Eleven Days Prior
10:53 pm
12 hours before Armoured Titan sighting
"...And when he pushed open the creaky wooden door, rather than finding his long-lost wife, all he found… was BLOOD!" Hanji shouted, shooting up and loudly clapping her hands together. The burst of movement was enough to make all the scouts listening to the section commander jump in surprise.
It had been a long day for the scouts, having left the HQ at first light, and travelling at a leisurely pace through the rolling fields, large communal farms and numerous villages of Wall Rose's south-east quarter. They had been riding for hours when Hanji finally called a stop as the sun starting to dip beyond the horizon.
Between the twenty-odd soldiers, they had set up their tents in a narrow valley within the hour and were already preparing their dinner over the campfire before the sun fully set behind the distant Wall Rose.
As they all sat around the fire, nibbling at the rations of skewered meat they had cooked up, Jean asked why they had travelled so far away and what they were doing here. Hanji informed them that this was their squad tryout exercise, and she would be recording each person's skills and abilities, both in 3DMG and survival training, so that the Commander could decide which squad they should join.
Then, before anyone else could ask another question, Hanji looked over the group and asked if anyone had any good ghost stories to pass the time since training didn't start till tomorrow. After a few aborted attempts by other scouts, Hanji waved them all off, cleared her throat and started telling her own, to the resigned sighs of her squad members.
What followed was a three-hour slog, of winding plot lines, increasingly fantastical locations and at least four separate spins off stories which were all personal anecdotes about Titans. And that, in Hanji's own words, was one of her shorter stories.
A very long day, indeed.
"So, how was that? Scary, right?" Hanji asked, dropping back down onto the logs they had rolled over to the fire for seating. A broad smile had already spread across her face, eagerly anticipating the wild applause she knew such a great story deserved.
Instead of applause, all Hanji got was an awkward silence which was eventually broken by a bleary-eyed Jean sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Errrm… Wasn't the man looking for his daughter?"
Hanji's head snapped around to look at Jean, her enthusiasm noticeably faltering at his question. "What?" She asked him.
Seeing how everyone was now looking at him, Jean shrunk into himself as he answered the scientist's question, mentally kicking himself the whole time. "The man in your story. Earlier you said he was looking for his daughter, but you finished it about his wife."
"Oh, did I? Hmm…" Hanji stroked her chin, looking deep in thought, before leaping to her feet again. "Ah-ha, I got the ghost daughter story mixed up with the dead wife one, silly me. Well, let me finish the ghost daughter one properly, or you'll be confused."
Fortunately for the horrified recruits, before Hanji made them sit through another story, Moblit forced a cough distracting the woman from her newest tale.
"Section Commander, it's getting quite late, perhaps we should turn in for the night. The recruits have a busy day tomorrow." He hinted with a pointed look.
With a quick glance up at the moon gleaming in the inky night sky, as if to verify Moblit's claim of lateness, Hanji let out a disappointed sigh and a shrug. "Right you are, Moblit, I guess the rest can wait till tomorrow night."
With a silent cheer, everyone stood up and started heading towards their tents, eager to catch some sleep after their ordeal, but their hopes were almost immediately crushed.
"Hang on a minute you lot." Hanji's voice called them back. "We need some volunteers to stay up and keep watch. Bandits occasionally operate in this region." It didn't go unnoticed by the recruits how all of the more experienced scouts had miraculously disappeared and could no longer be picked upon to stay up.
Hanji hadn't been expecting any volunteers, and so she wasn't surprised when no-one stepped forward. No-one ever wanted to be on night duty. Still, being the highest-ranking officer present, Hanji's seniority came with many benefits, one of which was being able to 'volunteer' whoever she wanted.
"How about our top ten?" she said with a wide smile, the moonlight reflecting off her goggles, "After all, you've already got your foot in the door for any squad, so a bit less shut-eye won't hurt your chances." Before any of the four top-ten members could possibly protest, Hanji spoke up again. "Excellent, thank you for volunteering. Now, judging by the position of the moon, I reckon it should be around two hours shifts for each of you till sunrise."
"You've probably done this many times before, so I'll let you sort out the shifts between yourselves. See you in the morning!" And with that, Hanji sauntered away toward the warmth of her tent and cosiness of her sleeping bag.
'Ah,' she thought with a wry smile, 'It's good being me.'
Bertholdt sat by the low fire, occasionally jabbing at it with a stick trying to keep it going. They had drawn straws, and he had drawn the shortest one, which meant he had the second watch, right in the dead of night. However, he wasn't too upset with that, as he doubted he'd be getting any sleep tonight regardless of his shift.
The crushing weight of his situation had become almost unbearable; the harrowing loneliness and despair he felt every day had grown infinitely worse with Reiner's recent incident, and it had forced him to seek refuge from it by letting his mind wander away from reality.
He liked to imagine his life without this mission; him being back in Liberio with his family, or even just fighting Marley's other enemies in one of their never-ending series of wars. At least then he wouldn't have to lie about what he truly was.
Eldian. Devil. Warrior. Colossal. Traitor. Murderer.
