Ein Riese, der Fliegen Wollte

Drastic Measures

"No!" Armin shrieks, reaching out to grasp Eren's tunic as if he could physically hold him there forever, his friend's words ringing in his head.

'Armin. I want join Scouting Legion.'

He should have known better than to let impressionable, big-hearted Eren anywhere near those recruiters!

The olive-skinned boy frowns, reaching up to hold Armin's hands where they grip his shirt. "Yes. I join. I help."

Armin closes his eyes and resists the urge to sigh. Of course he wants to help. He thinks, That's all he's done since the beginning. "They have enough people to help." He says, striving for gentle, but knowing he probably sounds pleading. "You don't have to."

"I want to." He says, like it's that simple. Like he wasn't planning on signing up to get slaughtered.

"Eren, you don't understand, the Scouting Legion is dangerous! Titans are monsters, Eren!"

Eren flinches. "I know!" Blue-green eyes flash with anguish before hardening with a serious, dangerous glint. "Do not forget I were there."

And that stops Armin up short. Because Eren was there that day. He had seen the soldiers and civilians disappearing into giant maws of blood-stained teeth. He had seen people getting crushed under uncaring feet and ripped from their homes by massive hands. All of this through the eyes of the same boy who had been terrified of a pregnant women. It must have been horrific, even more so than for the rest of them.

Armin wonders what Eren went through between the time the Titans attacked to when he appeared like a guardian angel to free Armin from his prison of rubble. Eren refuses to speak of that time, too.

Which obviously raises the question of why on earth he would want to face them again. Titans aren't some imaginary threat to him like they are for much of the population. They're real. They're the nightmares that haunt all three of them at night, alongside the memories of people they lost, and the sick feeling of relief that it wasn't them.

"Armin." He looks up at the soft murmur of his name. Eren's face is serious, but also pleading. "Let me help."

He hangs his head to avoid the imploring eyes. His eyes land on Eren's bare, dirty feet. They're soft and bereft of callous despite their constant abuse, and they turn inward slightly, giving him a vulnerable look. A fleeting though brings a small smile to his face, and he looks up at his friend.

"You know they won't let you in unless you wear the uniform. Including the boots."

Eren's face is priceless as it screws up in disgust. For a moment, Armin feels the brush of hope that he actually managed to dissuade him from sending himself off to his death. It dissipates when Eren shakes his head as if to clear it. "Don't care. I join. I wear boot."

Armin sighs and nods. "Fine. But you're telling Mikasa." Their farming contract wasn't over until the harvest. Hopefully that will give him enough time to convince Eren to forget about the Scouting Legion.

Please don't be stubborn about this, Eren.

Mikasa is not as quick to acquiesce as Armin had been. Eren flinches when she yells at him, demanding to know who had put the thoughts in his head. She calls him reckless and misguided and lacking self-preservation, and tells him about the times she saw the Scouts coming back decimated, giving back severed limbs and scraps of cloth to the family members of deceased soldiers. The problem of living in a gate-town, she says, was seeing every squad leave and see only a handful return, always with the same haunted, defeated look in their eyes.