He hung suspended in a void.
Maybe void wasn't the right word for this. It was much too bright and white and warm and tightly spun around his weightless limbs, compacting his chest in ways he hadn't known he'd so craved, to be the dark plane of non-existence that was a void. Perhaps cocoon was the better word to describe it.
He lay swaddled inside his cocoon.
Voices spoke over him, but he did not listen to what they had to say to him (about him?). The view was too pretty, the way it glistened as it threatened to collapse right on top of him. Like the night sky, he thought, and laughed.
It wasn't night at all.
His head was pounding.
He groaned and found that his mouth was all dry slime. The pulse that rhythmically guided him through his sleep now only annoyed him as its drumming beat emphasised how far his blood pressure had crashed. He ran his hand over his eyes and pressed his palm down over his forehead hard to subdue the pain.
He couldn't remember when or how he'd left his room in Tourze, nor when they had injected him. Now that the melactin that lay thick on his mind was on its way out, he remembered why he loathed it. It always fogged up his head and made his bladder feel like it could burst. But without it, the aftermath of his fall would've been too hellish to bear. It was a necessary evil.
A hand waved in front of his face, catching his attention. Behind blurry eyes, he saw brown hair and a suntanned complexion, and his heart jumped. He pushed himself up and threw his arms around Jean, who in the suddenness of the moment seemed unable to decide what to do before he reciprocated the hug.
Armin let go and pulled away, and only now that the moment he had dreaded was finally there did the raw emotions that he'd been suppressing burst free as tears formed in his eyes.
"You're okay… God, you're alright, you're alive," he whispered, cupping Jean's shoulders and face as if he could be a mirage.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm alive," Jean answered, taking Armin's hands and placing them down on the bed. "Hey, what's this about, you idiot? How did you injure yourself again?" he said, gesturing at Armin's leg.
Armin's eyes darted to the end of the bed, where his leg lay on the sheets, splinted and without a cast with the foot still attached.
Not a worry for now. His emotions couldn't take it.
"Fell out of bed," he quickly answered before he went back to looking at Jean. "Please tell me everyone is okay?"
"Um… Yeah," Jean answered, as if Armin was asking him outlandish questions. "Why wouldn't they be?"
Armin breathed out a sob. Everyone was alright. Everyone had survived the trip. At least, everyone who mattered to them.
Jean was taking this so lightly, like he couldn't understand why Armin would be worried about them. Armin's emotions turned to fire and he butted Jean's chest with his palm a few times, sniffling.
"You went outside the Walls! You just came back from a dangerous mission and you're asking me why I was worried about you!?"
"Whoa, hey!" Jean said, sticking his hands up placatingly and backing away from the banging. "Okay, I get it! But everyone's fine, alright? Everything went according to plan. There's nothing to worry about, Armin, really. All is good."
Armin's inhale was shaky and his exhale came as a series of sobs. His head was still in the clouds from the exceptional dose of melactin they'd given him when he was admitted to this infirmary. They didn't seem so intent on estimating his weight and just injected a good, high dose to get him to stop whimpering when he came in, he figured—and while it had been nice at the time, now, he wanted to touch the ground and stand on his own two feet again.
Well, one foot. Judging by the pain, his plan hadn't failed just yet. Give that trauma the space to fester and swell his foot, and he'd be out of commission for good. Though this time, the pain was different. A little duller and yet sharper at the same time, in a way it hadn't been the first time.
"Twisted your ankle on top of straining the bone," Jean explained through Armin's silence. "Did you have a nasty dream to fall on it the way you did?"
Twisted?
"I thought I was running from something… Couldn't tell you what if I tried," Armin offhandedly answered. "It didn't break again?"
"They're not sure. It sure got weakened a lot. Does it feel broken?"
"I can't say…" Armin replied.
"If it'd been broken, you would've felt it. You're shaken but fine," Jean concluded for him, chipper.
Armin had a hard time masking just how much worry that thought sent into his heart.
An ankle that got broken for a second time couldn't be healthy. The odds that it would grow back right were slim while the chance of a life-threatening infection went up significantly. Ideally, he'd have suffered an open fracture and the only viable course of action would be opened up to them: amputation.
He did not need his two feet to stay with the Survey Corps. Hange wouldn't let him come on missions, but he would be a viable asset as a strategist. Once he was excused from joining them on missions and training, that would've given Armin the chance to spend the rest of his time with Bertholdt.
It hadn't been easy to decide if he was prepared to sacrifice the ability to walk for the rest of his life just for a few more years where he could take care of Bertholdt. The fact that he woke up in the Trost infirmary proved that he evidently had decided that this was a sacrifice he was prepared to make. The way things looked, Armin wouldn't live for long after Bertholdt's passing, anyway.
But if his bone hadn't been fractured again, that changed everything.
Dirty bone that stuck within his muscles and flesh could pollute his internals enough for rot to set in. They'd have no choice but to amputate then. Armin had read all about it in a book about medical application.
A sprain wouldn't induce necrosis. Not nearly as easily.
He had to swallow a lump in his throat. What else could he do? Any future damage on his ankle would confirm he was doing it on purpose and get him decommissioned. Maybe he should've set up a complex incident with a gun or a pitchfork. The farmers at Tourze were fitting scapegoats to blame for his injury and he'd have a witness who could confirm Armin had once been threatened by one of them.
Dammit, had Armin missed his shot? What could he do with the injury he did sustain? Blunt force trauma to dislodge the bone? Puncture his flesh somehow? Set in scene a complex ruse where he amputated his own foot?
"Hey, so the rest is at dinner," Jean broke through Armin's thoughts. "They should be here soon."
Armin had to swallow, nauseous from his medicine, and blink a few times to switch from his larger-than-life conundrum back to Jean's casual day-to-day banter.
"I've been out a whole day?"
"Yup."
Maria, they must've injected him to the brim to put him out of commission for that long. No wonder he felt like he could retch at any moment and his head spun.
"And you stayed?"
"Didn't want you to wake up confused and in pain without anyone there to tell you it's all gonna be alright," Jean said with a lopsided smirk and a tousle of Armin's locks.
Armin smiled back, though he figured that he must look like a mess. They hadn't even changed him out of his sleeping clothes. It was like they'd torn him straight out of his Tourze bed and thrown him into that hospital bed.
A deep rumble sounded from outside. It was quite dark despite still being light out. Armin hoped that they would finally get some much-needed rain soon and end this drought that had been causing them food and water shortages.
He leaned back, finding he could easily fall asleep again if he wasn't careful.
"I could eat a horse," he hoarsely said.
"Yeah, well you're gonna have to wait your turn," Jean answered. "The rest's probably getting you a plate of food when they're back. They better, we're not gonna let you eat hospital slurry. I'd ask you to come to the table, but without a cast, you're a sitting duck. Wouldn't want you to bump into something and have to put you under again."
