Two days pass slowly while Armin migrates back and forth—from the bed to the kitchen table, from the edge of the blue sheets to the counter top where Levi's cup is perpetually perched, from one end of the hall to the other, hesitating longer and longer at Jean's door with each passing. But he never goes in.

Sometimes he leans in close to the wood and listens to the voices on the other side. It's mostly always Hange gushing away about something related to Titans. She goes inside every few hours to check on Jean and keep him company.

That doesn't make much sense to Armin. If he'd just been through something so terrible, he certainly would not want someone blabbering away to him about science and Titan problems. After all, it was all of the shifter research needs that had gotten Jean hurt in the first place, but Hange doesn't seem to understand that.

Sometimes, when he stands outside of the door long enough to be certain that no one else is in the room, Armin's hand hovers over the doorknob, waging war with his mind about whether to touch it or not. In the end, he never can.

Levi goes back and forth between the two safe houses and the Survey Corp HQ where he receives very few orders form Commander Erwin. Nothing seems to be happening—at least, nothing involving Armin. The lance corporal does not relax his strong emotional guard again. He offers Armin no further comfort, only matter-of-fact words, and even those are few and far between. But he shows that he cares by checking on Jean at least twice a day.

Mikasa stayed in the house with Armin for one full day but then she wanted to leave. She had to go be with Eren, had to make sure that he wouldn't do anything stupid, and Levi let her go.

"Don't forget to eat and drink lots of juice," she had said, glancing back at Armin from the open door. "We'll all be together again soon."

He does what she says. He sits and drinks the juice and every glass tastes more and more like fruit and less like metal. But he realizes now that while he may be weak and useless, at least he is not foolish like Mikasa.

"We'll all be together again soon."

Ridiculous. She means Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. The only people that she cares about. But what about Tomas? What about the rest of his squad in Trost who were ground to bits in the mouths of Titan's right before his eyes? And what about Erd, Gunther, Oluo, and Petra?

What about anyone who Levi had ever loved? No one knew about that, but surely there had been someone once, someone who is long gone by now.

What about Armin's parents? Or his grandfather? And Eren's mom…and dad? Where the hell is he, anyway? Dead, of course, he thinks, Everyone is always dead.

What about the friends that they thought they had in Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner? Or the trust that they had had in the government, in the MP, in Humanity?

What about Marco?

The MP did not come for them right away. It took over 26 hours.

"Alright, we don't have to eat at the market if you don't feel like it. Let's go to an inn," Jean finally conceded after he grew bored of teasing his uncomfortable companion.

"An inn?" Armin whined, not feeling any better about this new idea.

"Well we can't go back to HQ. We have to be 'available for capture' at any time," Jean replied wryly. Maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable as Armin was physically—since he was in normal, male clothing—but the idea of allowing himself to willingly drop all defenses and surrender to fate outside of his control was similarly frustrating.

They found an inn and ate a nice meal of potato stew. By the time their plates were clear and their bellies were full, darkness had already fallen. "Do you think they'll come tonight?" Armin asked, warily settling into the chair in the room they had rented. They would need somewhere to sleep for the night.

"Dunno," Jean said with a yawn, flopping down onto the bed. All of his gear and belts were piled neatly on the dresser, his shoes and socks stripped off and discarded nearby. "Try not to worry. They'll come when they come," he went on, as much to comfort himself as to make Armin stop asking nervous questions.

It didn't help much. Armin sat awkwardly in the chair in the corner. He wasn't allowed to take the blue dress off, even to sleep, just in case the MP came in the night.

"Are you gonna sleep in the chair?" Jean asked.

"I don't think that I'll be able to sleep anyway…"

Jean sighed. "So, if you're Krista and I'm Eren…do we know that they're after us or are we clueless?"

Armin thought it over for a few moments. "I think we know."

"Why are we hanging out in an inn somewhere and not at HQ?"

"Maybe we're rebelling from the Scouting Legion because we're sick of being monitored all the time."

Jean gave a husky little laugh. "Yeah that sounds like Eren." Armin disagreed but he didn't feel the need to argue. Eren had matured as of late, and it seemed to Armin that it was all thanks to Corporal Levi. Jean propped himself up on his elbow and caught Armin's eye. "Then I guess I should give you the bed and sleep on the floor."

