Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her back is pressed against the trunk of the tree, the grooves of the bark digging into her skin. She doesn’t mind. It helps her to hold onto the pain.

The cold wind nips at her, tossing her hair, playing with her scarf. She snatches it back, pressing the red fabric close to her face. Some days, she can imagine Eren wrapping the scarf around her, just like he did…

…It must have been a decade ago now. The thought frightens her.

Today, Eren is fleeting. She sees herself, him and Armin racing around on the patch of green below. Eren was always in front – she would give him a head start- and Armin would be lagging behind.

Armin. He’s thrown himself into the work of creating this new world. Does he grieve for Eren? Perhaps that’s the point. To pour so much for himself into the future that he has no time for the past.

But no, that’s unfair. Armin grieves, she’s sure of it. He’s trying to make up for Eren’s mistakes, and she should be right there by his side, because wasn’t it their fault that Eren did what he did?

She’s tired. So tired. She wonders if Armin feels joy after everything Eren did. For her, it’s an endless struggle. It’s as if Eren showed her the world and then stripped all the colour from it.

Footsteps sound on the grass, two quiet followed by a slow lumbering third. She waits, watching the wind ripple the grass, until he draws nearer.

“Mikasa.”

She turns. Captain Levi leans on his walking stick beside the tree. Grey strands thread his dark hair and his blue eye gazes at her steadily. She knows where he’s been. She was there earlier. She hopes that Sasha appreciates the drink.

“Cap-“ She starts, but then catches his expression, “Levi.”

It still feels strange to say.

“Still here?”

“I didn’t know where else to be.”

Her voice sounds pitiful to her ears. It probably is.

Captain Levi shuffles forwards, and then with a grunt of effort, he drops his stick on the grass and slides down the tree beside her. He doesn’t ask for permission. Strangely, she never feels that he needs to.

“Armin said he might come by later,” Captain Levi murmurs, “Right now he’s trying to talk down the Jaegarists.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Shit. But he’s trying.”

She nods. Armin always did try. It’s humbling to think that if they were to do this again a thousand times over, Armin would always be a far better person than she could ever be.

“And Gabi and Falco?”

“My minders?” His lips trace a small, soft smile. It’s unsettling to see. It was easy to forget during their time in the Scouts that he was even human. Now, it’s impossible to ignore. “They’re visiting Sasha’s family.”

Sasha. The name still sends a punch through her gut. Another loss, another life that she could not save all because she chose to follow Eren. The Sasha she remembers was the Sasha who was scared shitless of what was coming, but somehow always found a spark of humour in the darkness. Sasha was always far braver than she ever gave herself credit for. And so, so full of heart.

She draws her knees closer, burying her head into the scarf. “I miss her.”

She feels Captain Levi shift and imagines he’s raised an eyebrow. She’s led them into the depths far quicker than she normally does. The wind continues to brush the grass.

“I think everyone does,” He says at last, his voice barely audible over the wind, “She was a terrible cadet. But a good…soul.”

There’s an inflection to his voice. Humour, perhaps. This is all too strange. Having a conversation like this with a former superior. And yet, somehow, over the months that Captain Levi has visited, she has got used to it. Even welcomed it.

She hums. Another pause. The wind rustles the tree. His tree.

“I visited Hange.” He murmurs, voice somehow even quieter, “There are so many developments that that damn four-eyes would be excited about,” He huffs, “They’d be talking my head off about them if they were here. And,” He pauses, “I saw…”

“Erwin,” She whispers for him.

“Erwin,” He repeats, so soft, so reverent. Like the name itself is a prayer.

He’s better than she is. She can barely say Eren’s name without stumbling. She turns to look at him. His hands are fiddling labouredly with a strand of grass, staring off somewhere into the distance.

“What did you tell him?”

He smiles. This one Is wider and so gentle that she isn’t sure she should be witnessing it.

“Everything…and nothing.”

She nods. It’s not a relationship she’s even been able to have with anyone. The closest she came was with Armin but they always communicated through gestures rather than silence.

“Are you ever…angry at him?” She asks, “For leaving?”

“All the damn time.” She’s surprised at the quickness and forcefulness of his response, “But I’m more angry that he was put in that situation.” He sighs, a short huff of breath, “He wanted to see the world. I wonder what he would have thought of it.”

How different the world would have been with Erwin Smith in it. Maybe he would have found a way to stop Eren without…

“I’m angry,” She says, “At him.”

“Eren,” He says steadily.

“Eren,” She growls. “All that time, I thought we could find a place where we could live quietly without being beaten or eaten or killed, and then we find the world and he just…” It had been a stupid dream but to her horror she finds that she’s crying, “Why did he do it?”

