Eren is seven when a murder takes place around the corner from his home.

He remembers it vividly, every second of it.

The woman that raps on their door at dawn is a surprise to all three members of the Yeager household.

Bright and early, the reds and yellows of the sunrise had barely started to shine down on Shiganshina. Eren was still asleep, of course, he remembers that. The tiny bed he slept in was comfortable enough that he could curl up in soft handmade quilts and forget about the world, eyes tightly shut against the cruelties of reality that he had yet to be subjected to. He was dreaming about the sun, enveloping him in its warmth, and hugging him close to its radiance. The warm, soothing heat had only just becoming scalding when he was awoken.

His mother is up and about, still in her flimsy nightdress, as the obnoxious racket lays a siege on the house. Her bare feet make no sound as she treads over to him, crouching down beside him and trying to cover his ears. It's no use, Eren is already awake and alert, slowly sitting up against the push of his mother's gentle hands. His eyes are crusty as he tries to clear them, and looks around, observing his father already at the door.

Grisha is whispering something to the person on the other side. First, his words are clearly harsh, reprimanding, like they would be when Eren is snotty or disrespectful to his parents. Eren tilts his head as Armin does when he's curious, straining to hear better. Then, something changes, and his father's back tenses as tight as a wire, closing the door a little more, trying to speak in even more of a hushed tone than before.

Carla is still beside him, trying to sooth Eren back into sleep.

Its definitely not working. Eren is hooked into the scene laid out before him.

As suddenly as it had happened, it's over. Grisha is still rushing over to the rack where he keeps his coat though, clearly distressed, if his facial features are anything to go by. The lines around his eyes are tight with anxiety and stress, making him seem older, less like Eren's father and more like the sophisticated doctor his job requires him to be. Even Carla has noticed it, worriedly following her husband with her own eyes, frowning deeply.

At last, she rises from her crouch.

The conversation that follows is too low to be heard by Eren, but he can tell that it's something that only adults are allowed to know about. They're arguing. About what, only they know, their backs turned and their shoulders hunched forward.

Then, Grisha is turning sharply, the soles of his boots tapping against the old, wooden floor, and he's flying towards the door. His face is grim as he pulls his hat on, gait wide and fast. Carla is on his heels, continuing to speak in low tones to him, maybe trying to dissuade him from whatever it is he's doing, but it's not working, just as it didn't with Eren before. Her face is becoming more and more puckered as Grisha crosses the floor. Her lips are pressed together so tightly that they turn white, and her hands are quickly curling into fists.

And as Grisha closes the door behind him, Eren's mother slams one of said fists on the wall beside it. The resounding THUMP plays over and over again in Eren's ears as she hides her face and takes deep breaths. His eyes are wide as saucers.

And yeah, Eren, even at the age of seven, already knows which side of the family he gets his anger issues from.

For such things to happen this early in the morning, well, all Eren knew is that today would be fun.

As Carla cools down, arm still covering her features and chest still heaving angrily, her son makes his way to the window. The chair stationed there creaks sullenly as he leans on it, soft woolen quilt covering his shoulders, eyes scanning the empty walkway beside their house. Eren holds his breath, waiting, waiting for something to happen.

He waits for a crescendo to a thrilling climax.

But, it never appears.

The desolate dirt road outside stays barren and abandoned as it usually is this early in the morning. Eren sighs in disappointment, head sagging down onto the windowsill ledge. His lips push out into something vaguely resembling the pout homeless dogs on the street use to barter for food.

When he looks up, Carla is finally calm again, watching her son with an unreadable expression. He doesn't know why, but Eren feels ashamed for having longed for such a thrilling adventure where there clearly wasn't one. He slouches, chin dropping to his chest, avoiding his mother's eyes.

"Eren, sweetie," Carla's soft voice says, consoling and pleading all at the same time. No doubt, she knows what Eren has been thinking, being his mother after all. "Would you like to go back to bed?"

"No." Eren voices his objection stubbornly, eliciting a tired sigh from his mother. The sun is almost fully shining over the walls now, deep blends of red and yellow fading to a Shiganshina norm of bright, humid, heated mornings.

