Chapter Text
Eren was freaking out.
That was an understatement, actually. He was beside himself, pulling at his hair and pacing back and forth, whilst Mikasa watched in helpless misery. She couldn’t do anything when he got like this, they both knew from experience. He’d always had a tendency to get a bit worked up, hence the nicknames pinned on him about his idiocy and rash behaviour, but now there was no-one to reprimand him or talk him down, because Levi, Jean, and Armin had all gone missing, and they still hadn’t found their way back.
Sasha sat against one of the cave walls, biting her nails with a furrowed brow, whilst Connie wrung his hands beside her. None of them knew what to do - there wasn’t much to do, not without their leaders and brains. It wasn’t that any of the remaining soldiers were incompetant - far from it, in fact - but the team had so suddenly been reduced from seven to four, and it was unbearably frightening.
Time passed. Hours, days? It couldn’t be days, surely, but every second stretched into the unimaginable, and Eren found himself beginning to lose track of not only time. When had they last seen the sun? When had they seen the sky? Was it the blue that he remembered, or was it the sickly aqua of the grass underground? Had anyone died above ground whilst they’d been sealed in this hell? If they hadn’t fallen, maybe they could have helped above ground. Humanity could have progressed in the past weeks - months - however long they’d been gone. They were sitting ducks, useless and trapped in this monstrous, natural cage.
It was when Eren had finally managed to catch a few hours of sleep, his eyes fluttering beneath his lids as he dreamed, restless and disturbed, that the three missing soldiers returned.
Sasha woke him up by shaking him. He’d lay down next to her, the shared warmth always appreciated down in this abyss, but her movements had been frantic and frenzied, and sheer cold had seeped into his skin at the deep genuinity of the horror in her eyes. She hadn’t spoken a word, merely shaking as she helped him sit up and gestured over to the mouth of the cave, where Mikasa was crouched over a lifeless figure, laid out on the floor. As his eyes adjusted, all Eren could see were their silhouettes, but soon he could make out the details. Torn flesh, exposed bone, pools of blood diluted in water.
He scrambled to his feet, rushing to Mikasa’s side and holding back a cry as he took in the sight before him.
Levi, dead.
Eren was sure of it. Levi was completely still, chest neither rising nor falling, no twitches of the finger or flutter of the eyelid. His right leg was barely recognisable, foot attached to his lower thigh by a disgusting string of shredded flesh, flashes of white intermittent, exposed bone peeking from the fields of red. Eren was certain that nothing could be worse than this.
And then he saw Armin.
Lay directly next to Levi, with Connie leaning over him, face unnaturally blank as he took in the state of their friend. Eren scanned his body in growing horror, lacerations lacing Armin’s pallid, sickly skin, harsh and red and angry. Some were still bleeding freely, droplets of red oozing, collecting in small puddles in the dips of his body.
He didn’t know how he managed to speak, but heard his very own voice croak out, quiet and small:
“Where’s Jean?”
“Over there.” Mikasa said, voice deceptively calm, though Eren could detect a waver in her usually unreadable tone. He knew her best, and he knew she was in shock at the sight of their comrades, laid out before her, semi-butchered.
Eren followed her direction, and saw Jean, slumped forwards, eyes open but unseeing, unfocused. His skin was stained with inky bruises, a sickly green in colour, and he was obviously shivering, hunkered down under two cloaks - Mikasa and Connie’s, Eren realised - though it seemed that the fabric did little to ward off the chill deep in his flesh. But he, at least, was breathing.
“Jean-” Eren said, covering the short distance in seconds, “-what… What happened? Are you okay?” He sounded robotic, monotonous, voice distilled of its usual vigour, and he didn’t know why he was asking such stupid questions. What had happened, clearly, was something horrendous and violent, and Jean was not okay. “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, and it was the first time he’d ever apologised to Jean for anything.
“I couldn’t save them.” Jean said, voice husky and low from overuse, throat sounding raw. “I couldn’t… Armin… I’m so sorry.” His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands. Eren didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing at all.
There was a morbid quiet over them, as if a cloud of melancholy had descended from above, grey and dull and heavy over their shoulders. Eren stood still, and then he turned back to the bodies, and it hit him.
That was Armin and Levi. That was Armin and Levi. That was Armin and Levi .
A sob broke the silence, falling involuntarily from his lips, and Eren quickly returned to their sides, collapsing next to Armin and reaching his hand out to intertwine their fingers, just as Armin had done so long ago, when they first recovered Eren’s body from his first titan transformation. How many times did they have to lose each other? Was this the last time? Why was Eren the one left alive?
He couldn’t stand this.
