Just as soon as Mikasa starts to find a fledgling rhythm in this new world of her making, the nightmares begin.
They start as obscure things, failing to imprint on her memory after she wakes, but not failing to leave her with a peculiar feeling of uneasiness, lingering with her throughout her day.
But they don't remain benign for long, and quickly these fleeting images transform into scenes of her dead, mangled and bloodied, speaking words of kindness, asking questions she doesn't have the answers to. In these dreams, she can do nothing more than lay prostrate at the feet of the world she wronged, eyes burning with tears that won't fall and mouth agape with words of repentance that won't sound.
Sleep never holds her for long, but she finds little relief in waking. Horror is burned into the closed lids of her eyes, her clothes damp with a cold sweat and a tremble in her body, despite the warm spring air that filters through the open window. Mitras temperatures never dropped enough to freeze, but the chill was enough to lead to hypothermia given the conditions. The winter passed with little incident, however, in part due to Mikasa's own efforts in the rebuilding.
Though foolish in retrospect, she had thought that maybe, just maybe, if she put all of what remained of her strength into the endeavor, the clamp on her heart would give, letting her breathe, if even a little.
Instead, it only seems to sink deeper within her, cruel and mocking and reeking of her own guilt.
What will those robbed of life steal in return?
The question comes unbidden to her mind.
My sanity, she thinks.
She'd known of others who were the way she finds herself now, whose days passed in a meaningless blur of light and shadow, and nights spent reliving what was better left forgotten. Soldiers with glassy eyes who'd met their capacity for bloodshed and violence too quickly, whose battered minds couldn't handle the death of their comrades, and who were unable to handle the fear that they could be next. Would more than likely be next, even. Some would cry out against phantom enemies long dead, and others for those who were never to return.
She reaches to her right, seeking Eren's warmth beside her, but all she feels is the empty space where his body should be. She arrived the night before but had yet to encounter him before she'd gone to bed. The darkness that greets her from the window tells her that it's either too late in the evening or too early in the morning for most people to be awake, but like her, Eren seldom sleeps when he should. If it is because he is plagued by nightmares the way she is, Mikasa does not know.
She doesn't ask, in any case.
She rouses herself from the bed and dresses for the day, pulling on the rough cotton garb designed with the sole purpose of practicality in mind. The days of soft pink sweaters and cream dresses had been long since dead, and they showed no signs of rejoining the world anytime soon. Queen Historia's government had proved itself to be remarkably meticulous in its planning considering the circumstances, and this thoughtfulness extended to things as banal as clothing.
Meeting little resistance from her council, Historia had decided against reestablishing the military. There were no enemies to defend against, and what was left of the imperial army, and more recently royal guard, had been disbanded and reorganized into taskforces or agricultural laborers as needed. The Yeagarist faction acquiesced to this ruling with little resistance, especially after their fearless leader had shown his public support for her actions.
A handful of men and women had been converted into a policing unit to discourage civilian in-fighting, but even that had been dissolved after conflict proved rare enough.
This had surprised Mikasa, who was not unaware of the depravity of men in normal circumstances, let alone desperate ones. But as time went by, she saw that the spirit of the people had shifted at least for now. Their efforts were on the familiar struggle for survival, and even though this particular blend of starvation and consumption had been a concern for as long as anyone could remember, things were different. Overpopulation wasn't exactly a concern—it was widely understood that there was a new safety in numbers. If humanity insisted on surviving, people would need to work together to create that possibility.
The lack of willingness to do so is what had caused this entire predicament in the first place.
With these thoughts in mind, Mikasa finds Eren in his usual space; the low-lit courtyard of the palace. It had been converted into a small garden, consisting of mostly herbs and plants with antiseptic properties. They'd needed someone to oversee the cultivation of medicinal plants to have on hand for the prison, now a makeshift infirmary, beneath the Palace and Eren had quickly offered to fill the role.
Mikasa however, though not a botanist by any means, thinks she has spotted the odd flower or two in bloom over the months.
