Chapter Text
“Interrupted, Lily punts in jest
Heading through the air and then there’s more,”
🗝
Armin Arlert had faced death countless times before. He’d been exposed to her pitiful bullets when he’d come home one day and couldn’t seem to find his parents, only to discover from his grandfather that they were killed by the Military Police. He was ten when Shiganshina was massacred, destroyed by the Colossal Titan (Bertholdt, his mind supplied, you) and further ruined by the Armored. Armin lost Auntie Carla and Uncle Grisha on the same day, and a couple weeks later, he would lose his grandfather, too.
Armin would think he lost Eren at fifteen, green and fresh and naive, wearing uniforms too big for their hungry frames; he’d think he lost him to a Titan just like how he'd always feared, only for Eren to look Death in the face and tell her “no.” He’d seen Hange die, Sasha die, he’d seen countless comrades die—Armin knew.
He remembered being burned alive, screaming and crying—but his tears would just evaporate the moment they escaped the creases of his eyes—and he remembered waking up with strong, warm arms holding him. Eren, he had distantly thought, safe, before he was conscious enough to be told that he was now the Colossal Titan.
(He had killed Bertholdt. Armin didn’t know how to feel about what he did then, and even at nineteen years of age, he still didn’t know how to feel about it. Maybe he never would.)
Armin Arlert held the ability to trample the entire world right at the soles of his feet, and yet he never figured out how to feel about it. He would shove his feelings into a small box and attach chain after chain after chain over it, lock it, then give the key to Eren for safekeeping.
Eren, now, who seemed to be insistent on being a genocidal, mass murdering moron.
“And you’re saying that you did this all for us?”
“No. I didn’t.
”I wanted to level everything. I wanted to see this sight.”
The anger Armin felt was indescribable. How could he? How could Eren, kind, loving, passionate Eren, do something like this? How dare he lie, how dare he leave Armin like this? The anger ebbed at his skin, nibbling at his fingertips before it consumed him entirely, just like the wetness of the water seeping into his boots before swallowing his body whole. He wanted to punch him; once, twice, then maybe ten more times for good measure.
He’d forget about this, Armin knew that. Armin knew a lot, but at the same time, he felt like he knew absolutely nothing. He hadn’t even realized how Eren seemed to retreat into himself for the past, what, four years? What kind of friend was he? Who was Armin to call himself humanity’s savior?
He thought about Mikasa. He thought about Jean, Connie. He thought about Reiner and Annie, but he did not think about Bertholdt. He thought about Sasha.
He’d forget about this. He’d forget about the Paths, just like how he would forget how warm Eren was when they hugged, and just like how he would forget the color of Eren’s eyes.
Armin would forget; and faintly, in the back of his mind, Armin hoped that the Rumbling would kill him, too.
🗝
“I don’t know what’ll happen after I die, but I know that you can go beyond the walls. The one who will save humanity is you, Armin.”
When Armin came to, he came to with a gasp and a dire need to grab onto something. Maybe even throw it.
It was like the wind had been knocked out of him; though, years of combat and training to slay beasts that were impossibly bigger, stronger, and faster than him equipped Armin the swift ability of Getting the Fuck Up. His body ached, but Armin relaxed his limbs in order to roll over, letting momentum slide off him in order to prevent unnecessary injuries.
When Armin landed on grass—yes, this was grass—he winced as he tried to get up. His arms ached while he pushed his upper body off the ground, and that’s when he felt it.
Or really, that’s when he heard it.
This strange, familiar feeling overcame him, and Armin could hear this heavy, wet breathing emit from above him. There was one loud step and then another, and right after came the empty sound of someone looming over him.
Armin hadn’t felt this feeling in years. He almost wanted to laugh.
A shadow trapped him where he was, and Armin felt large, hot, tentative fingers pinch the top of his hood. His hood—he was wearing his Scout Regiment Uniform. The Survey Corps. It was a dark green, and his hands shook, and the straps on his thighs were from the old, outdated ODM gear back when Armin was just a boy. He was—he was—
And just because Armin was a sucker for self-torture, he tilted his chin back little by little as his hood was lifted off his head. If his theory proved right, then Armin would see—Annie.
