Chapter Text
The official diagnosis was schizophrenia.
That diagnosis had been made three days after she set fire to an old warehouse, the place where several of her voices claimed they had been tortured. It was her first act of violence, and no one had been harmed; she was contrite, apologizing for taking the voices- which she claimed she could usually ignore -seriously. And so she had been released shortly thereafter back into society, with the agreement that she would attend weekly therapy and faithfully swallow a little white pill every morning. She had agreed readily, of course, and slipped easily back into her seemingly normal life.
But Annie Leonheart didn't take the little white pill every morning; she threw it away. She was on good terms with the voices in her head, after all, and they made for decent company.
... ... ...
’You look dashing today, Annie. Special occasion?’
Annie didn't bother to reply, knowing that he could tell that the comment had lifted her spirits. She twisted in the mirror, examining the little red knit dress that she wore. Her knee-high black combat boots went well with it, she thought.
’I-It's too r-revealing, Annie... p-people will g-get the wrong impression! Th-They'll try to- to take advantage!’
She smiled at his concern, sweeping her hair up into its usual bun.
’Annie can deal with whatever scum is foolish enough to mess with her.’
’B-But is it r-really worth the chance?!’
’She looks fantastic.’
’T-Too fantastic, i-if you ask m-me!’
’Which no one is…’
Annie felt her smile widen, and she reached out as if to touch the voices that resided only in her head. "Thank you, my boys, both of you. I'll be mindful."
She referred to them simply as her boys. They didn't have names- the voices never did -but they were the most common of the voices in her head. There were others, of course, but none so close to her as her boys- one strong and affectionate, the other timid and protective. She had known them both for years and years, since before she could speak.
"Now hush; let me get ready, both of you. I'm going to be late."
... ... ...
’W-Watch the puddle, Annie!’
The girl hopped cheerfully into the small collection of water in the gutter, splashing through it deliberately and relishing her boy’s distraught squeaking. Her other boy laughed heartily.
’He may as well think its acid you're splashing in!’
People didn't stop, but some did stare at the strange girl wading, straight-faced, through the gutter water in her platform boots; others, those who knew the girl's history, pointedly ignored her. And Annie ignored them all, as well; she had all the company she needed.
’Stop! You'll weaken the material your shoes are made of!’
That was the girl- Annie's advisor and confidant in all things concerning boys or fashion, and the only female voice that Annie heard on a regular basis. Annie smiled slightly, hopping back up onto the curb.
"You're right, I suppose. I like these shoes too much to splash about carelessly."
The girl gave an approving huff. ’Good. You look adorable in them, after all.’
Her strong boy sighed. ’Girls and their shoes...’
Her timid boy made a relieved little whimpering noise.
’You're very pretty.’
It was a male voice that she had never heard before, and it made Annie pause. But, unfamiliar though it was, it still appeared to be one of her voices, and so she answered it.
"Thank you."
The new voice didn't respond for a moment, but then spluttered demandingly, ’Y-You can hear me?!’
Annie cocked her head, although she continued to walk. "Yes, of course I can. Can't you hear him, boys?"
‘Of course.’
’Y-Yes, I can too. Who... are you?’
The new voice was breathy with excitement. ’I can't believe you can hear me! Well, I can believe that you two can hear me, but I-I've never come across someone else like me...! I- this is- I mean, my name is Armin, Armin Arlert!’
Annie stopped dead in her tracks, confusion scattering her thoughts. "Your name is... Armin?"
’Yes!’ the voice replied cheerfully. ’Why do you sound so surprised?’
"Well... my voices... don't usually have names," Annie said, a bit nervously. "In fact... I've never heard a voice with a name."
’Voice?’ Armin echoed, sounding as confused as Annie. ’Like... like these two? They don't... have names...?’
’No.’
’N-No…’
"I just... I always figured that voices wouldn't have names," Annie said, now a bit defensive. "I mean... you're only in my head, so-"
’Wait, what?’ Armin cut in suddenly. ’"Only in your head?" I'm not just some voice in your head, if that's what you're thinking.’
’What the hell do you mean?’ Annie's strong boy demanded. ’You're like us, aren't you?’
’Clearly not,’ Armin said, sounding somewhat amazed. ’For one thing, I most certainly have a name; for another thing, I most certainly have a body, and I'm inside no one's head but my own. Well… to be honest I’d very much like to get back inside my own head, but...’
"You have a what?" Annie demanded.
’You're a disembodied voice, just like us,’ her boy said gruffly. Armin made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. ’We're Annie's voices.’
‘You might fancy yourself just that,’ he said, ’but I have my own body, my own life, and my own name. I'm not just some voice in someone's head.’
’Th-then why... can we h-hear you...?’ Annie's other boy asked nervously, and Armin huffed.
’Because I'm not in my body right now; I haven't been in my body for quite a while. I'm not one of her "voices," but your Annie is the first person who's been able to hear me... ever. And I have to admit, it's beyond refreshing to have a real conversation, regardless of how confused a conversation it is.’
’He sounds cute,’ Annie's girl put in, popping out of nowhere. ’Go for it, Annie. See what he's all about!’
’Would you like proof?’ Armin asked. ’I can take you to where my body is, if you'd like to meet me properly.’
’Don't do it, Annie,’ her strong boy spoke up, a growl in his voice.
But Annie's curiosity was undeniably piqued. "No... I want to see what this is about."
’A-Annie... please don't...’
’This isn't a good idea, Annie.’
’And you’re both just... content to write me- and yourselves -off as a voice in Annie's head?’ the new voice challenged. ’Come on- what have you got to lose?’
’Annie, go for it!’ the girl urged. ’When was the last time you had yourself a romantic adventure?’
Armin laughed a bit nervously. ’Romantic adventure, hardly. B-But if you want to see what I'm talking about- my body, I mean -follow me.’
"'Follow?'" Annie echoed, although her boys were objecting in the background. "I can't see you! How would I follow you?"
’You can't see me?’ Armin asked, sounding surprised. ’So you can't see them either?’
"No, I can't. Should I be able to see you?" Annie asked, looking around. "Should I be able to see all of you? Can you see one another?"
’No,’ Armin admitted, echoed by one of her boys and the girl.
’N-No…’
’I can't!’
’We only exist as voices in Annie's head,’ the gruffer of her boys said. ’How would we see one another? We don't even have a physical form.’
’I have a physical form!’ Armin said, growing a bit frantic. ’Come on and I'll show you! If you can't see me, just follow my voice!’
Unable to resist the pull of the mystery, Annie found herself trailing after Armin's rambling voice. She followed him far off her original path, deeper and deeper into a questionable part of town, much to her timid boy's stuttered dismay. She followed the new voice all the way to a run-down hospital in the middle of the shadiest part of town, and then straight past the snoozing receptionist and through the double doors.
’Come on, come on!’ Armin urged, leading her up a dingy flight of stairs and past countless sectioned-off rooms. ’But try to keep it down, alright?’
’This isn't a good idea...’
’I-I agree…’
"Hush," Annie told her two boys quietly, peering into the rooms that they were passing. People lay in their shadowed beds, surrounded by dust and the stench of death, and she shivered at the mere thought of being stranded in such a place.
’Here we are.’ Even Armin's voice had dropped to a whisper, and Annie pushed gently at the door he had indicated she should stop at. When she poked her head into the room, she immediately noticed the two hostile sets of eyes locked on her- one fiery turquoise and the other suffocating black.
But then her attention was drawn to the boy lying in the bed; the monitors beside him, and the countless things attached to his skin. His hair was a golden halo spread across his pillow, and his porcelain pale skin was drawn tight across his thin frame; his delicate bones.
’That's me.’