These characters are under copyright by Hajime Isayama and/or Kodansha Comics or others. This is a work of fanfiction, for no monetary gain.
Chapter 51 – The Cat and the Rat
Armin hurried forwards, anxious to catch up to Eren and Mikasa before he completely lost sight of them on the crowded street. He didn't want to call out to his friends and make a spectacle of himself in front of the civilians all around him. The Scouts were already viewed disparagingly enough by much of the populace. He hadn't realized he'd dawdled in front of the shop for so long, but there had been a sweater knitted in the same colors of yarn that were on the silky scarf he'd purchased for Hypatia. He'd have to come back and look more closely at it and perhaps even buy it for her, later.
He froze as he heard a sound that didn't belong on the busy street: it sounded like a baby crying, nearby but pitifully weak, when oddly there wasn't a mother and child in sight. Armin passed by the mouth of an alleyway and realized a few steps later that the sound was becoming fainter, that it was coming not from the crowded road, but the alley he had just passed. Oh no! Did someone abandon a baby, maybe even a newborn?
"Eren! Mikasa! Wait!" he called, no longer worried about appearances, but they were too far away now to hear. Armin didn't want to run and maybe start a panic – a running Scout was seldom a good sign, and people were likely still far more skittish and on edge than usual, from having seen Yeager Titan only a few days earlier. He didn't want to risk worsening that already bad situation. They'd yet to experience any repercussions from Eren assuming his Titan form without warning in Karanese, but they knew there were likely to be some.
Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't know the way back to the base on his own, and he'd certainly proven even to himself that he could handle any trouble that came to call. Mikasa and Eren probably wouldn't even realize he was missing until they reached the base, and maybe not even then. After all, they hadn't noticed him stopping to look at the sweater, and they hadn't doubled back yet now to find him, either.
He'd always been embarrassed by how they'd hovered over him so overprotectively since they were kids, but now that they weren't, he actually missed it. It was like they'd forgotten all about him, now that they had each other. He knew that wasn't really fair, especially considering how new their relationship was, in spite of knowing one another for years, but he couldn't help how he felt.
Armin approached the mouth of the alley, carefully and alert for danger, putting his hand on one of his swordhilts, though he didn't blade the weapon yet, half dreading what he'd find. Had the infant been abandoned, or had its parents maybe been murdered, in broad daylight? Or worse, last night, and no one had noticed until now? If so, no wonder the baby sounded so weak! He forced himself to proceed cautiously, instead of running into the alley. It could possibly also be a lure for a trap, a way to ensnare kindhearted, gullible people trying to help the baby, and he wasn't about to ever be taken off guard again.
The floor of the narrow alley was shadowed between the tall buildings on either side, which blocked the sunlight, and further masked by the stacks of old crates and piles of refuse which littered the ground. "Hello?" Armin called, feeling like an idiot for it a moment later. If it was a trap, the men ready to spring it certainly wouldn't announce their presence, and it's not like a baby could answer him, after all. Although it might cry louder, hearing help was near.
His grandfather had told him babies were surprisingly smart that way. His great-grandmother had told his grandfather that when he was an infant, he used to mewl like a kitten, at first, when he was born while his eleven month older brother used to belt out his cries at the top of his lungs. Even as a newborn, Grandfather quickly learned his cries would go ignored, while his brother was seen to, and within a few days he'd started hollering as loudly as his brother.
Armin smiled, just thinking about his grandfather ever being loud. He was the quietest, gentlest man he'd ever known. But he had to concentrate, to pay attention. The cries were marginally louder now that he was approaching the back of the alley, but it was darker back here too, and far enough from the street that it would be a perfect spot for an ambush. Belatedly, he realized he could have used his maneuver gear, to be more safe, but then remember he hadn't wanted to make the civilians nervous or upset. But it was suspiciously quiet, too quiet. Bystanders on the street likely wouldn't see now anyway.
Without another thought, Armin bladed his swords, shot out his grapples and slammed on his gas, flying towards the back of the alley, ready to plunge down on whomever was below him. He stared, perplexed at the litter strewn alley floor beneath him, which was devoid of life. Where was the baby? He couldn't see it, or even hear it now. And there certainly weren't any lowlifes lurking there, or even any dead bodies lying in the alley. Well, except for a couple of half eaten rats.
