Chapter Text
In a world myriad as ours, the gaze is a singular act:
to look at something is to fill your whole life with it, if only briefly.
- Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous -
Mikasa lined up a shot, rifle steady in her grip, one eye closed, aiming for the tin can thirty or so meters away. There was a moment of tense silence between her finger bracing the trigger and the gunfire. The trio watched the can drop to the grass next to its former perch on the wooden stump. Connie and Sasha hollered and cheered, the former leaping up into the air from where they both sat, waving his arms around in celebration.
They were at the shooting range that afternoon, unwinding after a long, strenuous day of cleaning their barracks. Jean planned to meet them later, finishing up mucking out the stables with Eren and Armin. Connie and Sasha wanted to compete and see who could hit the furthest target, the winner getting to dare the loser anything they wanted to, and having nothing but time to kill until dinner, Mikasa decided to join them.
Standing up from her kneel, Connie high fived Mikasa as he prepared to take his turn, and she moved to stand a few feet away by the wall. Down on one knee, he brought his rifle up, closing his eye as he aimed, pulling back the hammer, finger on the trigger… With a squeeze, nothing happened. He tried again. Nada.
“Eh? Sasha… did you sabotage my gun?” Connie asked, face contorted with confusion, turning to see her as he fiddled with the weapon.
“Huh? Of course not. Did you even load it?” Sasha said, folding her arms across her chest and raising a dubious eyebrow. Connie huffed, checking the magazine, finding it full, aiming once again, squeezing the trigger…
“What the hell?” He stood, aiming the gun away from everyone, though, no longer at a specific target, squeezing the trigger as far back as it would go. The safety was off, the gun was loaded, the hammer pulled back, so what could it be...?
“Hey everyone,” a familiar voice called, attracting their attention. Mikasa turned to see Armin walking up the path, waving- Jean in tow.
“Hi,” Sasha said, her yell echoing across the field. She leaned forward to see past Mikasa, and Connie waved, his irritation with the jammed weapon forgotten. The weapon, forgotten. Mikasa gave a small wave in greeting, planning to ask Armin where Eren was when the gun fired.
There was silence as the gunshot rang out, echoing across the range, escaping into the fields.
Mikasa turned to see Sasha, on her hands and knees, and Connie, on his ass, clinging to the wall, gun by his feet. The former had fallen off the bench after leaning too far forward, knocking into the latter, who dropped the gun in his panicked attempt to break his fall using the wall. They stared at her wide-eyed, mouths gaping, and Mikasa furrowed her brows, looking over her shoulder to where Jean and Armin stood frozen in shock horror.
It wasn’t until she looked down did she see the dark red liquid seeping through her oversized grey shirt. Swaying on her feet, her body going numb with shock, Mikasa attempted to set her rifle on the floor, watching as it slipped through her fingers and landed in the dirt with a clatter. The world around her spun, white noise rendering her deaf; muffled, high-pitched ringing and her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. Eyes rolling into the back of her head, everything soon blacked out, and her muscles gave up, legs buckling, body falling to the ground.
Time stood still for a moment that seemed to stretch hours, though it lasted less than a second, before Sasha’s desperate shrieking pierced through the heavy blanket of petrified silence weighing on everyone’s shoulders.
“Mikasa!” she said, her strangled cry so loud that Eren and Levi would later swear they heard it from the Survey Corps Trost base a mile down the road. Sasha propelled herself at Mikasa, grasping the unconscious girl's shoulders and shaking as if that might cure her of her ailments.
Jean and Armin bolted towards them- voices lost in the cacophony of horror unfolding. Connie's muscles were like stone, disobeying him, tears falling down his paling cheeks. Sasha was muttering incoherent prayers in between her sobs. Armin hovered over his childhood friend, struck speechless as his silent tears fell onto her pallid cheeks- it seemed Jean was the only composed one.
Connie dragged his stiff body towards Mikasa, repeating her name over and over as if to wake her up. Sasha’s babbling increased in volume, begging whatever God that ruled above them to stop playing around and make everything OK again- to wake them all up from this nightmare. Armin’s hands slid into his hair, his knees pulled into his chest, staring, his murmurs creeping into Jean’s ears until everything became too loud and he couldn’t think.
