Welcome back! In this chapter, we get to see some of Eren's PTSD raise its ugly head. He did a lot of terrible things and was subject to a lot of emotional torture. I don't think there's any way he didn't suffer from his own mental problems. Just a heads up, the language starts here. I've always imagined Eren as a bit of a potty mouth.
Thank you for reading! Enjoy.
If ever there had been some sort of paradise after life, Eren knew without a doubt that he would have turned it down repeatedly in order to stay in this moment. Nothing could have ever held a candle to the pure, radiating happiness glowing in his heart. This reunion was nothing like he had expected - it was far, far superior than anything his imagination could have conjured, and he had imagined a lot.
He had half-expected Mikasa to be repulsed at the sight of him. Perhaps he had possibly hoped that she would run away screaming. God knew he didn't deserve her devotion. He had even imagined her hanging off the arm of another guy. That thought hadn't lasted long. He would have had to refrain from killing whoever the lucky bastard was.
That didn't matter now. She had embraced him, welcomed him back with earnest enthusiasm. It made him feel as if he would overflow with gratitude. She still cared… That was more than enough for him.
She had stopped crying some time ago, but they hadn't yet spoken to each other. It was almost impossible to find a good start. The air was thick with hundreds of unanswered questions and nervous exhilaration. Eren knew that Mikasa was borderline desperate to know just how he had apparently come back from the dead, but… it was something that he was reluctant to confront. That discussion was off the table… for now. He would tell her in time, he knew, and it was filed away in the back of his mind.
Still, he had no idea where to even think of beginning. He had so much to tell her. There were thousands of things he had imagined telling her while he was traversing his solo journey in Marley. He had pictured what it would have been like having her there with him, preparing for the end of his life and the near destruction of humanity. But now that she was here, and in such unexpected circumstances, he was struck speechless.
He mulled it over, pondering the actions of his recent past. The weight of what he had done had been crushing his soul since touching Historia's hand so long ago. It had festered in him, slowly tearing his soul to shreds, leaving him splintered in so many more ways than one. He had often questioned his sanity, wondering what was him and what was a remnant of the titan shifters before him.
He still struggled with the strewn remnants of himself. Even after death, he wondered if he would ever feel somewhat normal again. True, death had provided him much more clarity, but he had not forgotten the insanity of his last few years.
But how to convey these things… And how would she receive them?
He knew there was no way he would ever be pardoned for his actions, and he never wanted to be. He acknowledged that what he had done was unforgivable, deserving only of damnation. He had earned every ounce of hatred and condemnation wished upon his soul - or lack thereof. He welcomed it all. If it meant that his friends, his people, the world (and most importantly, Mikasa) lived a long life of peace and prosperity, well… it was worth it, in his eyes. He had been a necessary evil.
He was drawn from his solemn reverie when Mikasa stirred next to him. After their clumsy embrace, she had flushed a deep red and clambered to his side, apologizing softly and leaning against the tree, pulling the scarf over her nose self-consciously. He had watched, entranced. She was adorable.
He could feel her eyes on him now. She wanted answers, he knew. She deserved as much. There would never be a good time to share these sentiments. Sighing morosely, he let his head rest against the rough bark behind him. Folding a leaf over and over between his fingers, he cleared his throat. "I… I don't know where to start," he said truthfully, "there is a LOT to tell."
Even that was a ridiculous understatement.
Mikasa fidgeted, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. Why was everything she did so damn hypnotizing? "I'm ready to listen," she murmured, hair falling across her face.
Eren caught the shiver in her hands, eyes keen. Throwing his leaf aside, he quickly shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and draped it over her, tucking the collar under her chin and pulling the hood over her head. Mikasa started to protest, raising an arm. Eren caught her hand, ignoring the electricity pulsing between them, and tucked it back into the folds of his jacket. "Dont'," he urged gently, grinning crookedly, "I run hot."
Mikasa stared at him skeptically, but eventually nodded, muttering a small "Thank you." Something else gleamed behind her eyes.
The red blush spreading across her skin was absolutely maddening for Eren. It bled like the furling petals a crimson blossom, tempting him with its warmth. He thought about the pulse hiding beneath the flush, wondering how it would feel pressed against his own… Something he had always craved, always believed he could never have.
He could almost feel her hands sliding down his chest, taste her on his tongue.
Shit… he cursed to himself, looking away hastily before his own heated skin was discovered. Focus.
"First of all," he began, returning his gaze to the stars, "I wanted to thank you, Mikasa. I know that probably sounds stupid. It does to me. Thank you cannot even come close to how grateful I really am."
He was being honest. It did sound stupid. It wasn't enough.
