Work Text:
All around her is noise.
All that’s been around her is noise, for what feels like an eternity. First it was yelling and swearing and ceaseless, petty arguing. Then it was the clashing of metal gear, the rattling of a wagon. Hands grabbing her, ropes around her wrists. Manhandling her and tossing her around like a sack full of valueless goods, indifferent to whether or not she shatters.
Now, it’s her peers, shouting and questioning her, grating voices full of superficial worry for a person they don't even know. They fawn over her, ask if she’s hurt, the boys ask if she wants company. They crowd around her, their incessant chatter never desisting, but she can barely hear a word.
Ymir. Where is Ymir? She doesn’t want these people. She wants to scream at the next face full of wide-eyed concern. She wants to slap the next boy with an inflated sense of masculinity who thinks that he can somehow bring her any semblance of comfort or safety. She wants them all gone, she wants her best friend. The only one out of all her supposed comrades who truly cares about her, who doesn’t only want to hear the dramatic details or gain her favor for their own sake.
She forces a smile, mumbles that she’s fine. Funny how even now, even on the brink of collapsing in on herself, she can’t let go of her facade. It’s almost impressive how ingrained it is at this point.
But she doesn’t think she can manage any more reassurance. She’s so close to cracking, the shock having almost completely faded, leaving her raw and defenseless. She scans the perimeter in the hope that she can find some form of escape when a furious voice breaks through the crowd, louder and fiercer than all the others. It's the first genuine emotion she's heard since she's been back.
“Where is she? Where the hell is she?”
Blissful relief washes over her, and it’s almost enough to make her cry.
The mass of cadets splits in half - many of them involuntarily, as they’re shoved out of the way. Some of the boys even have the audacity to step in front of her savior, prepared to defend poor, helpless Krista from a creature so ruthless. They are, blessedly, promptly pushed away so roughly they nearly fall to the ground.
She finally sees it, that beautifully familiar silhouette that she long ago realized is the only true source of safety she’s ever known. In an instant her eyes are met with wild, livid amber ones, and then Ymir’s hands are tight on her shoulders with fear and anger written all over her face.
“Are you hurt?” She demands, “Who did this?”
Historia stares at her silently for only a moment. Then, at last, she lets herself break.
She buries her head in Ymir’s chest just in time to muffle the sob that is ripped from her. Ymir’s arms are tight around her, tighter than they’ve ever been - this embrace isn’t only one of affection. It’s one of terror, of desperation, of the visceral need to protect and, as much as Historia hates to admit it, to be protected. To be safe, the way she always knows she is when Ymir is with her.
She doesn’t need to lift her head to know everyone is staring. She's never cared less.
“Something interesting?” Ymir snaps at their audience. “Mind your fucking business.”
Shuffling footsteps and irate murmurs tell Historia that they’re doing as they’re told, and she’s never been more grateful for Ymir’s lack of tact.
“I’m taking you to our bunk,” Ymir whispers in her ear. She nods, reluctantly pulling half-away and letting Ymir guide her the short, but still far too long distance from the entrance of camp to their cabin. With Ymir’s arm still tight around her shoulder, she shuts her eyes and trusts Ymir not to let her stumble.
It feels like ages before they’re finally in their bunk and seated on Ymir’s bed. Their bed, really.
Historia cries until her throat is sore and her chest aches, until the sobs turn into heaving breaths full of panic and pain. Ymir’s shoulder is soaked with tears, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as adjust her position. She keeps Historia in her arms, holding her so tight it hurts. Historia wishes she would hold tighter. She wishes Ymir could somehow absorb her completely, so that they would never be apart and nothing like this would ever happen again. She'd be safe forever, loved forever. That's all she wants, really.
With Ymir's constant presence comes the ability to eventually speak, and the thoughts that she had until now kept locked carefully behind barricaded doors spill out with a vengeance.
“I saw them,” She seethes, “The bandits. I saw them in the woods, and I tried to warn everyone, but no one - no one fucking listened to me. No one ever does!”
She’s angry. She’s letting herself get angry. Fear is turning to fury, and the unfamiliarity is unsettling.
Ymir watches, and she listens. She doesn’t let go of her, because she’s Ymir, and the last thing she would ever do is let go of her.
“I told Eren and Jean to stop fighting. I tried to tell them that it wasn’t the time, that we needed to work as a team, but they were too caught up in whatever was hurting their bullshit pride to pay any attention! I could have-" her voice cracks, and she hates herself for it. She sounds weak . Breakable. Exactly the kind of person a degenerate thief would target.
“I could have avoided this,” she struggles to continue, "If they had listened to me, this might not have happened. But no one listens to fucking Krista. Why would they?” She laughs bitterly, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realizes she’s probably going too far, exposing too much. But anger clouds her thoughts, and she forgets to care.