His breath caught in the back of his throat. He took in her face: pink with muscle, nose still hooked like it was when she was human, when she looked human, her eyes still icy blue and her hair still blonde. Armin almost found himself closing his eyes in relief, but caught himself before he did because this wasn’t his Annie.
This scene was familiar. Armin blinked stupidly as Annie stood up quickly after a beat of calculation and began running again. He knew this scene. He knew this scene because he’d lived it before.
“Armin!” Someone yelled. No, not someone—Armin turned his head with such dizzying speed he thought he spun his head right off. He sort of wished he did.
“Reiner?” Armin half-yelled, half-yelped. He knew this was coming. Reiner would proceed to give him a horse, the two would run and run and run and meet Jean, run some more, and then…
“Can you stand?” Reiner asked, voiced laced with worry and fear. Armin recognized that Reiner sounded a bit detached, like the worry and fear wasn’t all for Armin. He wondered how he didn’t clock the three traitors sooner.
It’s your fault, a traitorously honest voice seethed into his ears, lustful and seizing. It’s your fault he’s dead.
“You have no chance of surviving out here without a horse!” Armin took the lead Reiner’s big hand all but pushed into Armin’s smaller one. He was so small. Since when was he so small? He knew he wasn’t the tallest guy in the Corps, but God. He’d never felt this small before. “Hurry up!”
Don’t command me around, Armin thought to himself, grinding his teeth. He flipped himself onto the spare horse’s back. He hasn’t ridden a horse in so long. What if he changed the future by falling face-first into the dirt because he forgot how to ride a horse?
None of that, Armin scolded himself. You will not die to a horse-accident because that’s pathetic and you need to—
Need to what? Follow through with the actions of the past? Do exactly what he did before? Why was Armin even here? Why was Armin suddenly a child, fighting the Female Titan again?
Then, a small thought niggled in the back of his mind. Eren. He was here for Eren.
Even if he wasn’t, Armin couldn’t find a bone in his body that cared. Even if Armin wasn’t sent back here years into the past for Eren, Armin would make it be for Eren.
He was going to find his best friend, beat the crap out of him, stop him from becoming depressed and then subsequently insane, and prevent eighty-fucking-percent of the world from becoming ash. Preferably in that order.
Armin’s list was quite humble. Okay, well, it wasn’t, but Armin would mask it as a simple to-do list in order to trick his brain into thinking that it was achievable, because it was.
“–So, it’s her, the one that made this mess?” Oh. Armin hadn’t been listening to what Reiner had been saying.
Alright, then. He’d play along. For now. “She’s not a part of the deviant class; she’s a human in Titan form!”
“What?” Reiner gasped, brows furrowing. It took every bone in Armin’s body to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
Armin wasn’t particularly religious, but he mentally murmured a quick prayer that he would not fall off his horse as he fiddled with the smoke flare with both his hands.Then, a popping sound emitted from behind them, a loud poofhh!, and Armin was reminded that Jean Kirstein was the one who alerted the rest of the Scouts.
He should be relieved to see Jean, really. Though, a nervous feeling began to fester in the pit of Armin’s stomach. If he couldn’t remember Jean setting off the flare, what other things would he not be able to remember? Granted, this was a pretty minor detail in Armin’s life compared to the literal cannibalism he committed later in his boyhood, but still.
“Looks like we’ve partly lost the lookouts of the right flank! All of a sudden a lot of Titans showed up. I have no idea why, though!” Jean yelled. His face was serious, but there was a thick lining of terror on his face. Armin almost forgot what Jean looked like without his stubble and mullet. He looked so young; his fear was primitive, his actions rudimentary. Jean’s chin stuck out in a way that looked awkward at the tender age of fifteen—“horseface,” per Eren’s verbage—but Jean grew into his features handsomely as they grew older. Jean was still handsome, even when they were young, but he was just… nubile when they’re nineteen.