He hunched over Armin’s body, pressing his forehead to his torso, and cried. He cried so hard, so heavily, it burned the back of his throat. He clasped Armin’s hand tightly, so tight, desperate for a squeeze in response, something Armin always did to him and Mikasa to comfort them, but he was met with unbearable stillness. He didn’t want to look at the lacerations marking his skin. He didn’t want to see Armin like this.
And Levi… Eren couldn’t even comprehend the idea of Levi being dead. It didn’t make sense. It was never supposed to happen. If he was Humanity’s strongest, and now he was dead, did that mean there was stronger? If so, they were all doomed. But it wasn’t just about humanity anymore. It wasn’t about their safety, or the bettering of life on the surface, or discovering the secrets of the titans. Eren decided then that he didn’t give a fuck about any of that anymore, because right now his best friend and the man he looked up to more than anyone else, were dead and mutilated beyond recognition, and it wasn’t fair. Armin was so kind, so gentle, smart and brave and bold and honest. He was a soft soul in a harsh world, and Eren couldn’t have asked for a better friend. Levi was humble and straightforward and strong, so incredibly strong. He passed his strength to others, it rolled off him in waves and lifted up those around him. But his strength was meagre in comparison to his compassion and dedication, Eren realised. Levi was so caring. He was the embodiment of their mantra. Dedicate your hearts . He put everything on the line for them, all the time, and he was suddenly struck by the fact that their relationship had long since crossed the line of captain and soldier. They were friends, teammates, companions. All of them were, and now two of them were dead.
Eren wept.
But he didn’t have long to stew in his misery, because Mikasa was crouching down beside him, cupping his face in her palms, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her brow was set in a harsh line, and Eren recognised her expression. It was one he had seen many times before, from both her and Levi. Pure, utter, unbreakable resolve.
“I have an idea.” She said, “It might not work, but it’s worth a shot, if you’re willing to listen?” Eren nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Mikasa pressed their foreheads together, comforting and gentle. “Can you transform into your titan form?”
“What?” Connie interjected, looking baffled. “Is that… is that really appropriate right now? I mean…” he gestured to the bodies before them, face twisting in upset.
“You have regenerative powers, don’t you, Eren?” Mikasa asked, and Eren stared at her, but nodded meekly. “Have you ever tried to use them on other people?”
“No.” He croaked. “I don’t use them, they activate automatically.”
“That’s okay.” She said, patting his face soothingly. “But I still want to try. Armin is in better condition - can you try?” Eren nodded again, and she gave his hand a squeeze before she stood back, indicating for Connie to come with her.
“How do I-” Eren asked, voice wavering. “What do I do?”
“Remember when you picked up that spoon?” Mikasa asked, and he was thrown back into his time at the fort, when Petra and Gunther and Oluo and Eld had been alive. When he’d dropped his teaspoon. When he’d transformed to pick up his teaspoon. “That was for a specific purpose - your body morphed to suit that situation. Delicate hands, no legs. Focus on your goal, Eren. I believe in you.”
He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, so deeply and slowly. He tried to steady the tumultuous wreckage in his brain, but images of Armin, sliced up and bleeding, and Levi’s limbs torn to shreds, kept flashing in the darkness. It was too much for anyone to bear. But maybe he could make use of that horror, he realised, and focused more acutely on the images before his eyes, of the blood and the ripped flesh, of the glassy eyes and slack jaws, heavy hands and cold skin. He focused on his goal - he had to save them.
With newfound serenity, he bit into his hand, as deeply as he could, the copper staining his tongue in an instant as his body became catatonic, enveloping itself in searing hot muscle, reforming around his human skeleton as he became far larger, taller, more powerful. The blood in his mouth washed down his throat, tasteless and fleeting, as he opened his eyes to see if he had succeeded.
He had transformed, and he stretched out his hands, testing his movement. Everything felt normal. With hesitance, he shuffled forwards, stooping over the bodies of his best friend and captain, and picked them up, one in each hand, unsure yet oddly hopeful.
He waited a few moments, but nothing happened.
Eren cast a panicked glance to Mikasa, who held up her hands and indicated for him to stay calm. He could see eyes on him, and Jean looked so hopeful, yet so guilty and tormented, Eren felt terrible. If he couldn’t do this, Jean would blame himself for the rest of his life, and even though they bickered a lot, that wasn’t something he wished upon his squadmate.
He kept hold of the two men, staring down at them through his titan’s eyes, confused and afraid of failure. Nothing seemed to be happening, and he internally cursed himself for being an idiot. What did he expect to happen? That picking them up would magically heal them? God, he was stupid, and he ground his teeth together in worry as he gently set them back on the grass.
How did he activate his regenerative abilities? He thought back to when they had first fallen down, and remembered the searing prickle of sharp stones piercing the back of his head. They had been pulled out by one of his teammates, and then his head had sewn itself back up of its own accord.
