**TRIGGER WARNING: References to SELF-HARM are mentioned in this chapter. If you are sensitive to this subject, please read with caution.

Written by: thesketchytepe**

1:17 AM

In a heartbeat, four people died.

Armin saw Marco fly into the kitchen just as something exploded nearby. It blurred his vision and his ears rang loudly and the next thing he saw was Marco's body lying in a pool of blood, his face smashed into a pulp. An eyeball bulged out of its socket and his limbs twitched once, twice before becoming still.

Another explosion reverberated through the room and Reiner's large body slumped into Armin's line of sight. His face was also crumbled into red chunks and he thought he saw a few white teeth scatter on the kitchen floor. He eventually spotted the shotgun skid across the tiles and bump against the wall.

Armin looked up at Eren who was staring intensely at the back door, lips pulled back like a lion's when another predator dares to ruin his meal. He then whipped his head to his knife that was tucked in the corner of the room and scrambled up to get it. Even though he no longer felt the weight of Eren's knees on his stomach, he still felt them lodged in there. Fear, anger, sorrow, dread, guilt weighed down on him and boiled him alive, melting his bones and burning away his sense of self. He wanted to just lie there and cry, let out all the trapped sentiments that nibbled at his brain like a parasite. Instead he pushed them down even further and rushed after Eren.

Fire flared up his calf and hand as he pushed himself off the floor, slicked with the blood of half a dozen friends, and shoved Eren's hunched back into the wall, grabbing his hair in fistfuls. Eren was in worse shape than Armin—he'd been stabbed three times now—but he was running on pure adrenaline and determination. Armin should've known that he wouldn't take a beating so easily.

Eren groaned in annoyance as if his alarm went off in the morning for him to go to school or work. He reached back and squeezed Armin's hand, the one with the broken pinkie finger. Armin gasped in pain and his grasp on him loosened. Eren took the opportunity and pushed Armin into the wall with the back of his elbow. He then threw in a punch or two for good measure.

As Armin slid down the wall, Eren turned around and dashed to where Reiner's body laid. Berthold was there (Armin hadn't noticed him before); shock prevented him from moving or seeing Eren coming. Eren grabbed Berthold's collar, brought him to eye-level, and, all while maintaining eye contact, slashed the knife across the throat.

Blood spurted from his neck like a water sprinkler as Berthold reached for his throat, gurgling and gasping for air. He collapsed; more blood burst into the air as he looked down at his hands in horror. Eren took hold of his disheveled head of hair and stared into his expression, watching, waiting.

More tears fell from his damp eyes as Armin stared at the killer. He was looking for that light in Berthold's eyes. He wanted to see his life drained from him like the blood escaping him now. He wanted him to cry out, scream, wither beneath him, do something to establish his dominance over him. Eren, his best friend, his brother, was a literal sadistic monster who enjoyed the sight of death taking over the mind of his friends.

But Berthold didn't do anything; his body shuddered and more wet, strained noises squirted from his severed vocal chords. His body ultimately went still and Eren, dissatisfied with Berthold's death, threw him to the side and ran out the door and into the dark once again.

Armin spotted the faint smile on Berthold's lips, his dead eyes forever locked on Reiner's corpse.

He felt light; everything moved in slow motion. He rolled his head to the side and found Jean—poor, broken Jean—screaming in pure rage, tears running down his cheeks and clogging his throat. Mikasa had him in a lock beneath her. Armin's heart broke again at the sight of her, his sister. He always thought she was beautiful, her black hair, midnight eyes, snow white skin, delicate doll-like features. But all that blood and sweat brought out the emptiness in her eyes and stained her seemingly innocent appearance. He never realized that, all this time, she was the haunted doll with a cracked skull that sat in the corner of the bedroom, simply waiting to unleash the demon that possessed her.

Those black eyes turned toward the doorway and gazed after Eren. A concerned look passed over them, bringing some sort of life back into the hopeless abyss. Jean took his chance and squirmed in her grasp, eventually grabbing her thigh and thrusting it forward. She stumbled a little, but that's all he needed. He broke away from her grip and then plummeted her to the ground. He planted a knee on her ribs and a foot on her wrist and began raining his fists upon her, screaming something that Armin couldn't quite make out. Mikasa made no sound as Jean's bony knuckles repeatedly pounded against her nose, head, neck, chest, and anywhere else he managed to hit.

