**Forgot to mention last week that we chose a song for this fic that we think best represents its theme. Check out Kriill's "Green Jewels" if you wanna get in the spirit of things.

Written by: thesketchytepe**

She stared at the base of the pine tree Jean sat at a few moments ago. His hunched form and terrified tears reminded her of a boy she once knew, one she had fallen for. He had rocked back and forth on his heels, blaming himself for the actions of others and crying how he didn't want to do this anymore. He saw blood on his hands when she didn't see any.

Have Armin's mannerisms rubbed off on you, Jean, or are you closer friends than I thought you were?

She heard Hanji's exhilarated mutterings, her pacing feet, her vibrating phone behind her, but Annie chose not to listen. She eventually heard the barn door open, silence, and then a loud "Woo-whee! That's gotta be a day or two old body in there!" Annie had worked with Hanji long enough to know that she didn't have to answer or join in her murder party for her to go off the walls—she did all that by herself, without a care in the world.

That happy-go-lucky attitude reminded her of Sasha and the ponytail and big amber eyes didn't help her feel any better.

Because she thought of Sasha, she thought of them all and her hands wrapped tightly around the box in her lap.

What would they say if they were here? Historia would be willing to help while Ymir would say in a sly remark that it wasn't their business to begin with. Sasha's big heart bled for anyone in need and Connie, after hyping himself up, would eventually creep into the barn, trailing after Sasha. Reiner would act like the hero even with the fear rattling his bones and Berthold would stand by his decision with open arms, ready to catch him if he fell. Marco would insist that going somewhere was better than nowhere, and Eren…

She shut her eyes. She didn't want to think about that bastard anymore. He ruined her life, he tore apart Jean, and he killed her Armin, replacing him with a cold, emotionless robot that only focused on useless things like shame and guilt.

Again, she thought to herself. It's all happening again.

Over time, Hanji's willing members of her murder party showed up. Moblit was the lead forensic tech and he scurried onto the Jaeger estate with all sorts of tools in his arms. Hanji ran up to him and grabbed his arm, yanking him toward the opened barn door. "Detective!" Moblit stuttered as he barely caught his footing. Once he was swallowed in the darkness, Annie could hear his and Hanji's voices booming excitedly in the old, decaying structure.

Onyankopon, a blood spatter and DNA specialist, came running down the hill as well. Annie remembered his frequent visits to Hanji's office—he was friendly and managed an equal amount of casualness and professionalism during their cases. When he saw Annie sitting in her wheelchair, away from the murder barn, he grimaced and went to jog over to her. Hanji screamed his name as if she herself was getting murdered and, with pursed lips, Onyankopon hurried after her, but not before giving Annie a reassuring nod.

Police officers and people in trench coats soon littered the area surrounding the barn and the place was eventually on full lockdown. Yellow tape with the word CAUTION in big black letters circled the old structure, wrapping around the great pines looming over them all. Red and blue lights flashed in the corner of Annie's eye and she could vaguely make out the silhouettes of random strangers peeking down from the top of the hill. She frowned. She forgot people actually lived here; she always associated the Jaeger cabin as this little house in the middle of nowhere. She failed to remember that people would come here for a morning jog or that the closest neighbors lived only two miles away. They too were experiencing the raw fear of living right next to a resting place for the murdered—and here was another poor soul to add to the growing pile.

Annie was watching a bald-headed man with sunken eyes (he wore the face of a man who'd seen death multiple times well) take pictures of the colorful graffiti on the side of the barn when she felt something warm and heavy fall on her shoulders. She blinked at the beige blanket before looking up. A woman, not much older than she, was staring down at her with a slight smile. She had huge golden-brown eyes and choppy red hair with no sense of balance (she probably cut it herself in the bathroom mirror, not knowing what she was doing exactly).

"You must be Annie Leonhart," the woman said. Her voice was soft yet firm. "Detective Hanji has told me many things about you. It's nice to finally have a face to your name."

Annie said nothing.

