dreamsofwings | open post;

It's strange.

Of course he had briefly considered the possibility that, in trusting the serum to Levi, he would end up the recipient. As a matter of convenience or resources available during any given situation, it seemed just as likely that he wouldn't. He hadn't given it much thought since then, as there was no point in ruminating on something so unpredictable.

By the same token, Erwin never had any delusions regarding his chances of survival for the mission to Shiganshina - he had only hoped to live long enough to learn the secrets locked away. His final gamble, unwilling to simply wait and hope for favorable results, this one, vital thing he could not be absent for the moment of revelation. For the full validation of everything he believed, the redemption of his father - he needed to see it in that critical, historic moment.

He had awoken instead from a visceral nightmare atop the wall reclaimed, his right arm regenerated and a profound sense of change - not only within himself, but in all the others, as though the world itself had shifted.

And indeed, it had.

It's been a week since then. A week since the truth of the world revealed to him. A week of this new reality to soak its way into every corner of his mind, every inch of his being. Already he has read the journals a dozen times, written pages of notes, his body revitalized and whole once again, almost completely unaware of the way the others glance at him in worry and concern to see his full, obsessive focus on full display for all.

Erwin hasn't forgotten them. The devastating loss weighs heavily on them all, the silence of the too-empty halls eerie and solemn like a tomb. They make time for their memorial ceremony, their small number gathered around a fire for the long minutes that it takes him to recite the names of the fallen, each carefully formed on his lips. There is only the slightest fraction of a longer pause in the wake of Armin Arlert.

But especially after being reduced to a drastic few, there is much work to be done and little time for grief. Their understanding of the world may have shifted irreversibly, but that part still hasn't changed. There are reports to write, recruitment efforts to begin, strategies to prepare. Since his own change, his body seems to tire less easily, causing Levi to chase him to bed almost every night, though it does little to shake his restless energy. There hasn't been time to try a second transformation on his own.

Secretly, he is hesitant.

That afternoon, he finds Eren himself - with only a handful of them left, Erwin especially feels that he should try to keep them all close together as possible. They will need one another in the coming weeks more than ever before, and the turmoil that's followed as a consequence of the choice made on the rooftop is unlikely to disperse on its own. But more importantly, it has been far too long since Erwin has had the opportunity to sit with him personally.

He invites Eren to walk with him to the horse paddock, hoping that the fresh air and open sky will be a more relaxed setting than the enclosed and formal setting of his office. The absence extends here too, but maybe it is a little less noticeable than long stretches of empty hallways. Erwin sets an unhurried pace along the path.

"I apologize, Eren. We have counted on you a great deal in these past several months, but I haven't given you much of my time." There has been much going on, and he entrusted Eren's care to Levi, but even so, it felt an oversight.

Erwin looks over at him then, giving him a measured gaze as he tries to gauge his mood. Is Eren angry with him? Resentful? Erwin wouldn't blame him, regardless.

"I'd like to thank you again for all of your efforts. None of this would have been possible without you, and we...no, I, have put you through a great deal of hardship to make it happen. You will always have my gratitude, for helping us reach this point."

He pauses then, letting the sentiment settle before continuing.

"How are you feeling?"

[There's been a heatwave the last four days. Shopkeepers opening every window, and laborers sweating through their threadbare clothing. Armin felt it an omen. Oppressive heat - Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

[Then, on Friday, sat atop their lonely hill, only one tree to its name, a cool breeze washes down over the slope, making Armin's hair lift up and float back down.

[It feels nice.

[He nudges Eren's knee with his own.]

The reaping's today...

[As if he could forget. As if any of them could...]

Eren had almost forgotten about the dreams. On tour, there's a whirlwind of activity, shows and afterparties and whatever stupid shit he does to chase the high of performing. He's always chasing something, whether he knows what it is or not. He needs the adrenaline of it, the rush in his veins, or he feels like he'll break down. He has a volatile temper; it's better to channel it into self-destruction than destroying others.

Probably.

But the tours always end and he goes back home. There's a new record in the works, which is a different whirlwind, but it leaves Eren alone with his thoughts for days at a time. There's nothing scheduled for awhile; his manager told him to "get some fucking rest for once." He probably won't do that. He's always been terrible at following orders, too like to run off on his own. There's some weird deja vu thread of familiarity in that thought, but he can never pin it down.

Eventually even Eren has to slow down a little.