Armin's gaze swam through the bloodbath before him. His eyes drifted past Marco, Berthold, Connie, and Reiner's lifeless bodies, past the ocean of blood, past the puddles of glass until they landed on her again. His insides shriveled up like an autumn leaf at the sight of her bloodied sweatshirt and those bottle remnants jutting from her face. She had not moved from her spot on the floor.

A fresh wave of loss overcame his senses, and he picked himself back up and stumbled her way. He rounded Jean and Mikasa, not bothering to give them a second look. He slipped on the blood that separated him from her, the wall of useless sacrifices. His head landed on Marco's leg and now his entire right side was drenched in the boy's blood. He tried not to let the thought settle as he got back up and crawled the few remaining steps to Annie.

Her tousled hair shielded most of her face and, when he carefully tilted her head back up, he found that the blood that welled around those three glass pieces had trickled down her face. It curved along her sharp nose, coated her closed eyelids, and slipped into the gap of her thick lips.

"No, no, no," he whimpered under his breath again and again as he shifted Annie's cold body around in his arms. He pushed her sweatshirt up and examined the brutal mark Mikasa left behind near her tailbone. It was deep and long, gushing blood that was so dark and thick it was as if the night itself was bleeding from her. He felt the wetness of her shoulder blade and pulled back his hand to find it soaked in red.

He looked at her, limp in his arms. He did this to her. He told her to stay by his side for the night and now look at her, drenched in her own blood. She would've been just fine if she went out with Reiner and Berthold—just like what Reiner suggested—and maybe then her two best friends would still be alive and so would Marco—he wouldn't have to jump in front of anybody if Annie went out into the woods. He wanted to protect her but ended up killing her instead.

Sobs shook his body, his tears splashing against her nose and cheeks, making the blood run faster. His vision blurred like a bloody watercolor painting and he couldn't see anything clearly. But he wanted to see her pretty face, the face of the Greek goddess of war who others longed to look like, a face of strength and courage and kindness. His trembling fingers brushed back her tangled locks, but the glass and his own tears made it hard to see her again, buried underneath layers of horror.

I'll take out the pieces, he thought to himself, and then push one of them into my eye. That should keep me from crying so fucking much. And then I can see her again.

He nodded to himself as if it made perfect sense and then pinched a piece stuck in her cheek. Once he plucked it out, a memory streamed out along with the red river. The shiny glass reminded him of her shiny black fingernails as he watched her scroll through her phone, searching for another song to play. They'd sit under a large oak tree on Trost University's campus, Armin doing his homework, Annie playing on her phone while occasionally glaring at students passing by. The earbud tucked in his ear would usually play something by the Cranberries or Nirvana and Armin would comment with a playful smile that her taste in music was so depressing. Annie would glower at him, but she still kissed his cheek and muttered into his skin, "I will beat the shit out of you." He grinned and replied, "I know."

He took out another slice and its sharp edge recalled the time he discovered her strange love for prickly plants. When he went over to her apartment for the first time, he found many pots of little cacti placed randomly around the place. Some were flat and round, some had arms sprouting from them, and others were adorned with pink or purple flowers. He also found a single dying rose in a vase by the TV with tiny thorns running up and down the stem. He met up with Annie in the kitchen; she cracked open a small box with the word "bloodworm" plastered to the side in curvy letters. He hovered over her as she dangled a floppy pink worm over the gaping mouth of a Venus fly trap that sat on the windowsill. He jokingly asked her if the plant had a name, but she answered in her usual monotone voice, "Harold."

The last glass piece he removed from her lip sent another wave of blood into her mouth. The red color matched that red Sylvia Plath book Annie picked up at that bookstore they visited some time ago. They were sadly going out of business and had set out dozens of boxes full of books out on the sidewalk, all marked at extremely low prices. Armin had scavenged through a few boxes and had chosen a couple of thick history books. He looked around for Annie (who had been lingering by his side for a while) and finally noticed her crouched by a nearby alleyway. He walked over and saw a sleepy tabby cat laying on a flattened cardboard box, enjoying the chin scratches Annie was giving it. She held the poetry book over her shoulder without looking at him once he asked if she was ready to check out. For a moment, he honestly couldn't believe he had to compete for Annie's attention with a cat, but after thinking about it, he decided he would surprise her with a furry friend for her birthday in a few months after seeing the cute smile on her face.