Armin blinked, dumbfounded. What? Was Armin’s mind really so demented that he was observing how attractive Jean was when their lives were literally on the line? Teenage hormones, Armin thought spitefully, was something he definitely did not miss.
“The flank on the right is where she came from,” Armin responded, shaking his head. “As—unbelievable—as it sounds, it could have been her that lured all those Titans here.” Was Armin too calm? Should he panic a little more? Panicking was a bad habit Armin had to unlearn during his years as a Scout, and there was really no time to panic when his best friend decided to go on a world-ending rampage, but he was sure that he could resurrect his bad habit for the sake of roleplaying his younger self.
“Her…?” Jean looked up ahead of them. Armin could tell exactly when his eyes landed on the Female Titan’s running form. “What the hell is a Titan doing there…? Is that one from the deviant class?”
“No,” Armin answered, “she’s not a deviant. She’s a human wearing a Titan’s body; a human with the same ability as Eren.”
Saying Eren’s name with his boyish voice made something in Armin’s stomach twist. It made him want to say Eren’s name over and over and over again until he erased all his confusion and hurt regarding his Eren and replaced it with the warmth he once held back when life was easy.
Armin hated that; he hated how he thought his life was once easy. But, it was. If his life was all about chasing Titans with Eren and Mikasa and Jean and Connie and Sasha then he would be happy to call it an easy life. If that was all there was, then Armin wouldn’t mind wasting it. It wouldn’t be a waste if he was living it with Eren, really.
“What are you saying?!” Cried Jean.
“Armin, what makes you think that?” Reiner interjected. Armin didn’t necessarily hate Reiner, not like he once did before, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of the guy either. He was… impassively neutral. (He thought about the little box stuffed with all his big feelings. He remembered why he kept it locked.)
“All Titans do is devour humans—they don’t have any intelligent motive. Humans die because Titans eat. But this one—her—she killed the others by aiming right at their vital organs,” Armin could remember how the Female Titan (Annie, his mind supplied rather treacherously. Call her by her name; let her take responsibility for her sins) brutally killed the men he was with, back in his first life.
Armin remembered blood. Armin remembered Annie’s icy blue eyes and how much sorrow they held when she tried to leave back at the warehouse. Armin remembered exactly how Annie’s eyelids looked and how her light blonde eyelashes brushed her cheeks back when she was frozen, sixteen and scared.
He felt his breathing quicken, heart stuttering with emergency. No, he thought, this isn’t good. Why did he always have the worst timing in the world?
The box. Roughly, Armin shook his head and shoved down every single one of his feelings into that little box in the back of his mind. He’d open it later, after Annie captures Eren and Mikasa gets him back. He’d open it later, when Eren’s back in his arms, and he’s holding him in their bed back at the Scout’s Quarters where he’s safe. (He’d never open it.)
Somewhere along the ride, Armin found his voice again. “I have a strong feeling she’s looking for someone. And if I’m right, then the one she’s looking for is Eren.”
🗝
Armin would be lying if he said that he never got nightmares from this day. There would be nights where he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, no matter how much he willed himself to close his eyes and drift off. During those particularly bad nights, he would climb over to Eren’s bunk and tug on his blankets.
Eren would stir awake the slightest bit, eyes green and hazy, but he would always muster enough energy to scoot up and let Armin in. He always let Armin sleep with his back to the wall, so Armin would naturally crawl over Eren’s legs and settle himself next to him. He’d scoot back down and cover Armin with some of his blanket, making sure he was warm before he’d lie down next to him.
He’d always ask, “are you okay?” If Armin shook his head no, then Eren would stay awake a little longer until Armin fell back asleep. If Armin whispered back that everything was fine, then Eren would accept his answer by closing his eyes and pulling him close. This was their little system. They’ve had this since Armin was five.
Back when Armin was still pretty unfamiliar with Mikasa—which was practically a lifetime ago—Armin would have nightmares about his parents’ deaths. When the three became a full-fledged trio, Armin would have nightmares about his bullies. On the nights they were permitted sleepovers, Eren would always hold Armin close, like if he held him in between his arms, then Armin would be safe from any and every danger out in the world.