She then lowered to Annie's height, placing one knee on the ground and fishing out a tiny black notepad from her inner coat pocket. "My name's Nifa. I just wanted to ask you some questions regarding what you saw about half an hour ago. Well, it can be about anything, really. What you're feeling, what you're thinking about." She shrugged. "It's my job to make sure you're psychologically okay."

She reminded Annie of Armin. Well, almost anything reminded her of him at this point, but the way she gently spoke to her, her small smile, and even the way she looked at her and around them, as if the very air was full of amazing opportunities (which was strange considering they were in the middle of a crime scene), was a little uncanny. Her frown deepened and she went back to staring at the tree in front of her. She would not cry, not here, not now.

"I've heard you're not much of a talker," Nifa said, "but I really do need you to say something." When Annie failed to respond, Nifa tried again: "What about Jean Kirstein? What do you think about him?"

She thought of Jean again and her stomach caved into itself.

After seeing a small figure with long blonde hair laying in the corner of the rotten barn, Jean exploded in agony, running around and crying his eyes out. He clawed at himself and almost ran over Annie in his blurry disarray. He kept shouting Marco's name over and over. She knew he kept his dead boyfriend as a secret coping mechanism whenever things became too much for him, so it was surprising at the very least to see him shouting at his memory as if he were really there, in the flesh and blood. Annie thought it was just his PTSD acting up, but it caused her stomach to churn and pull like taffy the more he screamed at nothing, so persistent in his hallucination.

But him sobbing out "Armin's dead, Armin's dead" as many times as he said Marco's name tore at her insides with the strength of a wolf's teeth and claws. Her heartbeat picked up speed and she could feel her breathing become haggard. She hadn't seen Armin in two years and actually believed Jean when he first said it. The small body and blond hair backed up his theory, but Annie had to squeeze her eyes shut and tell herself that Jean literally saw Armin yesterday at Erwin Smith's personal asylum for the mentally insane and that he was the only one with a locked door to his little padded cell. They even robbed Armin of his hair so that he would stop ripping out the strands. How could he grow a full head of hair within a few hours' time? How could he escape that room with everyone's eyes on him at all times? Not to mention that the body was that of a woman.

Fury added to her fear as Jean chose to not rationalize anything and continued insisting that he killed Armin in some way. Annie yelled back at him, telling him Marco was dead and that Armin was back at the madhouse. If he says Armin's dead one more time, she remembered thinking, I will tear out his throat and pluck out his eyeballs. Jean ultimately melted into a puddle once he called Levi and told him the impossible scenario. It was strange how he actually calmed down after speaking to him. Was either one aware of the control he had over Jean? Most likely not, knowing their stubborn attitudes and willing ignorance.

She rubbed her eyes. I don't want to do this again.

"Jean's an idiot," she mumbled to the tree.

Nifa hummed as if she were actually getting somewhere. "How so? Did he do or say something to make you think that way?"

Almost everything he does is idiotic, she thought to herself. He relies too heavily on what he feels rather than what he knows.

Annie glanced at Nifa. She was looking at her with that same concentrated stare Armin possessed—brows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes focused. It was starting to hurt her at how similar they were. Why was fate so cruel like that? She almost kept her mouth shut because no one could replace him and she refused to associate with anyone who tried to do so. But that was childish. That was her broken heart getting the best of her. This girl was just trying to do her job and Annie needed to rant anyway. She stored up her thoughts and feelings whenever she could until something snapped and released all the regrets, wishes, and doubts out of her like an avalanche.

Maybe if she closed her eyes and pretended Armin was still alive and well and right here next to her, then she could feel some sort of easement as she ran her tongue, knowing someone cared about what she was saying.

"He thought Marco was alive and Armin was dead," she told Nifa, shutting her eyes.

She explained all that she knew (but no more of what she believed), from Jean claiming that something was down the hill via the knowledge of "Marco" to Levi leading Jean away while Hanji called for backup. Nifa scribbled down almost everything that came out of her mouth and responded with the appropriate "And then what happened?" whenever Annie trailed off in thought. She kept her tone low and as emotionless as possible, despite how much she wanted to scream and throw her fists around like a child deprived of sleep or food. At the end, Nifa stood back up, thanked Annie, and then reviewed her notes, occasionally peeking up at the progress of the forensic team.