He lays on his too big, too empty bed, clothes scattered around the room. They're all his clothes; he rarely lets anyone come home with him. If he fucks around, he goes somewhere else. This way, no one sees what a wreck he makes around him, literally or metaphorically.

Here in the city, it is never dark or quiet. But he thinks of a world where it could be, a tree on a hill somewhere and the endless, ominous blue sky. He's not sure when he closed his eyes or when he drifted out of time and into what he thinks is a dream. He's had this dream off and on his whole life. This is better than the other ones, death and blood and the ocean boiling so far below him it seems like it couldn't even exist.

His head clears a little and he stands in the still sands of the Paths. Sometimes when he's here, he knows what it is, if not when it is. He remembers, the mix of past/present/future thrumming inside him. When he wakes, he will have only bits and pieces of it.

He still thinks that this isn't real, of course.

There are other people here sometimes, but tonight it's just one, one constant presence.

Armin doesn't always look the same. Are there other lives lived in between? Do they exist at the same time? Is Armin really just some figment of Eren's imagination, creating some sort of conscience? He rejects that idea as much as he rejects that Armin is a real person.

He takes a step and the world changes, the water of the ocean coming up around his legs. He can feel straps along his chest, up his legs. (This is some weird fetish shit, he's thought before. Why the hell are they wearing harnesses at the ocean? Who does that?)

There's a green cloak next to him on the shore, folded over to obscure a logo he can't remember today.

He looks around.

"Armin?" he asks, uncertain, his voice too young in his ears.

[Armin's head is spinning like he's going to pass out. He's currently walking, full speed, away from the crowd at The Reaping. They've been given time - very little time - to prepare for--

[The Games. God, he feels sick. "Keep. Walking. Just keep. Walking."

[Eren can't be far behind. He must be furious. Armin might be furious too, if he could get himself to take more than a shallow, gasping breath. It all happened so fast...Mikasa, and then Eren, and then...

["What was I thinking?"

[He knows they'll have to talk. They have to, of course. But Armin can't do it here. Get away, get away, get far away until they can try to feel somewhat alone.

[Why can't it be that morning on the hill? Why is this happening?

["We're both going to die!"]

( so... I want you to live long lives.

in a sense, Armin supposes he did, years past Sasha, Eren, his body aging and weakening before thirty. but his life had long become borrowed — that day in Trost, Shiganshina, Salta. displays of good will were always risky. he isn't ready (if anyone can be), but he isn't really surprised, no panicked claw for life like all the times before.

beneath him, the cobblestone is cool, almost comforting, except where his blood pools, hot and wet. above him, someone screams, guttural. Armin surmises the scuffle is to wrench control of the gun. he remembers the pop, the crowd screaming and dispersing, his name somewhere under the current.

it's too late. he feels sand against his cheek, beneath his fingertips, grains falling as his fingers curl and he lifts his hand. he's been here before. some nights, he dreams about it.

slow, Armin pushes himself to his knees, then his feet, body slack. that's right. if Eldians are devils... this must be Hell. )

Eren sits and listens to the spiel, though he already knows how this goes, how this ends. He hears the words a million times before the man at the podium says them.

Eren Jaeger, the enemy of humanity.

No. That's Willy Tybur's voice.

He forces himself to focus on this man, condemning the island and its people to hatred and death. It disgusts him. He wants to care about the Eldian refugees. He does care about them on some faraway level; he recognises that they're also victims. But no one and nothing matters as much to him as the handful of people from Paradis scattered around this room (and Historia, who of course can't be here).

The applause soars around them and he finds it deafening.

These people are condemning themselves by condemning the island, and they have no idea. It's easy to hate the people in this room, cheering for the death of everyone he loves, simply for the crime of being born where and how they were. He can't take it. He wanted this to be different. It was the last chance in his head.

He sets his hat back and and slides out of the row. He sat on the end for a reason, after all, and here it is.

From here he can just leave. He doesn't dare to look back, not at Mikasa's worried face or Armin's slightly horrified one.

Not at Levi, sitting stoic as always a few rows away from them. Eren isn't as strong as he pretends; his resolve could crack open. Mikasa had almost managed it, but in the end her silence was as loud as these cheers.

No one is looking (as far as he knows) as he walks into the hallway, the first intractable steps that will end only when the world does.

Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.

Hunger Games AU

Armin - reincarnation AU

Hunger Games AU - after the reaping

eremin turbohell ending 🤗

levi - the au where eren doesn't defect