Why these memories? How come he didn't see the important events in her life like her entrance into the police academy or her moving with him into their current apartment? Why was it the little things? Were the anniversaries and celebrations and losses not significant? What did Jean see when Marco died? Did Reiner's life flash before Berthold's eyes? What did Connie feel as Sasha slipped from his arms?

Please give me an answer, he begged of himself as his trembling arms tightened around Annie's form. He rocked back and forth on his heels, some dying animal noise bubbling in the back of his throat.

The memorials of Annie were too painful as they continued to filter behind his eyes like a broken projector. The time they got drunk in the middle of the afternoon and danced a very clumsy ballroom dance in the living room, her giggles pressed into the crook of his neck. The time he first told her he was in love with her and she began to cry—she managed through soft hiccups that she thought no one could ever truly love her and his heart broke in two. That cute snort she had whenever she laughed too hard. That distinct yet funny scowl she had whenever Reiner was about to do something stupid. Her amazing ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time, despite loud thunderstorms or the previous three naps she took in a row. Those out-of-the-blue passionate kisses she'd smother him with, leaving him fumbling with his book until it'd eventually fall out of his hands.

Those moments burned like acid in the back of his mind, for he knew he would never be able to recreate them with her again. Look what you've done to her. Look what you've done! All she wanted was to go home and you can't even do that, you pathetic coward! All this blood is on your hands. You killed them!

You killed her, you killed her, you killed her, you killed—

Something weakly pushed against Armin's chest.

He peered down and he could've fainted at the sight. Annie's bloody face peeked back up at him, her tiny hands clawing at his collar.

"Oh my God," he wheezed, new tears spilling. "Annie, oh my God."

He nearly squeezed the life out of her with the tightest embrace he could manage, despite his shaky arms and broken finger. He firmly pressed his lips onto the side of her head, coating his lips with her blood and the leftover beer—it was warm and sticky and left a sour yet sweet aftertaste. He heard himself mutter panicked phrases as if he were running out of time like "I'm so sorry" and "you're alive" and "I love you so much".

"My legs," she croaked into his neck.

He suddenly remembered the horrible gash sliced across her tailbone. He let her go and hurriedly shrugged out of his hoodie (now a dark forest green instead of its usual emerald color). He tied it around Annie's waist and knotted the sleeves together.

"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled under her breath. Her eyes were the size of tea saucers and her bottom lip quivered. Armin noticed the nasty scar left behind from the glass on her upper lip—it was about the size of a quarter.

"I can't feel them," she panicked. "I can't feel my legs."

With that much force, Mikasa probably severed something in her spinal cord. He swallowed another cry for her. She can't move; this is going to kill her.

He pulled her back into his arms once he saw the frightened tears dampening her eyes through her hair and blood. "It's okay," he tried soothing her (though he knew it wouldn't help when his own voice was as steady as an earthquake). "I've got you. Everything's okay."

But that was the wrong move to make. She now saw the absolute chaos that laid behind him over his shoulder.

He felt her body stiffen and heard her stifle a cry. "Bert? Reiner?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Everything's okay. It's okay, Annie."

"Reiner…" She wept his name. "He fucking killed himself, didn't he?"

"It's oka—"

She pounded her fists against his shoulders which felt like getting hit with bowling balls. "Stop telling me it's okay! Stop lying to me!"

The agony in her screams only reminded him of what a failure he turned out to be. He wanted to protect her from it all, but he only brought the danger to a higher level. This wasn't Eren's doing—it was his. It was all his fault.

Nevertheless, he held onto her tighter. "Annie, I'm so sorry."

She hesitated before whispering Marco's name.

Marco reminded Armin of Jean. With his arms still locked on Annie, he shifted around so that he saw Jean's back and Mikasa's feet on the other side of the kitchen. He was still pounding away at her; blood dripped from his knuckles and was spattered along the cabinets and walls. Mikasa's hands—stained with Annie's blood—pushed feebly at his knees, and she was quickly losing strength. Along with Jean's livid cries, Armin heard wet and bone-crushing noises echo from his fists, from Mikasa's face.