In his mind, he could be honest with the people he knew. He wouldn't have to lie to everyone he met and wouldn't have to do every day for the last four years. Others would still despise him, but he could handle their open disdain. It was the looks of genuine friendship and acceptance he got here that he couldn't handle, knowing damn well he didn't deserve them.
Sometimes he liked to imagine he had been born here, that he was just another soldier fighting Titans for 'humanity', growing up ignorant of the world and the truth, but at least accepted as equals.
Bertholdt realised the bitter irony of what he was doing; imagining this fool's paradise of his. It was precisely what Reiner had been doing for the last few years to try and escape the guilt until he had delved too deep into his fantasy and lost himself entirely.
Now his Reiner was gone, and he was alone in more ways than one. Reiner could be on the other side of Wall Sina for all he knew, with this stupid training exercise separating them.
As he leaned closer to the fire, hoping to offset the chill, one of the charred logs cracked open, sending sparks spitting off in multiple directions. One landed on his hand, and the brief burning sensation caused him to drop the stick and yank his hand away.
'Even nature is punishing me now…' Rubbing the fresh red mark on his hand, Bertholdt willed it to heal and watched as the skin turned back to its natural pale colour before his eyes.
Flexing his hand, Bertholdt realised that using his healing ability for a wound that small was stupid. His Titan required so much energy to be created that even small usages of healing over a single day could prevent a full transformation. And if anyone had seen it…
Well, Bertholdt wasn't too worried about that, even a partial transformation at this range would be enough to reduce all of the tents, and the scouts within them, to nothingness. And then with his identity compromised, he would have a legitimate reason to stop pretending and leaving this island behind for good.
'And go where?' He argues at himself, 'Home? Having lost two shifters and abandoning a third, with nothing to show for it except one broken wall and the possible suggestion that Eren may be the Founding Titan.'
Another snort leaves his nose, even more bitter than before. He knew exactly what would happen to him if he did that; the Colossal would be passed on immediately, probably to Porco if he was still alive, and his family would have their 'honourary Marleyan' status stripped from them for his failure.
Then all of his pain and suffering would be for nothing.
Even if he was stupid enough to try, knowing what fate awaited him, there was no way he could make it. Even with Annie and Reiner taking turns after Marcel's death, they had barely made it to the first Wall from the docks. He certainly wouldn't be able to do it in his form, and without Annie, he would be dependant on Reiner if he ever snapped out of it, but even then Bertholdt didn't know if they would make it.
'Maybe we could ask Eren for a lift… I'm sure that would work out just fine.' Bertholdt fights off an empty laugh at that idea and how it would play out.
'Hey Eren, I'm the Colossal Titan and Reiner is the Armoured, but he has completely lost his mind so doesn't know that. Anyway, I know we killed your mother and tens of thousands of others, but we'd like to go home now, so would you mind giving us a hand? Oh, and we might need you to come home with us so that Marley doesn't instantly execute us as failures. What do you say?'
Would Eren even bother shifting or would he just lunge at them with his bare hands?
Bertholdt briefly considers holding Armin or Mikasa hostage to get Eren to comply, but that idea is just as ridiculous, if not more. With how dangerous Mikasa is both with and without 3DM gear, and Armin's own skill and frightening intelligence, capturing either of them might be harder than convincing Eren to willingly join them.
Snatching up the stick again, Bert goes to jab his frustrations away on the fire when a low cough causes his heart to skip a beat. Leaping to his feet, and nearly tripping over the log, Bertholdt span round wielding the burnt stick as if it were a sword towards his source of the sound.
From the darkness, a figure slowly stepped forward, their hands raised, as the light of the fire cast an orange glow across his boyish face and bright blond hair.
"A-Armin?" Bertholdt called, letting the stick droop slightly. "Damn, you scared the hell out of me. Is my watch over already?"
"Hey, Bert. Sorry about that, I didn't mean to frighten you." Armin replied, keeping his voice low as to not wake the others. "And no, unfortunately, you've still got a little while. But I couldn't sleep and thought you could do with some company…" He pointed at the log on the other side of the fire where he could sit.
"Oh... s-sure, some company would be nice." To his own surprise, Bertholdt found he wasn't lying to Armin as he retook his seat. Some company would be a nice distraction from the hopeless situation he found himself in, even if it was from someone whose life he had ruined.
As Armin sat across from him, pulling his green cloak around his lithe body as a buffer from the cold, Bertholdt couldn't help but reminisce on the blond boy. In the first few weeks after joining the 104th, before Reiner had started losing his mind and Annie had deserted them, the three of them had assessed their fellow cadets for any potential threats to their mission. Naively, they had only looked at personalities and physical prowess, so both Eren and Mikasa had been noted, but Armin as the timidest and smallest of the trio had been dismissed out of hand.
Yet as the first few months of training ticked by, Bertholdt realised they had made a terrible mistake. Armin was a more significant threat to the three of them than his two friends combined, even before his sudden improvement in 3DMG halfway through their first year. His mind was one of the most brilliant and terrifying things Bertholdt had ever seen; every detail and nugget of information no matter how insignificant it seemed was filed away in the blond's mind, ready to be recalled and used at a moment's notice.