Eren, in his long hours spent in the gardens, reading and studying and, of course, gardening, has become something of the resident expert on the topic. While she is away seeing to her responsibilities outside the perimeter of Mitras and into the less densely populated regions of the island, he has mostly remained in the capital, tending to the plants and learning their applications. He had even managed to get his hands on a few of his father's textbooks, though she didn't know how.
Perhaps one of his lackeys had volunteered to do the job.
A dark part of her thinks it's ironic—audacious, even— for him to take on the role of a healer, though she doesn't voice that private humor. She approaches Eren and takes a seat on the stone bench near him.
He is on his knees, forearms buried in the dirt as he tends to the saplings before him. He does so with a gentle reverence she had never known him to possess before, and she enjoys the sight. It is, after all, one of the few occasions she is actually around to see him doing it.
"Good morning, Mikasa." He says to her after a few moments, as he packs dirt over a row of seeds.
Morning it is then.
He turns to look at her, pushing his long hair behind his ear, smudging soil across his cheek as he does.
Beautiful, she thinks. He is still as beautiful as ever.
"Good morning, Eren. How did you sleep?"
"Well." He says, even though she can see the dark marks clearly under his eyes despite the dim lighting. "You?"
Her smile is hollow, and she knows he can see hers just as well.
"Good."
They say little for most of the morning, and Mikasa makes to leave as the day's first light peeks from the horizon. She is surprised to find Eren rise from his work as if to follow her. Rarely was she at the palace, and rarer still did he join her for meals in the dining hall.
"Are you done for the day?" Mikasa asks, letting a hint of skepticism color her voice. He dusts his hands against his shirt, identical to her own, and something about the carelessness of the gesture makes her heart hurt.
"Hardly, but even I need to eat sometimes. If I don't go now, I might not get a chance later."
She nods at his words, and they make their way to the dining hall in silence. Breakfast was served at different intervals to prevent overcrowding, but there were still times when there wasn't enough room to accommodate the long lines outside the kitchens.
Nobody approaches as they pass. Though some faces have grown recognizable, Mikasa has yet to establish any real connection with them. Making friends had never been something that came easy to her, and it was certainly something she had no stomach for now. Eren had always been the one to make himself known wherever they went.
He'd done a remarkable job at it, at any rate.
The expressions on the faces around her vary, on the few occasions that she bothers to observe them now. At first, the disgusted looks on some had been enough to cause nausea to roil in the pit of her belly, but it was the reverent ones that she could not stand to see.
Eyes shining, looking at her and Eren like they were some sort of saviors, some sort of Gods. She'd wanted to tear their eyes from their heads, shout at them for their stupidity, for their ignorance, but she'd understood, a little. Maybe it was easier to believe the castle's most respected guests were not the monsters the rest of the world had claimed. Easier to believe them as heroes.
But to most, despite her and Eren's notoriety, they were unrecognizable. Either that or people simply didn't have the energy to care anymore. Regardless of what the citizens of Paradis thought of them, or just her, there was no point in dwelling on it. She didn't intend on ever truly rejoining society, and mere thoughts didn't have the power to change things.
Only action exists now.
From what little she could tell, Eren also hadn't found any new companionship. Mikasa knew that he met with the Queen on occasion, but generally spent his time alone. His Yeagarist followers dissolved quickly in the months following their return, with no outside world from which to build their empire and enough work to be found domestically. They had especially lost their fire when they saw their dauntless leader become a fucking gardener.
Still, there were nods of respect sent Eren's way, and while she could feel him tense beside her when they did, he always returned them.
They eat their meals with little fanfare and even less conversation, and despite the exhaustion, she can see in them, life has returned to his eyes a bit. He has put on weight, and while his face is no longer as gaunt as it was before, she didn't think he looked precisely healthy either. He wore his hair down, and it's grown even longer, giving him an almost waifish appearance despite his large stature. A bit slips from the binding he wears it in, and Mikasa knows she has been neglecting him badly.
"Eren. Would you like… Do you need a haircut?"