"I'm not that sensitive, you know, Jean," Armin whined. "This time is different. I broke a healing bone again and pulled a muscle, but I'm fine now."
He tilted his leg against the bedsheets it lay atop and felt an excruciating ache run through his shin that made the hair of his neck stand on edge as he sucked the breath between his teeth.
"Let's just listen to what the doctors say," Jean said.
"Yeah…" Armin wheezed out.
He gripped the bedsheets to help the pain fade away. This felt worse than a sprain. He may not make it this time around without anything to take the edge off, but he'd already gone through this once by denying himself his medicine. As pleasant as it was to fly during the times when he couldn't feel the side effects, he didn't want to prove himself a worse version of himself. He could prove at least something if he did it all again.
A knock on the door. Both he and Jean looked up as it opened and Sasha and Mikasa entered, a basket in Mikasa's hand.
"You're awake!" Sasha exclaimed as she couldn't subdue hopping toward his bed, where she joined her hands behind her back and bent forward with stretched legs. "We saved you some food in case you'd wake up."
Behind her, Mikasa closed the door and held up the basket, smiling at Armin. He'd known her long enough, though, to understand that she was forcing herself to smile.
Something had happened.
She approached and must have noticed that Armin's expression had sunk as well, the way she averted her eyes.
"Alright, up you go, grampa," Jean said while he supported Armin by the shoulder and waist to help him sit.
"'Grampa'?" Armin answered with a laugh, but he didn't refuse the help.
"You break an ankle falling out of bed, you qualify as a grampa. We need to get some milk inside you to fix those brittle bones of yours, buddy. Can't have you falling apart outside the Walls."
Armin doubted that milk could've prevented either of his fractures, but if it made the others feel better, then Armin had no objection to accepting the remedy.
They set out his meal on his bedside table, the three of them gathered around. Sasha and Jean argued about how to put it out on the surface while Mikasa stood back. Armin seized the moment.
"Where are the others?"
Mikasa looked genuinely surprised at the question. She looked away again.
"Connie was tired and didn't think you'd be awake yet, and Eren…"
Her sentence trailed off. None of this was good.
"He's still mad, I think," she murmured.
"Mad?" Armin asked, but he was interrupted by Sasha shoving a plate in his face while she pushed an offended Jean out of the way.
"Look what we got you," Sasha said, cocking her head down at the plate. "Baked potatoes, beans, sausages, and a strip of bacon, gosh darn was that good bacon…"
Sasha seemed to lose herself in the memory of eating her own portion. The fact that she saved something for him added a heartfelt touch to the gesture. For once, he was the one to receive food from others. It felt nice. Now Armin got an inkling of how Bertholdt felt when Armin offered him his gifts.
But there was one big difference. Here, people flocked Armin, fighting to get close. There, they would always have a great amount of physical distance between them and Bertholdt was alone.
What a world of difference it made.
Jean snatched the plate out of Sasha's hands and put it back on the nightstand.
"Let's not spill it in his lap, then," he admonished as Sasha awkwardly stood upright. "We also got some bread and cheese if you want something a little dryer instead, but eat everything we brought with us. Get some energy to heal up with."
The thought of cheese made Armin's stomach roll. He'd spent too many bad nights going through the Survey Corps' cheese stock to still have an appetite for it under normal circumstances. Not the most ideal meal on an empty stomach when he was still nauseous from his hefty dose of melactin and his mouth was dry.
Still, he didn't resist. It was nice that they had brought him food, he should appreciate it.
It took some puzzling to find the best way to make Armin eat without moving his leg, but eventually, with the help of his friends, he managed. Mikasa sat by Armin's side and let him squeeze her hand to bits while the doctor put on a new cast and he had to fight against his vocal cords. He swore he almost bit through the belt he'd been given this time around.
Jean and Sasha had already left for the night. The wind was banging up the windows and they probably wanted to make it back to the headquarters before the sky opened up. Mikasa had decided to stay a little while longer, and Armin knew exactly why.
"Was Eren really mad at me?" he asked. He was the first to breach the topic again and it couldn't come soon enough.
Mikasa had expected the question, the way her eyes already glistened and her expression didn't have to sink to be low. She lowered her head to push her chin against her scarf and nodded.
"Why?"
Mikasa kept her eyes pinned on the bedsheets.
"He doesn't…" she softly began, then restarted even softer. "He doesn't think that what happened was an accident."
Armin looked at her with wide eyes. She folded in deeper on herself. Clearly, it wasn't what carried the load of her worries, but it exacerbated an already existing problem.
"Why would I want to get hurt?"
"I don't know. He wasn't insistent, but you two briefly argued, and then he left. He wasn't there at lunch or dinner."
Did Eren know? What had given him away? If he could figure it out, then so could others. Hange would definitely be among the first to know. Armin didn't remember anything about the conversation. What had he told Eren?
He looked up at Mikasa. She tried to hide it, but the wet glistening of her cheeks gave her away. Now wasn't the moment for this.
Armin extended a hand.
"Come here. Come sit with me."
Mikasa looked at the hand, mouth hidden behind her scarf, and then laid hers atop his and took a step over to Armin's hospital bed.
Armin scooted to the side to give her space. With his cast, he was afforded more movement without much pain. Mikasa took the invitation and took off her shoes, then sat down next to Armin, back leaning against the headboard as she hugged her arms around herself. Now that she was close, she was staying strong, but Armin knew her well enough to know that she was struggling just as much as he was.
He laid his head on her shoulder and they sat together in silence as the room gradually darkened and they both unspokenly agreed they didn't need to get up to light a candle.
Mikasa's breathing was calm. The way Armin lay against her and her head leaned on his, he could feel her heartbeat as it settled and they shared in each other's quiet company. He'd missed this so much. He'd missed being around other people so incredibly much. He'd missed being allowed close to another human being. He'd missed feeling welcome.
And yet, he didn't feel like he was there.
Maybe it was the melactin that was still numbing him from the procedure a few hours ago, but Armin knew that even if he'd been sober, he'd still have felt it. Mikasa was suffering from her real grievances over Eren. Armin only felt hurt that Eren was angry at him for lying.
He was wrong. He didn't feel welcome, he simply was. Until the day the others found out about it too and he stopped being welcome.
He buried his face deeper into the crook of Mikasa's neck. He'd have to appreciate it when he still had it.
They sat together until they could barely discern any details of the hospital room.
"Eren wasn't himself," Mikasa finally confided.
Armin could feel her chest tremble and tightened the grip he had on their interlocked hands. Mikasa used her free hand to push her scarf closer against the lower part of her face.
"He was… talking about killing everyone on the other side of the ocean. It was like he was a different person."
Mikasa pulled her legs closer to her chest and folded forward, and that must've been her breaking point, because before he knew it, Armin had twisted his body around and she lay sobbing against his shoulder in a tight hug far from adequate to offer her comfort.