And Bertholdt didn't even consider that the worst part. It was his eyes, those bright blue orbs, that seemed to be constantly watching and monitoring everything going on around him with piercing clarity.
Whenever Eren looked at him, he only saw misguided friendship or fiery passion for his mad Titan killing crusade.
The few times Mikasa had looked at him, he felt like he was two inches tall, something so insignificant that he was beneath her notice. Like a speck of dirt on her shoe.
But whenever Armin looked at him, even for a moment, it felt like another layer of his false identity had been painfully peeled away like a layer of skin, coming ever closer to exposing what truly lay beneath.
If anyone was going to discover their true identities, it would be Armin. Bertholdt was sure of it.
And yet, as the blond boy sat there, rubbing his hands together under the cloak, Bertholdt couldn't help but feel a flutter in his chest knowing that Armin had come out into the cold to sit with him. He wouldn't say the two of them were 'friends', as they had rarely spent any time together that wasn't mandated by Shadis or other officers, but the fact he cared enough to come out regardless meant a lot to him but also felt like a knife to the heart.
'If only he knew the truth about me… What would he do if I told him?
Maybe Armin would just laugh it off, thinking it was some sick joke, or perhaps he would shout for Mikasa and the others for help. Bertholdt doubted Armin would lunge at him like Eren would, that just wasn't his personality to be so impulsive, but he also doubted Armin would just run away.
'What would you do Armin? With all of that intelligence would you find some way of fighting me… to fight the Colossal Titan unprepared, alone and without gear or allies? Could you find a way to stop me before I shift and turn this entire valley to ash?'
"You alright, Bert? You look spaced out." Armin's breathy voice nearly made Bertholdt jump, and he quickly looked away from the blond, realising he must have been staring.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He lied, "Just a bit cold."
"Ah…" With a quick glance around, making sure they were alone, Armin gave Bertholdt a sly grin. "Well… I've got something which can help with that." There was a rustle of fabric as he pulled something from under his cloak and held it aloft.
Dangling from a thin strap was an old leathery bola bag which sloshed slightly as it swayed in the wind.
With a strangled cough, Bertholdt stared at the bag with wide eyes. That couldn't be what he thought it was, Armin wasn't that sort of guy, was he?
"Is that…" he started, swallowing his surprise.
"Yep, the finest home-grown wine the corp can brew." Armin answered with a smirk, "I borrowed it from the supply wagon earlier."
"You took it from the cart?! Armin, if they catch you with that…" Bertholdt warned but didn't take his eyes off the swaying bag.
During their training days, they had discovered that Connie had a strange connection with one of the kitchen hands. And while he never said how or why, Connie occasionally brought a bottle of wine back to the dorm which they passed around, drinking and chatting into the small hours of the night. It always made for a rough morning of training, but those few hours where they all acted like normal teenagers rather than the soldiers/warriors they were was priceless to Bertholdt; the memories of him laughing with Jean about some silly joke, teasing Connie about his closeness with Sasha or just talking to Marco for hours at a time about friends and family.
Perhaps he had associated those few precious memories with the taste of alcohol, or maybe he just wanted to drink away his worries for one night. Still, either way, he unconsciously licked his lips at the sound of the swilling liquid.
"Nah, we'll be fine. I was talking to one of the older scouts earlier, and apparently, it's a bit of a tradition within the corp for the new recruits to get drunk after their first expedition." Armin tossed the bag to him with a smile. "She was the one who told me where to find this."
With all the grace his jumpy, nervous, six-foot-tall body could muster, Bertholdt managed to catch the bag, immensely grateful for the cork seal was still on. He didn't want to spill it all over him, as wine stains were worse than blood to deal with.
'I shouldn't.' he thought, pulling out the cork with a satisfying *pop*. Getting drunk would be a terrible idea, all things considered. He needed to stay sober so he could complete this training and get back to Reiner as soon as possible.
He wrinkled his nose as the smell hit him. It wasn't a bad smell, but it was definitely strong.
'...fuck it. One sip wouldn't hurt.' He reasoned, bringing the bag to his lips.
Bertholdt expected to feel the telltale burn of cheap alcohol as the wine entered his mouth and passed down his throat but was pleasantly surprised at the smooth fruity taste it left behind. He could taste berries, grapes and the slightest hint of almonds dancing on his taste buds.
"Wow," He said, smacking his lips together before taking another deep gulp so he could enjoy the pool of warm which had formed in his belly. "This is really good."
Armin nodded in agreement as he took the reluctantly offered drink back, and had a quick swig. Bertholdt wondered if Armin had already had a few sips before coming out, as he partially misses his mouth, allowing a trail of wine to trickle down his chin and splash onto his cloak.
They shared a quick look before Armin let out a low laugh, bringing his hand up to wipe away the leakage. Bert quickly joined in, snorting in amusement as Armin tried to rub the reddish stains off his cloak. It reminded him of the times they got caught out drinking by Shadis when someone turned up to morning inspection with wine dotted shirts or trousers.
