Wings : Attack on Titan x Reader Scenarios / Imagines ▼

[That Day :: Armin]

(F I V E  Y E A R S  B E F O R E)

You hadn't ever thought that something traumatic would occur so early in your life, when you were so young. You couldn't have known that it would be so mentally scarring that you would have nightmares about it for months upon months, years upon years. That sort of life was reserved for book characters.

And yet, on that day, you'd found yourself trapped in a living horror novel.

Like the bombs you had read about in so many war accounts, pieces of the once-sturdy, once-all-encompassing wall were now falling down all around you, creating craters in the boards of the dock you stood near and sending up clouds of dust, water, and wood. The earth beneath you was falling apart. Terror, in its rawest, purest form, gnawed at your brain, and you could've sworn your stomach was thrown into your throat as swarms of screaming, shouting people shoved up against you.

It took everything you had to not fall apart. And, certainly, you would've, if it hadn't been for the reassuring presence of your father's hand clutching yours. You could feel the tremors in his body; sense his shivering. Every now and then he'd yell, directing his voice at the boat operators and the minimal amount of Garrison members directing the traffic, demanding that his daughter get aboard.

You wouldn't have even seen the towering ships if it wasn't for the surge of bodies, moving like a wave, running and jumping, screeching and crying, all around you. Your fingernails dug into the cover of your current novel - the one that your mother had gotten you the year before she'd passed away. It had been the only possession you'd been able to grab at the start of the chaos, and you were glad, albeit a subdued form of glad, that you'd taken it. As the sound of collapsing buildings echoed around you, you willed your mother's spirit to help. Do something. Get you out of this. Please.

Beneath fluttering eyelids, you managed to catch the shrunken size of the crowd in front of you. You and your father were nearing the edge of the dock now. Freedom and safety was finally within reach, a release from this destruction befalling the world, a chance to continue on. It was so close you could almost taste it.

"WHAT?"

The loudest yell you'd ever heard resonated through your ears, and your head shot up.

"We can't take any more passengers! The boats are full."

"Take my children, my children, please! You have to!"

"We can't."

Your father tightened his grip on your hand with such strength you thought that your bones might break. As quickly as the pressure had come, however, it was gone, and he was kneeling beside you. His face was the color of soured milk. "[Y/n]," he started evenly, "I need you to listen to me, [y/n]. You have to run."

"R-run? Away...? Dad, wh-what's...." Your voice trailed off, anxiety clumping together in your throat.

He shook his head. "Not away, sweetheart. You need to run, run to the boat. I want you to get to that boat, [y/n], and when they try to stop you, you're going to jump."

You stumbled back. "No! I'm not going anywhere. We're going to get out of here together."

"Baby girl, I'm going to be fine. But I need you to go, right now, I need you to go and get on that boat."

"N-"

His eyes were watering as he suddenly pulled you in, forceful but swift, hugging you to his chest and planting a kiss on your head. "Fly, [y/n]. I-I love you. Now go."

Without warning, you were shoved forwards. A cry escaped your mouth as you turned and saw your father's blanched face disappear within the crowd. You wanted to scream for him, scream at him, scream for everyone getting left behind and everyone boarding the boat. You wanted to scream at the world. Nothing was right. You were going to leave with your dad. You were, you were. You'd promised yourself that you would.

But as the boat began to churn, slowly starting up, you decided with a sob that this was a promise you would have to break.

You squeezed through the remaining rows of citizens fighting with the guards. The military members looked preoccupied, or so you thought they did, but you couldn't quite see through your tears. Without a moment spent on consideration you sprinted ahead, all the way to the end of the dock. The boards creaked with weight as the crowd surged. People were looking at you, you knew they were. Looking at you and the dozens of others that had tried to jump - some who'd made it, and some who hadn't.

Before you knew it you were off the ground.

Your body flew through the air, arms fluttering like broken wings, blood rushing so quickly in your head and heart that you couldn't hear a thing. As though you were a rock you fell as fast as you'd leapt. Panic seized your chest, painful and familiar, as you saw the roaring waters beneath you. You screamed as you tumbled down, closing your eyes. Water or wood - and you didn't want to know which - awaited you.

Yet you were greeted with neither. Your body suddenly stopped, jerked to a halt by an unknown force pulling on your forearms. A pair of soft but weathered hands had caught you. "Mr. Arlert..."

The unexpected bookstore owner hefted you up, over the side of the boat, with such a sudden movement that you didn't think he'd be able to make. Within moments you went from dangling over a forty-foot drop to plopping down on the boat.

"Grandpa? What did - [y/n]?!" A well-known boy raced over to you, frantically putting his hands on your shoulders. "[Y/n], that was you?" His voice was strained as he shook you.

"Armin...," you murmured, beginning to cry again. The boat was in motion.

Your father wasn't there.

"Armin," Mr. Arlert said gently, "[y/n] has been through a lot. We're lucky to have her with us."

Armin looked baffled. You couldn't tell whether he was relieved, or afraid, or upset, or angry, or just plain shocked. "What happened?" he demanded. It wasn't directed at his grandfather; it was for you and you alone.

You crumpled down on your side, curling into a little ball. Your arms burnt like fire from where Mr. Arlert had grabbed them. Your stomach still felt like you were plummeting to the ground and your eyes were burning. "I flew, Armin," you wept, "I flew."