Archive of Our Own

Eren hated sleeping, and it was largely due to nightmares.

“Another?” Carla asked worryingly. 

The brunet yawned, nodding slowly before resting his head atop the table. Dark bags were prominent under his eyes, and it was obvious that he didn’t get much sleep.

At the sound of Eren’s head colliding with the table, Grisha looked up from his newspaper and observed his son’s behavior, but the brunet remained motionless, fast asleep; his chest rising in a slow rhythm. His hair was messy, obscuring much of his face, but Grisha thought that it was no doubt peaceful. 

Carla turned to Grisha, concern evident in her voice as she spoke. “I’m worried, dear. He doesn’t want to sleep and he’s always grumpy.”

Grisha nodded. “I fear any more would affect his health,” he said wearily.

It was a good thing that as Eren got older, the nightmares became less frequent, allowing him some leeway in his sleeping schedule. But it wasn’t much better as he still suffered from the same dream at least twice a week. Just not as often.

“Dogs?” Grisha repeated.

Eren shivered at the name but nodded mutely. His eyes darted over to the window before drifting back to his dad, who looked at him with intrigue. 

“You’ve never seen them before,” Grisha stated confusedly. “Why are you scared of them?”

Eren shook his head. “I have!” He argued, then in a much quieter tone, he added, “In my dreams.”

“Are you sure?” Carla asked.

Eren huffed quietly as his mom tucked him into his bed. “I’ll be fine,” he reassured, and at her dubious look, he said, “Really.”

Carla bit her lip, seemingly wanting to say something, but she only nodded. 

“If you’re so sure…” she trailed off precariously. Kissing Eren’s forehead, she took one last gander before leaving his room, quietly closing the door behind her.

‘I’m scared.’ He thought, taking in the slight tremble his body unconsciously began. He traced his left arm, praying that tonight would be free of nightmares.

‘I’m so scared,’ was the last thing he thought before letting his eyes flutter close.

His dream began like this.

He was being comforted by a man in a navy-blue uniform. He comforted him with kind words and soothing whispers, but never touched him in any way. As he cried—his voice much more high and delicate than in real life—he could sense himself feeling warmth, apprehension, and a tinge of… fear.

“Don’t you watch for a bit?” The man suggested kindly.

He knew there was something suspicious about the man’s too-kind expression after watching the events over and over, but there was nothing he could change, even after the other men came.

When the other men came, each one holding a single large dog, the pudgy man in the navy-blue uniform’s expression changed; though smiling, the grin was less friendly and more malicious. 

“Do we really need six dogs for a single Eldian?” One of the men complained.

“Yes, Weber,” the pudgy man stressed, annoyed. He suddenly turned, and his smile was kind again, however, he was apprehensive. “Of course, the more the merrier.”

“What?” He whispered fearfully. He stammered for a few moments before finally settling on a choked, “Why?”

“Why?” The pudgy man repeated over the other’s boisterous laughs. “Because it’s funny.”

He could feel himself be shocked. “You said!” He cried out.

“I did,” the man agreed, nodding. “But adults lie all the time. And all I did was the same.” 

He brought up one hand to his mouth and whistled sharply, and immediately, the other men released their hold on the dogs. The animals sniffed and their ears twitched, slowly nearing him before stopping, waiting for their command. And it came.

The pudgy man only said one word, but it sufficed. 

“Attack.”

The dogs were already near, sniffing him, and by the time he spoke, they wasted no time in sinking their sharp teeth into him. 

He could hear himself scream as the dogs used him as their chew toy, biting and yanking everywhere they could touch, and it wasn’t long before he shot awake, his throat hoarse from screaming, and sweat pouring down his face profusely. He panicked when he couldn’t feel his left arm and quickly pulled up his sleeve, half-lucid as he stared at his unmarked arm before sighing in relief. Still, the unblemished sight didn’t stop him from slowly vertically raking his arms, strong enough for pinkish marks to be left in their wake.

Eren let out a soft whimper.

He didn’t like dogs.

Eren had only mentioned the word once in front of his dad, but even if it had only been once, it was enough.

“What does ‘Eldian’, mean?”

Grisha inhaled sharply, tensing as his eyes darting over to Eren suspiciously. The paper in his hands crinkled with the amount of pressure he exerted upon it, and his arms trembled; ceaselessly shaking vigorously.

“W-where did you hear that?”

But that was all he had said, choosing to remain tight-lipped no matter how much Eren tried. 