What a horrific thing for Eren to say. Because Armin couldn't be there and he wanted to blame them? Because he needed his revenge on the people that Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie called their own?
Because he felt unwelcome in the world?
This suffering no longer was just Mikasa's; Armin understood that it was his own as well, and with a gasp, he had to press his eyes into her shoulder to keep from wailing.
They didn't say anything else. There was nothing to say or do but cry and hope that Eren would stop running away from them. That he would stop abandoning them.
The wind angrily cut through the drizzle and made the windows shake and shiver against their panes as the hours longed. Then came thunder and lightning, and finally, the rain turned into a relentless downpour.
When all emotional energy had drained from them and they couldn't bear to get up, they ended up falling asleep entangled with each other to the turbulence of the storm that raged outside, but the comfort they brought each other was not enough to make them forget what a horrific situation they would both, ultimately, have to shoulder alone.
They wouldn't talk about this again. They never did.
Habitually, while in the hospital, Armin would wake up early in the morning from his ankle's pain. When he woke up that morning, the sun already stood high in the sky, its sharp trail the window cast on his eyes forcing him awake.
Mikasa was still there, laying on her side as she watched him awaken. She hadn't gotten any quality rest either. They hadn't slept together like that since they were children and they needed to huddle together for warmth to get through the worst of winter.
"You need to take your medicine," she said as a way of greeting him.
He blinked a few times, then rubbed the crusts that glued his eyelids together out of his eyelashes. They'd slept on top of the covers, but despite the storm that had taken down the warm summer temperatures with it, he hadn't felt cold. And yet, Armin's body shivered. His spine had been twisted all night and now his back ached tremendously as soon as he rolled over and gave Mikasa the space to escape from his grip.
Armin groaned something incomprehensible to even himself. Mikasa was out of bed sooner than he realised and already, he missed having the weight and warmth of another human being so close to him. She poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on his nightstand and handed him it.
How Mikasa slept next to his face all night was beyond him. The dried guck he rinsed away tasted gross, he couldn't imagine it was any more pleasant to smell.
Gods, he needed a toothbrush badly. It had been a few days since he'd last had the opportunity. When he got back to the headquarters, it'd be the first thing he'd do.
Today would be a rough one for his self-confidence, he could feel it. The least he could do to make it through was shine his teeth.
"When can you come back to the headquarters?" Mikasa asked, seated on the bench next to his bed.
"Last time, I only stayed here because I needed assistance and you weren't there." Because they didn't trust him to function on his own. "I've gotten good at getting around with that cast. I probably didn't even need to spend the night here."
He gave Mikasa a hopeful smile.
"But I'm glad that I did."
Mikasa's smile was delayed, but hers carried a warmth that Armin's lacked. She stood.
"I'll go ask. I'll be back with something to eat."
She left Armin on his own. He put aside his glass and stretched his arms above his head with a crack of his back. The position he'd slept in hadn't been optimal for his leg, but he'd be fine. The swelling was still there, but he was sure that in due time, it would lessen the same way it had the first time.
He sat on the side of his bed, careful to keep his weight off of his right leg, and listened. It wasn't as dark and dreary out as it had been the day before. The window was wet; outside, he saw the occasional droplet fall down from the overhang as the lightest drizzle fell and the sun burst through the clouds in patches. The room was pleasantly cool and it looked like the worst of it was over for now.
Now was a good time. He picked up the bottle of melactin and unscrewed it, then took the syringe off his bedside table and plunged it inside. Filling it with a tiny amount of medicine, he prepared the syringe before injecting it into the lower half of his deltoid.
Waste not. A drop dose wasn't visible from the outside. He'd have his puncture wound as proof. Melactin was expensive and there were far better places for it to go than someone like him. The little amount he'd injected would keep him relaxed enough to sell that he'd taken it.
This bottle could last Bertholdt a few weeks, maybe a month, especially with his deteriorated weight and lower required doses to get the same effect. Provisioning him with enough medicine would be another question Armin would have to solve along the way, but he had a pretty good idea of where he could get his hands on some without anyone noticing after his injury had subsided enough that he could wane off his own stock.
There was a knock on the door. Armin's stomach growled in response. Just in time.
The door opened and in walked Hange, greeting him with a wave.
"Great, you're up!" they said, and he already missed Mikasa's much gentler volume.
He placed the syringe he was still holding in his lap back on the nightstand and grabbed a cloth to press against the bleed. Thankfully, they hadn't come a minute earlier, when they could catch him messing up his dose.
"I just woke up," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "Did you see Mikasa?"
"Mikasa? No. Was she here?"
"She just left, I thought you might have run into her."
"Ah. Well, anyway!" they said as they stepped closer and halted behind the bench next to his bed. "I see you're already back to your melactin regimen."
So they'd pull attention to it. No matter.
"Same as last time, I figured."
"Packs quite the punch, doesn't it? Calms the body, makes all troubles float away, I've been told it simply feels good, too."
By whom? Bertholdt? They couldn't figure out he'd be lying on purpose to mess with the results and offer Paradis medicine that would weaken it?
"Personally, it makes me feel nauseous and disoriented. But it does take the edge off, so I take it as prescribed."
"Really? That's a shame," Hange flatly commented. "How much were you on before?"
"Not much," Armin answered. "A fourth of the dose for a body that weighs 50 kilograms. I know that's lowballing my current weight, but I'd rather underdose than overdose. And I have to admit… I was skipping some days because I didn't need them."
"And now you're back to the full dose."
"Three-fourths, actually. I feel like I can manage the side effects better that way."
"Three-fourths."
There was a hint of scepticism that underlined Hange's tone as they repeated that. Suddenly, this unannounced visit wasn't so innocuous anymore.
"Are you here because of the letter you sent me? I still haven't figured out why you wanted me to come back so urgently."
"Urgently?" Hange asked, loosely crossing their arms over their chest. "Did it sound that way?"
Was Hange doing this on purpose or were they genuinely clueless?
"It was so brief. Like it was written down in a hurry and I was needed here as quickly as possible."
Hange laughed.
"Well, my apologies for that, then. I wish it would have reached you sooner so that you could've gotten back earlier and wouldn't have had this accident. They said you came from the mines?"
"That's right," Armin answered. "Didn't you know I was there when you addressed the letter there?"
"I sent a couple of letters. The mines, Stohess police, even sent one to the Queen in case you were holed up at the palace for some company."
How thoughtful.
He really shouldn't be so bitter, but Hange's tiptoeing around their reason to visit was starting to get on Armin's nerves and it made him feel more nervous than he should be. He expected another lecture, could they just give it already?
No admonishment about going to see Bertholdt after Hange had told him he should focus on the Survey Corps, though. He figured that this advice had become obsolete when there was no Survey Corps business he could assist with and they understood he wanted to focus his efforts elsewhere.