He looks up at her and she averts her gaze, not wanting to meet his directly. She'd given him plenty of them, in their time as cadets and later full-fledged members of the Scouts, but it had been years since the last time she'd cut his hair. He looks at her, unblinking, and it was rare enough for Mikasa to feel awkward, truly awkward, around Eren, but now was one such occasion.
"I do, actually," He pushes it from his eyes. "How'd you figure?"
His voice is toneless, but she thinks he might be joking.
"It's longer than mine ever was. And it's always getting into your food." She's looking at her plate as she says this, but she can feel his eyes on her.
She feels a tug on her hair, and she looks up, startled at the gesture. She hadn't seen much of Eren since their return to Mitras, not really, but this was a change she couldn't help but notice.
"Your hair has grown, too." He says, and he lets the length fall from his grasp.
There's a detached amusement in his expression, and the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. This is the first time Eren has touched her in a long, long while.
"I guess I need a cut too, then." She says, pushing it more firmly behind her ear.
He shakes his head.
"No, I don't think so. It looks good, long."
Mikasa's face warms, and they eat the rest of their meal in silence.
They return to their shared room, and it feels strange to see him in it; in the daylight, especially.
Eren takes the seat near the window while Mikasa scrounges up what she needs to get his appearance in order. She's not particularly skilled at it, but she knew her way around a pair of scissors well enough. Knives, too, and all other sorts of sharp objects.
She gets a straight razor too, because she does not like the way his facial hair obscures his mouth and jawline. It makes it more difficult to read his already hard-to-read expressions.
She starts by brushing out his hair. It is silky but snarled in places, but he is quiet as she teases out the tangles. Her mother would do this for her as a child, making sure to be gentle with each brushstroke. After she'd moved in with the Yeager's, Carla was the one to do so.
After she'd joined the Scouts she didn't need much help; her heavy, straight hair the only burden of domesticity she'd not mourned the loss of.
Mikasa's touch is not as gentle as her mother's had been, but if it hurts him, Eren makes no complaint. She runs her hands through the dark locks when she is done disentangling them, and he leans back into her touch.
"That feels nice." He says levelly, and his eyes are closed. She continues to stroke his hair for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of it against her palms before she will remove it. She cuts it so that it just brushes his nape; not nearly as overgrown as it was but not quite as short as it had been in their youth, either. She pushes it over his ears before preparing to lather his face.
"Lean back. I'm going to shave you, now."
He just hums, enjoying her ministrations. She wonders how long it's been since he's been touched. Probably longer than it's been for herself, considering his time in Marley, in prison.
In his own mind.
She applies the foamy soap to his face and carefully, methodically scrapes the hair from his face. The skin beneath is pale and unblemished, and she can't help herself from smoothing her hands against it.
He looks so young, so peaceful. When he opens his eyes to her, they look wonderfully, impossibly clear.
"Oh ,Eren." She says, and she feels like crying. There is so much that has been left unsaid between the two of them, but Mikasa is afraid. She's so afraid, and she wants to say something, to find the words that evade her in sleep, but she can only stroke the beloved planes of his face. "What's happened, to us?"
What have we done?
Eren seems to see something in her expression, something that she can't even name but that he can recognize.
What have you done?
He stills the movement of her hand with his own, but only presses it more firmly against his cheek.
"I will never be the same Mikasa. We both know it. This," he gestures to his cropped hair. "Won't change that."
His voice is flat but harsh, and she knows that if he will never be the same, then neither will she.
"I don't expect you or anyone else to forgive me. I am so beyond…" he struggles for the words, "Redemption, that I've never even considered it."
He says, and the expression in his eyes is a foreign mixture of conviction and resignation. His voice is grim, and she hates that it's leached of emotion, hates the validity of the blame she can hear in it.
But despite the unfamiliarity, Mikasa can recognize that unlike before, the sound of them is completely his own. There are no more voices in his head, giving him orders he can't disobey. His fog has lifted, while hers is just starting to settle.
"All I could do then was keep moving forward, and all I can do now is the same."
He's quiet for a few moments, and his brow is slightly furrowed before he continues. He looks almost lost, then.