Armin learned of Eren’s fear of dogs not long after the beginning of their tentative friendship. The two had been idly walking through the streets, Eren accompanying Armin back to his house when one of the blond’s bullies deliberately released their dogs from his leash in an attempt to scare the two.

The dog was rather large, its fur matted and greyed, and as it growled threateningly at the two children, saliva dripped to the ground and its beaded eyes darted from Armin to Eren.

Eren immediately paled and let out a sharp yelp, falling to the ground in surprise. 

Armin jolted at the sudden movement. “Eren! It’s okay—It’s okay, Eren!”

The brunet whimpered. “I don’t like dogs,” he said weakly. Gladly taking Armin’s hand, he shakily stood up and immediately scurried behind the shorter male.

“It’s just a dog,” Armin reassured as they walked away. “It won’t bite us.”

Eren bit his lip, clearly not believing in Armin’s statement. However, he gripped the other’s sleeve tightly and walked behind him.

Afterward, Armin asked, “Are you okay?”

The brunet nodded shakily. “I… I just don’t like them.”

Armin bit his lip. “But…” he began. “Aren’t there dogs, well, everywhere?”

“Everyone knows that I don’t like them,” Eren answered. “So I don’t see them.” He then tilted his head upwards to stare straight at Armin, all traces of previous fear gone, leaving the Eren the blond was familiar with.

“Can we do something else?” He asked.

Armin nodded, but not before saying, “I’d wish you told me earlier. That way, I could protect you.” 

Eren blinked. “You?” He said disbelievingly. 

Armin nodded, suddenly unsure of himself. Did Eren not think so? “Yes?”

He closed his eyes, anticipating the mocking words that were soon to come, however they never arrived. When he tentatively opened one eye, he found himself blinking at the genuine smile that graced the brunet’s lips.

“Thank you,” he said, a soft blush dusting over his cheeks. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, and said, “Now, can we please do something else?”

Eren had his first fistfight when he was seven years old. He had been headed to Armin’s house with a book on anatomy in one hand when he spotted a familiar blond head near the bridge. Only, the head was on the ground with several large kids surrounding it, all laughing as they lifted their feet to step on his friend.

The scenery reminded him of his nightmare; the figure on the ground, staring fearfully up at the predators, and immediately, Eren shot out to kick one of them in the side, blazing hot anger engulfing him enough to strengthen him with adrenaline.

Armin coughed, opening one eye when the rain of kicks suddenly stopped. 

“Eren?” He said hesitantly before flinching at the sheer hatred that radiated off the brunet.

“Oi,” Eren spat. “What are you doing?”

“Oh?” One of them said maliciously, cocking an eyebrow. “The little boy wants to join the fight?”

Eren scoffed. “As if,” he retorted. And he swiftly punched the closest boy in the face.

It immediately turned into a fistfight, Armin long forgotten as Eren bit, punched, and kicked each boy in the most sensitive places, leaving most of the boys retreating in defeat. However, Eren wasn’t unscathed either. Bruises bloomed on his face, and there was a particularly deep cut on his cheekbone. When Armin’s gaze drifted downwards, he gasped when he saw the blood staining Eren’s light-green shirt.

“You’re bleeding!” Armin cried fearfully, his hands hovering over Eren. “We need to go to the doctors!” 

Eren wiped the blood off with his sleeve and shook his head. 

“Don’t need to,” he muttered.

Armin sucked in a breath. “Eren, I know you can’t see it, but that cut looks horrible!”

“I can just go to Dad,” Eren said dismissively.

Armin paused before relenting. 

“Fine,” he reluctantly agreed. “But I’m coming too.”

He helped his friend up—who stood up rather weakly on his feet—and followed him to his house. The two soon arrived, and Armin marveled at how large Eren’s house was. It was two-stories, beautifully built, and well-cared. 

“Eren!”

Armin turned, stilling when he spotted the woman—who looked remarkably like his friend—rushing towards him frantically, worry evident on her face as she traced the bruise on Eren’s cheek.

“What happened?” She cried out.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Eren reassured, shaking his head. He paused for a brief moment as if to recollect his thoughts before admitting, “I got into a fight.”

“A fight?” Eren’s mom gasped. Her head swiveled over to Armin, and he tried to not flinch at the sudden stare. Finally, she asked, “What happened?”

Eren pointed at Armin, resulting in him jolting up in fright. He brought Armin’s bruised arm up for his mom to see. 

