Attack on Titan One-Shots

Balance

Rating: PG

Genre: Angst, Feels

Pairing: Jean and Armin

World: Slight AU

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            Jean took another gulp from the canteen Pixis had lent him, full of a strong, numbing vodka. The size of the container would be more than enough of a morphine on any other occasion. Any other one. His brain got hazy, like the brim of his eyes as tears made themselves known. Any other one. He repeated, clenching his jaw and squeezing the tears out of his eyes.

            He and Armin had promised that if anything were to happen to the other, they wouldn't give into mind-altering things like alcohol or drugs. They would - and could - keep composed. Jean could almost taste the promise on his lips once again as he remembered their conversation. He thought he had found a Marco in Armin. The two kept each other stable, in working condition.

            Balanced.

            They were a scale, being sure to support the other's weight and burdens when they needed it. Neither would let the other hurt. But when one of the sources of pressure is taken away, you hit the ground. Hard. Just as Jean had.

            Through his foggy mind, he heard the snap of Armin's spine, the look in the blond's eyes as he searched blindly for the familiar color of Jean's. The feeling of failure. His heart breaking once again because he couldn't save the person who saved him so many times before. The sound of the wind whistling through his ears as he shot towards Armin, and then the feeling of his knees growing weak as he saw Armin's mangled body laying on the ground. The joints gave, and he fell to the ground, resting his forehead on Armin's bloody chest, sobbing into it.

            He didn't care about the others fighting the titan that killed Armin, what they'd think, or how close he was to dying himself. All that mattered in this moment was the exasperate pounding of his heart and mind as he clutched the blond to him. He felt useless. Like garbage. He wasn't there for Armin like he was there for him.

            Jean came back to himself, head throbbing from the tranquilizer in his right hand. He took another swig from it, and then leaned his head back on the headboard of his top bunk. Armin used to be on the other side of the small wall, and they would talk quietly through the opening between the two beds in the secrecy of the night. But now it was just the ghost of a broken promise and the morose knowledge that a dead boy was sleeping there just nights ago.

            Shoving his face into a pillow to keep the sound of his sadness mute, he let out thick sobs. Sobs he had been holding back for so many hours and seconds, trying his best to keep himself together. But what's the point when the one thing keeping you whole has been broken themselves?