"And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I am alive and the rest of them are dead and that it's my fault—"
Her mouth opens to stop him, but he doesn't let her.
"—and I'm sorry that you can't even look at me even if you still—" He hesitates as if he isn't quite certain that what he is saying is true, but is compelled to say the words regardless. "—need me."
She says nothing, because what can she possibly say? He's right.
He made his decisions, for whatever reason, but he deals with them in the capacity he can. That had always been Eren's way, to lead, the same way it was hers to follow him, even when she knew the path did not lead to anywhere safe, anywhere warm.
She is the one who cannot reconcile her actions with the reality before her, so she simply doesn't. She lets her grief fester in the furthest depths of her mind, and she knows that part of her blames him, but Mikasa's heart breaks for him anyways.
"Eren," she tries to steady her voice, but what comes out could barely be called a whisper. "I still don't know exactly what happened in those final months. I don't know if you're ready to give me answers or if I am ready to hear them. All I know is that you're all I have left, and that it was my decision to make it this way."
She can't meet his eyes as she speaks, and she can't control the tremor in her hands. When did she become so weak?
Eren stands, and it's been so, so long since she'd felt his arms around her, but he's hugging her to him and she can't respond, because a storm of tears was inside her and her nightmares seemed so close now. He smelled exactly as she'd imagined-of dirt, of fire and medicine and sweat and also faintly of flowers. She wishes she could hug him back but she draws away instead, swallowing the knot in her throat.
"I have to go now, Eren."
His eyes are calm like the sea before a storm—the same sea that had once been the sum of their childhood dreams. The sea that had once been a mystery, a forbidden fairytale, too great a thing to be real. But real it was, all too real– and Mikasa could remember feeling wonder and awe and most especially disappointment when she saw that never-ending body of water disappear into the horizon.
Was this the freedom they had sought for so long? Eren, safe and alive in her arms, as she'd always desired, but Mikasa unable to hold him to her the way she always wished to? Was it worth the price paid?
That same disappointment is what she sees in Eren when he looks at her now.
She is the one who should go, but Eren is the one to leave.
"I'll see you later, Mikasa."
She's looking at her hands, wrapped tightly into useless fists in her lap.
They look so small to her now. Useless.
"See you."
That night and the following morning are much the same as they usually are, but this time when Mikasa finds the place in her bed next to hers empty, she does not seek its owner.
Instead, she leaves him a brief note, letting him know that she will be gone for a few weeks and when he can anticipate her return. He never asks for such missives, never comments on them, but she provides them anyways. And they are always gone when she returns, so she knows he at least sees them.
Her mind is clouded, and she doesn't think as she prepares for her journey. She loads the supplies and prepares the horses before she heads out, and the learned, robotic movements are soothing as she does them. She sets off, and it's not long before she finds herself far from the capital and deep into the ruin of the world around her. It makes her feel better, in that bitter way she finds reassuring, to see the proof of her actions.
They keep her grounded, keep her going. Remind her that what she'd done was real, and the pain she inflicted was also real. She'd caused damage, but she could fix things too. She can heal them.
She must heal them.
So when she sees the bodies, rotten and rotting, a few weeks' distance from the capital, she doesn't think twice before she starts to dig. She brings a shovel with her for this express purpose; she'd seen corpses aplenty when she'd returned from Marley, and upon her earlier expeditions of the barren Island.
It hadn't been long enough for the scattered corpses to turn into dry husks, but with the lack of wildlife to aid the process, their flesh remained putrefied under the harsh sun, with no scavenging animals to pick them clean and make the grueling work easier to handle for Mikasa. There wasn't enough able-bodied labor available to spend time on something as trivial as burying the mass amount of forgotten flesh, but Mikasa did her best to take care of the bodies in whatever way she could. This alone delayed her trips, extending them far further than scheduled, but she never denied the departed their due.
Somebody had to pay it to them.
There was no dignity in their deaths; no honor and certainly no high purpose. Marleyan or Eldian, the discolored bodies are a stark reminder of that unignorable fact, and the only consolation she has is knowing that her own friends hadn't suffered that same fate, reduced into scattered titan dust as they had been.