He never could have died at the hands of someone else. He wasn't sure if Mikasa would ever understand the depth of the emotions that had overwhelmed him when he saw her running to him, swords held high. He had never seen someone so inexorably beautiful. He had filled his eyes with her, only her: Her hands. Her hair. Her arms. Her lips. Her eyes. Everything. She was all he wanted to see, and she had granted that wish. She had been his own personal undertaker. He adored her dearly for it, staring deep into her eyes as the blade struck his skeletal nape. What relief he had felt.
"I also wanted to say how sorry I am…" he continued, eyes misty. "Mikasa… I'm so, so sorry. I… I know how much of an asshole I was. I was so cruel." He felt a pulsating, burning ache begin to spread infectiously throughout his chest. His lungs started to tighten, a bitter swell of familiar panic and spiraling despair swirling in his psyche. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to be greeted with blaring visions playing on a reel behind his eyelids.
Ever since he had discovered his predetermined role when touching Historia's hand, Eren had fought tooth and nail with near crippling depression. He had spent many of those early nights alone, wondering if it were better to simply end his own life before he could take any others. Several of those nights had ended with him lying in a pool of his own blood, steam engulfing him, the draw of his destiny simply too powerful to withstand or escape.
After he finally accepted that he couldn't change what was to come, his depression had evolved into something ugly and sinister: Blackened hatred for himself and for those he deemed had placed him in this situation. This detest festered in him, breeding foul ideas and twisted ideologies.
He despised all of it, but hated himself most of all. He physically recoiled when he remembered the way he had treated Armin and Mikasa and all of their comrades.
He had never wanted to simply disintegrate more at any time in his life than on that day.
"Ever since we were kids, Mikasa… I've always hated you."
Oh, the way his insides had screamed at him, demanding to retract that statement, to grab Mikasa and wipe that crushed expression from her face with fervent apologies. Every fiber of his being yearned to wrap that scarf tightly around her, promising to never say such ridiculous things ever again, to always protect her… But he was Eren Jaeger, the attack titan, possessor of the founding titan. He was no longer the Eren Mikasa had obviously loved - despite her painful rebuttal that fateful night. It was now someone else's job to protect her from him.
For Eren, that realization had fucking sucked. He hated to admit that it had contributed to his undeniably immoderate brutalization of Armin, who had leapt to protect Mikasa from Eren's detrimental words.
How pitiful he looked, face twisted in rage, blonde hair framing his face almost comically. Eren watched him, expression empty and hollow, as he was slammed into the table violently by Mikasa, who instantly donned a ragged expression of shock when she realized what she had done.
She had no idea how ideal her movement was - It was the perfect opportunity for Eren to twist the jagged knife deeper. A knot in his stomach formed, twisting painfully, but he pressed on, determined to shatter the bulletproof bond forged between the three of them. Standing, he towered over Armin and Mikasa, glowering menacingly.
"All your life, you've just been strung along by the whims of your Ackerman blood."
Lies. She was brilliant. Talented. Headstrong. She had an amazing mind of her own. She was a perfect individual. But that's exactly what he had to shield from the hatred of the world - her, in all of her beautiful, endearing self. And so he would continue to strike, chiseling away the very foundation of their relationship.
He watched as Mikasa let out a small gasp, stumbling back from Armin. Lips curling into a partial sneer, he barreled on. For her.
"That's all you are… a fucking slave."
He could see her heart being crushed through her expression. He watched the tears drip from her eyes, gliding down her cheek, falling from her face. She looked shell shocked. Her gaze led to nowhere.
Eren was swimming in the self-hatred that clung to him, his eternal companion. He wished it would do him a favor for once in his life and pull him under the surface, the only one privy to his final breaths.
He was abruptly snapped from those thoughts when Armin's fist made surprising contact with his jaw, sending the two of them hurtling across the table and chairs. They landed heavily, the chair stabbing sharply into Eren's back. He had to give Armin credit - it was a good punch. It actually hurt. But it wouldn't happen twice. Deceptively agile, he briskly rose to his feet as Armin let out a bellow, swinging wildly for his face again.
Eren felt a pang of pity seeped in reluctance. Dodging the punch easily, he struck Armin's chin with a brutal uppercut, causing him to stagger backwards. Blood spurted from his mouth. Eren leapt forward to compensate for the distance between them, seizing Armin's collar. Channeling the rage and agony coursing through his veins like a drug, he threw his best friend into a nearby wine closet effortlessly. A cacophony of noise rang out as various glasses and wine bottles fell to the ground, fragmenting into pieces and spilling their blood-like contents onto the ornate carpet. Armin's mouth gushed crimson, tongue severed from the uppercut.
Eren approached him, inauspicious and sinister. Impatiently waving off the concerned guards who had burst into the room at the noise, he stood still before Armin, preparing the emotional dagger meant especially for him.
"Hey, Armin," he droned, giving an impression of being bored and disgusted, "you know how we've never fought each other, despite how long we've known one another?"
He didn't even bother halting his little rant when Armin started swinging again. Dodging them all was child's play.