Slowly, with definite hesitance, Carla Yeager distances herself from her son, moving to start the daily morning chores. Her feet are as light as ever, something Eren has come to associate with his mother after growing up in such close proximity to her, as she walks along the floorboards. They creak beneath her feet, giving her away, revealing the aging of both the house and Carla.

They're old, so old.

In the corners of his mind, Eren wonders what his young mother would look like with gray streaks permeating her hair, similar to the older women in the market. He can picture it now. His mother's eyes, so like his own, crinkling around the corners, laughter lines adorning her face, as she searches for suitable meats and vegetables to procure for her hungry family.

The thought makes Eren distraught, sad that his mother won't always be there for him. That someday she will be gone, much more into the future, and he will be an adult already. An adult with a wife, like Carla hopes, and some kids of his own to feed. And, Eren realizes belatedly, that hurts.

It hurts deep in his chest when he thinks of losing his mother.

It causes a tinge of pain at the thought that he might not have a family to present to his parents, to his mother. If those dark green cloaks riding through town every spring are anything to go by, and the way his heart picks up with excitement every time he lays an eye on them. His dream, his new favorite thing, is to imagine himself on one of those majestic stallions, wearing those wings of freedom, and riding through town for all to admire.

It's a lot for someone to his age to be thinking about, only seven and dreaming of joining the Survey Corps. Only seven, and thinking of the time when he won't be with his mother for once. When he won't have those loving arms to run into whenever he scrapes his knee or cuts his finger on a sharp object.

Abruptly, Eren shakes himself out of his thoughts.

This is no time to be thinking about such depressing things when there could be an adventure out there, just around the corner!

With this thought, Eren extracts himself from the windowsill, bright red indention on his chin, and races towards the small drawers where he keeps his clothes.

The day has only just begun.

Armin is bleary eyed and confused when Eren shows up on his doorstep, clumsily dressed and radiating excitement. Eren's feet are shifting in the way that they do when he finds something interesting, when he's gearing up to get moving towards whatever the entertainment for the day is.

Eren tells him to get dressed, tells him to forget his book about oceans, because he thinks that whatever it is he's found is going to be even more fun. We won't have time to look at it, Armin! Just get dressed already!

And, okay, usually the stuff that his best friend finds, however random, is a whole lot of fun. Even though Armin loves his book, he loves Eren too, loves the way he's always seeking adventure in a town where nothing happens. It's a desolate, boring world out there, in poor, outer Shiganshina, where they're regarded by the inner walls as peasants, useless except for the little food production they have. It might be the best possible thing to happen to him, finding Eren, otherwise he might have rotted away into the ground underneath.

So, with little reluctance or doubt, Armin gets dressed. He tells his grandfather that he's going out before he leaves, and, well, then they're off. Off to whatever pending adventure Eren has constructed.

The first thing Eren tells him, as they stroll down the empty streets and converse in hushed tones, is of his father's strange behavior this morning. The elder Yeager is always off on some job, as there is always someone who needs him, being a doctor and all. But this morning something was off with Eren's father, body language betraying that something big had happened.

Eren tells him that they need to find wherever his father has gone, search for the house he might be residing in for the day.

Eren is very good at finding things.

He found Armin's book when he lost it in the market, almost a year ago.

He found his mother's wedding band hidden under the cot that his parents shared, his father's stethoscope when he accidentally misplaced it at a patient's house.

Eren was very good at finding things.

Whether it had to do with his "gift", Armin had some suspicions.

Eren usually avoided touching people, just as he was doing now, and Armin can fairly say that he can't blame him. That time when they had first met, three years ago, had terrified both him and Eren. It had shocked his parents, kept Eren an emotional mess for a week afterwards, until Armin had finally approached him again.

Apparently, neither Eren nor his parents had known, because Eren was so used to touching them that he assumed the flashbacks were normal. He wasn't bothered by knowing their whole pasts. Now, he doesn't touch Armin or his parents very often. Evidently, he seems disturbed at reaching into someone's past just like that, just by touching them.

Though, maybe there are times when Eren only touches them to help. He could always subtly touch them in a place where they wouldn't notice. Just a small brush of hands against each other while they're out, searching for whatever it is that they could have lost.