'Happier times.' Bertholdt fondly recalled, curious as to how Armin would hide that in the morning.
The idea that Armin had kept his mouth firmly shut on purpose, never crossed Bertholdt's mind.
With a final futile rub, Armin seems to accept the folly of trying to clean his cloak right now and lets out a defeated sigh. "Just like the old days, huh?" Armin scoffed, wiping his hand on the log, before conceded what Bertholdt had initially suspected, "I guess that's a sign I've already had too much." He passed the bag back without a word, which Bert eagerly accepted.
It really was just like old times.
The two boys sat together in comfortable silence as Bertholdt freely drank and Armin politely declined any further offers of accepting the bag back. It was peaceful, and it almost succeeded in distracting Bert from his worries.
But the brief moment of comfort he felt wasn't to last, and as quickly as it arrived, it was violently torn away from him.
"Did you see it out there?" Armin abruptly spoke, craning his head in the vague direction of Wall Rose as he did so.
"See what?" Bertholdt replied, unsure what Armin was talking about. With slightly blurry vision, Bert turned his head and followed Armin's gaze but could see nothing.
"The Armoured Titan." Armin elaborated, still looking away as if searching for something in the dark night.
*thump thump*
The words were enough to send Bertholdt's stomach plummeting into a pit, as the warmth from the wine and fire fled his body, leaving only an icy chill gripping him. He felt his heart rate pick up as a bead of sweat materialised on his brow.
"N-no," he managed to stammer out, fighting the urge to curl into himself or flee. "I didn't see it." The statement was half right; He hadn't seen Reiner's Titan, only the blabbering shifter who quickly passed out in his arms then woke up as a completely different person.
"D-did you?" The natural follow up question slipped out before Bertholdt could even consider the consequences. Armin needed to be lead away from Reiner, not encouraged to think more about him!
"Not during the expedition," Armin answered with a shrug, "but I have seen it before. When Eren, Mikasa and I were on the evacuation boat from Shiganshina, I saw it smash through the inner gate then just stood there, staring over at us as we sailed away."
Armin's hands snaked under his cloak, rubbing them on his arms, as he remembered that day.
"It's been years since it happened, but I still have nightmares about that moment. Sometimes I'm on the boat, but it left Mikasa and Eren behind, and I have to watch them be torn apart by Titans. Other times I'm alone on the riverbank, watching the boat fade over the horizon as the normal Titans spew through the breach and gather around me."
*thump thump*
*thump thump*
Somehow Bertholdt's stomach seemed to sink even lower into dispair as Armin told his story.
Every day he saw reminders of what they had done to these people; the ever-present rationing and hunger, the overcrowdedness, strict military curfews, and constant outbreaks of disease from the squalid conditions people were forced to live in, and Bertholdt had desperately tried to dissociate himself from it.
He tried to fool himself into believing that because he didn't know any of those people, that his actions were not personal against them, and that he was just following orders. Marley was the one responsible for their suffering with its cold, emotionless act of war.
But hearing it from someone he knew, someone he had trained alongside for years, that what they had done four years ago was still causing Armin to suffer from nightmares made him feel sick.
"I… I'm sorry." Bertholdt's whispered apology caused Armin's back to go rigid, shoulders pulling tight before slumping down. His head dropped, blond hair obscuring his face from Bertholdt's roaming eyes. Whatever expression was on the boy's downturned face, it was wiped away and replaced with a tight smile when he looked back up. But Bertholdt could plainly see it was forced, not quite reaching his sad blue eyes.
"Thanks, Bert," Armin muttered with a shake of his head, bringing his hands out from under his cloak and fiddling with his thumbs. "But I should be the one apologising, I shouldn't have dumped that on you. You've probably got enough bad memories of your home falling in the breach without hearing mine."
"T-that's alright, I know talking about stuff like that can help. Was that why you couldn't sleep tonight? The nightmares?"
"Kinda… I've been thinking about what happened out there, and why the Armoured Titan turned up again after all these years."
*thump thump*
*thump thump*
Bertholdt's sweaty palms tightly gripped the bola bag, forcing some of the wine to seep out of the uncorked mouthpiece. The sick feeling was back with a vengeance, fear gripping him at Armin's confession. If there was one thing Bertholdt wanted to avoid at all costs, it was Armin looking into them or their Titans, but if he was already looking into them, he had to find out how much he knew. Everything could depend on it.
"A-and what do you think about h-it?" He barely stopped himself from referring to Reiner as he, instead of it like all the other scouts did.
"Well," the blond started slowly, seemingly oblivious to Bertholdt's fears. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think the Armoured Titan might be like Eren. A person who can turn into a Titan."
*THUMP THUMP*
Bertholdt's mouth dried up like the mid-east deserts, as it open and closed soundlessly in stunned disbelief. He couldn't believe it, all those years of secrecy and Armin had figured out the truth after two sightings.
His hidden blade burnt like red hot coal against his skin, as Bertholdt choked out a single word.
"W-what?"