“He was getting beat up,” he stated.

Armin watched the two banter, his sudden realization that Eren had never been in a fight heavier than it should be.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you afraid of… you know, them?” Armin said, making sure to not say the word, ‘dog’.

He continued when Eren said nothing. “You’ve been scratching your arm awfully often, and… it scares me,” he admitted.

Eren stilled, his head darting over to Armin for a fleeting glance before turning back to his covered arm.

“I have dreams,” he confessed softly, as if fearful that anyone else would hear him. “Of… them,” he emphasized, and at Armin’s nod, he continued, “Of… of them attacking me. They bite, you know? And it’s always the same,” there was a bitter tone in his voice as he spoke. “They chew me apart, and I wake up just as they bite my arm off,” he unconsciously began to scratch the uncovered part of his wrist. It was quickly stopped, however, by Armin’s hand.

“Don’t,” Armin said. “Don’t scratch it.”

“Oh,” Eren said, pulling his arm away. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I… I didn’t realize.”

Armin remained quiet for a few seconds. “It’s… it’s okay,” he finally said. “Anyways, about the outside world…”

When Armin finally asked Eren why he scratched his arm, he and Eren were no longer alone. Mikasa had joined them not long ago with the all-too-familiar scarf that Eren had often worn and became Eren’s ‘shadow’. At the moment, the girl sat on Eren’s right while Armin sat on his left, and a book was in his lap as he stared intently at Eren’s right hand that unconscious crept towards his left.

“Why do you scratch your arm?” Armin asked.

Eren froze. “What?” He froze, his hands stopping mid-movement. 

“You always scratch your arm—see,” Armin stated, pointing at his hands. “But you never said why.”

Mikasa pulled her scarf up to hide the bottom part of her face, but Armin saw the concern in her eyes.

“It’s a bad habit,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the scarf.

Eren’s temper briefly flared. “I know,” he snapped, but he immediately sobered, regretting his actions only seconds after. “Sorry,” he apologized. 

“Mn,” Mikasa grunted.

Eren nodded. “It is. A bad habit, I mean,” he admitted. Turning to Armin, he said, “S’not like I do it on purpose. Sometimes, it happens while I’m sleeping. But…” he trailed off.

Armin cocked his head to the side. 

“But?” He echoed, urging his friend to continue.

Eren swallowed nervously. “But sometimes, I can’t feel it, even though it’s there. So…” he automatically raked his nails over his left arm, leaving pink trails over several scabs. Armin could see the slight scarring that marred his arm. “It reassures me,” he muttered. “Tells me that I still have it.”

Mikasa’s arm immediately shot out to grab Eren’s, her gaze intense as she took in his scarred hand.

“Don’t,” she finally said quietly.

Armin nodded. “If you need reassurance, tell us,” he pleaded. He took Eren’s left hand and gently intertwined it with a soft smile. “We can hold your hand, and you won’t need to scratch yourself.”

Eren turned to Mikasa, who brought up her intertwined hands as Armin had done so. 

“We’re here,” Mikasa promised.

“What are you doing?” Mikasa asked curiously.

“Sewing,” answered Eren distractedly. He pulled the needle out of one end and tied a knot before smiling at his work. “For Armin,” he added.

Mikasa saw that. She recognized the familiar blue coat that Armin always wore; ratty, worn, and ripped in several places, but now? It looked good as new. The dirt was cleaned out immaculately, and the torn places were deftly sewn until the stitches were unrecognizable. 

“You like sewing?” Mikasa asked, surprised.

Eren hummed, surveying his work expertly. “Mom was happy enough to teach me.”

That was half the truth, however. In reality, Eren had asked (re begged) his mom to teach him how to sew, and his mom, the kind and loving parent she was, instantly agreed, albeit the initial bewilderment she showed at his interest. But that wasn’t his fault!

Eren could recall foreign memories of him, much younger, and more like the person in his dreams, who stubbornly tried to copy a kind, yet weary-looking woman in her sewing techniques, and he didn’t know if that memory was what fueled him to learn or if he was always interested, but he didn’t mind.  

After the fall of Shiganshina, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were all taken to the fields, and boy , was the landowner a despicable person. 

“One day, I’m going to kill him,” Eren promised. “I’ll kill him, and it’ll be painful enough for him to remember.”

“How can the dead remember?” Mikasa asked curiously. 

Eren shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “But I’ll make him remember.”

