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Eren has this habit. He doesn’t know where he got it, when he got it or how. But he does know that it helps. Even if just a little. Each time his nerves feel like giving out, each time he can feel the anxiety rise and bubble up from somewhere inside of him. Each time he sees the dead before his eyes, in the dark, and his throat clenches up in tears that he can’t let out… Eren scratches.
He scratches his arms. Sometimes legs. Sometimes he just scratches whatever patch of skin has been left bare – doesn’t matter if it’s the neck or back. He scratches until there is blood and then some more. It will all heal up anyway. No scars left, no wounds that would need to be hid later on. Only the blood under his fingernails stays, but that is easy to get rid of.
No one asks questions, since there is nothing to be asked about.
They are just scratches. Itches that don’t go away unless you take care of their roots that go deep into the skin. It’s painful, but it helps. Pain keeps the blackness away; it makes sure Eren can see what is in front of him.
Stone walls. Long and cold corridors, with the shadows from the fire dancing in the middle of the night. Green grass that stretches so far ahead behind the walls. The duty that he has been given. The trust. The hopes.
Eren scratches, his eyes locked on the dirty tips of his own boots. Expeditions, formations, rules that must be followed. He is expected to follow and obey, do his job without a hitch and prove that Survey Corps are right. That they are powerful, worthy of praise and funds and so much more.
They are the Wings of Freedom. They carry the hope of people on their shoulders. They cut away the monsters that children fear with blades sharp and strong.
The skin under Eren’s nails breaks and blood blooms on sun kissed skin. His whole arm is scratched raw, sensitive to the chill that roams these underground cells. Dark splotches of the liquid have landed on the stone floor; some are seeping into the white sheets of Eren’s bed. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t hide this if there was proof. Blood didn’t wash out easily – he knew from experience.
His skin heals, the scratches closing slowly and with steam rising from the blood and wounds. In his haste to hide, to make sure that nothing had ever happened, Eren doesn’t notice the last droplets of blood that still seep from the scratches and fall on the mattress, on his clothes. The red is a reminder of his weakness, lack of control.
Eren is a monster. Monsters should not bleed.
The white of the sheets is bundled up and made sure to hide the embarrassing red. Eren uses them to wipe the floor clean as well. Distorted and dirty smudges still stay on the rough stone, Eren leaves them – he can play those off as mud, dirt carried in after training and experiments.
“What are you doing?” the words are quiet; they bring shivers with them and make Eren freeze. Just a question. It’s just a question with a simple answer. Nothing more. Captain Levi was just here to check on him, to lock him in for the night.
Eren turns around, holds the sheets tighter and closer to his body – afraid that they could be taken from him. “Nothing, sir. Just—Just some laundry for tomorrow. Mud got on the... on the sheets.” He tries to avoid looking at his Captain – eyes were the mirrors of his soul.
Silence. Silence greeted the boy in return, deafening and tense. Captain Levi blinks once, twice before narrowing his eyes on the sheets clutched in Eren’s grasp, as if he was able to see past the lie and the slightly trembling arms. Perhaps he could. Eren was scared to find out.
Levi was quiet as he walked, his shoes not making a sound. “Show me.” An order. The pale, long and calloused fingers of his extended hand weren’t meant to hold something as dirty as Eren’s blood. The blood of a monster would only weight down on the wings that were on the Captain’s back.
Hero worship still. The Strongest, the true Hope.
“I said, show me. I will not repeat myself again, kid.” But still Captain Levi is patient. He waits, eyes frozen on Eren’s face and taking in every twitch and shiver and shaky breath that left past chapped lips. “Eren. Trust. Now…” He wasn’t going to pull the sheets out of Eren’s hands. No, that would only lead to hysterics and panic attacks and tears so hot they burned.
“Please…” Eren breathes in the cold and the fear; extends his arms and presents his shame, his habit to the one man he respected most. “Please, don’t—Don’t tell. I.. I couldn’t, I mean, I… Please.” His voice trembles and pitches up and down. Fear. Disgust. It itched so bad, he needed to scratch it all away again.