They couldn't find out that it was futile to their goal of getting Bertholdt to speak.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
"I've already been brought up to speed about the severity of your injury. It's unfortunate that you will have to wait a little longer to join us on our future expeditions."
Armin's ribs constricted his lungs. He looked down at the stone floor and nodded.
"We waited for you. The others insisted you be present at the meeting where we discuss our findings beyond the Walls. I came here to invite you to that meeting, but I want to hear if you'll be well enough to make it."
At that, Armin perked up. They'd asked to wait until he was there?
Why? He could always hear their stories when he was back. The upper brass would want reports. Could they really afford to wait a few days?
He nowhere near deserved this for how useless he had been in all of this. This was just another attempt to whip him into shape and get him to catch up with them when he was running on a broken leg. Yet another way in which they couldn't let him come back at his own pace, and yet the gesture had been so undeniably kind that Armin couldn't possibly get mad for being misunderstood.
"Oh," he just answered.
"We want to meet at 11. You have a little over an hour to get ready if you want to join. Know that you're more than welcome."
"Thank you, Commander. I will be there."
"Great!" Hange exclaimed, dropping their hands to their side again. "There's a second reason why I came here."
"Yes?" Armin asked. He had become well-trained in keeping his body language neutral in this sitting pose, but it didn't stop his palms from sweating against the sheets in anticipation.
"There have been some concerns about you."
"Concerns…?"
"You've been on melactin for over a month now. We haven't studied the effects of its long-term use yet, but I can't imagine that being on a drug that enhances pleasure and numbs pain for so long can have a positive effect on what will happen once you stop using it. And now that you have gotten injured again, that concern only grows."
Oh.
Was that what Eren thought? That Armin had gotten hurt to escape from his duties and to make use of a drug that he didn't even particularly like the few times it'd been injected into him?
He could sigh a breath of relief. It was a valid concern. A pity that they had to have a fight over it, but it was better than the alternative.
"Oh. Well, the concern has crossed my mind as well. It's part of the reason why I lowered my doses and skipped out on a few days. But if I don't take it, I will wither from the pain."
"That's understandable. You're taking it for a reason. How about we build down faster this time around? You should make that bottle you have last you two weeks instead of one. Then, spread the next one out over a month. How does that sound?"
Damn. No more five bottles he could easily obtain, but just two. He had no choice, otherwise Hange would consider him a drug seeker.
The thought honestly hadn't crossed his mind. He'd been so busy making it seem like he was nicely taking all his prescribed doses that he oversaw that there was another side to this. One that, if Hange had discussed this issue with Levi, would be glaringly obvious.
What was the matter with his mind? He hadn't been nearly as sharp as he would usually be. These were things that a younger him would've considered the second he knew he'd have to trick his superior and peers. Hange had been right when they'd said that his circumstances had changed his strengths and that he would lose skills he'd previously mastered.
He could only hope that they'd also been right in saying that he would find new strengths, but he doubted it. All he was was his brain. That was the only thing he had to give. The universe kept proving him useless, couldn't others see that and allow him to go waste his time in the mine?
"I'll have to speak with my doctor about that. If it isn't detrimental to my recovery, then we can calculate new doses."
Hange smiled brightly.
"Great! Where did you leave your wheelchair? I can order someone at the headquarters to bring it here when I get back."
Right. His wheelchair.
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I have been given new crutches and they will do fine. I've had plenty of practice with them, anyway. Might as well train my arm muscles."
Hange turned. "Alright. I expect to see you at the meeting."
"I'll be there, Commander."
Mikasa returned to his room soon after, her basket filled with bread and charcuterie so that they could share breakfast. She offered to help him dress, but he refused. Just because bumping his cast now hurt again didn't mean he couldn't fend for himself anymore.
After a quick discussion with his doctor which annoyingly led to his approval of the lowered doses, he managed to dodge the request to participate in a study about the long-term effects of melactin by stating he had very important Survey Corps business to attend to. At least he'd been discharged early instead of facing days of isolation.
His return to the Survey Corps headquarters felt odd. The last time he'd left there, he was ready to leave it all behind and hoped that Hitch would offer him the comfort he needed. He had been an entirely different person. Too arrogant to accept himself inadequate; too scared to accept himself behind the curve. Too naive to give up.
The others welcomed him in the meeting room like he'd carried out some great feat. He was their comrade and they'd waited for him, after all.
He could throw up from how nervous the idea of this meeting made him. Though it would be highly militarised in language, they would still discuss all the things he had missed out on. Maybe he was glad that he'd broken his ankle because of where it had led him as a person, but that didn't make him eager to think of all the things it had cost him.
Worst of all, Eren was there too. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk things out yet, and he made an effort not to look Armin's way. He was still mad at him for seeking out narcotics.
Armin decided to ignore him back. There would be another time to resolve this.
Hange took the word with Jean backing them up. It seemed he was slowly climbing his way towards becoming the permanent section commander after he'd been temporarily awarded the title when they'd gone to the south, the way he spontaneously involved himself with the Survey Corps' duties and he had yet again been invited to speak alongside Hange and Levi when the elite went to Mitras to report on their expedition beyond the Walls.
Good for him that he could move up in this world.
They kept it decently flat. The journey beyond the Walls had gone well and they only encountered a single titan, which suggested but did not yet fully confirm that the titans had all been lured by the people of the Walls. They'd found the harbour exactly as Grisha had described he'd left it behind, and after that, they'd built a small forward camp and waited. Nothing appeared on the horizon for weeks. Eventually, they'd decided that this was enough for one trip and headed back. No deaths and no injuries aside from a few heat strokes from scouts who had spent too long in the blistering sun.
Flat as the description was, Armin's mind couldn't stay away from imagining how pleasant it must have been to feast their eyes upon the ocean and to share what amounted to a vacation. Had they thought about him? Had they talked about how they wished he could be there to see it with them? Had they missed him and sulked over how much they knew it was his dream to be there, pretended that he'd been there with them and all had been well to lighten the blow?
There was no telling. Their track record of keeping him informed about the things that had happened after he fell into his coma in Shiganshina informed him that there was a good chance that they would assume him up to date with their experiences.
He shouldn't be so disappointed. They'd had fun. They deserved to have fun. He couldn't dictate that they should be as miserable as he was. And yet…
By the time they started to discuss the specifics, the low dosage of melactin Armin had taken had run its course and he was reminded of just how crushing the first weeks after his fracture had been. His ligaments stood red-hot against his bones and he could feel the swell press deep into his muscles and nerves at the rhythm of his mounting pulse.
The rest of the meeting, he tuned out of in the hopes that by digging his fingers deep enough into the textile of his pants and the underlying flesh, the sweat that stood upon his forehead would remain the only tell that he was suffering.
By the time he was back out of his mind and in the room, it was over and Eren had already left. He wouldn't get his opportunity to talk it out soon, he already knew.
There was a letter on his desk.
Unopened with a wax seal glueing both flaps together. He wasn't pleased to see that the seal was green.