But now, Armin has no idea how they are going to find this house Eren wants. Has no idea how they're going to find Grisha Yeager. Nobody is even out of their house yet, probably still getting ready for the day, so there's no one in streets that Eren could touch and get information from.

The sun is fully out now, shining down on them, slowly burning his pale skin. Surely, he'll be a little more red at the end of the day.

Eventually, Eren stops them, drags Armin by the sleeve towards a hidden cove, drenched in shadows and spider webs. What is happening, Armin can't tell, but the look on Eren's face means that someone is passing by. It could just be the day's first shopper, heading to the marketplace to barter for a decently priced breakfast. Which would be nothing to worry about, if it was.

But clearly, it isn't.

Eren is totally still, body barely moving, still hanging onto Armin's sleeve. Armin is careful not to touch the hand that grips it.

The other boy's face is set into a scowl, eyes scanning, following whoever it is that has deemed to come strolling down the streets. If he strains his hearing, Armin can hear some quiet mumbling, presumably from the stranger, as Eren's lips aren't moving, and none of it sounds like it's in a light tone. It's obviously someone who is irritated, worried, or stressed out. One of those, or all three.

All that can be heard after awhile, once the mumbling stops, is the sound of their breathing, apprehensive in the tight space they've pressed into. Eren is still scanning, emerald orbs glinting when they catch a stray ray of sunlight. It's intense, watching him do this, because Armin can never tell what he's going to do next. He's unpredictable.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Eren moves, taking Armin with him. They dash out into the light, out of the musty hiding space, and sprint down the street before taking a sharp turn around the right-hand corner. Surprised, Armin lets himself be dragged along, the sun's rays blinding him before his eyes can adjust.

"I think I know where he's going!" Eren says, over the quick pace that he's set. His face is determined, eyes focused ahead on a particular spot, Armin doesn't know where, and its exhilarating.

The air on his face.

The sun in his eyes.

Eren's heavy breathing ahead of him.

All of it is exhilarating.

Before he knows it, Eren is pulling up short. His feet skid on the ground as he tries to slow himself, and Armin almost face plants before his friend saves him.

As Armin steadies himself, he comes to a realization. The house they have stopped in front of is one he recognizes. It belongs to one of the older boys in town, and his family.

Fred, Armin reminds himself, Fred Din is his name.

Fred was one of his bullies. Whenever he was picked on, Fred was there, laughing and jeering along with the others, before Eren had the chance to save him. Like he always did.

But why were they here now?

Confused, Armin glances to Eren at his side.

Eren is staring at the house like he would a freshly picked sweet bun. Tempting. Delicious. Desiring to be eaten and picked away at. It's an expression that one might have when they desire to taste all of the sweetness the sweet bun might give, getting their fingers messy in the process, like it's worth it.

Armin doesn't like it.

Yet.

Who was he kidding?

He totally does.

Eren finds the best adventures when he wears that expression. Every single time. Armin has no doubts that today would be any different.

With a burst of excitement in his chest, Armin takes his sleeve from Eren's grasp. The other boy is already moving towards the front door, facial expression no different than before. All the blond can do is follow him.

When Eren gets to the handle, though, he pauses. The brunet seems to be realizing a bit of hesitance in his actions.

Armin can hear someone talking inside. He wonders if the man Eren saw on the street is already in there, conversing with Grisha. They might have bypassed him though, taken a different route, because they didn't see anyone on their running spree. It's possible Eren could have heard the man's mumblings, since he had no way to touch him in their hiding spot.

Eren twists the handle.

It's unlocked.

He lets it open on its own with only a small push, the door creaking loudly as it reveals the inside.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

On the walls. On the windows. On the furniture.

On the dead body.

Armin screams.

Screams so loud that all heads in the room turn to look at him, at Eren.

But Eren. Eren doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch.

He just stands there, staring. Staring at the mangled body in the middle of the blood soaked floor.

Armin is crying now. Hands coming up to cover his face, shielding his eyes from the horrid sight in front of him. It stains his eyelids, paints his mind as he pictures it, can't get it out of his head.

Grisha moves first.