Levi doesn’t respond. He simply watches as she places her hands over her eyes and bawls. She has always been quiet. There’s only ever been one time she’s let Levi see her like this before – years ago on a rooftop when she’d struggled against him as he had told her that her best friend had to die. She hadn’t seen his grief them. She lets him see hers now.

“If he had just told us…maybe we could have…” Salt fills her mouth and she chokes, “I killed him.” She whispers, “I killed him. I killed him. I… And now I see him everywhere –“

She nestles her face into her scarf, gasping as the grief and anger surges through her in waves. Would Eren still be here if she had just given him a different answer that day? Maybe the two of them…but now it’s too late. He’s dead and it’s all her fault.

There are days where she can’t leave her house. She stays nestled in her bed, where the outside world cannot touch her. On better days when she forces herself to step out, she’s struck by the searing ache of loneliness – that no matter where she turns to look in the busy streets, there will never be, there will no longer be, any sight of him. And always always she finds herself at his tree.

“Captain-“ She says at last, turning her tear-soaked face onto the blurred figure of Levi, “How can I move past this?”

Her tears have subsided enough now that she can see clearly when his mouth tightens. “Start with self-forgiveness.”

“I killed him,” She repeats.

“Yes. And by doing so you saved the world.”

She turns her head down, tucking her mouth into the scarf. Finally, she says, “Will I forget him?”

“No. If anything, by forgiving yourself, you’ll remember him better.”

She glances up at him, “Is that what you do?”

He tsks, “Of course. The world’s bad enough as it is.”

Strangely that makes her feel better. That for all that he’s done, Levi can still look himself in the eye every morning. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and swallows, staring down at her fingers – long, thin, and scarred.

Killer’s hands.

She says slowly, “The day that Eren broke out and joined the Jaegarists, he visited me and Armin.”

Levi nods, “Gabi told me.”

She blinks – she had forgotten the girl had been there. “Did…did she tell you what he said?”

“No,” His mouth twitches, “Only that he was terrifying.”

She takes a breath, long and slow, and then: “He said we were slaves.”

“You and Armin?”

“No. You and me.” Even now the idea is hard to voice, “He said that the Ackerman family was created to serve the King, and even now we no longer do, there’s still an intrinsic part of us that latches onto the first person that saves us. And we can’t help but devote ourselves to that person, and to do everything we can to protect and serve them…”

“Mikasa,” Levi’s voice is hard, “You killed Eren.”

“But what if that was just because he wanted me to? What if because of this stupid Ackerman curse, I was just a slave following my Master’s orders to the end, and-“

“No,” Levi says sharply. He shakes his head, “I refuse to believe that.”

“But-“

“No,” His voice is the loudest she’s heard it, twisting on that one syllable, “There may be some truth in the bond thing. Erwin and I had a…connection. But I was not a slave. I followed every one of his orders because I chose to. I had free will, and so did you.”

He makes a good point but she refuses to let it go. Eren had sounded so sure when he had told her. But maybe he had always been a good liar, and she had chosen not to see it.

“But didn’t you feel stronger when you were with him?”

“Always,” His voice is softer now, “But that is just what we were to each other.”

We. Did Eren ever feel anything for her? Even now, she doesn’t know. She feels like a puppet whose strings have been snapped. So many questions, so much to unravel, and the one person who held all the answers is gone.

She says haltingly, “I don’t know who I am without Eren.”

He looks at her, sombrely, “I think that’s for you to find out.”

She can’t remember her life before Eren. At least, she only remembers it distantly. It feels that everything came into clarity when he screamed at her to pick up that knife. And then, from that moment, she had tied herself to him.

Was it because she was an Ackerman seeking a purpose? Or just a child needing another soul to cling to? She doesn’t know. But the idea of an open world without Eren to follow is terrifying.

Somehow it makes her laugh and the sound comes out short and choked. “Where do I even start?”

Levi surveys her keenly, “Get rid of that filthy scarf.”

He hands flies automatically to the fabric around her neck as her mouth parts. Then her eyes drop to the green gem on the ring on Levi’s forefinger.

He raises an eyebrow, “You know that’s not the same.”

No, she supposes not. Somehow Levi has held Erwin with him as he has moved forward into this new life. Eren’s presence is swallowing her whole.

Maybe forgiveness will come. As she fingers the red scarf, she realises that Levi is right. She needs to see this world with her own eyes.

Mikasa stands, a decision made. She extends a hand to Levi. He refuses it, pulling himself painfully using the tree and his cane.

“Thank you,” She says.