All peace of mind was shattered when he saw the Military Police emblem pressed into the hardened wax. Anything could be written in that letter, but most likely, it would disclose whether he'd have another problem on his hands altogether. The Stohess Military Police headquarters were given up on the back as the return address, with Hitch's name beneath it.
No wonder Hange knew that he could potentially be found in Stohess. The letter may have given them certain ideas about Hitch and him, and if the intense pain in his ankle hadn't already, that would've made him seriously nauseous.
He almost wanted to leave it and ignore his verdict. It didn't matter what was in there; he already had Bertholdt to take care of. Hitch wasn't the type of person to threaten him into stepping up. Not the way he'd gotten to know her.
But he couldn't. He couldn't remain blind to the world and his place in it, and he couldn't be so cruel towards someone who was naive enough to care about him. Maybe if Hitch was pregnant after all, he could negotiate a higher salary and time off and spend that on visiting Bertholdt. It didn't have to be his end.
He took the envelope to his bed and sat down, and then, with bated breath, undid the seal and took out the letter.
Armin, it started.
No dear. No hello. Just his name.
How are you doing? You disappeared without saying anything and I was worried. I hope that you're fine and this letter finds you well.
Would she have been informed if he had jumped off of the Ehrmich library tower? Or would she have had to find out when she got a return letter informing her that the recipient of her letter was no longer around to receive it, if they even offered her that courtesy?
That problem we ran into has been fixed. In fact, turns out it wasn't even a problem in the first place. Told you, didn't I?
Armin breathed out and only after he'd been let off the hook acknowledged the sickness that ran through his veins and had his heart racing through his arteries. It was fine. Hitch didn't have to go through an invasive procedure and endanger her body. The choice was out of either's hands. The initial mistake aside, no more mistakes were possible.
He appreciated that she'd kept things vague in case anyone were to open this letter and read it. It was already embarrassing enough that they probably assumed that he had a girlfriend, he didn't need them to know that he'd had sex with said not-girlfriend.
The rest of the letter was all small talk about things Hitch had been up to. It was shameful how lightly he read over the things she'd written. She signed the letter with your pal Hitch. Not love, not kind regards, not let's meet again soon. Clearly, she had interest in maintaining her friendship with Armin and desired to see him again, but it all left him cold as ice, if it didn't twist the inside of his guts.
Something had been gnawing at his brain since he'd left Stohess, invading his thoughts and dreams. And he'd shut it down every single time, because nothing would change things or matter.
Hitch's letter had a type of urgency to it, and maybe, it was time to let these thoughts run their course.
There was no denying it: not many men would feel so skittish after a night with a person like Hitch. Every one of his male friends would want to be in his shoes if they knew, so why not Armin? He'd always been perfectly fine being around Sasha, Mikasa, and Historia. Hitch and her relentless flirting that proved to not all just be talk were the issue, yet that didn't feel like it painted the full picture.
There was a good chance that Armin just wasn't that interested in women.
The thought made him bite down on his jaws. Not that it mattered, with where he currently stood, but this wasn't what he needed at this point in his life, but it was the fact that he didn't know if that was the issue that threw him off.
He was doomed to a lonely existence where all his friends would eventually marry and he would stay alone because he didn't know who he was supposed to be. In recent times, he'd slowly started considering that there might be a life for him after Bertholdt had died, as unlikely as that may have sounded. But if he ever moved on from the inevitable fate of the enemy he'd spent so long befriending, he wouldn't find love, the way boys his age should. Apparently that didn't interest him.
But it was fine. He could handle it. Not everyone was meant to love. It was the implication of the other side of the coin that made Armin's blood run cold, the letter in his hands stained by his sweaty fingers.
Was there anything that supported this hypothesis? Anything at all?
Jean didn't count. Their interactions were purely transactional, both of them knew so from the start. Growing boys doing what growing boys do.
He was close with Eren, but he couldn't tell if it meant anything. Wasn't everyone close with their best friend?
There had been moments, when it was blistering hot out and Reiner couldn't keep his shirt on, that Armin was distracted by his build. Armin had wanted to be Reiner, of course, that was why he would stare.
Marco? Connie? Floch? Thomas? Milleus?
Bertholdt?
You're just here as a tourist to come view its conditions and watch it change. Throw it some scrap meat and watch it perform for you. Creepy little freak.
Armin had to swallow hard to keep his breakfast down. He placed the letter next to him and fell backwards in his bed, his hands covering his face.
More than anything, he felt predatory. What did it say about his relationship with his male comrades? He'd seen them all bathe, they'd been segregated by sex to avoid any incidents—and here, there was a veritable possibility that Armin had been taking advantage of that all this time. He couldn't take care of Bertholdt if there was this facet to it, either. He'd just prove Travis right.
What was he supposed to do? Ignore it until it went away or go on a soul-searching journey that might lead him into being different from the others in yet another way?
He'd die alone anyway. No other men liked men. If they did, he wasn't the type of person people fell for. His search for answers wouldn't even matter.
He sighed through his nose. What about the letter that lay by his side? What was he supposed to answer?
Hello Hitch, having sex with you made me realise I don't like women. Love, Armin.
No. He couldn't write back, let alone see her again until he had figured this out. After that, he was certain that he would be able to laugh about it together with her as a little hiccup early in a friendship that would last for years to come. But as things were, he might just get sick if he were to meet up with her again.
His leg was giving him a migraine. He'd come to his room to rest, not to sulk and worry. He sat up again and returned the letter to its envelope before crutching over to his desk to store it away.
Crutching back over to his bed, he noticed that the journal Hange had given him on his first day lay atop his nightstand. He had only elected to take his new journal with him on his trip to Stohess, so it wasn't out of the ordinary, but through blurry eyes, he noticed a streak of white atop it that was no part of its cover.
Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the envelope that had been placed atop it, unsealed it, and took out the note inside.
Come see me as soon as you can
- Hange
It hadn't been the first time that he stood in front of the door to Hange's office with heavy eyes. At this rate, it certainly wouldn't be his last.
First, he'd searched through his notebook to see if anything incriminating had slipped onto the pages when he was jotting things down. Then, he'd been unable to stop crutching around his room knowing that one of his mental breaks had found its way inside and that in hindsight, what he'd written was rife with the outcome of his mental unwellness. Now, he just wanted to slip through the cracks of the wooden floorboards and disappear.
No date on the letter, had been the detail that allowed him to sit down on his bed and breathe. Could very well be from after they had met, or from the moment they had returned, and already redundant.
That wasn't enough to pacify him anymore as the Survey Corps' elite were preparing to embark on their journey to Mitras and the sounds of his fellow scouts moving through the hallway to grab their belongings and shouting at each other gave him a headache.