When she finally finishes burying the scraps of human life around her, and when her muscles burn and her body screams for rest, she sets up her sleeping gear and makes camp near a more stable set of rubble. She will continue her journey further into the exterior tomorrow, and for now, she doesn't bother cleaning the sweat from her body. Her life as a soldier had made her well accustomed to the less-than-luxurious reality of frequent travel and hard work, and besides; it was its own small penance, to sleep covered in the stinking scent of death and her own self-loathing. It served to make her dreams all the more vivid, and her days all the more dreamlike.
Just as the sun finally falls low, she sees something impossible in the hopeless landscape surrounding her.
Children.
They are unclean, and their faces are too sharp, lacking the round, telltale softness of a proper childhood, but the fact that they are alive is its own marvel. One of them wears a makeshift sling over her arm, and Mikasa sees her not only running but laughing, despite her injury, despite her surroundings. There are two boys, chasing after her, and one lags further behind the others.
"Slow down! It's not fair, for you to run, meanwhile I can barely stand!"
The boy is limping badly, and she can see the tattered linen he wears wrapped around his ankle. Already she can tell that the effort is wasted, and if the injury was as old as the destruction surrounding them, it was likely going to be stuck that way forever.
Better leg than life? She wasn't so sure, these days.
"Well you better catch up, or the titans are going to reach from the ground and eat you. You're easy prey."
She'd heard absurd things like the ones said now, in the exterior, and she brushed them off without sparing a second thought. People were still afraid, the ones who didn't know better, and frightful minds often had the most powerful imaginations, Mikasa had come to learn.
There were other whispers, though, and not so easily discarded.
Whispers of a man, small and unfriendly, who lived far, far off towards the edge of the Island, where even Mikasa dared not venture. She couldn't help the darkening of her features when those rumors reached her ears, but she was always quick to shut her mind down when she did.
"Just keep saying that stuff, and you'll see!" the boy threatens, but she could tell by the strained increase in his speed that it inspired more than just anger. "I'll kick your–"
"Stop fighting!" The smallest one cries, and his distraught expression is almost amusing to Mikasa. It was clear that they must not have expected anyone to be around because they had yet to notice her careful approach. He looked different from the other two, who she realized must have been siblings. His hair is fair, almost white, but the dirt clumped in it makes it appear a strange grayish color that brings another of her ghosts to mind.
"I'd like to see you try, cripple!" The girl says, and the pure delight as she runs even faster from what appears to be her brother is a thing of wonder.
Not including the fact that kids were alive in the first place, of course.
Mikasa approaches closer and is thinks it's impressive that they had not died, had not been crushed by rubble or poisoned by infection, or killed off slowly from starvation. She should've known, considering how much she had survived at a similar age, but something about the scene before her strikes her as uniquely remarkable.
"When we find Eren Yeager, I'm going to have him make you into a dumb titan, and I'm going to slice your stupid neck–"
The girl stops dead in her tracks, and she shoots him a dirty look through her dirt-stained face.
"He would never do that, dumbass. He destroys titans–"
"Yeah? Why don't you tell that to mom."
The girl looks absolutely incensed when her brother says the words, and she's about to say something but she's prevented from giving her response.
"Hey lady!" the blonde boy shouts at Mikasa once he finally notices her, and there's outrage clear in his voice, but it warbles with poorly disguised apprehension, too. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Did he recognize her, she wonders? Her appearance is unique, and she had her own reputation that she'd cultivated over the years, but she was doubtful that that was what caused such reticence from the boy.
She stretches her arms out before her, in what she hopes to be a placating gesture. She'd worked on the look, but hadn't used it on feral children yet.
"No need to be startled," she says, approaching them unhurriedly. "I'm here to help. I've got food and water with me, and clean clothes, if you're interested." She's calm and speaks with confidence, with the command that only an adult can have. Though she didn't feel far removed from them, with their suspicious looks and tired faces. Their malnourishment was worse than she'd thought, the nearer she gets to them.
The broken-legged boy is about to speak, but the girl beats him to it.