She doesn’t remember exactly when she got on her feet and began pacing, but she’s shaking and sweating and as much as she needs Ymir’s touch, she can’t sit still. She loathes to think of the horrors that would certainly have been inflicted on her, the suffering she'd have to endure, how long she would survive it. If she would even want to survive it. It's driving her mad.
Her ‘friends’ didn’t listen to her. They were going to abandon her. Sure, they may have tried to come back for her, but the odds were that she’d be long gone and completely out of reach by then, in the hands of some disgusting excuse for a human who saw her as nothing more than goods to be bought and sold. She would probably feel grateful for Eren’s stubborn hot headedness if it weren’t what got her into that situation in the first place.
“Did you know they almost left me?” It sickens her, how broken and vulnerable she sounds, but it’s Ymir. If anyone is going to see this side of her, it will always be her.
Ymir, who’s furious scowl would already frighten most people, takes on a new sort of darkness. A moment passes before she responds.
“They what ?”
Historia nods.
“They didn’t think it was safe to go after me. They said they’d come back, but anyone with half a brain knows it’d be too late. They’d never find me. I’d be underground, I’d be…I’d get…” she can’t bring herself to finish the statement, and instead cuts herself off with another painful sob. The thought of what could have very well been her fate makes her nauseous, and if she had anything in her stomach, she was sure it’d come right back up.
She sees Ymir clench her fists and her teeth, sees her go stock still, fixated on the floor with a face so full of rage it would terrify anyone who doesn’t understand that the source of her anger always comes from a place of passion, of caring too much. Historia can see that she’s contemplating her next move - she wants to go after Armin and the others, Historia is sure. She wants to reign hell down on everyone who so much as entertained the idea of leaving her. But Ymir, selfless and kind Ymir who knows Historia inside and out, is well aware that’s the last thing Historia needs. Anger, fighting, conflict - it’s exactly what landed her in such a horrible situation in the first place. Historia needs to be listened to, cared for. Ymir understands this. Understands her . She remains seated and breathes deeply, providing space for Historia to continue.
“They knew what would happen to me. They must have.” Her voice is quieter now, filled with more contemplative horror than anger. “They knew, and they still wanted to leave. It wouldn’t be a big loss, right?” She sees Ymir stiffen, and knows she wants to argue, but she keeps silent.
“They don’t need Krista. All she’s good for is smiling and being pretty and happy. She doesn’t really contribute anything, right? She’s weak . She’s disposable.”
Speaking about herself in the third person that way would surely confuse anyone else, but she trusts that Ymir knows exactly what she means. Historia’s identity is something they’ve never discussed openly. This is the first time she’s even acknowledged it since that day on the mountain, and even then, she never intended to.
She stops there. She really has gone far enough.
Ymir doesn’t respond immediately. It isn’t like her; She’s usually careless with her words, saying whatever is on her mind without giving a thought to what people may think. But Historia can read this rare situation, one in which Ymir waits until she has some semblance of control over herself and her emotions to speak.
What she does next is far more effective than a verbal response, anyway. The moment she stands, Historia hurries towards her, and in a blink she’s in her arms once more. She can’t remember why in the world she left them in the first place.
Her breath is shaky as she inhales, attempting to ground herself and focus on the security Ymir’s warmth provides. It works, just enough to slow her rushing pulse.
“I don’t want to see anyone else,” she says after several moments of quiet, her voice hoarse and weak. “Take me somewhere alone. Please.”
She feels Ymir nod, and she pulls away slightly. Historia resents the distance immediately.
“I know a place,” Ymir says, “Let’s go around back. The less exposure you have to those dumbasses, the better.”
Historia lets out a small, tearful laugh and allows Ymir to take her hand and lead her through the back door of the bunk, which is conveniently close to a trail leading into the forest. It isn’t utilized much, as most of their nature training is done in more distant regions, so chances of them running into anyone are low.
Rationally speaking, the last place she should want to be right now is a forest, but nowhere is frightening when she’s with Ymir.
They walk in relative silence, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. Historia concentrates on her breathing, and on Ymir’s steady presence beside her. She keeps her mind on the trees and the leaves crunching under her feet, and off the feeling of being thrown over shoulders and knocked to the ground.
Her quasi meditation seems to work, because it feels like no time before they’ve traveled a significant distance and reached a clearing on a cliff overlooking a valley between two mountains.
From their vantage point, they can see the sunset perfectly, a blinding orange sphere that gives the entire valley an amber hue. To the right, farther in the distance, is a lake. The sun reflects off it in a shower of sparkling lights, so bright it’s difficult to look at for too long. In front of them is a vast ocean of wildflowers that seems to go on forever, pink and yellow and purple and blue and every color in between. Historia’s eyes widen at the stunning view, finally properly distracted.