What he'd done the past months was blatant insubordination to his military superior. He wasn't supposed to go see Bertholdt again. His visits had been devoid of any quality at first, but eventually, they'd become meaningful. Even then, they'd pushed Armin into a dark space where he had new problems to solve and new ways to discover to make sure he could keep visiting. He'd gone without a single care in the world for what Hange would think about it.
Revealing that he'd come from Tourze had been a bad idea, but they'd find out eventually, and then, things would've been worse.
Or had Jean gone and talked to Hange that Armin had given up on Bertholdt being an asset entirely after promising that he wouldn't, after all?
It was clear to him what this was about. The next time they met up, Armin would have to face his actions. Hange had already been lenient. They'd offered him a spot in the expedition when he wasn't entirely ready yet and had been accommodating towards his disability when they just as easily could've let him figure it out by himself, and still, he had done what they told him not to.
He knew very well that if their meeting wasn't a discussion of which disciplinary measures should be taken, then it would be a verdict of the ones they had decided on.
What would they do with him?
The odds of an execution were zero, he didn't have to worry about that.
Prison would be the most logical option. A good way to keep him from going to see Bertholdt and to set his physique back far enough to keep him from going to see the ocean the next time they went. They'd take away what mattered most to Armin and strike efficiently.
He might get lashed or beaten. The Training Corps did it sparsely, the Survey Corps might be the same. He'd escaped this fate once, when he'd stolen the fourth Tales book from the Ehrmich library with Bertholdt, but they were never caught by Shadis. Festering wounds and tattered skin would make the recovery of his swollen ankle even more gruelling. To leave him bleeding and writhing—wasn't that exactly Hange's idea of justice when it came to Bertholdt?
Worst case, he'd be transferred to the Garrison or honourably discharged from the military altogether and stripped of the permission to see Bertholdt.
No. If they were going to discharge him, they wouldn't have let him come to that meeting. They had future plans for him, he just needed to face consequences for not listening to Hange's advice-command. And yet it was that scenario that kept him from knocking.
He was prepared to, but then, he had a thought.
Why should he?
They'd already seen him. He'd have all the plausible deniability he'd need if he were to say he considered that letter obsolete. If they wanted to admonish him, they'd had the time to do it when they visited him in the hospital. If they meant otherwise, then they should've added a date to the letter.
So he turned and left, and he instantly felt better.
He knew it would catch up to him eventually.
Last time, he'd been in excruciating pain believing himself fully deserving of it because of how much of a useless idiot he had been. This time, it was while wondering if he truly deserved his pain while the worry about avoiding Hange once more consumed his mind in the moments when he could handle it now that they and the others were back from Mitras without ever coming to collect him.
He'd considered everything. How he could bang up his ankle and make it worse, how he could stage a scenario where they'd need instant amputation, how he could ensure that this cursed foot got severed from his body and bought him clearance—but none of them helped him as his injury only continued to heal.
He knew so well how good it had felt to confess his sins and find absolution after months of repressing them when he'd previously confessed that he had no grip on the Bertholdt situation. He was still a useless idiot who deserved to feel the full brunt of his pain, so why was he pretending he desired better?
None of his own suffering mattered anymore. He had made a decision and he would stick by it.
When the next Sunday came around and he felt like he was ready, he woke up early in the morning to get dressed and collect his usual travelling supplies. No one was awake yet, and they wouldn't be until at least a few more hours. Business as usual as he crutched through the dark, deserted hallways until he reached the building's foyer and ran into his first obstacle.
One of the more recent hires, a former administrative Garrison member named Renée, sat at the Survey Corps headquarters' reception. The increase in scouts had allowed them to make sure that day and night, someone would be available, and Armin had apparently not been informed.
No matter. He went his way and smiled at her as he went past.
"Armin?" she asked, having looked up from her desk, and he stopped.
"Morning, Renée."
"Morning. Where are you going?"
Oh no.
"Out."
"This early in the morning?"
"It's a Sunday, there are no activities planned until tomorrow so I'm going out. My ride departs early. I have to catch it, actually, so I'll just…" He pointed at the exit.
"Wait a second," Renée said. "Have you talked to the Commander yet?"
"I have. They came to visit me in the hospital and we talked."
"But not since?"
His fingers tightened over the wood of his crutches. Less is more.
"I figured that if we had something to discuss, they'd ask me to come see them."
"Could you do that before you leave? There was something that they wanted to discuss with you."
"Oh," Armin answered. "What is it, then?"
"I didn't get the details. They might still be at work upstairs. If you're quick, maybe you can still catch your ride afterwards."
There was no going around this. The fact that the administrative staff had been tasked with stopping Armin should he try to leave at such a blue hour meant that they had expected him to fly under the cover of the night. Nothing short of a scurrying rat who was so obviously trying to elude the consequences of his actions.
Not anymore, it seemed. He gave her a curt nod and turned back.
Light shone from under the Commander's office door. Either Hange was really still at work, or they had fallen asleep at the desk without dousing the lights.
There were a hundred ways that this conversation could go, none of them nice. Armin was prepared to give in and accept what was due, but he'd have to think of a way to keep seeing Bertholdt, and it was there that he'd continuously run into a wall.
The Armin of the past had been better at acting in the moment. The current Armin was uncertain if that was still him. Hange had told him to accept that he had changed, but that didn't make him any more eager to learn he had become a worse version of what little he had to offer in the past. Perhaps it was time to accept he was done.
He'd already placed his backpack by the door and knocked before he could consider all the ways in which that was a bad idea.
"Yeees?" came from the other side. "Hello?"
"It's Armin. You wanted to see me?"
"Armin!" A brief silence, during which he suspected they were fixing their appearance after a night of work. "Please, come in!"
He pushed open the door and let himself in. The room was even messier than the last time he'd visited, and sure enough, Hange sported deep bags under their eyes and half of their ponytail was undone. Even though the windows were wide open, the room smelled of overtime.
"Really good to see you. Why don't you take a seat?"
Armin nodded and closed the door before he sat down on the one chair that miraculously had nothing lying on top of it.
"I left you a note," Hange continued. "I'd hoped we could meet before I left for Mitras, but I'm glad you're here now."
"I'm sorry. I thought you'd told me what you needed to at the hospital and the letter had become obsolete. It had no date, you see? I thought our business was already concluded."
"Ah, no, that's not what I wanted to see you about. I thought that a private meeting would offer a little more discretion than that very public hospital room where you were expecting company. Here, we can speak privately."
Armin just nodded. Hange looked sufficiently chipper, but it was always hard to tell with them.
He, on the other hand, must've looked guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt, quiet and monotonous as he was. Maybe he could blame it on the early hour.
"Do you know why you're here?" Hange asked, a little more toned down than before.
"I'm sorry, I don't."
"I wanted to inquire how you've been doing. You have faced a very turbulent few months and had to spend quite some time alone. Tell me, how are you feeling?"
How he was feeling? It sounded genuine, not like the prelude to a rant.