"Huh?"

"If we're Eren and Krista, I bet he'd let the girl sleep in the bed."

"No, that's alright. You sleep. I can't, anyway."

Jean grunted his acceptance and rolled over in bed. Armin rose and shut off the lights. He settled back into the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling up within the dress. There was no way that his nerves would allow him to sleep but at least he could try to relax a little.

After what felt like a long time, just when Armin thought that Jean was asleep, the other boy shifted a bit and said huffily through the darkness, "Don't sleep in the fucking chair. You need your rest. We might have to sit through an interrogation tomorrow." He said it like he was mildly excited instead of terrified.

He's really gotten better at hiding his emotions, Armin realized. He remembered many occasions in the past where Jean had nearly lost his mind from the fear or anger or grief. He had really changed over the past year. They all had.

"Don't worry, I was just busting your balls earlier," Jean assured Armin as the younger boy slipped out of the chair and into the bed. He sounded disgusted as he spoke. "I'm not gonna touch you. I was just being an ass. I get like that sometimes—trying to avoid what's really on my mind," he admitted. "You don't have to be scared of me."

"I'm not scared of you. I think you're a good soldier. And an even better leader," Armin said simply, and he meant it. The words must have struck a chord with Jean because he didn't speak for a while. When his voice finally came out again it was so soft that it hardly permeated the blackness.

"Before he died, Marco told me the same thing…about being a good leader. For a little while I…" Armin was surprised to hear something scratching in Jean's voice, like he was getting choked up. "I believed him. For a little while. But then when he died—"

His own breathing next to nonexistent, listening to Jean willingly talk about the death of his closest friend, Armin was once again reminded of just how strong Jean had become.

"With Marco gone, I just don't want to do this anymore," Jean admitted. "I don't want to do this whole 'fight the Titans and pretend like we have a shot in hell' thing. Because even if we do have a chance—with Eren and them—I mean, what kind of life will we have regardless of whether there's Titans or not? If anything, all we've learned from their existence is that humans have to become Titans in order to survive. We're incapable on our own, so what's the point?" He sighed heavily. "Every morning I wake up and try to be the leader that Marco thought I was. But at night when I lay down again…I realize that every word that's come out of my mouth all day is just a bunch of bullshit. I don't believe a single word of it."

"Well…you convince the rest of us okay," Armin said, trying to sound cheerful. But it came out forced and he heard Jean audibly grimace.

"I seemed like a good soldier to you today?" he asked, getting frustrated with no one in particular.

"You were a pain in the ass today," Armin said through a forced smile, but that time it sounded like a genuine joke and Jean chuckled lightly.

For a while there was a pleasant silence and Armin felt his body start to relax and drift. Maybe he would be able to sleep after all. But Jean's voice roused him again. "You know, when we got this mission I was so offended at first," he said, once again sounding grim, their joking entirely lost among the anger and sorrow that made his head foggy. "It seemed like they were literally telling us that we were…that we were so worthless to the overall cause that our greatest purpose would be to lay down our lives without a struggle." The last line came out so perfectly that Armin could tell Jean has been thinking about this all day long. "I was angry," he went on, "but the more a think about it, the more I can accept it. It'd be ok if I die like that. That's how Marco died, I bet. I don't know…I didn't see. But he saved me more than once, so I'm sure he died in someone's place."

"We're not going to die, Jean," Armin said, starting to feel uneasy again. "They'll come and get us right away. That's the plan."

Jean sighed. It sounded almost sad, like he pitied Armin, like he knew something that Armin did not. "Regardless, I'd be ok with dying, I think. I couldn't have said that a year ago truthfully, but I mean it now."

"No!" Armin gasped, much louder than intended. He felt his heart rate speeding up at the thought of Jean dying. Ever since Eren had been discovered to be a Titan shifter, Armin had been forced to spend less and less time with him due to procedures and special missions. Eren was important now and Armin wasn't. Mikasa was incredibly strong and Armin was still weak.

But Jean…Jean had always been around. He was like a normal, real person that Armin could always relate to. The idea that this normal boy was giving up the will to live—perhaps, had given up a long time ago—was devastating. If Jean couldn't last in this world…then how could Armin expect to?

"You…you have a lot to live for, Jean…" he stammered in the awkward silence following his outburst.