He paused. I shouldn't stop him, he contemplated. He just lost Marco, Mikasa took away Annie's legs and aided Eren through all of this. It would only be fair. Because of her choices, because of her blind-sidedness, she has to endure Jean's wrath.

But the longer he stared, doing nothing, the heavier the guilt weighed down in his chest. He watched Mikasa's hands drop to the floor and Jean hammer away. If he didn't stop him, he would certainly kill her. Despite the poor judgement calls Mikasa was known for, Armin couldn't just let her die. He couldn't let Jean murder that little girl stuck in an adult's body; she didn't know the difference between right and wrong, she didn't know what was good for herself and had to suffer because of her willing ignorance. Perhaps there was still a chance for her to change.

"Jean," he sighed, "stop."

Of course he didn't hear him.

He licked his lips, tasting Annie's blood again. "Jean, stop."

No acknowledgement from Jean.

"Jean! Stop it!"

An angry moaning sound erupted from him as his fists continued to fly.

Armin looked around and found Annie's hunting knife lying by Marco's feet. Mikasa must've dropped it when Jean tackled her. He frowned at the idea forming in his mind, but it was the only one he had.

He swiped away the tiny glass pieces littering the floor and then slowly leaned Annie against the counter. She grimaced at the pain and he grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"Hold on a little bit longer, honey," he murmured before making his way to Jean.

His fingers wrapped around the tainted knife. It was sticky with blood; he was surprised he hadn't fainted or puked at the bloodshed they all sat in, considering he did just that when he saw Historia (her death seemed mild compared to what he just saw). His shaky legs hurried to Jean and he reached out for his forearm, pulled back to throw another hit at the bloody mess that was Mikasa's face.

"Jean, I said stop!"

Armin yanked back his arm, forcing Jean to swivel around and throw a deadly glare in his direction. His face was drenched in tears and spatters of blood (both Marco and Mikasa's) were sprinkled along his chin, neck, and collared shirt. His lips were pulled back in a wolf's snarl and his nostrils flared. His small eyes were wide with fury, just as wild as Eren's.

"Fuck off, Armin!" he spat.

"Jean, stop it. That's enough."

"I said fuck you."

He flashed the knife at him. "You're done, Jean. Stop it or you leave me no choice."

Jean eyed the knife and then looked back at him. The corners of his lips curled as if he were holding back laugh. He leaned forward and whispered, "You don't even have the guts, you pathetic, worthless little worm."

It was as if Armin just stabbed himself. He knew Jean was already angry with him for knowing Eren's intentions all along, but to have him voice his beliefs about himself made them real, true. It reminded him that none of this would've happened if he just spoke up in the first place. Jean was correct—he was pathetic and worthless.

But he still slashed the knife along Jean's forearm as if he were cutting butter.

Jean gasped and jerked his arm back, clutching it as red seeped through his already soiled fingers. He seemed more shocked than he did hurt. "What the—"

"You think Marco would let you kill Mikasa?"

Armin lowered so that his face was a few inches from Jean's. He watched his eyes water at the mention of Marco's name and stared into space as he hung onto Armin's every word.

"What are you—"

"Marco died saving Mikasa's life and here you are, trying to kill her. Do you think he'd be proud of you?" Armin spoke through his teeth and his gaze was intensely focused on Jean's reaction. He felt his lips crack and his eyes burn. "You're letting him die in vain, you know. His death, his sacrifice, will mean nothing if you kill her. He died for peace and you're ruining what he stood for. There'd be nothing to gain by murdering Mikasa. Marco's lying right there, watching you and judging you. What a disappointment you'd be in his eyes—"

"Armin."

He turned toward Annie's groggy voice. She was lying on her stomach by Reiner's body with his shotgun in her hands, aimed straight at him.

Her hands trembled as she growled, "Stop it. Jean just lost Marco and you're only hurting him more. Don't be so cold-blooded."

Armin's lips rested into a sad smile and his shoulders sagged forward. "Honeybee, that's a double-barrel shotgun. Two bullets were used on Marco and Reiner and that was all it had. And besides, I know you would never hurt me. You're too kind."