Armin sighed, but he did nothing but hold Eren’s right hand, gripping it comfortingly. He had noticed Eren unconsciously reach for his left hand and immediately went to grab it, intertwining it to soothe his friend. 

“Just don’t get caught,” was what Armin finally settled with when he heard Eren plan Wagner’s death. “And please, no more scars.”

“S’not like I get any these days, anyways.”

Armin let out a deliberate huff. “Still,” he stressed. “Doesn’t matter if you’re humanity’s strongest or a Titan, just don’t get any more scars. Please,” he added. 

Eren scrunched up his nose. “Ew… and Armin, Titans don’t scar.”

Armin wanted to throw something at his face, so he shoved some sheets into Eren’s face instead. 

The dreams had continued, steadily, and mercilessly, but at least Eren had Mikasa and Armin (and his superhuman healing powers but he wisely ignored that fact). 

However, he did notice one thing about the dreams. The older he got, the longer they became. No longer did the dreams begin with his tears and the man’s comforting words, but instead, the large hand that slowly led him away, but from where? He didn’t know, but he was certain that he would soon find out. 

Eren didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t. He just silently sewed Armin’s ripped shirt and began his rigorous cleaning schedule to make their room sparkling clean.

“You’re from Shiganshina?” Connie asked excitedly. 

“Holy shit,” Floch gasped, “Really?”

Eren let out a large sigh and turned away from the hyper boys, choosing to stare at the ceiling through his curtain of hair instead. His lengthened hair—which curled gently around his cheeks—was a comforting weight that reminded him of him—her?—in his dreams. 

He turned to Armin and mouthed, ‘Please help me’ with a pleading expression. 

Armin covered his mouth with a hand to hide his smile and Eren glared at him when he pointed at Connie and the other boys in a gesture to keep talking.

“Fine,” Eren muttered before turning back to the anticipating boys. “Yes, I’m from Shiganshina. And?” 

Floch whistles slowly. “Whoa,” he said, his eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Does that mean you saw…” he lowered his voice. “The Colossal?”

Eren was fourteen when he saw him.

The dream began by the riverbanks, but this time, he stood beside an all too familiar, yet unfamiliar figure. The young boy, who stood a solid head taller than him wore an oversized green jacket, worn from use. And while he couldn’t point out where exactly he had seen the boy before, he knew that it was someone important.

The figure beside him—his brother, his mind supplied—bit his lip worryingly as he held his hand in a comforting manner. The boy’s eyes darted over to the two men sleeping on the grass before sparkling in delight at seeing the large airship. 

The airship was round, white, and still in construction when they saw it, but it seemed to be mostly complete. However, before the two would watch any further, the two men who were previously lounging on the grass had woken up, one of them revealing to be the pudgy man.

The pudgy man remained behind the taller man—Kruger, he had called him—and watched with a look of disdain on his face as Kruger straightened his cap before asking for a slip.

He was going to die.

“Grisha!” He cried out.

“Faye, it’s okay,” His brother—Grisha—assured shakily.

Kruger watched with an indiscernible look, before raising his knee to gut his brother. Harshly. 

The rest of the dream went as normal. He was comforted by the pudgy man in the navy-blue uniform as he cried, wisely keeping his head forward in an attempt to ignore his brother’s pained cries, and the dogs soon arrived, and the pain resumed, biting and clawing, gouging parts of his body out before he woke up.

‘I can’t feel it.’ Eren thought. He began to panic, his short nails scratching harshly at his arm ‘I can’t feel it!’ 

He pulled out his left hand and stared at his arm with fear. He couldn’t feel anything. But he could see the long vertical scratches that oozed with blood, staining his sleeve in an ugly red color.

“Eren, another nightmare?” Armin asked the next morning, his eyes drifting towards Eren’s bandaged arm.

Eren looked away, ashamed. “‘M sorry,” he apologized. 

Armin’s face softened. He took Eren’s bandaged arm and gently held it, tears springing up in his eyes.

‘I was there,’ Armin thought wetly. ‘I was there and I never noticed.’

“What? You don’t like dogs?” Jean asked repeatedly. He scoffed loudly. “Weak,” he muttered.

“Jean, you really—”

“Say that again, Horseface!” Eren snapped angrily. “I dare you!”

Jean smirked maliciously. “Gladly. You don’t like dogs?”

Eren repressed his urge to shiver and glared at the taller boy instead.

“Yeah,” he tried to say strongly. “So what?”