"Um…" was all he could start with. Not quite a scenario he'd prepared for. "Well, I'm injured again when I wish I didn't have to be. The past months have been tough. I'm not used to dealing with such pain, and now it's back."
With fewer medicine thanks to you, he wanted to add, but it would make him sound like a drug seeker more than it would make a point. His ankle was behaving itself surprisingly well this morning, and even without taking his melactin, he wouldn't count it very necessary right now.
"I can imagine. How have you dealt with being alone?"
"I travelled."
"Yes, I do remember the note you'd left at the front desk. How was it that you worded it? 'Travelling, won't be back for a while'?"
Oh.
Oh, gods.
Was that why Hange's letters had been curt and devoid of much useful information? Was it an immature ploy to return his own attitude right back to him?
"I could have included a few more details," Armin admitted. "I was in a particularly bad spot that day. The heat was getting to me and I needed to escape somewhere before I went mad from loneliness. But I went to see a friend, and now I feel better."
"Ah, yes. Hitch Dreyse, right? The girl from the Military Police who helped us carry out our coup?"
Even Hange wasn't above a little teasing. They couldn't hold in that subtle smugness that accompanied the questions, meaning they'd definitely seen that letter when they'd come to deliver theirs.
"Yes," Armin answered neutrally nonetheless despite being unable to keep his face from growing a degree hotter. "I saw her again when you sent me on the recruitment mission to Stohess and we became acquaintances."
Hange hummed. "She asked for you, you know?"
"Huh?"
"At the remembrance ceremony. She asked where you were. Seems that poor girl was worried that you had been among the fallen soldiers. At that time, we had no certainty that you would make it. She asked us to send her an update to let her know whether you succumbed to your wounds or you made it out alive. Judging by your dumbstruck expression, she never told you."
"I…" Armin croaked. "That's news to me. We weren't that close before I got to know her a little better in the past months, and even now, we barely know each other. I'm not sure why she cared so much about a stranger."
Maybe she thought he knew, too, and the fact that he hadn't said anything about it made her think that he thought it flattering. Of all the people to latch onto out of loneliness after a close friend had passed away and another had been revealed to be a traitor and encased in crystal, why him? What did he have to offer, exactly?
They'd have to talk about boundaries. Somewhere in the future, when he was less consumed by questions of identity and the things that had happened between them with Armin's questionable consent.
Had he jumped, maybe she would have gotten a letter after all, though not with the time and cause of death she had expected.
"It is good to have allies around the military, Armin. Keep every positive connection you have close to your heart. It might help you one day."
That was one way to look at it. With a nod, Armin gave Hange the benefit of the doubt that that was the reason to talk about her all of a sudden.
"How about mentally? How have you been doing in that area?"
Mentally?
He'd been broken down to his foundation and almost accepted that was where he'd stay.
He'd seen the back of his soul and encountered himself in the least likely of places.
He could've, should've met his end head-on against the pavement but had chosen that there was one last wrong that he could still right.
And he'd made peace with Bertholdt, at last.
He had been on a journey that no other person alive could possibly understand, least of all the person who decided on his movements. Eren. Bertholdt. Mikasa. They were all people he couldn't talk about. Not with Hange.
"You look troubled, if I can be honest," Hange added when Armin remained silent.
"It hasn't been easy," Armin answered. "I've been struggling with the things we talked about the last time we met here. I no longer feel so dependent on my successes to be at peace, but it's… It's hard to accept change."
It was harder to accept that he may not be able to sufficiently help Bertholdt amidst all that failure. He could fall asleep and not wake up within the year, easily, but it was no option to run from things when they got difficult.
"You did well during the expeditions that you joined. I wouldn't be so quick to designate yourself a bad scout just yet, the way you did when you came to see me at the end of May."
"It was nice, but look where I'm at now."
"You will heal in due time. There will be another chance to come with us. A broken ankle isn't the end of your career the way a knee would be."
Armin squinted as he looked down upon the desk. His knee. Of course, it could've been his knee. Armin could scream about missing his shot.
He had no idea how to properly word this without avoiding certain topics.
"You've gone back to see Bertholdt a few times, too?"
This time, Armin looked up at Hange. The tone was a lot more strained. He hadn't been wrong after all.
"I went back on my own terms. We managed to work through the issues that my failed gambit created and negotiation looks realistic again. I feel better for having gone to visit than I would've had I just stayed here and never resolved it."
"Ah," Hange hummed. "And how have you been faring since?"
"Well."
"Well."
"It gave me the closure I've needed these past months. That success I hoped would put me back on track."
Hange didn't believe him. He could tell. They exchanged stares until Hange tapped the desk with one hand and closed their eye.
"Armin, I think it is time for you to stop."
"What?" Armin squeaked.
Opening their eye again, pity had made way for worry, brown framed by intensely furrowed brows.
"Have you been eating well lately? Do you sleep enough? Do you feel good?"
Hadn't they just established that?
"I… Yes? I mean, I haven't slept well since Trost was breached last June, but this has nothing to do with it. I'm revalidating well. You know I've been struggling with how to feel for a while, but things are starting to look up at last. Things are getting better for me."
Hange crossed one arm over the other, slightly squaring their shoulders.
"And yet… For the past months, you haven't looked healthy at all. You're absent and slower of wit than I'm used to even taking into account your recovery. In fact, you have exhibited general unwellness ever since you started visiting Bertholdt, and I am not the only one who has noticed. At first, it seemed that it would help you, but for a while now, I've thought that this isn't good for you. You look pale and tired and every time you come back, it only gets worse."
Armin kept his lips sealed, baffled by the observation. They'd been so busy. Their talk aside, he didn't think that they'd have noticed anything about him at all. Not down to the colour of his complexion in a way Armin had hoped only he would see.
Now, it had gotten so bad that his performance was lacking and Hange thought that it was better he quit altogether. Either his friends had reported their worries to Hange out of concern, or Hange reached out to them to find out more.
"I'm doing fine," he managed, voice breaking slightly under the pressure. "I have to deal with a broken ankle. It hurts, naturally I will be in pain for a little while and my health will take the blow until it fully heals."
"People who are doing fine don't break their bones on purpose."
They'd been waiting to drop that. Whether they'd known since the start or figured it out along the way, Armin knew well enough that they'd called him in only after this argument got structured.
"Commander, I'm sorry… What?" Armin placated. "I thought you believed me when I told you that it's not like that. My melactin dosages are lower than they've ever been at this stage of injury."
"Yes, we went over that, and I believe you. So that got me thinking: why else would you break your ankle again?"
"I fell out of bed! Why would I want to go through such pain again?"
"See, I thought the same," Hange answered, gesturing an upturned palm at Armin. "What is worth that sort of pain? Because I know that you don't sustain the injury you did just by falling out of bed, Armin. Something is missing here, and if you don't fill in the blanks, I will."
Armin's hands clawed into each other as they lay folded over his lap but his face didn't show.