"You know why that is?" he taunted further, feeling the contrition wailing for him to stop in the back of his mind. Suffocating it, he released a series of savage blows on Armin, beating the poor soul to a literal pulp. "Because the two of us," he snarled, completely unhinged, "could never have a fair fight!"
Perhaps to prove a point, or perhaps at an attempt to truly give Armin's hatred purchase, Eren harshly took hold of a handful of his golden hair and drove a knee straight into his gut, holding nothing back. He felt the crunch of bone, disgusting and repulsive…
There was a time once when Eren would beat Armin's bullies black and blue.
Now, here he was, a violent bully himself, breaking the bones of his friend. His best friend… Nausea roiled in Eren's stomach. Heavy breaths rasped through his throat. What had he done? Why had he done it?
Armin fell to the ground, swollen and bloodied. It took mountainous self control for Eren not to drop to his knees and help the beaten man to his feet.
There was no way this had not been successful… They could never believe that Eren still cared for them after this macabre display of his new, deranged person. He was certain of it. He had carefully prepared every words, each designed to wound and maim.
It was against his very nature. It had killed him.
The air rushed from Eren's lungs roughly, chokingly. His fingers clung to the grass beneath him, knuckles white, arms flexed hard as steel.
"Mikasa, I'm sorry," he said. "I told you I hated you. God, I - I'm so sorry. I wish I could go back in time so that you knew how it killed me to say those things. They were so far from the truth…" his voice cracked. "I'm sorry you had to see the slaughter, and I'm sorry I relied so heavily on you to end the war. I put so much on your shoulders, never even questioning whether you could handle it… and I had to pretend like I didn't care."
His words began to tumble away from him, spilling out in a muddled word vomit that had been withheld for far too long.
"I never wanted to… My mind just… I couldn't bear to drag you and Armin into it. My father - Zeke, Ymir - there was a point where I almost didn't know who I was any more. I was in a walking nightmare. I knew what I had to do, and I knew I was the only one who could do it, but it was almost impossible to bear."
The visions began to flash brighter behind his eyelids, the voices screaming louder. Eren hissed through his teeth, pressing his fingers to his temples. He saw his father, his brother, Frieda -
"Fuck," he whispered, closing his eyes with as much force as he could muster. The insanity that he held behind fortified doors slammed its ugly fists against the walls, malicious, harrowing. Its voice rang through Eren like a siren, composed of the screams of the millions he had watched die beneath the feet of his colossal titans, reduced to bloody smears, pounded repeatedly into the dirt, diminished to nothing.
"Stop," he muttered, fingernails burrowing deep into the tender flesh beneath them. "Stop, stop, stop…"
The black waves began to engulf him. Several faces swam in the icy waters: Sasha. Hange. Ramzi. His mother. Fallen scouts. Erwin. Hannes. They all leered at him, lips curling above yellowed teeth, rotting blood leaking from their lips, dead eyes glittering with joy at Eren's misery. You don't deserve peace, they breathed, you don't deserve anything, especially her.
He was being swept into the twisted hurricane of his mind. The winds roared louder, the voices screeched from the heads leaping with glee around him, the wails of the fallen civilians grated his ears like rusty blades -
"EREN!"
An instant calm obliterated the wracking tempest. Eren's eyes flew open, suddenly remembering where he was, who he was with.
Her smell struck him, bringing him back, giving him something to cling to. Her eyes, mere inches from his, were swimming with fresh tears, gleaming like diamonds in the moonlight. Her gentle fingers held his shoulders tightly, almost as if she still expected him to vanish, but holding him firmly in place. The warmth from her touch was unexplainably wonderful.
He took a shuddering breath, grounding himself, focusing on her, only her. He gazed into her eyes intently, unwavering, waiting until the visions cleared and his insanity was safely stored behind lock and key once more. Mikasa waited patiently, holding his stare.
The tension in the air was more than intense. It was riddled with ardent desire. It was dirty and lustful, and Eren swore he was almost feral. He had no hold on his emotions. He suffocated in anxiety and misery one moment, relished in debauched ardor the next. He felt like nothing more than an animal, slave to his burning instincts.
Mikasa was a saint. Here she sat, saving him for the millionth time. The heads in his hallucinations had been right. He didn't deserve her. But he was selfish and brash. He didn't give a fuck if he didn't deserve her. He wanted her. He was, as they put it, head over heels, and he had waited long enough.
Now he just needed to wait for her to meet him halfway. Whether her desire was equal to his or less, or possibly nonexistent, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to force her into anything else. He was done doing that.
"I'm sorry, Mika," he murmured, reverting to an old, unused nickname.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Light as a butterfly's touch, Eren tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Smiling wryly, he allowed his hand to linger against the bottom of her jaw, cupping her face. "Everything that happened… I'll tell you all of it. But… it has me all kinds of fucked up. I'll need your help to get through it."