him, her furious eyes burning brighter than the smoldering end of her cigarette. "Reiner considered it, but he decided he was okay with dying. Sasha just said no, and then when I asked her kids they said no too. Levi laughed at me when I asked him. Hange never answered, but Eren told me not to. Erwin was the only one who ever accepted, and that was because he hadn't made the proper arrangements and wanted to be better prepared."

"That's amazing," he said, watching her eyes narrow at him. "You did the exact opposite of what I wanted, and yet you did exactly what I would do."

"I don't ask for consent under the guise of mind control, Marco," she told him coldly.

He smiled at her vacantly. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry is all you ever are," she spat, flicking her still burning cigarette onto the fresh mound of dirt. "Don't be sorry to me. I don't give a shit about you, Marco."

"I wish I could say that feeling was mutual, but…" He shrugged sheepishly. She did not look at him, but instead rolled her eyes. "How's Armin?"

"Alive," she said.

"Which is remarkable, yeah," he sighed, "but I mean, what has he been up to?"

"Uh," she said, "well considering he's too old to be doing espionage, he's just been living quietly."

"With Eren and Mikasa?"

"Well, yeah, duh." Historia squinted at him. "Annie lives with them too when she feels like it."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from Annie," he laughed, though he didn't feel very much like laughing. He was staring at the grave sadly.

"Jean wanted me to give you this," she said, digging through her pockets and retrieving an opened pack of cigarettes. In truth, seeing it and hearing her words did not click, and he felt as though someone had detached him from the earth all of a sudden. He was numbed by the spitting wind and the kisses of snow. "I took one because he owed me, and dead guys don't pay their debts, so…"

"He…" It was odd to be struck speechless. It had not happened in a very long time, and he wasn't sure what to do. He felt as though someone had crushed his lungs in an iron fist, and he had difficulty breathing as he stared at the pack of cigarettes and let his mind wander the distant memory of the boy who had often spouted vicious opinions through a cloud of smoke.

"I wonder," she whispered, her eyes narrowing at his face as she offered out the cigarettes, "if he forgave you after all."

Marco swallowed with great difficulty, feeling dizzy and nauseous as he reached for the pack. She drew back from him, and he paused.

"You hate me," he observed.

"I hate a lot of things and people," she said. "Don't feel special."

"You spent too much time with Ymir," he said, staring vacantly at the cigarettes and feeling desperately eager to get his hands on them.

"No," Historia said, raising her chin high. "I simply let myself be me. And the person I am is not particularly nice, I don't think. You must understand that."

"We truly are alike, aren't we?" he asked her bitterly, tears filling his eyes.

"Truly," she hissed, tossing the cigarettes at his feet. They collapsed in the dirt and the snow, and Marco closed his eyes and reached into his pocket as he bent to pick up the pack.

"You're training the kids, aren't you?" he whispered, wiping the wet dirt from the surface of the pack with his thumb. He closed his other hand around something cold and hard, a metal chill digging into the grooves of his fingers.

"Stay away from them," she warned him, her eyes flashing. "If you even try to manipulate them, I'll kill you."

"That's what I want, though," he reminded her, tears blinding him. "Are you too weak to do it, Historia? Too scared of being alone forever?"

He doubled over in pain as her tiny foot came smashing into his gut. She had a surprising amount of strength for someone so small, and she was clearly much faster than he'd anticipated. But she'd had years and years to train herself in the ways of combat, so he couldn't be too surprised.

"It'd be too easy to kill you," she snapped, tears turning the whites of her eyes a brilliant red. He smiled to himself, wrapping his arm around his stomach and withdrawing his hand from his pocket. "I decided a long time ago that if I had to suffer watching everyone I love die, so do you."

"Is that so?" he croaked, tears freezing on his cheeks. "Well, congratulations! We're both stuck in hell!"

"You call it hell," she said, her expression setting in determination. "But unlike you, I'm not alone in this world."

"Not yet," he told her. "You'll understand soon, though. Death would be such a gift to monsters like us."

"I am not a monster," she declared.

"Not yet," he laughed.

"Not ever!" She was crying too, he noticed, and he felt like sobbing as he realized that this was their fate. Two sad immortal beasts crying over their misfortune for all eternity. His fist closed around the pack of cigarettes. It was unfair. "If someone calls you a monster for long enough, you might become one. That's why…" She stared at him. She shook her head, her lips a thin line, and Marco wished he could hear her thoughts, but she'd done well in arming herself against his telepathy. Perhaps Armin had taught her how, or Ymir.

"That's why…?" Marco smiled at her tremulously. "What? That's why I am the way I am?"

She tilted her head, pale tear tracks glistening on her flushed cheeks.