“Shut up,” Jean said, his yell ringing across the range, and their voices ceased. “Sasha, Connie, go and find someone to help,” he said, somehow the only one to remain calm in high-pressure situations as usual. Reminded of a time; years ago, Jean recalled how everyone stood faithless and vulnerable on the rooves of abandoned houses, like sitting ducks, their gas canisters empty, the Trost HQ swarmed with titans…
That day, Mikasa was the one who saved them, her speech empowering the remaining soldiers, everyone leaping into action… They hadn’t even graduated back then… and Marco-
“Go,” Jean said, a growl, noting that neither Sasha nor Connie dared move, staring at him, stupefied. Snivelling, Sasha nodded, grabbing Connie by the arm and yanking him to his feet, and they darted down the dirt road to go and find a doctor. “Is she breathing, Armin?” Jean asked, pulling off his brown Survey Corps jacket.
Blood was beginning to pool underneath Mikasa as he struggled to find a pulse in her wrist- she wouldn’t die, right? How could she? She was their best soldier -besides Levi- and they were fucked for sure if she was gone.
“Armin?” Jean said, tugging up Mikasa’s grey shirt. Her abdomen was covered in blood, as was her lower back, the thick red liquid dripping down her sides. Jean sucked in a deep breath at the sight, swallowing the vomit creeping into his throat. Using the sleeve of his jacket, he tried to wipe as much of the blood away as possible- to at least be able to see where the gunshot wound was so he could put pressure on it and stop the bleeding.
Armin placed a shaky hand over Mikasa’s mouth, by her nose, unsure if the wisp of air he felt against his skin was her breath or his mere imagination,
“I… I don’t know…” he said, defeated, choking back sobs. Tears marched down his cheeks, shell-shocked, rheumy eyes begging Jean for something- instruction, hope, anything that might ground him and give him something to cling to.
In Armin's head, all he could do was ruminate on the various organs, arteries and veins in the abdominal region- all of the ways a gunshot to the stomach could kill someone instantly. Stomach, liver, colon, intestines, spine- what if the bullet hit a kidney or her bladder? She was bleeding a lot- what if the bullet tore the abdominal aorta? Shit, shit, shit.
In times like this, Armin found knowledge incapacitating.
When they were introduced to guns back in their training days, Shadis made it very clear how dangerous the weapons were. How one fatal shot could kill someone in an instant.
"Never point a loaded gun at anything you don't intend to shoot," he said. Jean cringed at the irony.
“Check her neck for a pulse,” he said, folding up his jacket and pressing it to the bullet wound underneath his knee; his entire body weight leaned on Mikasa’s lower torso.
Armin nodded, bringing his fingers to her neck, sighing in relief. “I can feel her pulse.”
Jean grunted in acknowledgement. “Fold your jacket up and place it underneath her- we need to stop the bleeding from the exit wound.” At least there was an exit wound.
Meanwhile, Sasha’s lungs burned as she and Connie stumbled to a stop, having reached the base plaza. Unfortunately for them, what would often be bustling with soldiers, horses, wagons loaded to the brim with wooden crates of food, weaponry, and the like, was empty. Today, the wind’s singing broke the quietude as it caressed the leaves of surrounding trees.
“Connie, hospital, go… doctor,” Sasha said between pants, bent forward, hands on her thighs. The two of them running back from the range in record timing, coupled with their adrenaline and increasing distress, was burning them out fast, two candles running out of wick. It was hard to hear or even think over the rush of blood in their ears, heads swimming in adrenaline.
Connie nodded, muscles aching as he sprinted away. Being the quicker of the two, it made sense for him to run the longer distance, whilst Sasha searched in desperation for Hange or Levi- someone superior to her that might be able to tell them what to do.
It was different on expeditions. They did so much training it was all second nature- instinct. Even when their friends were injured, sure, it was terrifying, but they knew what to do. Having their quiet, enjoyable afternoon interrupted by a fatal, life-threatening injury to their friend was so disarming Sasha couldn’t think. She couldn’t bear to think. She could only do, for she feared that if she did nothing, that would cost Mikasa her life.
Sasha feared if she didn’t talk or shake her friend- if she didn’t throw open doors and scream for help down empty corridors, Mikasa would drift off into eternal sleep. She needed to do, desperately. It was the same for Connie, and Armin, who sat, talking to Mikasa through his tears, conversing with her like she might respond- like nothing was going on.
“The stables smelled bad,” he said, stroking her hair. “I thought I might throw up, and it reminded me of when we were kids, and we broke into the Garrison’s stables to go and pet the horses…”
“Guys, are you sure we should be doing this?” Armin said, careful to keep his voice at a murmur, tugging at his royal blue cardigan sleeve, worried they might all get in trouble for trespassing.