Annie looked around as well. There seemed to be more officers outside than there was in the barn. A lot of them were just standing around, talking to one another or the gathering of joggers and other curious bystanders behind the yellow tape. It was still light out—the sky was an ash grey, but she could see the dim sun hiding behind the hazy atmosphere. She felt like she'd been here all day when really it was only an hour or two.

She saw Moblit and the bald-headed man step out of the barn. Moblit, wearing blue rubber gloves, kneeled and placed a yellow card with the number 12 on it near the corner of the chipped threshold. The bald-headed man then crouched down and snapped several pictures of the card from many different angles. When they were both satisfied, they went back inside, engulfed by the darkness.

Though in the slightest, Annie's interest sparked. Of course, she was tired and angry and confused by the day's events, but there was a reason why she had a degree in criminal justice. She wanted to be out in crime scenes like this, finding missing persons or collecting evidence to avenge the helpless. That was the plan before Mikasa Ackerman decided to rip out her spine and leave her legs powerless. (She couldn't entirely blame her though; if she were attacking Armin, she would've ripped out Mikasa's spine too.) Every day was a struggle, so tiptoeing around in the darkened woods or chasing after stubborn little shits was obviously out of the question. She ended up working behind the scenes with Hanji, mainly working on computer forensics and trying her hand at being a forensic artist. It wasn't what she really wanted to do and her degree hadn't really helped her in those areas specifically, but it was better than sitting at home, waiting to die.

Annie looked up at Nifa. She got distracted and was talking to a man with a chubby face, who was also holding a notepad. He was showing her what he'd written down and she was asking many questions, clearly engrossed. Annie kept her eyes on them as she slowly turned around, wrapped the shell-shocked blanket around herself, and began wheeling away as quickly and quietly as possible.

It was always easy for Annie to slip away—she never said much and her presence wasn't particularly strong or demanding, so she could simply walk away and no one would notice her absence for a good long while. The wheelchair made things a little harder and the uneven forest floor certainly didn't help; she suspected she wouldn't be given enough time before Nifa realized she just lost a girl in a wheelchair.

With most of the police officers shooing back the growing crowd behind the yellow line, no one was paying much attention to the opened barn (plenty of people had come in and out over the last few hours). She slowed down once she reached the threshold and peered at the yellow card beside it. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the tiniest spot of blood.

She entered the murder barn and looked around.

It was darker in here than it was outside, but not pitch black. Her wheels squeaked slightly on the cold cement floor and little strands of hay cracked under her weight as she slowly moved forward. The barn itself looked very different from the last time she saw it two years ago. Before it was filled with barrels of hay, gardening tools, and large machinery. Rakes and shovels hung from the walls and a single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. Now that lightbulb was gone as were the majority of the gizmos littered around the place. A lot was cleaned out after Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and Annie escaped Eren's funhouse of murder and officers and detectives besieged the estate like an army of ants around a forgotten crumb. Shovels and empty bags of mulch were taken in as evidence for the open grave Marco fell in, and the area was scoped for purposeful electrical malfunctioning on Ymir's part and other beartraps tucked away with thoughts of Historia in mind.

Annie had a sneaking suspicion that many teenagers with nothing else to do dared each other to go into the so-claimed "haunted" barn that once belonged to the Jaegers and take something to showcase their friends at school. The graffiti on the outside of the structure had wormed its way in—there were markings from the artist's signature to loud remarks like "Burn the Jaegers" or "Justice for Ymir and Sasha". Beer bottles could be spotted in the darkest corners of the room and on the wall beside her, she noticed an engraving of random people's names and the date they were here.

There were more yellow cards in the room than there were people. She noticed the bald-headed photographer and Onyankopon were on the far side of the barn while Hanji and Moblit stood to the side. Moblit, still wearing his blue gloves, held up a plastic bag with a swiss army knife inside; Annie could see the dark stains covering the thing. Hanji had on her own gloves too and she was studying the knife intently. On more than one occasion, she subconsciously reached out and tried pinching the object through the bag or taking it from Moblit entirely, but Moblit, who was very used to Hanji's impulsive nature, swatted her hand away each time as he continued talking about how much damage could be done with a mere swiss army knife.