"Yeah, we're interested." Her voice is careful, betraying nothing but a wary skepticism towards Mikasa's offer. "What do you want in return, though?"
Smart girl, Mikasa thinks as she shakes her head. She must've learned a thing or two before the walls came down for good, but it isn't necessary now.
"Nothing. I'm from Mitras, and I'm here to help bring people supplies and medical treatment. Queen's orders."
The kids hobble closer when Mikasa rummages through her satchel, drawing out a canister of clean water and stale bread. She is still only at the beginning of her journey, and she needs her supplies to last if she wants to make it to the final leg of her trip. But she also needs something to entice the malnourished children if she wants to get them to safety.
It was not a comforting sort of security, in Mitras, but it was certain to be a significant improvement to their current situation. The fact that they had survived on their own...
Mikasa still couldn't grasp it.
She pours water into a tin cup and hands it to the girl. From Mikasa's short observation, she appears to be the leader of the little trio. She takes a sip, and waits a minute before she takes her second. Mikasa refills the cup, and the blonde boy is next to drink.
"Thank you," he says politely once he finishes, mimicking the older girl's pattern, but he is already eyeing the bread in Mikasa's hand. The girl's brother takes the cup with greedy hands next, and he doesn't hesitate before he downs the entire contents in a single gulp.
"Don't drink too fast, cripple," the girl thumps him on the head, "Or you'll throw up. Remember when we found that jar of peaches?"
He slows down on his second cup, and she breaks them each off a chunk of bread. Mikasa is quiet, attentive as she watches them eat, assessing their wounds and searching for signs of infection, but when the boy tugs on his sister's ratty braid after she scolds him once more about his speed, she finds her face dangerously close to crumpling.
She shoves down the memories that threaten to surface, to swallow her whole. She also wonders why she bothers.
"I'm going to go back to my camp, and get you two some new bandages, alright? Sit tight."
They just nod, continuing to scarf down the bread, and she hears another playful quip thrown between the two. These children remind her that the future isn't gone, for those who had not committed the sins that she had.
It was a lonely truth, but comforting too.
She brings them fresh bandages and clothing, and she turns to the girl, with her broken arm and intact smile, and explains to her the path they must follow to find the capital as she redresses her wound. She'd suffered a deep cut, but it was mercifully clear of blood poison or any other ailment that Mikasa could recognize.
"The queen has set up a shelter for children like you."
"Orphans?" She asks wryly. The girl was almost flippant about this horror that was her young life, but Mikasa didn't think her own stoicism had proved remarkably effective in the end.
Mikasa doesn't respond, just nods carefully. They continue to inhale the additional food Mikasa had brought as she anoints all of their more obvious wounds, and when they finish their meals, Mikasa tells them they should get a move on. It's late, but they could make at least a little distance and arrive at an encampment Mikasa stayed at just before she'd arrived here. They would find additional supplies there, and it would be enough for them to make the trip to Mitras in relative comfort.
They wear new clothes, too large on their scrawny bodies, and before they finally head out, the girl turns to Mikasa.
"Will Eren Yeager be there? At the capital?"
She didn't know the names of these children, and she hadn't planned on asking. If she did that, and they didn't make it for whatever reason, Mikasa would feel their lives weigh down heavily on her next trip, in her next set of nightmares. The fact that this perfect stranger, this young, lost girl, spoke Eren's though, with something that was equal parts awe and fear, was a fact that Mikasa found to be unacceptable. Especially not on a child.
On one that didn't know him, and never would.
"He's dead." Her voice is toneless. "He died in the war."
The lie was simple, and she could find out the truth in a matter of days if she had a mind to ask, but something in the disappointed sag of that girl's shoulders helps the tension in Mikasa's to slacken if only a little.
Weeks later, in the dead of night, when she returns from her trip, Eren still isn't there to greet her on his side of the bed. In his place, she finds a small bundle of flowers, carefully curated colors of blue and yellow and purple. The stems sag, causing the blooms to hang limply, and the browning petals feel dry under her touch, but Mikasa thinks they are beautiful even so.