"It's why you can change," she said mechanically. "Enjoy your cigarettes. Jean said told me to tell you that you were wrong, by the way."

"Wrong?" he whispered, his mind a blanket of snow. Blank and white and blinding.

Historia shrugged, and she pulled her hood up. He noticed it was white, and that she was wearing a cloak not dissimilar to the one she wore as Vitae, only a bit shorter and with slats in order to stick her arms through. With the hood, there was absolutely no telling the difference between her and how Armin had looked when he'd still been a boy.

"When I asked him if he wanted me to heal him," she said, "he told me he'd expected you to be there, and that he was disappointed you weren't. Then he told me to tell you that you were wrong, and you'd know why."

"He knew I'd show up?" Marco murmured, blinking dazedly through his tears. He tried to wipe them away, but they only came streaming faster, and he thought he might choke upon them. He felt so terrible about everything that he had done. To Jean, and to Ymir, and even to this hateful little girl who he'd granted immortality to.

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not actually Armin, I don't read minds. But I guess he was hoping. Anyway, do with that what you will. I'm done with you."

"I have something for you," he blurted, reaching over Jean's grave for her. She glanced at him, and he felt a jolt of blood slither down his throat as she allowed him to feel her rage. He swallowed it down, all that sickening sourness of it. He was sad at her fury, but also proud. He was glad to see she had the will to hate him so thoroughly.

"I don't want it," she told him curtly.

"Yes you do," he said, offering out the glittering locket and begging she'd take pity on him and look. "Please take it. Keep it if you want, but if you don't then you should bring it to Ymir's grave. It was hers."

Historia looked alarmed, and she reached hesitantly, her pale fingers brushing his. He saw her pale wrist, milky skin and vibrant webs of blue veins, and there were black words scripted in a swirling, masterful hand from bone to bone. Memento mori, it said. The irony was palpable, like a mist of breath upon his prickling face. She plucked the locket from his palm, and it dangled in the haze of twilight. She looked bemused, but he could sense she recognized it, and she pulled it carefully to her chest.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"The world is so unkind," he whispered, his eyes swiveling to Jean's grave. "Consider this a peace offering. I'd like to help you, Cicero. If you'd allow me to."

She was shaking, he noted, her lips trembling pitifully as the snow danced around her, the wind singing her sad dirge, and he felt her sorrow. He felt her rage. He was in the same position of anguish. No one in the world could understand them so thoroughly as they understood each other now.

"Goodbye, Jean," she said to the mound of dirt, whirling away and letting herself be swallowed by the storm of flurries. She was camouflaged easily by the snow.

He stood, dumb and numbed and shaking. All he had wanted was to love something he could keep forever. He was a fool. Nothing lasted forever, not even him. He was a monster playing saint. He'd acted that part for far too long.

He genuflected, feeling his knees sink into the snow.

I'm sorry, he thought, his sobs to quiet to be audible over the steady wail and whine of the wind. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Marco, said a distant, quiet voice. Stop apologizing. Apologies from you mean nothing.

He felt his entire world collapsing around him. He turned, and squinted blearily into the dust and the darkness, but he did not see the boy he'd once known. He did not see anyone.

Are you mocking me, Armin? He nearly laughed, but he didn't feel much like laughing, and instead rubbed his eyes and let the snow gather in his eyes. That's cruel of you.

Me? It was the voice of a child, though Marco knew he was an old man now. Cruel? Remember who you're talking to. You put me through mental hell.

Will you return the favor?

That is not my intention.

Snow crunched softly behind him. The darkness was too thick now to see anything but the snowy mound of dirt, and the dance of snowflakes as they clogged his vision. There was a heavy sound, ice cracking and snow shifting, and the dance of snowflakes paused mid-descent.

"Jean had a request," a quiet rumble of a voice said from beside him. Marco didn't want to look. He knew what Armin looked like now. "He told me that he forgave you. Which, by the way, is more than what you deserve."

"It is," Marco agreed vacantly.

"However," Armin said, "because I cared about Jean, I want to make sure his final wish meant something."

"Why send Historia when you were just going to show up yourself?" he whispered, glancing up sharply at the old man's face. He'd aged remarkably well, few wrinkles and a vague residual roundness from childhood even now. His hair was still long and fluffy, but white now, and the snow that twinkled madly like frozen stars around them. Marco could taste Annie's mind nearby, and it frightened him.

"She's Cicero now," the boy-turned-old man said with a shrug. "I know you're aware of the new heroes our generation produced. Well, not me, of course, but Connie and Sasha and Mikasa and Eren and Rico and… ah. Yeah." He laughed a little, and the sound was strange and familiar, and Marco began to cry even more. "Anyway, she's their leader. She decides if you're worthy enough, not me. So I wanted her to come meet you for herself to see if you've changed."