Behind her blood-stained eyes, he saw fear, true and bone-trembling fear. Her split lips pulled back and he saw her red teeth, shivering as if she were catching a cold from his icy soul. Her hands shook so hard that she was having a difficult time keeping the gun steady.

The pain in his heart was the sharpest he felt so far this night. She was looking at him as if he were some hungry bear or aggravated shark coming to eat her up. She never looked at him with those eyes before and he didn't like the feeling that came with it.

He reached his arms out to her and took a step forward. "Annie, honey, what's—"

"Drop the knife, Armin." She snapped the gun back at him, even though she knew it was empty.

He turned the knife around so that his fingers were holding the blade. He offered the handle to her, but she only flicked her gaze at it before locking back onto him. He then set it on the ground and lightly pushed it her way; it bumped against her elbow but she still didn't budge.

"Annie, you know I would never hurt you. I can take care of you—"

"Don't you dare take another step towards me."

His lips tried twisting into the smile he knew she liked. He shuffled forward some more. "Annie, I—"

"Stop moving, Armin!" she screeched like a crow. Tears curved around her sharp cheekbones, turning her dark blood into a light rouge color. "Come any closer and I'll-I'll rip out your tongue so you can stop creating so much damage!"

His vision became blurry again. "Annie, please—"

"Stop talking, goddamn you!"

Armin crushed his lips together. His teeth sank into his skin and, if he tried hard enough, maybe he could bite off his own lips, if that's what Annie wanted. He didn't need them anymore, right? Besides, he needed to stop crying anyways.

He glanced over his shoulder. Jean was looking at Marco's body, his raggedy hair shielding his expression. He did see, however, a few more tears trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. His head lifted back up to Armin and he was obviously still fuming, but he also looked very confused and very betrayed. There was a touch of fear in his eyes, too, the same kind that Annie was drowning in.

Murderer, coward, liar, pathetic, worthless—

"You're both out of your minds," Annie muttered to the ground, exhaustion finally taking its toll on her, "so I have to play mother until this night is over." She huffed and ran a hand down her face. Blood, tears, and beer smeared down her features, making the cuts in her face and the heavy panic clearer to see.

"We have to get out of here. Eren's gone, so who knows when he'll be coming back."

"I am not leaving this cabin until that fucker is dead." Jean growled like a rabid dog, his face scrunched up in concentrated fury. "I'll rip his limbs off."

"Leave that to the professionals. Help is on its way and if anyone is going to screw things over, it'd be you."

"He killed Marco—!"

"He's killed everyone, Jean!" Annie bit back. "Stop thinking about yourself for one goddamn second!" She sniffed. "Of all the people who had to survive this, it had to be us."

Silence fell over the room while Annie pondered on what to do. Armin decided to let her do the thinking from now on. His plan failed miserably—he's killed over a half a dozen people tonight.

Maybe there's a way I can take out my brain. It's useless anyway.

Just as Armin began to subconsciously pull out his hair again, a familiar smell wafted up his nostrils. Summer barbeques, late-night campfires, cooking a warm dinner. His eyes glanced in the direction the smell was coming from. It was impossible to see the rolling smoke in the darkness, but he somehow knew it was there; the smell was so strong.

"He's burning the house down," Armin murmured into the silence.

No longer than two seconds passed before Annie dropped the shotgun and switched it for her hunting knife. "Alright, we're getting out of here. Jean, carry me on your back and Armin, you take Mikasa."

Armin looked at her. "What should be done with Eren? Maybe he's still in the cabin."

She eyed him with a look so sharp and so poisonous that it made Jean's threatening eyes weak and childish.

"I thought I told you to stop talking," she hissed in a tone that matched her narrowed glare.

His hands lifted toward her and she flinched away. He swallowed, dropped them, but tried again, this time in a fragile whisper. "Annie, please. You're all I have left."

Her jaw twitched and she gestured to him with her knife. "This isn't Armin Arlert, this isn't the guy I trust more than I trust myself. This is a stranger and I don't like him." She sharpened her stare. "I'm not letting him anywhere near me until he brings back Armin."