The sheets fall open. Shadows dance on the white and red in the candlelight. The fire illuminates the creases, the dirty patches where drops of blood landed and streaks of black from the ground. Eren is too aware of his Captain, too wound up to look away from the fingers that grip the sheets so tightly now.
He isn’t aware of it, but he scratches. He scratches atop the old and healed wounds. He can’t seem to breathe right, he can’t stop scratching.
Fear. Blackness. So much fear. Disgust – he’s disgusted in himself. Blood again. His fingers slip across the exposed skin and Eren whimpers softly, finally closes his eyes and digs nails into his own skin once more. He opens his eyes again; frantic and confused when his hands are pulled away and held tight. Warmth of another human seeps into his skin, makes it tingle with something strange and long forgotten.
“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. Stupid brat.” Captain Levi doesn’t look at the scratches on Eren’s arms. He doesn’t look at the wrists he is holding, wrists that seem so fragile and thin right now. He looks the tortured child in the eye – he’s calm and simply breathes, waiting for something.
Breathing is still hard for Eren. He struggles and stares back. His fingers curl and uncurl, grasping onto the air that escapes through the cracks. There are no words; he’s not capable of them right now. Just confusion and disgust and the need to scratch. But Captain Levi doesn’t let him. The man keeps Eren’s hands far away and held safely. He demands peace, he doesn’t ask for explanations.
Somehow, surely, Captain already knows the reasons. His eyes tell so.
“I’m afraid, so scared. It... It’s so hard, I can’t. I can’t stop, it just happens, I…”Eren’s voice dies and comes back to life again and again. He doesn’t know how to explain. He doesn’t know how to give words and meanings to his fears and needs and worries. All he knows is how to distract himself with blood that disappears soon, with wounds that heal and scratches that are long and sting. “Please… please. Please, don’t leave. It’s so cold and dark, I’m so alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Captain sighs and releases Eren’s hands once steam rises from the boy’s arms. With eyes closed the man takes a deep breath. Could words even help? No. Not in this case, not when Eren was so lost. “You’ve been strong. Too strong for someone this young.” He says instead of offering fake solutions and lies about things getting better. “Eren, it’s ok to cry. It’s ok to seek comfort when you need it.”
Levi offers acceptance. Eren takes it, claws at it like a man thirsting for water. His fingers curl into fists as they grasp at the back of his Captain’s shirt, the strong chest under his cheeks keeping him grounded and afloat as the tears fall and choked sobs are swallowed. A hand slides through his hair – that is the only thing that Levi does. He doesn’t talk. Just breathes and accepts everything that Eren is willing to give.
He still needs to scratch. Perhaps the need is dulled just a bit, but it’s there. Watching and waiting for a moment of weakness. It waits for when it hurts the most, when it’s too much all over again and there is no one around to see and stop it. A demon. A sickness of sorts. Addiction.
Slowly, Eren starts to scratch the back of his hand again, with one finger and not strong enough to actually do anything. Captain Levi notices and pushed the boy away from himself, once more holding the thin wrists in his hold. There is pain and worry in the dark grey of the man’s eyes. But he still doesn’t talk, doesn’t scold and blame. He conveys more with look and silence.
“I’m here.” Levi finally says and releases Eren’s wrists, only to place his palms on top of Eren’s and holds onto them carefully. “Take your time. Decide for yourself when you need me. But… Don’t be afraid, I won’t tell. I’ll just accept you, everything. Deal, kid?” He says nothing about fixing, nothing about forcing Eren to stop.
There is nothing to fix, Captain Levi says. You are not broken, he repeats with his eyes.
“…thank you. Captain, thank you.” It freeing, this feeling. Eren looks down on the scarred hands on top of his own and smiles, just a little. His eyes hurt and his cheeks are red and splotchy and wet – he’s crying still. But it’s different. He feels lighter, less alone. Less scared.
Levi’s fingers twitch and grasp onto Eren’s hands a bit tighter. When he speaks his words are quiet, but carry a conviction that settles and roots itself deep into the younger soldier, “Monster don’t bleed, Eren. You are no monster, because you bleed.”