"Think about it." Armin said, gesturing with his hands, "The Armoured Titan is clearly intelligent, we knew that even before the expedition when it targeted Shiganshina's inner gate and ignored the soldiers trying to defend it. But out there, it went straight for the centre of the formation where Eren was. It must have known that was the safest place for him to be placed as it would offer the most protection."
"And from what I've heard, no-one saw it approaching the formation from the outside, yet it somehow managed to devastate the right flank before any sort of warning could be sent. Surely someone would have seen a giant, armoured plated Titan running towards them, but if it just appeared beside them, then the lack of warning would make sense."
"Th-that seems like a leap Armin, after all, Eren is unique, right?" Finally finding his voice, Bert desperately tried to convince Armin he was wrong, to try and lead him astray. "If it's intelligent, wouldn't it make more sense that it just lay in wait in the woods as an ambush?"
Armin fixed his unnerving gaze upon him, "That's what I thought that at first until we got sent here. While we were riding, I was talking to Miss Nifa, and she mentioned how strange it was that Commander Erwin ordered us to do these trials so far away from the HQ since all the equipment we needed was there. Now we've ended up in the middle of nowhere, miles away from the nearest settlement and most of us are missing our gear. And I bet a weeks worth of latrine duty the others are in similar situations."
Armin's deep blue eyes glanced around, checking they were alone, before leaning forward and whispering to the terrified Colossal Titan. "We've been isolated."
*THUMP THUMP*
*THUMP THUMP*
Cold sweat dripped down Bertholdt's pale face. There was a sudden tightness in his chest that hadn't been there before, squeezing the air from his lungs until he struggled to breathe. All he could think about was what Armin had said.
They knew. The scouts knew, and they were looking for Reiner.
'Shit, shit, shit!'
If they find him in his condition he'll never be able to defend himself, he'd probably surrender himself into their custody without a fight, thinking it was another training session.
Jumping to his feet and dropping the bag of wine on the ground, Bertholdt didn't even hear his own muttered remark about needed the toilet over the heavy palpitations of his heart. To hell with the mission, Marley could capture the founder themselves if they wanted it so badly. He was getting his friend, and they were leaving this God-forsaken island right now.
He started moving away from the campfire, almost breaking into a run towards the sleeping horses, when the world started to spin.
*THUMP THU-*
Everything stopped. Sounds, movement, even his own breathing. All of it stopped for Bertholdt as his heart, which had been rapidly thumping away in his chest only seconds before, suddenly seized up. Bertholdt gasped, as the air was driven from his lungs and went to clutch at his twitching heart, but found that his arm couldn't move, frozen stiff against his side as his fingers sluggishly curled into a half-fist before they too went stiff.
And then the pain started. It began as a terrible pressure spreading over his upper body, crawling up his chest then into his arms and neck, bubbling beneath his skin like a wild animal trying to escape. The pressure continued to build, squeezing his innards together and compressing his ribcage until it feels like one solid block of bone, which grounded against his lungs until it felt like his body was about to implode.
Bertholdt tried to let out an anguished scream, but his jaw had clamped shut, and his vocal cords were stiff and unmoving. A low whine, no louder than a forced exhale, escaped his gritted teeth and whistled into the night.
Finally, the horrific agony reached his petrified legs, one still raised mid-step off the ground, and cut deep into his bones and muscles, tearing away the strength they needed to support his elongated frame. A faint gust of wind was all it took to send the shifter toppling to the floor, his frozen body, unable to even tense up to soften the blow, crashed down with a low thud.
Armin hadn't moved an inch since Bertholdt stood up and started walking away from the campfire. He only watched on with cold indifference as the shifter collapsed, his body shuddering and twitching in the dirt before finally falling still as the paralysis took full effect.
After waiting for a few seconds, Armin let out a long, shaky breath when he wasn't reduced to atoms by a world-shattering explosion. 'Finally.' he thought, snatching the fallen bag of wine from the ground and slowly rising to his feet.
Keeping one eye on the fallen warrior, Armin swilled the wine bag around, feeling the greatly diminished weight in his hand after all Bertholdt had drunk. Then, using his spare hand to pinch his nose closed, he upended the bag and allowed the wine to pour out onto the fire.
The flames hissed and recoiled from the falling liquid, convulsing as the wine splashed the burning wood then flaring up again as the alcohol ignited, and briefly illuminated the area before dimming back down.
With a last shake of the bag, Armin forced the last few droplets of wine out onto the fire, destroying the remains of that tainted drink, leaving only a faint fruity scent behind. Soon enough, even that small piece of evidence would be wafted away by the wind and smoke.
"Essence of Nightshade," Armin quietly announced, knowing Bertholdt could still hear him. He stashed the empty bola bag within his cloak, knowing that it too would have to be destroyed before the night is over. There could be no trace leftover.
"Hanji had been planning on testing it on the captured Titans before you killed them. Fortunately, she kept the sample in case they acquired another subject, but I had to break into her lab to find it. It wasn't easy, but I managed."