He looked suspiciously at the buildings on either side and at the back of the alley he was now clinging to, but there weren't any windows, and the two doors he saw to either side were both shut. There wasn't enough room to hide behind any of the junk in the alley, either. At least, not for a man. But a baby could fit. Which meant someone must have thrown it away. Unless he'd just imagined the cries, somehow?
But then, as he hung silently over the filthy alley floor, just as the faint breeze shifted and an awful smell of decaying meat hit his nose, Armin heard the cries again. From his new vantage point, he could tell they were coming from almost directly under him, from behind a small pile of dilapidated crates, in the back left corner of the alley. Armin dropped to the ground, sheathing his swords.
"It's alright. I won't hurt you," he crooned, as he began shifting the broken boxes. He froze as, just before lifting the last one, he heard a hissing sound, like leaking gas, or perhaps a snake? The rats! Had a snake been eating the rats? Was it trying to eat the baby?
Armin yanked the last crate away, caution forgotten. He could probably survive a venomous snake bite long enough to get help, but a newborn would die almost instantly. Only there was no baby. At least, not a baby human.
Armin stared in surprise at the hissing, spitting, trembling black ball of fluff and ribs, silvery blue-gray eyes flashing in fury and terror, silken ears laid back, miniature white fangs surrounding a tiny pink mouth, needlelike claws protruding from too-big paws, stubby centimeters-tall tail sticking straight up along with ruffled fur, in a vain effort to appear larger and more ferocious than a weeks old kitten could ever possibly look.
"Awwwwwww." Armin's heart broke as he saw the adorably fierce handful was standing beside the body of his mother, which was crawling with flies, the source of the stomach-turning decaying smell. From the position and rigidity of the mother cat's limbs, Armin realized she'd been poisoned, and he remembered the half eaten rats he'd seen. The mother had apparently either eaten the poisoned rats, the bait set out for them, or both. He immediately thought of Hypatia's father, and heard her say again, "They don't really differentiate between the humans they killed and the rats: we're all just vermin to them." If they didn't care about killing humans, they'd hardly care whether they killed cats, either.
Armin looked around for the rest of the litter, shifting around some of the refuse, but didn't see any other kittens, though he did find a tattered piece of burlap with short black hairs on it, that was likely where the mother and kitten had slept. Any siblings apparently hadn't survived the other hazards of Karanese: dogs, horse hooves, wagon wheels, starvation, maybe even drowning, and worst of all, people.
"You poor thing. It's alright. You don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you," Armin assured the tiny, terrified kitten, reaching for the burlap, thinking the mother's scent that should still cling to it might calm the kitten, but changing his mind when he saw the fleas jumping on it. Instead, he took off his rucksack and took out his spare uniform shirt. "I'm going to wrap you in this, OK? And tuck you into my shirt, under my jacket, so you'll be warm." He wished he had some meat to lure the hungry kitten with, though he wasn't sure whether he was weaned yet. He tried slowly holding out his right hand several times, but the kitten was too panicked, and attacked him each time, raking razor sharp claws across his palm and fingers, and biting, too.
"You're as prickly as Captain Levi, aren't you? A little blackberry bush, scratching up my hand, just like he'd scratch up Mikasa's," Armin cooed and rambled, trying to lull the kitten, to get it used to the sound of his voice. "Blackberry! That's perfect. I'm going to call you Blackberry."
Finally Armin used his left hand as bait and then snatched the kitten with his right, holding the soft furred wrinkle of skin behind the kitten's neck to lift it into the shirt, carrying him the way his mother would have. He was astonished when the formerly vicious ball of fluff became instantly docile. He positioned the little cat in his spare shirt and then wrapped it as if it were a baby in a blanket, leaving only the head showing. To his relief, that too seemed to calm the frightened and overwhelmed animal. He tucked the bundle under his jacket, against his chest over his heart, hoping his warmth and maybe even his heartbeat might keep him calm. Then with a final look around, he headed for the mouth of the alley.