"I don't think I have…" Marco murmured. "I'm… I'm…"

"Still selfish?" Armin offered. "That's okay, so is Historia. She begged Ymir to let her heal her, but Ymir really wanted to die, and that's just life I guess."

"Yes," Marco sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"I think you're okay, though," he said gently, placing his wizened hand on Marco's head, inky letters swirling in his eyes as his palm brushed his skin. Memento vivere. After all this time, he still lived. How funny, how funny, what an otherworldly joke. He was struck by a sudden hammer of emotion. Of Eren's beaming face when he got a job as a professor of biology at his alma mater, of Mikasa twirling and whirling across a stage, toeing herself to and fro en pointe, of Historia's success as a paramedic, of Annie's adjustment into normalcy through a promising soccer career, of Connie's high school gym teacher job which gave him a surprising amount of joy, of Sasha and Jean's first Olympic games, of Bertholdt's bright, disbelieving smile the day he received his degree in psychology, of Reiner's booming laugh as he leaned over his bar and ruffled Armin's hair affectionately, of Hange's political conquests and Levi's constant presence, as a guard, as a secret service man, only leaving his post to manage for a brilliant prima ballerina, of Erwin's successful merger between the Brigade and the Garrison, a new news network forming called the Legion. And Armin, always the resilient, sat before him with a smile that could shake the earth. "So here's my proposal. You'll try. You'll prove that you're not the monster you've been pretending to be. And you'll accept that you are, like me, like Historia, like Jean, like every single one of the children you stole, human. And then you'll never have to be alone again."

The snow had stopped around them, and he was inhaling the flakes with great heaves of breaths, trying to discern what Armin could possibly mean.

How cruel he was to fool him like this.

"I'm not playing a cruel trick, Marco, I'm not you," Armin sighed. "Regardless of what you might think. We only want what's best for the world. And if you can protect it without being a dictator, then you should prove that you care. I know that you can do good. But you need to show the rest of the world. Can you do that?"

He stared at Jean's grave, and he wondered what the boy would've said if he'd been in Marco's place. He was so confused, and he was so misguided, and he wanted to believe Armin so badly it made his chest ache.

"You want me to be a hero?" Marco whispered, rising to his feet unsteadily.

Armin gave him a long look, one of pity and sympathy and perhaps even disdain. But then, the emotions melted, and the old man gave the smile of a little boy. Despite Marco's expectations, an old man he stayed, and his wrinkles sunk heavily into his cheeks instead of being washed away by a trickster's hand and soaked in sunlight while he wiped his age and bathed in youth. The difference between them was so terribly clear. Armin did not hide in illusions because he had no need for them. He was who he was, and he wore that plainly for all to see. His little boy's smile was warm and bright on his wizened face.

"All I want," he said softly, "is for you to be human."

And in a blink, he disappeared from Marco's sight. And the snow began to fall again.

---

I would first and foremost like to thank everyone who's stuck with this monstrosity thus far, everyone that's reviewed and enjoyed it, everyone that's been patient with the plot and the length. I need to thank Steph for being so awesome and prompting me, this was for her from the start, and Angie for practically writing half the fic bc I just went to her with every single fucking thing, and she was especially helpful when I had doubts about the fic's quality or if I could finish the story (I HONESTLY CAN'T BELIEVE I DID TBH), she's the best, Steph's the best, you're all the best. Thank you so much. =]

I tried my best to answer every question I could possibly think of, but of course there's stuff I missed so hit me up on tumblr if you have questions about this universe or the fates of characters, or why I chose to end it the way I did. This was planned, by the way. I always meant to have Historia and Marco meet over Jean's grave, you can go back to the chapter Historia was introduced and Marco warned Jean about the day he'd die, I think that was definitely the point where I constructed this ending. Armin's survival was a surprise. I honestly almost did kill him, but I wanted him to survive in a way that combine the theme of humanity while still keeping that superhero element of cheap tricks to get the hero to narrowly escape death.

This fic meant a lot to me, and I'm glad I'm wrote it and even happier that I finished it. I'm sure some of you are sad that it's ending, but come on. At least I finished it, right? Look at the length, I'm lucky I got this far, and I'm so happy that I did because I got to give a conclusion instead of leaving everyone hanging for years. This has been the best time, but I'm obviously moving on to other stuff (if you guys really like my writing, I'm in the middle of a snk ghost story au involving Armin investigating Eren's disappearance, like tis the season hell yeah hell yeah).

I hope the ending didn't disappoint, and? Well, here we are!

The End.