“Guys!” Armin interjected forcefully. He turned to Eren. “Eren, please calm down,” and then to Jean, “And Jean, you really shouldn’t make fun of people for their fears.”

“I agree,” Reiner nodded, crossing his arm at Jean. “You two should calm down. There really is no need to fight.”

“H-hey,” Jean stammered. “Look, I’m really sorry for making fun of your fear of dogs.”

Eren looked away. “S’not like I care,” he muttered. And at Armin’s elbow that was aimed at his side, he coughed and said, “Thank you.”

Armin smiled, clapping his hands together loudly. “Now! Since we’ve all apologized and all, why don’t we go to bed?”

Bandits. 

Fucking bandits with dogs.

Eren let out a large shriek of fright before collapsing to the ground, desperate to get away from the animals. The dogs looked identical to the ones in his dream, and they looked no less friendly. Maybe even more hostile. 

The bandits laughed at his fear and urged their dogs to come closer. At the same time, they aimed their rifles at the other cadets, making sure to keep them in place. Even with the mask, it was obvious that they were enjoying watching Eren turn ashen in fear, shaking and desperate to escape, even as the animals surrounded him.

“Scared like a little girl!” One of the bandits laughed, the others following boisterously.

“Are you okay, Eren?” Jean asked awkwardly after the bandits had left. 

Eren dusted off the dirt from his pants and nodded mutely. His pallor hadn’t changed since the dogs had appeared, and his mouth was pursed in a thin line as he stood up with the help of Armin, who gently held the brunet’s left hand even after he had stood up.

‘I feel like an ass,’ Jean thought, his mind drifting back to the time he had mocked Eren for his fear. It was obvious that the brunet was scared, and he felt awful that he took enjoyment in Eren’s fear of dogs at the time. 

“Did the bandits even take our first-aid kit?” Armin asked.

Connie shrugged, but Sasha shook her head. She reached into her pocket and took out a single cotton gauze, holding it out for Armin to take.

“Thank you,” Armin said gratefully. He turned to Eren and held out a hand. “Eren,” he said gently. “Can I see?”

The other cadets watched with curiosity as Eren, despite reluctantly, pulled up his sleeve. However, their curiosity quickly morphed into shock as they noticed the deep vertical marks lining his wrist, bleeding profusely. Strange enough, Armin only looked sad as he silently wrapped Eren’s wrist with care.

“I’m sorry,” Armin apologized after he finished, glancing at the cadets. “I know you didn’t want them to know…” he trailed off. 

“I didn’t,” Eren said, and Armin flinched at his emotionless tone, but then the brunet quickly added, “But it’s my fault anyway. They would've eventually found out."

Everything went downhill after Eren joined the Survey Corps. There was no Armin or Mikasa to comfort him; only Levi Squad, who watched him with bated breaths and suspicious eyes. All in all, it was nerve-wracking. 

The only thing Eren could find himself remotely enjoying was cleaning. Yes, Corporal Levi was extremely strict when it came to his cleaning standards, but he knew that he was just as bad. Grisha hadn’t slacked off in teaching him proper hygiene, and despite his standards lowering after living with several boys for a few years, he knew that his was ridiculously high.

“A little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Petra said nonchalantly. “It’s a lot at first, but you’ll get used to it soon.” She gestured towards Levi.

Eren shook his head, smiling slightly. “It’s comforting,” he said, and at Petra’s confused look, he added, “My dad was a doctor, so he had similar standards.”

Petra nodded, understanding. Then, she asked, “Tell me, what do you like?”

“Huh?”

“What do you like to do? Other than training?” She clarified.

“Oh!” Eren paused to think of his answer. “I… I like to draw. And sometimes sew.”

Petra’s eyes lit up. “You like to draw?” She repeated. 

Eren nodded.

“I like to draw too!” She exclaimed happily. Then, with a sadder tone, “But Emily was better than me.”

“Emily?”

Petra suddenly jolted up. “Oh!” She shook her head frantically. “Forget what I said!” She looked away and then added, “Eld doesn’t really like it when people talk about her.”

“Oh…” Eren trailed off unsurely.

Petra nodded. “Come on, I’m sure Corporal Levi would get angry if we don’t start.”

Eren found no one he could get comfort from in the Survey Corps, especially when he resided in the basement, chained. Every day, he would avoid the other squad members’ suspicious looks as he silently retreated into his bedroom, hoping that there would be no nightmares. However, fate seemed to think otherwise.