He felt the all-too-familiar feeling of cold tears slipping from his wide, hazy eyes. She hates me. She wants me dead. I've killed her, only to bring her back to life and make her life miserable. Maybe death would be better for her, then she wouldn't have to be crippled or see me like this. I've broken her in every way possible. Oh God, what have I done?

He said not a word nor choked out a sob as he and Jean switched places; he lumbered over to Mikasa and Jean begrudgingly leaned down, so Annie could crawl onto his spine. As he slowly picked up the pieces of Mikasa, her weight leaning fully on his back, he could vaguely hear Jean and Annie arguing somewhere beyond his inner torment.

"Why do you have a gun in your back pocket? Where did you get that?"

"None of your fucking business."

"Give it to me."

"No, fuck you. You have your knife."

"Jean, you're a child. Give it to me if you want to go back home."

"Who ever said I wanted to go home? I have no home now."

Armin peered up at them. Jean had stomped his way to the front door in the living room with a small handgun in his grasp. Annie clutched at his neck and tried reaching for the gun with her other hand, her legs swinging helplessly from side to side. Jean threw open the door and plunged into the darkness outside.

Armin tugged on Mikasa's arms and slowly dragged them both after the unlikely duo. He could feel her tiny chin tucked into his neck, wet yet warm. He unknowingly walked into a circle of smoke and the lack of oxygen made his throat burn. He coughed it up and he could hear the licking of flames coming from somewhere upstairs.

"You should've just let Eren kill me," he muttered to Mikasa's limp hands. "You don't need me to be happy, no one does. Eren's not good for you either, but you don't care. If you guys had succeeded and killed all of us, then you would follow Eren, wherever he'd drag you next. Maybe home, maybe hell. I'm sorry I couldn't save you either, Mikasa."

Her boots knocked against the doorframe as he stepped out of the cabin, slower than a slug. He took the three rickety steps across the wooden porch and then sunk his feet into the mud. His calf was killing him and his finger flapped uselessly, swollen to the size of a grape, but, of course, it couldn't compare to the anguish his mind was drowning in.

He looked up and saw Jean and Annie waiting impatiently a few yards ahead. Jean had lowered the gun to his side and had his other hand wrapped around Annie's fist which was fastened onto the collar of his shirt, digging into his Adam's apple. Annie had her other hand gripped onto a tree branch as if she told Jean to stop and wait for Armin and, when he refused, she stuck out her limb and caught one of the many arms of a pine tree, bringing them to a sudden halt.

Armin slowly made his way over to them but stopped when he heard the sound of rapid footfalls from somewhere deep in the woods. Jean and Annie heard them too; they all snapped to the source of the noise.

Peering into the blackness, Armin could dimly make out the recognizable figure of Eren dashing between the pine trees.

"You son of a bitch!" Jean screamed. He lifted the handgun.

"Jean!" Annie fumbled for the gun again but her arms were much too short for Jean's long, slender ones.

He shot and the sound wasn't as ear-deafening as the shotgun. Instead it echoed into the trees like a drop of water in a cave.

Eren ducked but kept on running.

Armin peered ahead and found a little square garage; that must've been where Eren was going. But what was in there? What did he plan to do? Get in a car and drive away or pick up a chainsaw or axe or some other obscene weapon and finish what he started?

"Jean, quit it!" Annie yelled into his ear. "You're fucking things up!"

She pulled out her knife and went to drive it into his shoulder blade—just like what she did with Eren—but Jean had thought ahead of time. He reached back, grabbed the end of her hoodie, and hauled it forward, flipping Annie over his back and slamming her onto the floor below.

Annie landed with a gasp and Armin shrieked her name once again. Her hands clutched at her hips, unable to lift herself or roll over. Her lower half was still and futile while her upper half wriggled around to grab at Jean's functional legs. He took off, however, firing more bullets at Eren's shadowy figure.

Armin hurried toward Annie, Mikasa flopping around on his back like a rag doll without all its stuffing. When he caught up to her, he noticed just how white her skin looked compared to the black mud and dark leaves scattered around her. Blood filled up her face again through the slices in her cheek and lip; she was losing so much so quickly that Armin wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to keep it up.

"Annie, are you…"

She sunk her fingers into the cold mud and flipped herself onto her stomach, letting out a low groan as she did so. He looked at his hoodie wrapped around her waist. He could see dark spots blooming through it already.