"I did fall out of bed," Armin reiterated, "but it happened because I was having a nightmare. I thought something was sitting at the foot of my bed, so I stood on the covers and then tried to run and fell. I've had nightmares like this before where I ran from my bed. I was asleep, I didn't account for one of my legs being injured this time around."
"You did it for Bertholdt, didn't you?"
"No, I did not."
Hange spoke before Armin was halfway through his protest. "You just spent two weeks by his side. Now, whether that is righteous insistence you complete your task after the deadline or the need to see other people, no matter what it is, I do know one thing: you've grown sympathetic for him, and that is a problem. Because that means I lose control over both of you."
For once, Armin was unable to stifle his shock. He wasn't prepared for this avenue of their conversation and it left him silent.
Shaking their head, Hange's eye contact intensified.
"We have done inhumane things to him. Unspeakable things that the world should never know about."
Armin's eyes widened. So wildly removed from what Armin was talking about, and yet it was spontaneous. He couldn't see this being a rehearsed line.
Well, they had, maybe. Armin never consented to this, he'd been comatose. Armin didn't think this was a good idea in the first place. He was never asked, why should he carry part of the blame for Hange's wrongful, emotional choices?
But he stayed silent, knowing that anything he said now would work against his case.
"Regardless of who he is and what he's done, what happened was grim. We've shed so much blood to save our own, and it was all pointless. If I'd known that it would all lead nowhere, I would have just incarcerated him and let him be. None of it should've happened."
It made Armin want to fight back, but Hange didn't justify themselves. They weren't telling him that it was all for the greater good and that he should move on now. They weren't even telling him that it was a fitting punishment and how that fact comforted them to think it wasn't all pointless. There was almost shame to their tone, hidden behind the mask of a stoic commander who had to keep a resolute image in the eyes of their subordinate.
"You are marinating in this environment, Armin. When I gave you permission to talk to him, I never expected that it would last this long. I hadn't expected anyone would communicate with him for an extended period of time. You shouldn't have to see the outcome of such horrors. People simply aren't built to observe someone in such a state. Even the policemen who were selected on resilience against such situations keep contact to a minimum to avoid burning out. It's depressing."
It was.
It was depressing, because of this artificial state that they had put, forced him into and now were refusing to let him out of again despite having every ability to do so.
And he wanted to scream and shake them by the shoulders and demand to know, how could they? How could they have done this to someone they knew didn't even want to do it, someone who was forced into his role with no conceivable way out? How could they pretend he was just a weapon put away in a closet and not a person they were further tormenting? How could they live knowing they'd put him in so much pain that wouldn't even be fixed had Armin not started smuggling him pain medication? How could they sleep at night knowing what they had chosen to do when there were alternatives?
An uncharacteristic anger overtook him as he finally realised with crystal clarity that the obstacle that stood between himself and absolution had never been Bertholdt.
It had been Hange.
It had been them. It had always been them and no one else.
They were abusing their position of power by refusing to make a change where they had the authority but lacked the decisiveness to do so, and he wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs, confront them about just how horrible they were now that the cause of all of their collected suffering stood in front of him—now clearer than ever that it had been them who had done this.
But he couldn't lose his cool. He couldn't look irrational now that his fate lay in the balance. He couldn't let insubordination be the crime that got him banned from the mines.
"I can't leave now. It would only amplify the horrors we're putting him through. I'd just be doing the same as you have," he calmly replied.
"I know," they said. It poured cold water straight down his back.
They stood, turning halfway around towards the open window behind them as if to announce this conversation was nearing its end.
"So does he. He weighed that risk when he chose to fight us. He understood that this was one of the potential outcomes."
Despite his boiling blood, he had no more force left to shout.
"If you were to be captured by Marley, would you just accept it? Would you let them do these things to you because you accepted the risk? Or would you want someone to listen to you?"
"We choose not to fight Marley, Armin. We choose to talk."
"We fought them in Shiganshina, how is that any different?"
Hange sighed. "We have never been aggressors in this conflict. They made the choice to fight a battle which would not have existed had they stayed docile. They know this. Bertholdt is aware of what he chose."
And it was exactly that mentality that would create a whole new conflict. Armin knew that Hange didn't want war either, how could they support this? How could they so blatantly ignore what he'd been through to make that choice?
They were in denial. He needed to go elsewhere. Hange wouldn't be convinced otherwise.
"He's just a teenager…" he pleaded with a weak voice.
"And so are you," they said. "You've already seen too much that would weigh on the mind of a normal sixteen year old. You need to take care of yourself before you take care of others. He is not the type of person you should waste your compassion on. He doesn't want it either."
No, it was his responsibility.
No gods would be there to find him. If Armin wasn't doing this, then no one was.
Of course his wellbeing would seem important to Hange, but nothing he was suffering in terms of mental hurt came anywhere close to what Bertholdt was. Not even his physical pain compared. The sacrifice was more than worth it. He'd chosen to give himself up for Bertholdt's sake, Hange simply didn't understand.
"I'm not leaving. I can't. I made a promise to myself that I would make him matter."
Hange avoided eye contact, sight pinned on the wall ahead. They thought it over for a long time before they finally looked back at Armin, their serious commander face back in place.
"Sometimes," they said, "we have to accept that we've mismanaged our resources."
They looked back at him, more tired and tender than he'd ever seen them.
"I understand how you feel, Armin. I truly do. I didn't want to give up either when I'd already poured so much of either of our blood, sweat, and tears into making him talk. I recognise myself in you, and what I needed then was someone to tell me to stop. That is what Erwin would have done for me, so that is what I am doing for you now. Bertholdt doesn't want to work with us. I know you care about him, but I doubt that there is anything that will make him change his mind after this long. It is time to give up."
That wasn't what this was about, how could they not tell—Armin had long given up on that, how could they possibly not tell? Weren't they supposed to be intelligent? He almost wanted to shout out how they should get this, but it would not help his case.
"We owe him a humane existence…" came out surprisingly softly for his underlying anger.
"No, we do not. He understands that. And I know that you do, too."
He'd had enough. He got up and grabbed his crutches, but Hange was faster than him.
"Armin, you can travel to the mines if that's really what you want, but the stationed police have already been informed that they should not let you in and to send you back should you go. You need to prioritise yourself right now. Rest. There's nothing you can offer to Bertholdt anymore that will help either of you."
Armin gasped, and finally, he was unable to contain his malcontent as he twisted his waist and threw out his hand.
"You can't do that!"
"You will find that I perfectly can," Hange bluntly responded, body and voice devoid of any of the empathy they had before. "It is early in the morning. Please, Armin, go rest and come see me when you have had time to reflect on what we talked about today."
It was too late. Armin was already on his way out, and, knowing that all he'd be able to spit out anymore was venom, chose not to give Hange an accompanying goodbye as he forcefully threw shut the door behind him.