“Relax, Armin,” Eren said. “If they didn’t want us to enter, they should have locked the doors…”
“I’m not so sure about that logic, Eren…”
He snorted, gazing up at the horses in wonderment. “Y’know, when I join the Survey Corps-“
“If,” Mikasa said, and he rolled his eyes.
“I’ll get to ride one of these. I heard they go so fast even titans can’t catch up.”
“They’re cute…” Mikasa reached up to pet a chocolate brown stallion's nose, the horse leaning into her touch.
“Wait did you just… Mikasa, did you just say cute? That’s so weird,” Eren said, shocked, staring at her wide-eyed and incredulous. Mikasa froze, brows knitting together, shying away from his gaze, hints of pink tinging her babyface.
Shaking his head, he flipped a metal bucket over to stand on and see inside the horse’s stall. The bedding was straw; a bucket of feed, another of water, and a salt lick were all roped to the wall. Eren could see dark brown lumps poking out amongst the dried stalks of grain, odour exaggerated by the summer heat, explaining the thick stench permeating the air.
The horse Mikasa was petting turned to greet Eren, nudging his arm. He hummed, stroking its nose, and it whinnied, tossing its head back, happy.
“I heard horses are good judges of character,” Armin said, taking a cautious step forward- it seemed like they wouldn’t get in any trouble, their antics going uninterrupted thus far. The soldiers on duty were probably drunk and in the middle of a card game, as usual.
“How would we know? They can’t talk," Eren said, confused about how Armin could believe that. He was meant to be the smartest of the trio, after all. Crossing his arms over his chest, Eren narrowed his eyes at the creature in intense scrutiny, imagining a scenario in which horses could speak. What would they even have to say?
“Mama told me they’re good listeners,” Mikasa said, a small, content smile edging onto her face as she watched the horse flick its ears and shake its head. The horse turned back to Eren, who pondered the animal with wide, curious eyes, observing as it lifted its head back and-
“What the hell?” Eren said, crying out as he tripped backwards off the bucket, landing hard on his ass. Armin snorted, holding his stomach as he laughed, and Mikasa covered her mouth with her hand, muffling a melodic giggle. The horse neighed, sneezing in Eren’s direction once again, as if for emphasis.
The door to the meeting room hit the wall with a bang, only Hange, Eren, Levi and Onyankopon remaining after whatever assembly took place prior. They all turned to face Sasha, who gripped the doorway, hanging her head, attempting to catch her breath. Only the Goddess Ymir knew how many different rooms she’d barged into by this point- how long had it been? Minutes? Hours? What if Mikasa was dead? It was all her fault- if she hadn’t leaned forward and fallen into Connie-
“Sasha, if you’re looking to take a shit, the bathroom is back down the corridor. Otherwise, you better have a damn good reason for interrupting,” Levi said, and Sasha recoiled, straightening her back, offering them a teary-eyed salute,
“Commander, Captain, I’m sorry for interruptin', but… but…” Sasha’s voice strained and cracked as she forced her composure, fighting the quiver of her lips, she near-yelled, “Mikasa Ackerman’s been shot.” There was a brief eternity of stunned silence as everyone digested the information, and Sasha dropped her arms to her sides, continuing, “Connie went to find a doctor, but… I thought I should let you know, thank you…”
Levi and Hange exchanged glances, torn between continuing their conversation and abandoning it to see if Mikasa was OK- that said, it’s not like either of them were doctors. There wasn’t a whole lot they could physically do, in this situation, besides wait. Onyankopon clasped his hands on his lap, bowing his head in a silent prayer for her wellbeing, and Eren stared at Sasha, wide-eyed, fists clenched, knuckles white.
One of the scarce occasions he wasn’t with Mikasa, and she was shot? Eren didn’t know what to think or what to feel. Mikasa had been by his side every day for eight years, and the one time he was elsewhere- he couldn’t fathom it.
It wasn’t meant to be like this. They weren’t out on an expedition- they were at home- they were safe. There wasn’t meant to be any risk that they might lose a life out of nowhere. He saw Mikasa, what, hours ago? She was alive and well... Now she was injured and maybe on the brink of death because some rogue shot her- of all people?
“Sasha,” he said, his voice gruff, loud against the silence. “Where is she?”
The look on his face was like daggers to her stomach. “The shooting range.”