Staying in the shadows, Annie rolled her way toward the photographer and Onyankopon. The two were standing at least three yards away from one another and looking down at the small white body between them. The photographer said nothing, only snapping more pictures of the girl as Onyankopon mainly talked to himself. He motioned to the little spatters of red decorating the wall, some of which sprinkled the graffitied orange R in "The devil was here". His dark hands pointed at the body and the floor beneath them before once again gliding over the tainted wall.

Just how much damage could be done with a mere swiss army knife? Onyankopon seemed to be answering that very inquiry.

Annie's eyes fell on the body once again and this time, she made sure to take a good long look at it.

She was slumped over a barrel of hay, her back resting atop it with one arm draped over her head. Her most notable feature was her pale nakedness and the dried blood coating it. Most of the blood caked her stomach and small breasts, but the blood had traveled as far as her neck and around her knees. She was very pale, but a sickly purplish-blue color was sprawled along her back, buttocks, and thighs. Her veins in her inner wrists, elbows, and around her ankles had stood out in a raisin color, zigzagging like lightning bolts. Annie wrinkled her nose and ended up covering it at the horrible smell that radiated from the body—it smelt like rotten food with a sting of something sweet. It was a natural process of the decomposition of a dead body, but it still amazed Annie that something so foul-smelling, something like a slaughtered pig, could be produced from a human being.

The insects were now well-aware of the meal stashed in the Jaeger barn and they had taken a few bites out of it. Flies flittered above her and tiny yellow larvae could be seen wiggling around the girl's body. They slithered in and out of any openings in her body, including her mouth, ears, stab wounds, and Annie saw them slink in between her legs, a few getting twisted in her dark pubic hair. As Annie slowly got closer with the same carefulness as if she were approaching a sleeping bear, she managed to get a good look at her face and then her heart dropped to the floor.

Through her long, tangled blonde hair, she saw her wide blue eyes, gazing at the ceiling. They were very beautiful, despite having no life in them—they were small aquamarines and Annie assumed they would sparkle like the stars whenever she blinked. Her eyebrows were dark and a little bushier than the average female. Her nose was tiny and round like a button and her chapped, white lips were opened ajar (a maggot wriggled between them and a shudder ran through Annie's spine). She had a very youthful look to her, but her cheekbones and defined jawbone made her seem more mature (she looked to be around eighteen-years-old).

It was Historia Reiss.

Annie blinked and bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping aloud. No, it wasn't Historia, but this girl looked exactly like her. The only difference (that Annie could tell on her very dead body) might've been the hair length—Historia's was usually kept in a loose ponytail and it brushed against her collarbone while this girl's hair was longer, parted in the middle and its tips lying just below her breasts. But everything else was the same: her blue eyes, her tiny frame, her lips, ears, nose, hands. Everything. It shook Annie's core at how similar she looked to Historia; she couldn't help but to think that maybe, just maybe, it really was Historia.

But that was impossible. Historia had fallen into a beartrap, tried crawling after Ymir long after she left her, got stuck in another beartrap, and then was gutted like a fish by Eren Jaeger. If she didn't die from the tremendous loss of blood, then certainly the flames finished her off when Eren set his own cabin on fire to cover up his tracks. Annie had to swallow down the scream bubbling in the back of her throat and tell herself that Historia had been dead for two years now. This girl was someone new, someone she didn't know.

Annie thought about Jean again and his reaction to the body in the barn. She could now see why he thought she was Armin at first (excluding the obvious breasts lying limply on her chest and the lack of a penis anywhere). She remembered that, whenever all twelve of them hung out together, people would point out how parallel Historia and Armin were in appearance (Connie, Reiner, and Ymir were usually the ones on top of them about it). Historia would frown and try slapping away the laughter that consumed them, and Annie could see it as clear as day how much Armin didn't appreciate the teasing either, but he would smile a very tight smile and change the subject. Sure, it was mean, but Annie could see it then, and she definitely saw it now.