"What are you talking about? Everyone's dead."

"That's not true," Armin said urgently, rolling in bed to face the black veil that hid Jean's face from him. "We're still alive. You have friends."

I'm your friend, Armin wanted to say. You know that's true. Just because Marco died doesn't mean you can't have friends anymore. Just because Mikasa doesn't see you how you want…it doesn't mean you have to emotionally separate yourself from everyone…

Jean gave no response, so Armin quietly continued, "We have to keep fighting for Humanity. You have to at least have faith in that."

But Jean only said, "I lost my faith in Humanity a long time ago."

Yes, Jean had known all along what Armin is finally realizing. Not only is everyone dead, but so is just about everything. What is there to believe in anymore, he wonders, slugging down the last mouthful of juice.

He used to believe that getting to the ocean was an attainable goal, but after this mission nothing seemed possible anymore. Why put your hope and trust in things that can simply die or betray you?

Armin stares at the orangey film on the bottom of the glass. He listens to the steady ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. The only thing steady in the world, he realizes with a pang of finality, is that everything ends eventually.

It is on the third day that Hange comes knocking on Armin's bedroom door. He is lying in bed staring at the ceiling when he hears the sharp rap. He opens the door to find her semi-manic grin glaring back at him. It's not her expression or her sudden presence that unnerves him, it's her words.

"He wants to see you."

The world trips and falls on him. He finds his feet pressed firmly down on the ground, held there stuck thanks to the pressure that grinds down on his head and shoulders. He can't move, can't breathe, can't speak. The knot that has sat in his gut for days suddenly doubles in size.

Hange just stares at him.

"Na—now?" he barely manages to squeak out. Any moisture that had once lived inside of his mouth is now gone.

"Yeah, anytime," Hange says flippantly, like he hasn't been sitting around waiting—dreading this moment for the past three days. She flashes him another much-too-happy smile and then turns away, moseying toward the kitchen. Armin can do nothing but stare after her in shock.

A minute later he finds himself standing in front of the mirror in his room, the one he has tried and tried not to look into. But oh, there he is, scrawny and blonde as ever. His face looks even more pathetic than before. His eyes are perpetually swollen and dark with unshed tears.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry, he tells himself, grabbing his own hair and pulling until it hurts, just like that man did to him. It stings and it's something to focus on. Don't you dare cry in front of him. You have absolutely no right.

Once the pain in his scalp is fierce enough to shock the tears away, he releases his hair and shakes the ache out of his hands. Then he walks out of his room and down the hall.

The door that he has passed a thousand times over the past three days. The doorknob that frightens his hands into spasms. Well, there's no choice now. It hovers for a moment and then he drops his fingers onto the smooth brass. It's not as cold as he expected. The knob seems to turn on its own and then the door opens without any prodding, like it's been waiting for him.

And then there he is.

Jean.

He is sitting up in bed, his head turned away from the door, looking out of a small window. When he hears the door he glances toward Armin.

"Hey," Armin says too quickly.

"Hey, Armin," Jean says almost pleasantly, like maybe he's actually happy. There's a miniscule smile playing on his lips that baffles Armin. It stands out in such sharp contrast to his damaged face, the bright purple bruising around his nose being the worst of it. Hange must have done her best to straighten it out again. A neat little white bandage sits over the bridge of his nose, a blank spot in the midst of dark, murky colors, as unfitting as the smile.

"Well, don't just stand in the doorway," Jean says. "I don't bite any more than before."

Embarrassed, Armin slips inside of the room and the door shuts behind him with a little click. Jean has looked away—back out the window—so Armin takes a few steps toward the bed where his friend sits.

Sitting up, Armin notes positively, that's got to be good news.

"How are you…" How are you feeling? He wants to ask, but he stops short. Is that insensitive? Is that demeaning? He isn't sure.

"Doesn't hurt so much anymore," Jean replies without any prompting. He nods at the tube that goes into the crook of his arm, "Hange gave me some good stuff."

"That's nice of her."

"Yeah…she tried her best."

Something about that sentence feels wrong. A flash of panic lights up in Armin and his wide blue eyes have to fight the urge to dart around the bed. He doesn't have to look, he already knows just from the tone of Jean's voice. Something's wrong. Something is missing.