He inhaled sharply. "Annie, your—"

"Put Mikasa on my back," she muttered into the ground—he had to lower down to hear her correctly.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it, Armin!"

Her voice, dripping with increasing anger, scared him into doing what she said. He carefully laid Mikasa down on her spine, making sure that no part of her was lying on her tailbone. Annie then hooked Mikasa's arms around her neck and, taking the knife with her, began crawling for the hills.

"Go get Jean," she groaned. "Stop him from killing Eren. We need those idiots alive."

His stomach dropped. "Annie, you're losing blood. You need to—"

She flashed an animalistic stare over her shoulder and through Mikasa's hair. Blue veins popped in her temples; the blood continued to rush out, but she looked as intimidating as ever. She clumsily tossed the knife at him which landed at his feet.

"Go get him or I swear it's over, Armin!"

She didn't wait for him to protest anymore; she probably saw the fallen look on his face. She was already slithering toward the cars and back the way they came from.

As Jean's fiery screams and the endless rounds of bullets filled the air, Armin picked up the dirty knife and eyed Annie and Mikasa once again, slowly inching away. He looked down at the weapon in his hands.

Maybe it would be better if she was dead.

He didn't linger on the possibility for long—Jean's cursing reminded him of what had to be done. He whipped around and ran after him, limping along the way.

"Jean!" Armin spotted him several yards ahead and Eren even further away. He saw the light of the gun as Jean continued blasting away, missing every time. Eren darted around between the trees as if he were trapped in a ping-pong machine. He didn't scream back at Jean, but instead kept his focus on the awaiting garage.

Suddenly something exploded behind Armin. It was ten times louder than the gun and he could feel a splash of heat on his back. He snapped back and saw a giant dragon made of flames erupt from the top story of the Jaeger cabin. Glass and wood rained from above and black smoke blended into the night sky. The bright orange creature disappeared but more flames licked and lapped at the shattered window that once belonged to Eren's bedroom.

Armin tried to find Annie and Mikasa among the madness but couldn't see her. Everyone's dead cars blocked his chance of catching her. He pushed the worry as far back as it could go and pumped his legs a little faster.

Jean didn't seem too interested in the burning building behind them and persisted at his personal goal of killing Eren. He shot again; Eren dodged the bullet by hiding behind a tree. He stepped back out and Jean fired again.

Amazingly, he hit him.

Eren's right leg gave in; it swung dramatically to the side and he fell flat on his back. He howled into the sky as he clutched at his kneecap.

Jean ran up to him and aimed the gun at his huddled form. Armin hollered out, "Jean, don't! Stop!"

Jean peered up at him and then lifted the weapon at him. His eyes fell on the hunting knife in his hand. He gritted his teeth together.

Armin cradled it between his thumb and the palm of his hand. "Jean, I don't want to hurt you—"

"It's too late, Armin." His voice was eerily calm. He targeted Eren again. "He deserves this."

Eren didn't seem like he was listening to their argument. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands were clasped around his knee, dark blood soaking his jeans.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he growled under his breath.

"Jean, we need Eren alive, right?" Armin tried to coax. "We-we need to take him to court where he'll—"

"No," he said with his eyes glued to Eren's writhing form. "He deserves to die just like Zeke does."

"I-I know you're upset and you have every right to be, but—"

"Upset? I'm-I'm—" Jean stuttered a few times before bawling out, "He killed Marco, Armin. He killed Sasha and Connie and Berthold. You don't know anything, and I'm going to end what you're too coward to do."

Coward, coward, coward.

"Yeah, you wanna talk about cowardness?"

Jean and Armin turned to Eren on the ground. He had slowly sat up into a sitting position though his hand was still wrapped around his knee. Those crazy eyes peered up at Armin and he bared his teeth like a hyena.

"Armin has always just let people walk all over him his entire life," he mocked. "He just sat there and let school bullies beat on him like the fucking doormat he is. He doesn't know how to defend himself, doesn't know what sacrifice is, and can't even throw a punch at his teddy bear. Not willing to fight is the most cowardly thing I've ever heard of. Look at him, look at him trembling like a leaf!"

He shook his arms dramatically and his face drooped in fake fear. He snorted and then pulled back into his natural glare. "Armin is the embodiment of cowardness. It disgusts me."