So, who was she and why was she in the Jaeger barn?

"Hey! You're not supposed to be in here."

Annie flashed back into existence and glanced at the gruff voice coming from the photographer standing over the dead girl. He was looking at her like she just spilled coffee all over his lousy camera. She found Onyankopon, Hanji, and Moblit's eyes on her, but she made no effort to move.

Just then Nifa's voice could be heard by the doorway of the barn. Annie didn't bother to look at her.

"Annie? Annie, are you in here?"

The photographer snapped his bald head toward the threshold. "How do you lose a girl in a fucking wheelchair?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Shadis! I had only turned my head for a second and I—"

"Ha, ha! Don't worry about it; she's with me," Hanji grinned. "Annie is my little helper at the office. She can be in here if she wants."

Annie frowned. She was not her "little helper"—that was Moblit's job.

"Where the hell did Levi go? I thought he was here."

"He took Jean Kirtstein out. Probably to Erwin's place to have him looked at or maybe got him some pizza—he wasn't looking so hot."

The photographer, Shadis, glared at Annie. "Don't fucking touch anything."

Annie glared back. No shit, Sherlock.

Onyankopon then stepped away from the body and talked with Moblit, gesturing to the blood on the wall and floor. Hanji broke from the conversation, bouncing over to Annie. She showed her some pictures she took on her phone and pulled out a plastic bag from the inside of her brown trench-coat—it contained a few strands of long blonde hair and Hanji explained that Moblit would be taking it to a man named Magath for DNA analysis. She spoke aloud her questions and tried to answer them herself while Annie internalized it all, staring at the dead girl on the concrete floor.

She lost track of time, falling into the dark abyss of inexplicable wonderings. She crawled back out once her fingers brushed lightly against the smooth box in her lap. She looked down. She'd forgotten all about that.

The girl's lifeless eyes pounded against her skull and then they eventually morphed into Historia's. Annie had no particularly close or special relationship to her, but it still hurt. She didn't want her to die, she didn't want any of them dead.

She felt like crying again, so she swiped at her dry eyes and began wheeling back out the door.

"Where are you going?" came Hanji's inquisitive voice. She was a curious cat, and apparently nothing bad enough had happened for her to stop snooping.

Annie's eyes fell on two pieces of straw entangled together on the floor next to her chair. "To the cabin."

"Is there something there?"

"My friends."

Hanji fell silent and Annie took that as her cue to go on. Hanji then stuttered out Moblit's name; the lanky man turned toward her, as did Onyankopon. She apparently thought better of the situation and waved her hand, peeling off her gloves.

"Never mind. I'm gonna take Annie to the cabin; you're in charge for now. Oh, make sure to get some of that larvae, too."

Moblit nodded once, muttered "Yes, Detective", and then shuffled toward the body along with Onyankopon.

After stuffing her gloves in her pockets, Hanji grabbed the handles of Annie's wheelchair and began pushing her forward. Nifa glared at Annie as they passed, and Hanji patted Nifa's shoulder, thanking her for a job well-done. Hanji pushed her past the police officers, under the yellow caution tape, past the curious onlookers, and through the pines. Annie could hear her mumbling to herself and she largely ignored it, too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

Historia/Not Historia's eyes kept pulsing in the corner of her mind like a vein readying to pop. It hurt to think about it and she wished she could just forget about it, look the other way, run for the hills, lock it all away. It'd be so much easier to not get involved, to remain blissfully ignorant. But she couldn't. Not getting involved had gotten her friends killed. That was the point of her whole job, to get involved and prevent as many losses as possible.

She couldn't lock it away this time.

"You alright, hon?" Hanji asked once they were clear of any other ears. Her tone was sincere and she held onto the wheelchair steadily, focused on her new mission. Hanji knew when it was time to shut up and address things seriously instead of rambling about God knows what.

God, how she wanted to tell someone. Annie looked down at the box in her hands and hesitated for the longest time before whispering out, "I miss them."

