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When Eren wakes up, it is by the sound of the wind, the birds high above in the sky, and the soft rustle of grass beneath him. The afternoon sun comfortably washes him with warmth, his senses tingling in a pleasant manner. But none of that makes any sense because… he died. Or at least, he thinks he did.
Is this the afterlife? Is this hell, the place he anticipated to arrive after his inevitable demise?
But that can’t be, he thinks. Hell isn’t supposed to be nice. It’s supposed to be purgatory. Punishment for the sinners. And he… he is a sinner. He committed genocide, killed children and adults alike, indiscriminate in his killings. He tried to wipe out the world and flatten it, just to save his people--his friends. The world wasn’t going to stop for them, he remembers thinking. It was never going to forget, and it was unlikely for them to forgive. So he took the mantle and transformed into a devil.
Eren opens his eyes. There was no use thinking, he tells himself as he slowly sits up. The tree trunk is coarse behind him, jagged edges digging into his back. The wind blows past him at that moment, the grass rustling softly.
This scenery is familiar, he thinks. What was once an oppressive existence was now something of a comfort. The tall wall that stands high up in the sky is still there. The ever-so familiar gates from afar are open and he can see people walking in and out. He turns his head, tilting it downwards to stare at the flower patch in front of him.
How beautiful, he marvels as he reaches out to grab one. It was a purple flower. A bellflower, if he recalls correctly. The corner of his lips does not curve upwards, even if he wants them to. His mouth stays in a thin line, unwilling to move even a millimeter as he gently holds the plant in his hands.
He has no doubts that this is the past. But when--
“Eren.”
Eren turns his head, inhaling sharply as his eyes land on the figure, only meters away. Standing with a sack hanging from one shoulder, dark ebony hair drifts in the wind. Her skirt flutters in the air, in the same direction as her scarf. The red scarf.
“... Mikasa,” he whispers. He can’t help but pause, a little surprised at how high his voice is. His throat goes dry as he tries to speak. “Where… where am I?”
Mikasa’s brows furrow and her eyes narrow, her gaze never leaving his face. Then, she stares at him, looking rather exasperated and unimpressed. Without looking back at him, she turns away and asks, “Were you really so sound asleep that you were still dreaming when you woke up?” She walks away, adjusting the straps to better hold the firewood. But then she turns around. “Eren?”
Eren pauses midstep, still holding the half-filled satchel of firewood. Not as much as Mikasa, he notes. He tilts his head and stares back at Mikasa, who stands, frozen in her place.
“Why… are you crying?”
“... huh?” He touches his cheeks, half-surprised when he feels the wetness stick to his fingers. A stray tear slides down, falling into his mouth. It is salty… but it also tastes bitter.
Why… he wondered.
The year is 845, he later discovers as he walks through the streets. He feels lethargic and much too aware of his surroundings at the same time. His eyes keep drooping and he struggles to stay awake, and at the same time, he could hear every conversation.
It is weird, he thinks, when he hears the familiar Shiganshina dialect. It has been too long and he forgot that he was once surrounded by it. After working in the military for so long, exposed to not only other dialects but Marleyan accents as well, he slowly began to forget about the little things of the past.
“You’re… you’re not going?”
Eren blinks out of his thoughts. “Huh?” He mutters unintelligently.
Mikasa stares at Eren for a few more seconds before turning away. “Nothing,” she murmurs quietly. She grabs his hand, pulling it out of his pocket. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
He lets himself be dragged through the crowds of people who line up the street. Distantly, he wonders what was going on. If he remembers correctly, there was nothing on this day, except--
Oh.
The Survey Corps’ expedition.
He spots the battered horses, and then the battered soldiers. They all ride into the streets with solemnity, silent as the townsfolk begin to talk. Nothing positive, he thinks. He remembers the Survey Corps’ reputation; down in the mud, hated. A waste of money. A useless branch.