As he confessed his plan to the helpless shifter, Armin walked over and crouched down beside the poisoned Bertholdt. "A few drops is enough to kill a full-grown man. Once it enters your bloodstream, it attacks the heart, while simultaneously moving into your nervous system, blocking the signals from your brain to your muscles, leaving you paralysed. Death usually occurs within a few minutes as your brain is starved of blood and oxygen."
With a grunt, Armin rolled the much heavier boy onto his back and looked down at the sweat coated face, perfectly frozen in an expression of anguished distress. Those terrified eyes stared lifelessly into the night sky; unable to look around, unable to even blink. Armin looked into those brown orbs for a moment before gently running his hand down the shifter's face, closing Bertholdt's eyes.
The boy was in enough pain already, Armin told himself, with his faltering heart and his mind entombed within his unresponsive body. It would serve no purpose, except downright cruelty to force the boy to watch what was about to happen to him as his eyes slowly dried out in the dry night's air.
While Armin's intentions had been good, Bertholdt certainly didn't think so. Already scared beyond rational thought at the fact his body was completely frozen, and he couldn't move as well as Armin's confession slamming into his brain, having another one of his senses stolen away, and plunging his world into darkness, pushed him even further into manic terror.
In fact, the terror he felt at the moment was so all-consuming, that he didn't even feel the two fingers Armin had pressed the side of neck, probing for the faint, unsteady pulse of his crippled heart. Not that he could have done anything regardless.
When Armin felt the weak pulse under his fingers, he knew that the first part of his plan had been successful. Now he needed to hurry up with the second part, there was no telling how long his luck might last.
Pulling his fingers away from Bert's neck, he brought them up to the shifter's face and carefully pried open the clenched jaw, creating a narrow gap between the row of teeth, and looked inside. He had to make sure there was no chance of Bertholdt accidentally biting down on his tongue while they were moving him and shifting.
There might have only been a tiny chance of that, but anything they could do to prevent Bertholdt from using the Colossal had to be implemented, no matter how small. Armin refused to die to something as stupid as a bitten tongue.
Drawing out a long strip of cloth from his pocket, Armin inserted it into the open mouth, pinning down the tongue and tying the two ends together around the back of Bertholdt's head.
"However, shifters are different." Armin continued, giving the gag a quick tug to check it was secured, before moving on to Bertholdt's body, rifling through his shirt looking for the hidden blade. "Your healing ability is doing everything it can to keep you alive, healing your heart as quickly as the poison is destroying it, which will keep you alive a while longer."
Finding the blade in a hand-made inner pocket, Armin gingerly pulled it out taking great care not to nick Bertholdt with the edge.
"For what it is worth, Bertholdt," Armin muttered, safely stashing the blade away in his own pocket, "I am sorry for doing this to you. I wished there was a less painful way, but the Colossal Titan is far too dangerous for half measures… I learnt that the hard way."
Tearing his gaze away, Armin stood up and looked pointedly into the darkness. "It's done," he called, not to the terrified shifter, but to the figure in the shadows who was waiting for his signal.
The soft footsteps moving towards them shattered the minuscule bit of hope Bertholdt still clung on to that Armin might be working alone. Someone else was here, and they must have been watching all this time, doing nothing to help him.
The footsteps grew louder until whoever it was stood by his side, their foreboding presence palpable even without his sight. Somehow, he knew exactly who it was, and his last conscious thought before his mind collapsed into a mess of pain and terror was how utterly screwed he was.
"Good," Mikasa intoned, leaning down to grab Bertholdt's frozen arm. With a low grunt, she lifts his whole body up and tosses it over her shoulder, as if he were a sack of potatoes rather than the living container for the dreaded Colossal Titan.
Sharing a quick look with Armin, the two of them turned around and walked into the darkness, carrying the helpless shifter away without a word.
Mikasa left the campsite with a person over her shoulder and another by her side. She returned with just one, their unconscious form carefully cradled in her arms.
The shifter marks had almost faded from his face, with the long grooves shrinking down into tiny slits underneath his eyes. His body was hot and clammy to the touch, with every inch of exposed skin covered in a thin layer of sweat from the scorching heat of his recent transformation. Mikasa could feel it, the heat and the sweat, radiating from his body and seeping through her own cotton shirt.
But she didn't care about that one bit; shirts could be cleaned and replaced. Armin could not. If a single dirty shirt was the price she had to pay to feel Armin safe and sound in her arms, then she would happily accept it without a moment's hesitation.
The Campsite was mercifully devoid of activity, with no one else taking up the watch during their absence. Mikasa was grateful for that, for difficult questions about where they had been and why Armin was unconscious was something she could do without right now.
Carefully manoeuvring in between tents, taking extra care not to trip over any of the pegs or ropes Mikasa finally reached her tent, which she had set up as far away from the others as possible without raising suspicions. Taking a final look around to make sure she hadn't been spotted, Mikasa pulled open the flap and carried Armin inside to safety.