To say the scene was disturbing would be an understatement. The first thing Eren noticed was the blood- blood everywhere. Blood on Mikasa, blood on the ground, blood on Jean, blood on Armin. Blood, blood, blood. It made his stomach churn.
Armin sat on his knees, tears slipping down his cheeks as he stroked Mikasa's hair, a Survey Corps jacket bunched up underneath her back to try and halt the bleeding from her injury. Jean knelt on her abdomen, his jacket folded under his knee, terrified that if he moved even an inch, Mikasa might bleed out beneath him.
Slowing his sprint to a stop, Eren stumbled to his knees, dropping beside Mikasa. She was ghostly pale, eyes closed- fuck, she looked dead. Was she even breathing? Tears pricked at the corner of Eren’s eyes, and he thought he might throw up. How much blood had she lost?
He could see residual hues of red and copper smeared across her stomach, the once light brown jacket under Jean’s knee muddied with her… it was all her… bleeding out in front of him, her blood, her very life force slipping away in front of them.
Daring to look up, Eren met Armin’s ocean eyes, and a pang of disgust jolted through him. All they could do was sit and watch, pathetic and useless, as Mikasa died in front of them- there was no way she would die, though, right?
Hours ago… he ate lunch with Mikasa before she returned to cleaning the barracks, and Eren, mucking out the stables. Hours ago, she said she would see him later so that they could go to dinner and maybe sit in the fields and watch the sun go down like usual…
“What happened?” Eren said, a tentative hand on Mikasa’s neck to feel for a pulse, fearing that if he was too rough she might shatter beneath him. Mikasa was far from delicate, or fragile, for that matter, but he only ever faced losing her twice before. The first time, that night they met when her decision to fight saved their lives; the second time, the day that Hannes died... Eren realised that back then, they were in an equal amount of danger- together. This was the first time he could recall where he was OK, and she wasn’t.
Thus, he didn’t want to chance doing anything that might skew fate.
He was relieved to find her body warm, unlike the stone-cold he dreaded he might feel beneath trembling fingers had she long passed away. Her pulse was weak and fading; his heart lept at the sign of life, nonetheless. He didn’t move his fingers from her pulse- instead, he sought comfort in the throbbing, proof that she was still here with him.
It wasn’t much, but it was something; a sliver of hope to cling to, with every fibre of his being, to ground his anxious mind and perhaps will life back into her, somehow, through his touch. Stranger things had happened when he touched people.
“Connie dropped a rifle, and it fired at Mikasa,” Jean said, blunt, impassive. Eren’s stomach dropped, every muscle in his body twisting and knotting itself taut until he couldn’t move.
“Connie… dropped a rifle… and it fired… at Mikasa,” he said, repeating the words back to Jean, staggered and in disbelief. The world around him spun faster and faster.
Normally, in stressful situations, Mikasa would be by his side, to hold his hand, somehow knowing what he felt and how to soothe his nerves. Normally, she would rub her thumb over his knuckles and squeeze his hand, a comfort he grew accustomed to in their incessant councils of war that could drag on for hours and hours. Normally, with a wordless glance, she could assuage his anxiety. Normally…
“She’s been fading in and out… the doctor won’t be long now. If Mikasa can survive almost getting crushed in a titan’s hand, I’m sure she’ll be just fine, Eren,” Jean said, his calm voice reassuring.
Like that day, all those years ago, Jean was here to save Mikasa once again, while Eren was useless, hands tied, unable to do anything besides sit back and watch the events carry out before him. It was the same as being forced to watch his mother die, spine snapped and devoured by a titan (his father's ex-wife no less) right in front of his eyes. A weak, pathetic little boy who could only watch as the people he loved suffered and died around him.
Though, Eren remembered that Jean could be quite sensible. If he believed Mikasa would be fine, Eren could find some faith in that.
Jean’s eyes were gentle and sympathetic when their gazes met, and he said, “Accidents happen-“
“Accidents?” Eren said, the word leaving him in a bitter reflex. “And if she dies?”
“Mikasa,” Armin said, his gasp interrupting their disagreement. With a long groan, Mikasa stirred, dragging her heavy eyelids open, despite their persistence to remain closed. All she wanted was to sleep.
The thought that she might die crossed her mind, but she refused to let go until she said goodbye to Eren, and here he was, above her, dwindling afternoon daylight casting a soft glow across his sunkissed features. He looked like an angel.