Levi smiles, warm and genuine. “Shall we see if Armin has got himself killed?”

He hobbles down the hill. Mikasa turn to glance at the tree- her tree – one last time before following Levi.

The wind blows and flicks at her hair, tugging at the scarf. This time she lets it.

Chapter Text

The bark rubs against Mikasa’s palm as she presses her hand against the tree. The outstretched branches shield her from the worst of the rain but drops still fall from the leaves, splattering her face and dripping down her back.

She takes a breath, and turns to look at Armin. Her best friend is standing a few metres away, his blond hair flattened by the rain. Clutched in his arms and shielded by his shirt, is a book-shaped lump, whilst folded over in the ground beside him, is a small blanket. He meets her gaze and nods once.

“Eren…”

Her voice is quiet. She has never exactly been a great orator. The only speech she ever made was when she’d urged her fellow cadets to make a dash for the Keep. Her heart hadn’t been in it. She had thought that Eren was dead, and had hoped to die too.

“Thank you for all that you did when we were kids. You helped me when no one else could, and you helped me remember what it was to want to live…”

It doesn’t matter if she is quiet. The only person who needs to hear it is right there under her feet. Still, her voice finds its’ strength as she continues.

“I love you.” How strange that she could never voice what she felt whilst Eren was alive. Somehow, it feels easier now. “And I know I am only standing here today because you saw something in me worth saving. Thank you, Eren.”

There’s a hole by the foot of the tree. She’s spent the best part of an hour laboriously digging it. She wanted it deep enough so that no one could steal from it, and as close to Eren that she could get it. She drops to one knee now, the wet mud staining her clothes, and carefully unwraps the scarf from around her neck.

She doesn’t cry. She’s cried enough these past weeks. She hears footsteps behind her and sees that Armin has moved to stand at her side.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs.

Mikasa nods, “I think that this is what I need. And it will be as if…”

“He’ll have a part of us with him too.”

“Yes.”

Her neck feels bare, the fabric comforting in her hands. With a deep breath, she folds the fabric carefully and holds the scarf with her right hand, as she places her other dirt-stained hand onto the ground.  

“Thank you Eren,” She repeats softly, “For getting me this far.”

Slowly, carefully, she places the scarf deep inside the hole, nestling it in the corner. She imagines the thin shield of earth separating it from Eren. Mikasa takes another breath, closes and eyes and stands.

“But now I think I need to find my own way forwards. Whatever that might be.”

Beside her, Armin crouches now, pulling the book from underneath his chest. He stares for a moment at the large leather-bound cover, his fingers tracing its’ edges. Then with a small smile, he leans into the hole and places it over Mikasa’s scarf.

He murmurs something and as he moves to stand, she catches his last words, “I’ll see you in the next life, Eren.”

He takes her hand and squeezes it, warm and grounding, as the two of them stare down into the hole. The scarf and book resting as though intertwined. She sees that with his other hand, Armin wipes away a tear.

He takes a breath, and turns to look at her with a shaky smile, “Ready?”

She nods, and with one last squeeze, Mikasa relinquishes Armin’s hand, and reaches over to pick up the blanket. It’s blue and faded, and she stares at it for a moment.

“It was in the basement,” She murmurs. “I remember Eren’s mother teasing him about it one time, so I wondered if it was one he had as a baby. Regardless…it seemed fitting.”

She glances at Armin. He’s looking away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. When he looks up next, his eyes are red-rimmed, but he manages a small smile, “Yeah.”

Armin reaches out to take one corner of the blanket, and together he and Mikasa crouch down and gently cover the scarf and book. Mikasa tucks in the edges around them both, taking care to straighten the fabric. When she looks next, she sees that Armin is holding out the shovel for her.

Wordlessly, she takes it from him, and with one last look at their offerings, she begins to pile in the dirt.

The hole is filled, but she and Armin sit side by side, unwilling to leave the tree even as the rain continues to fall down.

“You know,” He says at last, “You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

Mikasa starts. Even after so many years of knowing Armin, his uncanny ability to voice what she’s thinking still catches her by surprise.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You did what no one else could do,” He murmurs, “If anyone out of all of us deserves a break, it should be you.”

She’s not sure about that.

“And you,” Mikasa points out.

Armin smiles sadly, and he shakes his head, “I realised something in my last conversation with Eren. That is, the…”

“Dream,” Mikasa finishes.

“Yeah, that,” Armin grimaces.

“What did you realise?”

He sighs, “I showed him the world, and it wasn’t what he thought it was.” He turns to face her, “Don’t you see? It’s our fault. Mine and Eren’s. And I need to fix it.”