She turns to Ymir, who is, despite her grim demeanor, as lovely as always. She's ethereal in the golden sunlight, her brown skin glowing bronze even as the light fades. Her eyes, especially, are striking. Historia never really had a favorite color until she saw Ymir’s eyes in the sun, a shade of gold so warm and bright she felt like they alone could keep the cold out.
“I found this place a few days ago,” Ymir says, squeezing Historia’s hand and guiding her to a gnarled ingrown branch that worked as a makeshift bench, “I was gonna show you on our next day off, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
“It’s beautiful,” Historia replies. She doesn’t look away from Ymir.
The branch isn’t exactly comfortable, but Historia is grateful for the close contact it allows as she sits pressed against Ymir, immediately hiding her face in her chest once again. Ymir’s heartbeat has always been a lullaby to Historia, and the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes could easily rock her to sleep. The combination grounded and soothed her, and she needed it now more than ever.
For a while, the only sounds are the wind rustling the trees and the quiet chirps of various birds. Ymir holds Historia close, running her fingers up and down her spine, her chin on her head. Eventually, Historia speaks.
“I was scared,” her voice is barely audible with her face hidden in Ymir’s shirt. “I didn’t know if anyone would come for me, or if I would be able to fight them or run away. I felt so helpless, Ymir.” She hiccups a few tears falling quietly. “I never want to feel like that again.”
Ymir’s grip tightens, and Historia’s does in turn. She feels Ymir trembling, and despite her silence, she knows she’s crying too.
“Stay with me,” Ymir says eventually, quiet and rough, “I can’t - I don’t care if it’s selfish. I never want to let you go where I can’t see you. I need to know the second some dirty bastard tries to hurt you. I need to know, so I can kill them.”
Her words nearly bring a new onslaught of sobs, but she refrains. Instead, she burrows further into Ymir’s chest and says, “Mikasa nearly did. She had her blade to his throat, but I stopped her.”
She wonders if she should have kept that detail to herself when she feels Ymir tense.
“Any reason in particular you decided to save a piece of subhuman scum? Please don’t tell me you were trying to be a saint or some bullshit like that.”
No, that wasn’t it at all.
Mikasa could have ended him, and Historia wouldn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the bastard.
But he said he had a daughter.
She supposes he could have been lying, but the mention of a child losing their parent was enough to spark panic in her. A trauma response, perhaps. She doesn’t want to take someone’s parent the way hers was taken, even if hers cursed the day she was born.
Krista’s kindness may be false, but that doesn’t mean Historia won't do whatever she can to prevent an innocent child from facing tragedy.
“…It wasn’t worth it,” she says eventually, “I didn’t want Mikasa to have that on her conscience.”
Ymir, of course, doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t question her. She only nods and allows Historia to sink further into her warmth.
“I’ll stay with you,” Historia agrees, “If you promise to stay with me, too.”
Ymir nods again and, in a brand-new gesture, kisses the crown of Historia's head. The sudden jump in her pulse and tightness in her stomach are a welcome distraction from the storm of painful emotions that had been consuming her ever since the mission.
“I’ll stay with you. Always.”
The quiet returns, but this time, it’s peaceful. Ymir’s scent is all around her, blurring the sharp memory of the unpleasant stench that filled the wagon. It lingers on her clothes and in her hair; she needs to shower and do laundry as soon as possible.
She isn’t sure how much time has passed before Ymir gently suggests they return to the base.
“Do we have to go back?” Historia mumbles wearily. She’s finally at ease, and with the adrenaline diminished, exhaustion has set in. The ache in her bones and sudden inability to keep herself upright make her realize it’s been nearly two days since she slept, and the entire wretched experience has left her completely drained. Settled in Ymir’s embrace, she wants nothing more than to fall asleep then and there.
Ymir sighs, and her fingers carding gently through Historia’s hair do nothing to help her stay awake.
“You need to eat something, and sleep in a bed. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. I promise.”
Historia believes her, and nods lethargically. That, and she’d prefer to shower as soon as possible to avoid freezing water. But she isn’t ready to leave her safe place quite yet.
“Can we just rest here for a bit?” She yawns loudly, and despite the evening chill, she feels warmer than she has in days. “I want to stay with you a little longer.”
She’s vaguely aware of Ymir’s heartbeat speeding up, but her mind is too far gone in a sleepy haze to take much notice.
“Yeah,” Ymir whispers, “Yeah. We can stay a little longer.”
Historia hums in satisfaction, at last allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of contentment that only one person has ever been able to provide. She breathes Ymir in as she drifts off, and she’s sure, for now at least, that nothing in this world can hurt her.