He takes two long strides before he grabs Eren's hand, and picks Armin up by his small waist. He takes them to the side of the house, where Armin balls and screams some more, attracting the neighbors' attentions. Someone closes the door to the house behind them.

Eren is still frozen in place, forest green eyes glazed over with who knows what. His expression is unreadable by this point.

Grisha consoles Armin, taking him into his arms and soothing hands down his back. The gestures are uncomfortable, as Grisha is not the best at comforting victims of traumatic experiences. He goes through them every day, after all. But he still tries, mumbling reassurances while his son stands before him, unmoving, so still his father worries he might be brain dead.

Carla is going to kill him.

Before long, Armin relaxes, clutches Grisha's coat in his small hands like a vice, and rests his head against the eldest Yeager's shoulder.

He's mumbling something.

"Take it back," the small voice whispers, scared and traumatized. "Make it go away."

Oh yes, Grisha thinks, Carla is definitely going to kill him.

He pulls Armin closer to his chest. He doesn't risk touching his son.

Eren has probably already seen, anyway. He touched his father's hand when he was dragged out of the house.

He can't tell if his son really is traumatized like Armin, if he's only showing it in a different way. It's definitely not healthy though. None of it is. For a child his age to even see something like what is in that house is a big no no.

What Grisha doesn't expect though, after a few moments of tense, crouching silence, is Eren's mumble of, "I can help."

"What? What are you talking about?" Grisha snaps. Probably not the best way to handle a victim who might be in shock. Oh well.

"I can help find who did it."

This statement causes confusion in his father, as his expression betrays incredulity. There would be no way for Eren to help in this situation. It was out of his childish hands. Out of the question.

Then, a realization.

If Eren can see a living person's past by touching their bare skin, can he see a dead person's, too?

No, he shouldn't. He really shouldn't do it. This child has seen enough to last a lifetime, already.

He should just leave the forming hypothesis alone.

Carla is going to kill him anyway. She'll just do it by chopping up all his limbs.

He's going to do it.

Totally.

With a sigh of feigned resignation, because he really is interested in what his son can do, he sets Armin down on the ground. Tells him to wait there, that he will be back in a moment.

Then, he takes Eren's hand in his own once again, showing him more of what he's already seen, and leads him back towards the door.

For lack of better words, the people already inside are surprised when they see Eren. They eye both Grisha and his son warily because what is a child doing here?

Good question.

Now, he brings his son forward, guiding him with a work hardened hand on his back. The body is the same as it was before. Still mangled. Still oozing blood everywhere. The eyes are still open in shock at what was surely a gruesome death.

Its Fred's father, no doubt. The features are still intact.

Eren takes all of it in calmly. Like he sees this kind of thing regularly, on a daily basis. His movements are relaxed, though they steadily get more stiff the closer he gets to the body. Emerald jewels soak in all the details.

"Eren."

His son doesn't stop walking.

"Are you sure about this?" Please be sure about this, his intellectual mind says. Please let me take you away from this place, his fatherly instincts say.

He ignores the latter.

Eren stops before the body, feet splashing slightly in a puddle of blood near the head. His eyes are downcast, staring like he was when he first opened that door.

"Yes." It comes out as a hiss, makes shivers go down Grisha's spine. The others are staring, too. Staring at his son, watching Eren like a hawk. The child is oblivious though.

There's something about the way Eren bends down to loom over the fearful face of the victim that makes Grisha's toes curl in apprehension. His curiosity is peaked, to say the least. Carla is definitely going to kill him after this, but it could be worth it. Eren's body language, at just seven years old, gives off an immense amount of confidence, fear, of anger.

Eren places his thumb on a clean spot on the face. Grisha gets ready for something, anything. A gasp of pain, maybe, or a shocked reaction.

Nothing.

The green eyed boy just takes his thumb away after a moment, stands, and walks to the door. His steps aren't even hurried, only casual. As if he might just be taking a stroll through the market.

Then, he stops. Turns. Looks his father in the eyes.

"It was Mrs. Din."

Silence.

Then…

The room rises into chaos, Grisha and his son in the middle of it, calm and clear sighted. They are the eye of the storm, and all Grisha can do is stare at Eren, slightly smiling.

How interesting.