“Armin-“

“It’s okay,” He holds a hand, “Really. But this is what I need to do.”

She studies him, “Are you sure?”

He meets her gaze, and nods. “And you? Are you sure about this?”

Mikasa shrugs. “I think I need to see what’s become of the world and find my place in it.”

Armin smiles. He stands and reaches out a hand towards her. She takes it, and helps him haul her up. They’re soaked from the rain, and it continues to splash down onto them as he pulls her forwards into a hug.

“Good luck,” He murmurs, as he wraps his arms around her midriff.

She grips him hard, and nestles her face down onto his shoulder. She finds that tears are now pooling into her eyes, and they mingle with the rain as they fall down her face.

“You too.” She whispers.

The rain has stopped by the time she leaves her house, backpack flung over her shoulder and a march to her step. She’s wearing her Vertical Manoeuvre Gear and her blades. Somehow it felt wrong to explore the world without them.

A hooded figure stands in a street corner. As Mikasa moves closer, past the hustle and bustle, she sees the strands of blond hair poking from beneath the dark hood. At first, she wonders if it is Armin, but then as she draws nearer, she catches a glimpse of the woman’s eyes, her dress.

“Historia,” She murmurs.

“Not so loud,” The other woman cautions, her blue eyes darting across the streets. Mikasa glances round. No one is looking their way.

Mikasa’s brow furrows, “What are you doing here?”

“To walk with you,” Historia smiles brightly. She’s holding a satchel, and it knocks against her leg and she falls into step beside Mikasa, “I heard you were leaving.”

Mikasa raises an eyebrow, “Armin told you?”

“No,” Historia laughs – a tinkling sound. “He told Jean. And Jean told Connie. And, well…”

She spreads her hands, and Mikasa sighs. Perhaps she should kill Connie on her return.

They move forwards in silence: Mikasa unsure what to say; Historia uncharacteristically silent. The street is still marked by war, and they move past pockets of rubble and destroyed houses as they head over to the gate. Finally, when they reach the outskirts of the town, Historia stops.

“Where will you go?” She asks.

Mikasa shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Take a ship across the ocean, and from there…I’ll see.”

“That’s nice.” Historia sounds almost wistful. She pulls her satchel from beside her, and pulls out a metal object. It’s a cube with something jutting out of it, “I brought you this. For your travels.”

Mikasa takes it from her. It’s surprisingly heavy in her hands, and as she stares down at it and turns it over, she realises what it is, “A camera.”

Historia smiles, “To help you see the world.”

“Thank you,” Mikasa murmurs, touched. She frowns, studying the device as she considers her next words. Historia stands still, in front of her, as though waiting for something. They’ve never been emotionally open with each other, but now as Mikasa stands here, she realises that this may be her first and last chance.

 “Historia,” She says at last, “What did you do…after Ymir died?”

Historia’s smile vanishes, and somehow her bright eyes seem to dim. “You know what I did. I fought my father and became queen.”

She sounds so bitter that Mikasa’s taken by surprise. Her friend has seemed so strong, so sure of herself, that she never thought she’d look back on those days with regret.

Historia meets Mikasa’s eyes, and her lips twist, “I never had the time to grieve for Ymir. She was taken from me, and I was forced to pick up the broken pieces of myself without her.”

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa murmurs.

“Don’t be,” Historia sighs. She reaches forward, and places a gloved hand on Mikasa’s arm, “I’m glad you have this time. To grieve, to find yourself. Don’t waste it.”

Mikasa nods, and clutches the camera to her chest, “I won’t.”

“In your dream, did Eren speak to you?” Historia whispers.

Mikasa nods and Historia smiles slightly. “He told me to live.”

“Then live,” Historia whispers, her blue eyes fierce as she gazes at her, “Go and see the world.”

Mikasa nods, and reaches over to grip Historia’s hand, “Thank you. And I…I hope you find yourself too.”

Historia squeezes her hand, “Bring some of the world back to me, Mikasa.”

She pulls her hood firmly over her face, and with a final wave, Historia turns and walks back down the street. Mikasa watches her go, until her friend disappears from sight. Then, with a sigh, she hooks the camera around her neck.

This is it. She stares up at the gate, watching the familiar patterns of sunlight hitting the walls. Her hands trace the camera, and she smiles. No responsibilities, no people relying on her for their survival. The idea sounds strange, but she feels as though a weight has been lifted off her back. It’s just her. Just Mikasa and whatever the outside world has to offer.

She glances back towards the city. She can just make out the tree waving in the wind on the hill.

“See you later, Eren,” She murmurs.

Then she turns back to the city gate, and takes her first few steps into the unknown.