“Eren, are you okay?” Asked Petra worryingly. 

Eren nodded sleepily, blinking several times before answering. “Yes. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

“The basement is very cold,” Petra admitted. She turned to Eren. “Do you have enough sheets?”

“I think so,” he took a drink from his cup, welcoming the burning heat running down his throat.

Suddenly, the door opened, the walls rattling as Hange strode in confidently, grinning as if they just won the lottery.

“Eren!” They exclaimed. “Are you excited? I’m excited! We’re going to have so much fun today!”

“Squad leader Hange,” Eren greeted sleepily.

Hange waved a hand dismissively. “Just Hange is fine!” They blinked at the lack of enthusiasm. “What’s wrong? Did Levi suck all the energy from you?”

“Oi, I’m right here.”

Hange smiled. “Then what’s wrong? Did Levi torture you? Did he beat you up?”

“Shitty glasses, I swear, if you—”

“Probably not,” Hange interrupted, still ignoring Levi behind them. “I know he’s not that mean,” they paused. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Then they said, “Actually, I think he is.”

Shit.

Eren stared at his partially transformed body in shock, and a hint of fear as the rest of Levi Squad surrounded him with blades in both hands.

It was scary.

They were friendly just minutes ago, and now… they glared at him with a look that clearly meant that they didn’t believe him.

It hurt.

That day, Eren learned how to partially heal his body. He remembered ever so clearly thinking, ‘please, don’t heal’ towards his scarred left arm, and it just… didn’t. But it still had a lot of work to do, which was why he was in this predicament.

“How can we trust you?” Petra yelled frantically.

“For what reason did you transform?” Eld demanded. When Eren didn’t speak, he added, “Answer me!”

It hurt more than it should. More than the fights in the streets, and more than his nightmares that these people, whom he spent days with, turned their back against him with the simplest provocation that he didn’t even do on purpose. 

Afterward, Hange discussed their theories on Eren’s partial transformation.

“An intent,” they explained, holding up a teaspoon for everyone to see. Turning to Eren, they asked, “What do you think?”

Eren rubbed his left hand, tracing the old scars. ‘It’s the most reasonable,’ he thought. He had never transformed, even after scratching his arm until it was raw, and that could simply be explained as intent. He never wanted to transform, so he never did. Simple.

“It’s very… logical,” Eren finally answered.

Hange nodded. “Did you ever have a similar incident like this? Or is this the first time?” They asked.

Eren shook his head. “I’ve never had something like this happen,” he admitted. “And I’ve been injured quite a bit,” he gripped his left arm. “But nothing of this sort.”

Hange hummed, however, their eyes remained on Eren’s arm, catching his movements. 

“That’s all,” they said. “You guys can leave… but Levi, Eren, please stay.”

Despite the other members of Levi Squad raising their concerns, they eventually relented and left the room, but not without glancing curiously at Eren. After their departure, Hange relaxed and stared at Eren.

“Eren,” they began, “Why so nervous?”

Eren jolted up and Levi let out a snort. “Huh?”

“Are you, by any chance… hiding an injury?” Hange asked calmly. They continued, “You’ve been injured before, and never transformed—which is easily explained by intent and perhaps even knowledge,” they paused before resuming, “But it doesn’t explain your nervousness.”

Levi, catching on to what Hange was saying, suddenly grabbed Eren’s arm and pulled the sleeves up. His eyes widened.

“You…” he trailed off, staring at his arm.

Eren had been scratching his arm endlessly since arriving at headquarters, and it was obvious that he was unconsciously picking at it just moments ago if the fresh blood was anything to go by. The cuts, which were jagged and uneven, inflicted by Eren’s own nails, were long, vertical, and bleeding. 

“You’re lucky you’re a Titan,” Levi spat, but his grip on Eren’s arm hadn’t loosened. “I can’t believe…”

Hange recomposed themselves, coughing before saying, “I admit I was surprised despite being the one to voice my theory. But why?”

Eren didn’t speak, looking down at his boots feeling absolutely shameful as Levi inspected his arm.

“Do your friends have any idea of what you’re doing?” Levi asked. 

Eren looked away. “Yes,” he answered quietly.

Levi sucked in a breath. “And they know?” He demanded. “And they’re letting you?”

“No!” Eren denied. “It’s just…”

“Just?” Hange echoed.