Jean wacked the butt of the gun against the side of Eren's head. He fell over and landed on his knee. Something cracked and he screamed into the ground.

"Ow, shit, Horse Face! What the fuck?"

"Fucking shut the hell up!" Jean countered. "Shut your goddamn mouth, you little piece of shit!"

He let out a chuckle and flashed his eyes at him. "A little piece of shit? Not even a big piece?"

"I said shut up!" He pulled his foot back and rammed it into Eren's face.

Eren's head snapped to the side and he cursed again. He moaned and rolled back.

"He's right, you know."

Jean didn't bother to look at Armin; he kept his gaze locked onto Eren's bruised face. Eren made an effort to face Armin, shifting around as if he were about to witness a miracle.

Armin's eyes wandered around them as the words pounded in his skull with the strength of a mad gorilla. Coward, murderer, liar, worthless, pathetic, weak. The fear wasn't shredding his insides apart like it had the moment he stepped into the cabin that night. Instead he felt nothing. He cried out the fear and bled out the darkness, but something told him it wasn't enough. He hadn't shed enough of his own blood to make up for what he did.

He shrugged, motioning to it all—the cars with slashed tires, the smoking cabin, the broken man that was Jean, his girlfriend and best friend crawling through the mud somewhere in the dark. "This is all me. I knew Eren was responsible and would do something tonight, but I didn't stop him. I was too coward to admit it. I didn't want to think that he was capable of doing something so terrible, but he's human, right? And humans are capable of genocide, rape, murder, manipulation. I'm human too, so that means I am just as guilty as Eren."

He looked at the knife in his hand. He brought it up to his eye, staring at the dirt and blood lines as if it were engraved into it. His other hand ran through his hair. "I killed my own friends," he croaked. "They're still in there, burning, rotting. I lied to myself and to you guys. I went along with Eren's story that there was someone else out here. I sent them to their own deaths. I didn't even tell Levi what I saw at Eren's house. Me, I did it—I stabbed Historia, I poisoned Sasha, I pulled the trigger for Reiner, I pushed Marco in front of Mikasa. I…did it all."

He felt like crying again, but couldn't bring himself to. The wind scratched at his face and cooled the damp tears staining his cheeks. He was just so tired-his chest and throat were sore and his mouth ached. Those terrible truths-coward, worthless, pathetic-hurt him more, however. So much more.

I have to take my eyes out. I have to take my brain out. I have to take my lips off.

He fell to his knees, dropping the knife in his lap, staring at the tiny reflection of himself, covered in blood and grime. What a disappointment, what a waste of good oxygen.

"Stupid, stupid," he muttered to himself as his hands scratched at his face. His broken pinkie finger throbbed and ached, but that's what he needed, right? Pain to match what his friends felt before they died.

He stuck his finger in his mouth and bit down hard. Fire erupted in his hand and he concentrated on the pain. He tugged at his hair, dug his fingernails into the stab wound in his leg, knocked his fists against the bruises left behind from Eren's punches. "Coward, murderer, pathetic," he droned on like a robot.

He peeked through his fingers once Eren began laughing. It wasn't loud and obnoxious, but low and it seeped through his teeth. The smile was wide and his eyes even wider. He breathed in and whispered into the dark, "I'm happy to keep you, you little weed. I'm glad to see your eyes are finally opened." He let out another chuckle. "Was it worth knowing me?"

"I said shut up," Jean muttered before he placed the gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger.

The sound ripped through Armin and bounced against the trees. He watched Eren's body fall and a small stream of blood flow down his temple. Everything was now underwater, moving slowly, sounds were muffled, his vision was hazy.

Jean stepped back and looked at Eren, expressionless. The gun was loose in his grip, but he still held onto it. Armin stared at Eren. He waited for the memories to crash onto him like how it did with Annie. He waited for Eren to snap back up like a rubber-band and laugh in his face. He waited to wake up, find Annie sleeping soundly beside him, and realize this all was a bad dream. But none of those things happened. He didn't feel the loss or the betrayal or the hurt anymore. He didn't feel anything when Eren died.

And then, in a heartbeat, red and blue flashing lights came barreling down the hill, accompanied by loud, screeching sirens.