This system didn’t stop when they entered the Garrison, either. Jean would later comment that it was creepy how Armin clung to Eren, but Armin never saw anything strange with what they had. Eren never complained, either, so they never stopped.
(These moments slowly became less and less frequent as they grew older. At first, Armin thought it was because they were simply maturing, but hindsight’s a bitch. Armin should have seen the signs. He should have done so much more.)
After every mission, Eren and Armin would let Mikasa into their quarters where it was mostly empty so they could patch each other up together. It felt more like a ritual, a habit. Whoever got hurt the most got priority. If they were all pretty okay, then Mikasa would bandage Eren as Eren bandaged Armin. Mikasa would always say she was fine, but Armin would always fuss over her after Eren was done. She would always let him. If they were all pretty banged up, then they would peer pressure each other to get help from one of the seniors.
Reiner’s hands on Armin’s head were nothing like Eren’s. Eren had hot hands, but they never failed to be gentle with Armin. Before, it would slightly piss him off, because he didn’t need Eren to think of him as delicate. He didn’t want Eren to assume he was made of glass, incapable of doing anything but think.
“We’ve never fought before, huh?” A punch. “Know why that is?”
“It’s because there was no way you could ever put up a fight against me.”
The bandages around his forehead started to dampen with oppressive warmth.
Armin really started to contemplate his entire life by this point. Jean kept on his futile whistling for a horse as Reiner kept himself busy. The noise was starting to grate against his ears.
If thinking was all Armin could do, then he would think. He’d figure out a way to save Eren and then potentially the entire world, and he would do it. He had to.
Faintly, he heard Jean yell out with relief, “isn’t that Krista?”
Oh, right. Historia Reiss was Krista Lenz right now.
Wait—Historia?
No. Zeke was going to reach Eren—but would that even work? Eren’s head got blasted off. Don’t think about that, Armin. Armin, think! Eren—Eren can’t touch Zeke. This can’t be happening. If Eren makes contact with anybody with royal blood, then—
How many times did Eren ever touch Historia? Armin was sure the ceremony to celebrate the reclaiming of Wall Maria was when Eren saw into the future. Or, saw the memories of his future self.
Armin could still barely wrap his head around it, but surely that was when. Eren wasn’t really the same after that, but Then-Armin had simply chalked it up as the consequences of having to revive his best friend from death, a.k.a. Armin himself.
If he could be sent back four years into the past, then certainly his Eren could send this Eren some of his memories earlier than when it originally happened. Armin wondered distantly if this was even the same timeline, but decided against delving that deep into the situation right now.
That’s it. Side Mission: Do Not Let Eren Jaeger Touch Historia Reiss was created.
“Guys!” Historia—Krista?—shouted. “Hurry up and get onto the horses! The right flank is in serious trouble—”
“Yeah, we know that! You’re our savior!” Jean wailed.
Armin mounted a horse for the second time in a very, very long time, and thought that horses were too slow for his liking. He had to see Eren and he had to see Eren now, thanks. He was getting slightly impatient.
He let the others panic. Armin chimed in with information where it was appropriate, but he was mostly stuck in his thoughts. In which, his thoughts were uncomfortably filled with Eren.
Humorlessly, he wondered if this was how Mikasa felt. He would have to brew her some damn good tea later.
They reached the fantastically tall redwood trees in minutes. Two, three, ten—Armin wasn’t counting. Armin wished he could marvel at the sheer height and strength of this forest; but, if he couldn’t do it then, then he couldn’t do it now.
Before, he had simply stood on one of the sturdy branches with Jean. He kept watch and killed when commanded.
Three, six, nine. Armin’s heart thumped against his ribcage, begging to be let out. Twelve, fifteen, eighteen.
The four of them, Historia, Reiner, Jean, and him, all came to a rough pause at the front line of trees. The seniors were shouting something—“come up, leave the horses over there! Get into position!”—and Armin played along. He dutifully rode over to the make-shift stables and waited for the others to dismount and tie up their chargers before he moved.