The transfer of the Colossal had gone off without a hitch. The pair of them had wandered out of the valley and as far away from the campsite as they dared, with their range bound by Bertholdt's limited lifespan with the toxin still ravaging through his body. After half an hour of walking, their concerns of Bertholdt dropping dead overtook their need for extra privacy, so they were forced to stop at a deserted farm and made their way into a ruined barn overlooking an overgrown field.
The rotting timbers creaking in the wind as Mikasa had carried Bertholdt into the barn, bathing both of them in a milky white glow as the pale moonlight pierced through the hole pocketed roof. Finding a clear patch that wasn't occupied by rusting tools, Mikasa placed the paralysed shifter on the ground with far more delicacy than she thought he deserved.
She didn't just dislike the traitors, she hated them. She hated them for their lies, their betrayal and what they had taken from her; her second home, aunty Carla, friends and countless comrades in arms. She hated them to the point where even hearing their names was enough to twist her stomach in anger.
But Bertholdt was a special case. Everything started with him on that grim day when his giant inhuman face loomed over Wall Maria like a demon. He had been the first Titan Mikasa had seen with her own eyes, and even for a child like her, who had already faced real human monsters, it had terrified her.
And he hadn't stopped there. It was his foot which kicked in the gate, allowing the Titans to flood in and overwhelming Shiganshina in a wave of fleshy monstrosities. It was his foot which sent the chunk of broken gate down on top of her home, leaving Aunty Carla trapped and helpless.
He had taken so much from her, just like the other two, but he had done something else that raised him far above Annie and Reiner on her list of names and brought him on level with people like Zeke, whose lies and manipulations had taken Eren from her.
She would never forgive Bertholdt for what he did to Armin.
With an unbidden blink, Mikasa found herself back on that rooftop, recalling every detail of that living nightmare with gut curdling clarity.
She remembered the exhaustion of the fight against Reiner and the pain of her burns and cuts from the failed attack on the Colossal.
She remembered the foul taste of ash and smoke which smothered the city like a blackened blanket and crept into her lungs with every laboured breath.
She remembered the sound of Eren's cry, so raw and desperate that it rang in her ears like a church's bell as she desperately struggling in Hanji's arms, trying to break free of the embrace until the crippling grief took hold and forced her strength to fail.
And she remembered the smell. That awful, hideous stench of burnt meat, superheated tissue and boiling fat which bubbling away as the remains of the Colossal Titan slowly disintegrated behind them. She remembered how it forced its way into her mouth and nose, burning her eyes and choking her lungs, as she gags on its overwhelming stench.
'No!' Mikasa growls as the memory falls away, leaving only the bitter taste still in her mouth. 'Never again.' She swears,hands tightened into fists as she glared down at Bertholdt, hoping he could feel her disdain and fury through his hooded eyes.
She would never let him hurt Armin or anyone else, ever again.
They will take his power, here and now, and ensure it will never be used against them again. The God of Destruction would protect paradise, protect their friends, just like the Female Titan now did, and soon, so would the Armoured.
"Never again." She whispered, allowing her fists to uncurl as the anger seeped away.
"I'm ready," Armin speaks, walking up from behind her with the spinal fluid injection already in hand. Mikasa looked down at the needle and the cerulean liquid swirling around inside, and felt a small tug in her chest, as yet another painful memory flashed before her eyes.
"The Owl called it the Curse of Ymir." The voice in her head was Eren's, sounding older than he did now, yet still younger than she when he was still their Eren. "The founder Ymir lived that long after her powers awakened, and no one's power can exceed hers. So when that time closes in, your body weakens… as the vessel finishes serving its purpose."
Thirteen years, that's all they get. Barely any time at all.
Bringing her eyes back up to Armin face, Mikasa places a hand on top of his, trapping the syringe between them. It wasn't that she doubted his convictions or resolve, she didn't, not even for a second, but if anyone deserved to live a full life, it was Armin. He deserved to spend years, decades even, exploring the world like he always wanted, not have the curse imposed upon him for a second time.
So if she could try and prevent that, she would. Even if that meant leaving him alone when her time came, as painful as that idea was.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked softly, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the almost-pleading tone. Part of her already knew what he was going to say, but she had to ask. Just to be sure.
Armin met and held her gaze, his bright blue eyes against her stormy grey. The expression on his face didn't change as he spoke; there was no hint of annoyance, anger or resentment at her suggestion, nor was there any sign of hesitation or nerves. Just a look of calm determination.
"I promised you that we would do this together." He answered just as softly as a reassuring smile appeared on his face. As he smiled at her Armin extend two fingers and rested them against Mikasa's wrist, feeling the rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat through her porcelain skin.
Mikasa felt her concerns abating as she unconsciously relaxed into the touch. It was a habit she had developed years ago from a lifetime of closeness and mutual understanding. The brief physical contact between them which meant more than a hundred words, a feeling which couldn't be put into words, yet conveyed surety, comfort, support, compassion, sympathy and a hundred other emotions all rolled into a single fleeting touch.
It was their thing, something they had developed independently of Eren or anyone else. Something few people could ever truly understand.
"And I meant it." Armin said with a note of finality as he pulled his arm back, breaking the connection and letting his hand, and the injection, slip from her grasp.