As calmly as he can, he drops his gaze to Jean's right side and all his eyes find are stained pinkish bandages wrapped tightly were the hand use to be.

No…he thinks desperately. This can't happen. This can't be possible. He feels all of the blood drain from his face.

"I'm so sorry, Jean," he whispers. What else is there to say? He feels the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again and he grimaces.

"Don't fucking do that," Jean says seriously. "Please don't."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No reason to be sorry about something you had no control over," Jean mutters, shifting his position slightly. "It is what it is. We knew the risks when we signed up. The mission was somewhat of a success, anyway, Eren and Krista are safe so this is just a job well done."

Armin stares at him blankly, fully aware that these aren't Jean's words. Are they Hange's, spoken in truth, happy that her science project is safe no matter the cost? Are they Levi's, given as some sort of well-intended patriotic comfort? Maybe they're Marco's.

"I thought maybe she could have saved it," Armin whispers.

"Yeah she tried. But I lost a lot, a lot of blood—at least, that's what she said—I can't remember much. She said I was in hypovolemic shock." It's a large word and he says it slowly. Likely he has heard it many times recently. "I don't even remember coming here."

Can't remember much…at least that's something to be thankful for, Armin thinks. The pain will be there to remind him, but at least he may have been spared every gory, gut-wrenching little detail that Armin's mind cannot stop replaying.

"So I'm sidelined for a while," Jean goes on, holding up his right arm and looking it over as if for the first time, even though he's certainly been staring at it in horror for days. "But apparently Hange thinks that there might be a chance that I can regrow it."

This is a surprise. "Really?"

"Once they get to the basement. She thinks they'll find something useful there."

Outwardly, Armin struggles to maintain a steady expression but it's nearly impossible. The basement? Even if they do get there eventually and they do find something that can save Humanity once and for all, there's next to no chance that they would use it on one soldier's lost hand.

He knows that this is an impossible wish and so does Jean, but they share a little smile, anyway.

I realize that every word that's come out of my mouth all day is just a bunch of bullshit. I don't believe a single word of it.

"That's a good idea," Armin lies. "And until then, maybe you can get a break from all the shit they've put you through."

"Yeah maybe."

They say it like it's a good thing, as if Jean has accomplished something great and deserves a long rest instead of the truth. He's a wounded, discarded soldier who was not given the luxury of the death that he almost wanted.

Jean goes back to looking out the window and Armin tries not to think about the hand or the lies or even the truth. There is a bird chirping and it adds nicely to the false feeling of comfort. He thinks back to their night in the inn and how Jean had wanted Armin to come to bed. Not for any reason in particular, he realizes, but just because he was lonely.

Because they're all lonely, broken people teetering the line between fighting together while fighting alone.

"Jean," Armin says, crossing to the bed in quick steps and plopping down on the edge. It squeaks as his weight settles on it and the mattress buckles under them both, like some sort of connection. He waits for Jean to look at him, waits for their eyes to meet before he says anything because Armin isn't strong like Levi yet. His eyes are still real. But Jean's are almost lost behind the veil of strength.

I won't lose him, too, Armin determines. He glares into the older boy's eyes with all of the raw emotions and all of the guts that he can muster. All of the pain and confusion, the anger and heartbreak, the loss, the gain, the weakness that can never be made honestly stronger—only fortified with emotionless glances and straight faces—and all of the hope that is still there—maybe—somewhere deep down, almost drowned by the rest of it, but still holding on by a thread, reaching out for someone to grab on to.

And he sees the same thing inside of Jean.

"I'm your friend," Armin says. "You can have faith in that."

There are tears in Jean's eyes. Do you know what you're saying? Do you know what that means?

That means he can't die like Marco. He can't run blindly after Eren, ignoring everything else in the world like Mikasa. He can't devalue their lives like the Survey Corp does. Does he know what it means to be a normal soldier?

"Yeah. I do. You know, we're a lot alike," Armin admits. He reaches across his body and grabs Jean's left hand for a second, giving it a little squeeze before letting go. "We're gonna be fine," he says, "regardless."

And something in Jean's gaze tells Armin that maybe he almost believes him.

The End

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, I hope that you liked it! It was quite the emotional task to write. Please let me know what you think. Was it a satisfying end? I always struggle to end things. Much love~! -Addison