“Eren,” she said, her voice almost inaudible, a small smile gracing her washed-out face. Her breathing was laboured as she shifted about; the pressure of Jean’s knee aggravated the burning injury, coupled with the cold hard ground beneath her, causing great discomfort.
“Mikasa,” Eren said, outrage forgotten, teal eyes brightening with faith, even in his dolour, “You’re going to be OK, I promise,” he said, a whisper, eyes welling with salty tears that he fought to keep at bay. He needed to be strong, at the very least. Breaking down in front of her would only concern her, and right now, Mikasa was the focus, not him.
She lifted her arm off the ground, unable to manage more than a few inches, and Eren took her hand in his, resting it in his lap. He stroked his thumb in circles over the back of her hand, squeezing, the way she always did for him, in the hopes he might be able to offer her that same comfort, and she shut her eyes with a content sigh,
“Be still, Mikasa, you need to rest,” he said, and she gave a slight nod.
“Eren, don’t…” She trailed off, breathing subduing in the way it did when someone fell asleep. For a moment, panic crept into his veins at the thought that she might be dying right in front of him, but she opened her eyes again, “…worry…” she said, and he subconsciously began massaging her knuckles, more for his solace than hers.
“I’m not worried. You’re going to be OK.”
“Armin.” Mikasa’s eyes shifted across to him. He stroked her hair, sitting silent by her side, his lower lip quivering. “The stable… Hannes… you know…? It smelled like… the sea…” Her shuddery, deep breaths between words were worrying, and somehow it seemed as if she continued to get paler and paler. If Eren thought she looked dead earlier, then at this point, she was a ghost of her former self.
“I… I know,” Armin said, nodding, forcing a smile onto his face. He didn’t know what she was talking about, and he feared the lack of oxygen flowing to her brain was making her delirious.
Jean watched in silence, perturbed at how long it seemed to be taking the doctors to arrive. At this rate, Mikasa was going to die, and he couldn’t allow that.
“Armin,” he said, reluctant to interrupt, but the desperate situation called for it. “Can you go and see what’s taking Connie so long?” He didn’t want to say the doctors in case that caused Mikasa some distress, and right now, the least they could do was try and maintain her peace of mind. If she did die, Jean wanted it to be in repose- not in woe, thinking that she might have lived if only help arrived sooner.
Armin nodded, clearly feeling that same sense of urgency, glad for an order that might give him a sense of purpose in these dire circumstances. He squeezed Mikasa’s arm, pushing himself to his feet, meeting Eren’s fretful gaze. Squeezing his shoulder, Armin bolted off down the road.
Mikasa had no clue how long she lay there. In her mind, it felt like hours, but realistically it was less than thirty minutes. Still, she knew that was far too long to wait, as did Jean. The bleeding might have stopped, but she was at risk of infection- and God knows if the bullet pierced an organ or what other kind of internal damage she might have.
“Eren,” Mikasa said, cloudy eyes meeting his, lifting her free hand to clutch his red scarf wrapped around her neck. “Thank you…” Her watery smile pushed him over the edge, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Mikasa, don’t,” he said, choking on his words as he shook his head. He squeezed her hand. “Don’t you dare leave me.” A faint blush stained her serene features, breathing a glimmer of life into her face.
“It’s OK,” she said. “I’ll see you…” Snivelling, he cupped her cheek with his other hand, brushing away the tears that trickled down her face with his thumb.
“Don’t do this, please.” Even if she was ready to go, he wasn’t ready to let her go. They were meant to have more time together- not only that, but Mikasa was supposed to be the one to stop him- to end the titan curse and kill him. Their fates were so intertwined- what could he be without her? What could he do? His purpose in life depended on her, and irrespective of that, she was entirely irreplaceable.
There was no one else that could be her. He didn’t want anyone else to be her.
Her eyes drifted closed, and he choked back a sob. “Mikasa.” Eren pushed her shoulder gently, hoping to shake her awake. “Mikasa, don’t, please…”
“It’s OK,” she said again, eyes opening to take one last look at him, overwhelmed with such peace, she wanted nothing more than to sleep now. With a weak squeeze of his hand, Mikasa reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear, cupping his cheek.
Jean turned away some time ago, clenching his jaw, trying not to encroach on the couple’s farewell, and also trying to appease his vexation at the missing medical help. At this rate, he’d pick her up and carry her to the hospital himself.
He didn’t need to, though, as paramedics rounded the corner seconds later, an intense wave of relief washing over his features, every ounce of tension released from his aching muscles as he sighed.