He realizes that Mikasa’s stare was because he didn’t react to the bells tolling. Too deep in his thoughts to even realize… too immersed in what is soon to happen to even try to act in character. That isn’t good. But then he remembers his behaviors in the past and winces. Did he really… really have to act like that?
Tweaking is going to be necessary, he thinks. If he wants to have a somewhat convincing act, he has to change some things about his character. He can only act like a naive child for so long, and he already knows that with how he’s acting now , the possibility of his friends realizing he’s not the Eren Yeager they know and remember seems closer than ever.
But still. Still , he shudders to think about his past self. Irrational, anger-driven… it’s only because he’s already an adult that he realizes that… ouch . No wonder he was given the label of ‘suicidal idiot’.
His mom is alive, he realizes belatedly. Of course. Of course , she’s alive. He’s in the past, after all, but the immediate pang in his heart as his eyes land on her says otherwise. She’s there, standing by the sink as she cleans the dishes, not dead. Not bent into two. Not bitten in half. He stares at her for a few moments, before moving away. It is only now, after growing up once, that he notices. His resemblance to his mom is almost uncanny. It makes sense, thinks. Zeke once told him that he looked nothing like his father. And before Shiganshina fell, he recalls a lot of people mentioning his alikeness with his mom. Not that he ever had a second thought about it.
His dad is there too, he notices. Sipping a cup of tea as he reads from a book, he looks to be the epitome of idleness. As if he doesn’t have a whole fucking mission sitting atop his head. Anger surges through him as the memories come flooding back, albeit only temporarily. It was his fault, he thinks bitterly. It was his dad’s fault for running out of the internment camp that day. For forsaking his mission for family.
‘You started this story, didn’t you?’ he remembers asking him. Eren Kruger said the same thing. This is the story he started--the story he should end. Because if he never left the walls that day… everything would have gone differently. He knows. He saw the effects of Faye’s death on his dad.
Perhaps if that never happened, Eren wouldn’t be born. And neither would Zeke. Both were byproducts of his affiliation with the Eldian Restorationists, so it made sense. If they never existed. But sometimes… he finds himself wondering.
He remembers the cool, sweet taste of ice cream, the frozen delight melting on his tongue as he ate it. He remembers Zeke, who spoke to him in all honesty, trusting him, and caring for him (which he later betrayed). And every time this happens, he finds himself wondering; what would it be like, to grow up with Zeke?
A Warrior Candidate, no doubt.
He shakes his head, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind. He’ll do things differently, this time, he tells himself. Little by little, incident by incident, he’s going to choose better choices and change the future. But first of all… he turned to his mom.
He’s going to try to stop her death.
Easy enough, he thinks, as he slowly walks up to his mom. He sees her cleaning the dishes, wiping them dry with a clean white cloth. She doesn’t seem to notice him right behind her, but he knows Mikasa does. She stares at him, her dark eyes boring into his back as they watch his every move.
He outstretches his shaky arm, drawing it towards his mom, close enough to reach her. Damn it, he curses. He swallows nervously. Why is his throat so dry? But at the last moment, his hands hovering in the air, only millimeters away from his mom, he retracts them. He holds his once-outstretched arm to his chest and keeps it close as if he was burnt.
“M-mom.”
His mom’s soft humming pauses, her hands putting the last plate onto the flat surface, cleaned and dried. He cannot see her face, and he can’t help but wonder what expression she has on.
“Hm? Eren?” His mom turns around, her warm hazel eyes drifting over to Eren. She is smiling, wiping her hands dry before kneeling to her son’s height. “What’s wrong?” She asks, her smile fading away, replaced with concern.
Eren takes in a deep breath, then looks up. He is smiling, but he is unsure how real it looks. It feels unnatural, he thinks, as his cheeks start to wobble, the smile on the verge of collapsing. “I want to show you something!” He tries to say cheerfully. Without waiting for her answer, he grabs her arm and starts dragging her out of the door, his mother letting him. Mikasa follows, quickly running to catch up.