She quickly wiped at the tear threatening to spill from her eye as Hanji sighed. It was a sigh of understanding, of experience and shit was it heavy.

"I know. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss. The grief must've been eating you alive this entire time, and for Jean as well."

"I miss him."

A pause. "Hon, Armin is still al—"

"His mind isn't. He's gone." She clutched at the blanket still around her shoulders and imagined it was his arms for a moment. "I should've done something."

"If there's anything useful I've learned from being a homicide detective for almost fifteen years, it's that you can't change the past. And sometimes you can't always save the future. No matter how hard you try, people still die, people still go mad with regret or self-hatred." She paused again. "My job is to save people and I've failed several times."

Annie could only imagine the blood Hanji saw on her own hands.

"The shock and guilt are embedded deep in Armin's brain, but he's still there. I realize you may not take my suggestions seriously, but I'd go see him if I were you. Just let him know you're there, that you miss him, and perhaps he'll find a way out of the shock. Ignorance never helped anyone." She sighed again. "I'm sorry, hon. I really am."

The two remained silent for the rest of the walk. Hanji made sure to stay on the flat side of the treacherous ground as Annie's eyes traced the path Historia and Ymir strolled before disaster struck. She saw Marco fall into the ground and Jean stumble his way, crying his name like how a dog sees his owner leaving him behind on an abandoned road. She saw Berthold, Reiner, and Connie dash between the trees with a hysteric Sasha in Reiner's arms, puking up blood and begging for the pain to stop. They all screamed like ghosts in her mind. Annie bit into her bottom lip hard and tried to swallow the sobs scratching at her throat.

They came upon the remnants of the Jaeger cabin. Dark foundations were still implanted in the ground, outlining where the structure used to stand. There was still a gravel path that led up the hill and stopped just short of the blackened wood. Annie spotted an empty beer bottle and a fast-food bag tossing around in the wind, little signs of life that came here to remember the dead. Upon a long piece of plywood sat eight picture frames and all sorts of crap surrounded it from unburnt candles to bouquets of withered flowers to bottles of undrunk wine. There were school pictures or selfies or cropped photos of her dead friends—in these pictures, they were all smiling or clearly enjoying themselves and it brought life, personality to the person behind the name to those who didn't actually know them.

Annie popped open the box in her hands and pulled out seven flowers. They were purple and the stems were narrow and the petals were long and skinny. As far as Annie knew, they didn't represent anything special—she just thought they looked pretty.

Because of all the mementoes crowding the area, Annie couldn't reach the pictures, so she handed them to Hanji one by one. She took them from her with gentle hands and placed the frames upon the stems so the flowers wouldn't fly into the wind. Once she gingerly placed the last flower under Berthold's picture, she pulled back and the two of them stared at the snapshots in silence.

Memories flooded Annie's mind and, with her gaze locked on their smiling faces, the horrible reminder that they were all dead settled in her chest with each remembrance. It crushed her chest and she gripped her knees. Don't cry, don't cry, don't fucking cry. But the loss that filled her lungs was too much. She never thought she'd feel this crumbling weight about people she thought didn't even consider her a friend, but who cared what they thought of her? They were dead. Dead, dead, dead. They were all dead because of her.

The sob broke through in a violent wave and she couldn't stop the flow of tears from shaking her body. They dropped onto the now empty box and her knuckles, and she lowered her head in shame, her loose hair shielding her face from Hanji's view. Her chest burned and her cries echoed in the resounding silence like the constant crowing of a raven in the dead of night.

She sensed Hanji's presence step closer and then felt her arms carefully wrap around her. They just sat there on her shoulders at first, but then she slowly began to squeeze, testing the waters. Annie didn't respond, but she didn't push away either. Hanji's round chin rested on the top of her head and, for a moment, she felt a little better, so she cried a little louder. Hanji didn't say anything and just let her cry. Her touch was warm and her aura was soothing. Annie didn't realize she needed it so badly.

Hanji drove her back home once the sun began to set, bringing a beginning to this fresh shade of hell.