Two minutes later Mikasa watched the barn from a reasonable distance away as a Titan materialised inside it, blasting away the remains of the roof and flattening the timbers walls with its transformation. Armin's pure Titan looked the same as she remembered it; five meters tall with short limbs and a stumpy barrelled torso. Its long straw-like blond hair fell over its narrow face as it dug through the debris, looking for the human it instinctively needed to devour.
This time there was no screaming or cries for help from Bertholdt as the Titan scooped his immobile body off the ground. The shifter was utterly rigid and unmoving in the Titan's hand and remained unnaturally silent as he was placed headfirst between the growling Titan's teeth.
Knowing what came next, Mikasa averted her gaze as the teeth closed around the warrior's skull. The loud crunch which followed sent a shiver down her spine. 'It's done.' Mikasa thought, ignoring the empty-sensation in her stomach as the sounds of cracking bones and tearing flesh rang through the night.
As the Titan tore the now very dead Bertholdt in half, Mikasa distracted herself from the grisly sounds by assessing their situation. After tonight, Reiner was all that remained of Marley's infiltration team; two Titans were now firmly in their hands, and the other one was at least out of Marley's.
But even alone Reiner could be a challenge to deal with. As much as it infuriated her to admit, Reiner had put up far more of a fight than she had anticipated. If it hadn't been for the sudden unlocking of her hardening abilities, she would have lost that fight, and any hope for their plan would have come crashing down around them.
However, her unfounded confidence which had bordered on brazen arrogance had been tempered after that incident, and now Mikasa would approach the Reiner situation with the seriousness it deserved. He had to be dealt with, swiftly and decisively, and preferably from the shadows rather than another destructive brawl. And while she trusted Armin to put together a plan to do just that, there was still one burning question left on her mind.
Who was going to inherit the Armoured Titan?
It was a question she hadn't given much thought to before, being more focused on actually taking out the original shifter than what happened next, but now it couldn't be put off any further. Mikasa briefly considers one of them doubling up on shifter powers, but quickly dismisses it as a bad idea.
They still didn't understand the effect multiple Titan's had on mental health, and the benefits to either of their Titan's in gaining a plate of armour wouldn't offset the 'loss' of a separate shifter. So it would have to be someone else, someone who wasn't already a shifter.
Mikasa frowned at the name which kept popping up in her head and started chewing her lower lip when she couldn't entirely dismiss it outright. There was only one other person they could trust right now to take it.
Historia.
Tactically it made sense. She was one of them, sent back in time and given a second chance. She was already assisting them and knew what awaited them beyond the walls and what would happen if they failed. Historia was trustworthy, reliable, already involved and, with her relationship with Ymir blossoming, had a powerful motivation for them to win.
There was just one thing that made her hesitate. 'Royal blood.' The cold voice in her head spat out the words, forcefully reminding Mikasa of the terrible fate awaiting Historia before they had returned.
If they asked her to or pressured her into taking the power, then they would be no different from Zachary and Kiyomi, forcing Historia to slash her life span for their own benefit. And if they did that, what would be the point of this second chance if they just repeated the mistakes of the past.
No, they couldn't ask Historia to do this, not after everything she had been through. Perhaps if she volunteered it would be different, but the once Queen of the land had made no mention of inheriting a power or an indication she wanted one.
The alternative would be to take it out of their hands entirely. They could try and capture Reiner and hand him over to Commander Erwin with one of their injections and let him decide who should inherit it. They would have to explain everything to the imposing man about their true nature and how they came to know about the traitors, but Mikasa knew it would have had to happen eventually.
But that came with yet another problem, even if Erwin believed their unbelievable story. If the government found out…
Well, they hated the Survey corp already and were constantly looking for an excuse to defund and disband them. If they heard the corp suddenly had numerous shifters at their service, the government would accuse them of planning some sort of coup and sent the MPs after them quicker than they could blink.
Sometimes it felt like for every problem they solved, two more would take its place. First, it was Annie, which lead to Trost, now it was the two remaining traitors, which would lead to problems from their own Government, and after that they still had to deal with Zeke, Marley and possibly the rest of the world.
"One problem at a time." Mikasa mumbled to herself as the Titan ripped off a leg with a shake of its head.
By the walls, she was tired. The constant threat and stress of their situation was exhausting, and Mikasa knew it was going to get worse before it got better.
If… no, when they succeed Mikasa decided that Armin and herself deserved a nice long holiday. Maybe they could find a cosy house by the beach or in the mountains; spend a few days away from everything and every one and do nothing but sleep for several days.
Despite the macabre display happening nearby and the chill of the night air, Mikasa found her face warming up and her cheeks taking on a reddish hue as she thought about that.
She liked that idea. She liked it a lot… And not just the bit about catching up on much-needed sleep.
The corners of her lips twitched up into a sad smile, as the Titan consumed the last pieces of Bertholdt before collapsing on the ground with a hefty thud. As Mikasa ran toward the steaming mass, she could only hope that they would live long enough to enjoy the peace they were fighting for.