“E-Eren!” His mom protests, but she lets him drag her to the edge of Shiganshina.
Somewhere along the way, Mikasa separates from them, disappearing off to who-knows-where. His steps falter for a moment when he notices, worried for her, but he quickly resumes, eager to pull her away from the house. His mind goes haywire as he tries to think of something… something to show his mom. Nothing. He can’t think of anything.
He wonders where Armin and Mikasa are, but his thoughts are quickly drawn away when he hears the familiar crackle of lightning. He curses internally when he realizes that he miscalculated the time. He is still meters away from where he dubs the ‘safe zone’, and so he hurries his pace to get there in time… only to be unable to budge.
“W… What’s that?”
His mom.
His mom had stopped.
“M-mom,” he says weakly. He opens his mouth, prepared to continue, but whatever he tries to say is quickly drowned out by the horrified screams of civilians. He quickly whips his head, just in time to spot the red, muscled head that slowly peeks from above the wall. Ah… it was here, he thinks. Determination washes over him as he sees the full face of the Colossal Titan. He’s going to change things, he told himself, over and over like a mantra. He turns to his mom, shaking her arm. But she does not seem to notice, too frozen in fear. “Mom!” He tries again.
He attempts to pull her forwards, but she is still, completely petrified. Her mouth is open wide, her pupils dilating in fear.
He’s going to change the future.
He’s going to save her.
He’s going to keep everyone alive.
That’s what he keeps telling himself.
That’s what he believes.
Believed.
At the moment he turns to stare at Bertolt, something flies past him. His hair rises, he feels chicken feathers on his neck, and then…
His mom’s hand weakens.
“... mom?”
He feels like a child again, he thinks. He feels helpless against fate, the cruelties of the world. And… he feels like crying again. He doesn’t want to leave her behind, much like in the past, but he knows that he has to. He has to , if he wants to survive. If he stays here for another second, a Titan will grab him. And his life--his precious second chance will be lost.
“Mom…” he whispers weakly and puts a hand on the rubble.
It was inevitable, he realizes. Fate won’t allow any changes. The future is already set.
The body of his mom was proof.
Her upper body is crushed and blood covers the bottom of the rubble. The splatters of liquid contrast greatly against the pale floors of the streets, and for a moment, he’s glad that it’s her upper body. If it was her lower, where he would have a clear view of her face--pain-stricken and frozen in shock--he didn’t know how he would feel.
He touches his mom’s unscathed hand one more time, before running. He runs along with the tide of people, urging his body to move faster. His legs ache already, and he can’t help but lament the loss of his muscles. Oh well, he’ll grow them back, he thinks.
“Eren!”
“Eren!”
Eren perks up at the call of his name, and he immediately lets out a sigh in relief. They were safe, he thinks, as he sees them standing amidst the rapidly moving crowd.
“Armin, Mikasa,” he greets quietly.
“Eren--” Armin suddenly freezes. His eyes zero onto the splatter of blood on his right wrist. He swallows, “Are you okay?” He asks.
Eren turns to stare at the destroyed entrance, feeling nothing in particular. His mom’s death was crushing--horrible, he thinks, because it also served to be a lesson that… that nothing can be changed. But otherwise… he felt fine.
“I think so,” he answers very softly. He turns back to Armin and Mikasa, unhesitatingly grabbing their wrists. He tries to smile at them in assurance. “Come on!”
It was the same as before, he realizes, as they board a single ferry. Everyone is cramped together, shoulder-to-shoulder, to fit as many passengers as possible. When the boat finally starts, it moves very slowly, meter by meter. Eren can hear Armin’s grandpa whisper into his grandson’s ear soothingly, and he can hear Mikasa’s uneven breathing as she holds her throbbing head. He can also hear the other kids sobbing and crying loudly for their parents.
When the Armored Titan arrives, he continues to stare at it with an apathetic gaze, too emotionally exhausted to muster a fake reaction.