(Bertholdt was in the trees, somewhere. He was there. He was there and alive and the wielder of the Colossal Titan. Armin pointedly did not look up.)
“Hurry, Armin! I think they just spotted a five-meter,” Jean said, putting a hand on Armin’s horse. Hurry, hurry, hurry. That’s all he’d been hearing.
Armin felt sick. “I will,” he lied straight through his teeth, “my boot’s just stuck. I’ll be there in a second, you go on ahead.” He was a good liar when he needed to be.
Jean merely frowned. “C’mon, we don’t have time. Here, which boot? I’ll help.”
Why did Jean have to care at the very moment Armin didn’t want him to care? He felt a little bad for what he was about to do, but his heart was about to burst with anxiety. He could always apologize to Jean later.
“The right one,” Armin answered. Jean nodded and swiftly maneuvered around the horse, moving to the right side. When he got close enough, Jean stretched his hands out, trying to see where Armin’s boot was stuck on the stirrup. That’s when Armin freed his boot and kicked Jean square in the chest, hard. It was a sufficient amount of force to throw the boy back far enough for Armin to kick his horse into gear.
Jean squawked “hey!” at the same time Armin shouted “sorry!” and his charger burst out the pen, startling Historia where she was loading her ODM gear. A chorus of confused shouts echoed from behind him, but Armin was long gone.
His horse ran and ran and ran, and Armin’s mind was frenzy. What was he doing? This was illogical. Armin knew a bit about Mikasa’s fight with the Female Titan, but he didn’t know everything. Mikasa wasn’t the type to tell anyone everything. He knew about the debrief and slightly more personal notes, but not all of the facts.
Just because Armin was from the future, it didn’t mean he was invincible. He knew that. So why was he acting like this?
They should be farther in, Armin told himself. Somewhere in these daunting redwood trees, Captain Levi’s crew would be on their horses with Annie right on their tails. Somewhere in this goddamned forest, Mikasa was nearby, listening.
Armin could definitely hear Annie, but the trees made it difficult to pinpoint where exactly she was. Thump, thump, thump. Was that his heart or Annie’s feet?
There should be a trap up ahead. Somewhere. God, Armin just didn’t know. He didn’t know the specifics. (Was he going to die? He wasn’t going to die.)
A loud ka-chunk! rang throughout the confinements of the forest, and a roaring sound screeched a moment after. The terrorizing sound reverberated off the tree bark like it was glass. Annie. This must be when the regiment caught her in their trap.
But where? Armin uselessly wondered.
The ground shook where Armin rode. He could hear the footsteps of Titans entering the forest. Shit, he thought. They’re coming.
If someone were to ask Armin if he preferred the daunting sound of a Titan’s footsteps or the sound of people screaming beneath his feet, he would choose the footsteps. Really, he would. Though my fucking God, was the primal fear of Titans impossible to grow out of.
With the taste of salt water on his tongue, Armin leaped off his charger and shot his gear up into a particularly high branch. He landed rather ungracefully.
It wasn’t that Armin was bad at ODM. It was sort of the opposite. Armin had never been stellar at ODM back when they were cadets, and even when they were Scouts, but he was never bad. As the years went by, Armin only improved. With the newer ODM model out, one could even say that Armin was damn good at ODM.
Though now, his movements felt a little awkward. He still flowed better than he once did when he was younger, but Armin realized that his center of gravity was different. He was flying around like he was still a hundred and sixty-nine centimeters when he was actually a hundred and sixty-three.
Now, that doesn’t sound like much of a height difference, Armin thought bitterly as he hopped from one tree to another. Eren had shot up to an annoying hundred and eighty-three centimeters tall, and hell, even Mikasa still was taller than Armin. Still—six centimeters was a lot to him, okay? Whatever.
Armin wandered around for a little while, the uncomfortable knot in his stomach still twisting and turning, when he heard it.
Eren’s roar.