His arm had grown back after it was bitten off at the start of their life as trainee soldiers, too. He remembered how unnerving it had been to awaken in a titan’s stomach, alive, and missing an arm, only to next wake up with the limb back in place, fully functional, as if it had never been missing.
The common feature of his healing was simple - injury. Regeneration could be triggered by hurting himself. So, if he tore off his hand…
But no, he realised, that wouldn’t work. Whilst he could regenerate himself in this form, he couldn’t think of any way to transfer that to another person. But in his human form, it was a different story.
Without a moment of thought, he detransformed, letting his titan body evaporate around him and quickly stepped out from the carcass. Mikasa looked shocked, raising a questioning brow at him, but he forced a reassuring smile as he slid down from his titan’s body and took one of their remaining blades from the small equipment pile, before approaching the lifeless Armin once again.
If he was thinking this through correctly, all he needed to do was…
Carefully, he knelt next to Armin, and found one of his laceration wounds. Eren grimaced, but persevered, pulling the flesh apart and watching the wound reopen, crimson welling up instantly. Before it could start to bleed properly, though, he held out his own arm, wielding the sword in his other hand, and squeezed his eyes shut as he brought the blade to his skin.
He pressed down, the pain barely noticeable behind the drive to save his best friend. He cut deeper, and deeper, body shaking as the blade tore through veins, and blood began to spill from the new injury. He focused on Armin’s wound, letting his own blood drip down into his flesh, hoping, praying, that his theory might prove true.
When he injured himself, his body automatically began to regenerate. Whatever caused that regeneration must be present in his body - his blood - so by hurting himself, that could activate the regeneration, which he could then, in theory, transfer to Armin… It seemed ridiculous, he realised, but he couldn’t think of any other way. And this seemed like the type of thing Hange might come up with, and they were smart, so maybe, just maybe , it would work.
Steam erupted from Armin’s wounds, billowing into the air around them, and Eren squeezed his eyes shut, choking over the searing heat. He couldn’t see through the haze, the thick smog signature to the titans permeating the enclosed space of the cave, and he heard coughing, though he couldn’t detect from who or where.
Through the smoke, a hand grabbed his wrist, fingers digging into his bleeding cut, and he yelped at the sharp agony that shot through his veins, trying to pry away the filthy nails, the white knuckles, the scrambling grasp. Then, with a stuttering leap in his heart, Eren realised the hand grabbing him was small and delicate and sickly in colour, and it was coming from directly in front of him.
Armin fell forwards into his arms.
Eren clutched his body to his chest, and felt the shallow breaths as Armin’s chest rose and fell quickly, and he realised he needed to move. He needed help, they needed to patch Armin up and clean his wounds and remove his bloodied clothes and-
“Eren!”
Mikasa was pushing through the steam, soaked head to toe with water from the lake, her shirt sticking to her skin, hair plastered to her forehead. She stared at him with wide eyes, before rushing forwards and collecting himself and Armin into her arms, a sob of broken relief escaping her, calm and collected mask shattering the instant she felt the weak beat of Armin’s heart.
“Quick, Jean, come help!” Eren could hear Connie shouting, and then he was bustled haphazardly into Jean’s arms, carried from one place to the next, and before he knew it he was staring at Levi’s lifeless form, with Jean guiding his bleeding wrist to hover over their captain.
“Whatever you just did-” Jean said with a mixture of terror and elation, “-do it again, Eren. I… I couldn’t save them. But you can.” He swallowed heavily, and Eren saw his adam’s apple bob, before he breathed in deeply despite the smoke. “I believe in you, yeah? You can do this.”
Jean believing in him. He never thought he’d see the day.
Eren nodded resolutely as Jean helped him dig into one of Levi’s wounds, reopening it with a grimace, and Eren pressed his bloodied wrist to his captain’s chest, eyelids fluttering with lightheadedness at the sight of him, at his mangled leg, at the sight of his own blood welling up anew. The heat of the steam dissipating around them still stung his eyes, but he forced them to remain open, channelling all his energy into willing his body to heal, into urging his blood to drip faster, heavier.
Another explosion of steam, another ragged round of coughing through it, and another body brought back to life.
Eren couldn’t believe it. There was no way… had he possessed this power all along? If so, who could he have saved? Thomas? Marco?
His mother?
He felt tears spilling over his face at the thought of her, at the thought of how blessed he now was, for his own blood to heal the sick and wounded, to bring those he loved back from the dead. He didn’t know how this power worked. He didn’t know where it came from, or what the extent of this miracle was, but he would cherish it and use it to better humanity. He would. They would get out of this hellhole, and he’d return as a saviour. He’d do anything he had to, anything he could, with his blessed blood.
And then, he felt nausea wash over his body, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed into Jean’s arms.