Eren swallowed. “Armin and Mikasa always held my hand,” he admitted. “But since they’re not here…” He trailed off uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

Eren had eventually told Hange and Levi of his dreams. But that was after the decimation of Levi Squad and after Reiner and Bertolt’s betrayal. 

“I have dreams,” Eren suddenly said. “Of dogs. And my death.”

“Of the future?” Hange asked. 

Eren shook his head. “Of something else.”

He proceeded to explain the world in his dreams. From the moving metal transportations—cars—to the flying airships, he made sure to talk about it in extreme detail. He was in the middle of explaining the social structure, and the discrimination against a certain race when he was suddenly hit with the realization.

“Devils,” he whispered.

Levi looked up, speaking for the first time. “Devils?” He repeated.

Eren nodded. “Reiner and Bertolt called us the devils. And in that world, Eldians are called… the Devils.”

“The Devil’s spawn,” Hange breathed. “Eren, this… that place could be where they; Reiner, Bertolt, and Annie came from!”

Levi scoffed. “It’s his dreams,” he reminded Hange.

But Hange wasn’t deterred. “Levi!” They began. “Eren has strange dreams all the time—and this one, this one explains so much! Grisha Yeager, who mysteriously disappeared after handing Eren the key to the basement, Grisha, the boy whose sister was killed by an official, and the motivations of the three!”

“Four,” Levi added. He glared at the wall. “That ape.”

Hange nodded vigorously, however, they suddenly paused. “But why now?”

Why not then? Why not later? Why now, after Grisha’s arrival?

“I’m not the good Krista you all know.”

‘And that’s perfectly fine,’ Eren thought. He wanted to say so much more, so much, but he couldn’t get them to verbalize. So instead, he said, “You should be yourself and be selfish.”

Historia huffed. “How about you?” 

“Huh?”

Historia gave a light smile. “You should also be yourself. People with masks know each other the best,” she added with a hint of bitterness.

Eren looked away. “It’s not that easy,” he argued softly.

Historia raised an eyebrow. “How?” She asked. “How is it different from my mask and yours?” She turned to face Eren. “You’ve always hidden the stuff you like, and you’re always lying, but everyone just chooses to ignore that you’re hiding things because that’s not what they want to see.”

Eren snorted. “They want to see a one-dimensional, brash, hot-headed guy—”

“Which you are,” Historia added.

“—but nothing in-between,” Eren finished. He turned to stare at Historia. “It’s the same, but a little different, because what they see is also me. But what I’m hiding is also me.”

Historia frowned. “And you told me to be selfish,” she muttered.

“This is not a drawing,” Hange read. “But a photograph. Eren, I have had my suspicions for a while, but after you told me of your nightmare, I was sure that you had seen my sister’s death.”

Eren stilled, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Hange continued to read.

Grisha Yeager was born in Liberio’s internment zone, and his sister was born not long after. One day, the two went out—without a slip—and were caught by Marleyan officers. One of them beat him up. And the other… 

Led his sister to his death.

“The next day, Faye was found by the river, attacked by dogs, dead,” Hange paused to look at Eren with an indiscernible look. “You… you have her memories, don’t you?”

Eren shrugged. “I’ve barely seen anything,” he said truthfully. “Only her death and other glimpses.”

“As a bystander?” Hange asked, before pausing. “No,” they answered themselves. “You said that you were the one being attacked by dogs.”

Eren didn’t answer, and he was glad when Hange chose to continue reading. The rest of the letter continued to prattle on Grisha’s life leading up to his discovery that the man who beat him up all those years ago, was in fact, the Owl.

Armin suddenly gasped, trembling with excitement. “You’re Faye,” he breathed. “You’re Faye!”

Eren shook his head. “I just inherited her memories. Just like I inherited my Dad’s and… Frieda’s.” Her name got stuck in his throat for some reason when he tried to say it.

But Armin shook his head. “No,” he emphasized. “All those memories were just… memories with a point of view! Can’t you see, Eren, you’ve never felt anything they felt in your memories!” His voice rose as he spoke. “You are Faye. But you’re also Eren,” he suddenly stopped.

“Sorry,” he apologized quietly.

“He has a point, though,” Levi said. He turned to Eren. “You have no reason to have her memories because she died when she was a child. She was never a Titan. But you do, and that’s the only explanation.”

Eren paused. “But why me?” He asked. 

By the time Eren was 19, he had long since accepted what Armin said to be true.

Faye is Eren…

And Eren is Faye.