Chapter Text
To you, 75 Years From Now
July 2312.
A deer stood in the woods. A companion by its side foraging upon the wilderness.
A rock hit the tree stump beside them, and a breeze of wind raced through the space between the animal’s ears.
They ran.
She breathed in, deep enough to fill her lungs, as she held her breath to steady her hand. The bow felt light in her hold, and everything else seemed to pause.
Hunting, for those who could risk it, was one of the few ways to put food on the table in District Twelve.
However, there were other reasons to lift a weapon and shoot a deer between the eyes. For Mikasa, it was the silence that filled the air before a fatal shot. The wind that held the trees from rustling as if waiting in suspense.
She closed her eyes, breathed in a final time, and-
“MIKASA!” shit.
The deer she had been watching jumped at the sudden noise, it launched over a petrified tree stump and fled deeper into the woods.
She spun around on her heels, seething as she locked eyes with her brother, Eren, and the shorter blonde boy beside him. Eren stood with a hip cocked to the side, a grin on his face.
“What the fuck?!” She yelled, half directed to Eren, who stood hands on hips, long hair down and blowing with the breeze - and half directed to Armin.
Her brother snorted, hopping down from the hill he stood on. “What were you planning on doing with a hundred-pound buck ‘Kasa?” She couldn’t see his expression from where his hair fell into his face as he moved towards her, but she knew the cocky bastard had a smirk playing on his lips.
“Sell it, actually.” She glanced between Eren, who stood beside her, and Armin, who continued his way down the hill. He was more careful than his counterpart. His steps were deliberate, delicate.
When Armin arrived to stand in front of the siblings, he smiled softly at the raven. “Peacekeepers are swarming the place; you wouldn’t have been able to get it to the market.”
Eren huffed quietly at this; In a told you so , kind of way. He earned a smack to the arm for this from his sister.
“Ow!” He rubbed his wound and pouted.
Armin sighed and signaled for them to begin heading back.
The journey back didn’t take long, but it never failed to get Eren’s heart pounding as they slid through the trees, silent and quick. They pushed their way through the electric fence that nobody ever bothered to turn on and jogged through the back footpaths between houses.
Their jog slowed to a walk as they reached the denser part of the district. Eren blew air towards his face to remove the stray hairs that had found a home on the tip of his nose.
He turned around to face his sister and friend, now walking backward. “What if one day they just turn that fence on when we try to stick our leg through?”
After a short pause, Armin and Mikasa glanced towards each other, a glint in their eyes. “That’s why we make you go first.”
Eren huffed and turned around to walk forward again - continuing their walk.
Eventually, they reached the first house that sat on the outskirts of the town. The air ran cold as they stepped into the threshold of their district.
That was the ritual every year. Every annual Hunger Games, they pretended nothing was wrong, pretended their friends and family weren’t going to be carted off to slaughter like unsuspecting lambs. And most of all, they did not cry.
The rotting wood of the door pushed open and let the childhood friends into the house where Carla Jaeger stood silently over the stove. An eerie silence filled the room.
“I’ve laid out your clothes.” She said. She did not turn her head to look at them, only stood looking at a pot of boiling water.
Mikasa cleared her throat in an attempt to gain her mother’s attention. “Actually, I was planning on heading to the market, before we go.” Carla stared at her, her eyes dull as Mikasa placed her bag on the dining room table to walk towards the older woman. Carla didn’t speak a word when Mikasa wrapped her arm around her shoulders. Nor did she say anything when Mikasa pulled away with a sigh and slipped back out of the door.
Eren had watched the altercation silently. His mother stood unmoving, oblivious to the two boys standing in the living area. Her son sighed and trudged up the stairs, Armin following closely behind.
The District would usually dress in their best for the reaping, as asked of them by the Capitol. However, their “best clothing” was just slightly cleaner than their regular clothes, which consisted of pale blue and beige shirts and worn leather jackets to shield them from the cold.
Upstairs, they parted ways into their separate rooms to bathe. Eren's skin was raw, scrubbed until the tint of his body turned pink, compared to its usual tan. It wasn’t so much that he cared about his appearance for the reaping. However, the repeated movements of a bath took his mind to a different place. And he’d much rather it was anywhere else than where he was right now. The cold air was situated around his shoulders and breathed onto his scalp, which had also been scrubbed to the point of pain.
Soon enough, the breeze became uncomfortable rather than soothing, as his wet hair created chills down his shoulders and along his spine. Finally, Eren sighed, looked down towards the now murky water - and stepped out of the tub.
–
On the first floor, Carla Jaeger sat at an old dining room table. Grisha had made it in his youth and carved their initials into the wooden tabletop. Since then, the wood had started to rot. She picked at it softly, the dampness finding home beneath her nails.
She had ignored the telltale creak of the door when it opened to reveal her daughter, she did not look up at the sound of footsteps until the dark-haired girl sat down adjacent to her mother; elbows rested upon the wood and eyes downcast. Carla choked back a sob. This girl, this woman that she had raised while barely able to stand on her own two feet after her husband died. She was now too old - too old to sacrifice for her son. It had always been the plan to save Eren from the reaping. But now? Nineteen was too old for slaughter. The Capitol liked their lambs young. Like Eren, the eager-eyed boy who had turned 17 not even a month ago. Mikasa had been taken in after Carla found her starving and alone in the rain. She had been caked in mud and shaking violently.
The moment she walked in the door, she was loved and given the Jaeger family name. Their father had died shortly after; being a doctor who worked in unsanitary conditions had worn down his immune system. After all, District Twelve was not known for its medical facilities. Eren had watched as he withered away, shivering and sweating.
She wrestled back another choking sound and blinked the tears away as she thought about her son. The depiction of hope. Something that was all too lost in the districts.
She did not want another two years of her son being marched to join the lines of other children. She couldn’t bear another two years of him quite literally signing away his blood each time he stood in line to get his finger pricked and stamped on a form. The weight of it was too heavy, it bore on her shoulders as it ate away at her nape and whispered into her ears that she should never have given birth to this child. Never have brought him into this world.
When Eren was born and had opened his bright green eyes to look up at his mother, Carla knew she had made a mistake. She had brought something so pure and full of light and optimism into her life. To suffer, to survive and not live, to starve, to scavenge and to-
“Momma?”
The voice interrupted her thoughts and pulled her out of her head. Subsequently, she pulled herself out of it enough to recognize Mikasa standing beside her now, a hand on her head stroking lightly.
“You’re hyperventilating.”
Carla attempted to slow the breathing that she discovered had sped up and turned to look beside her upon hearing this. Tears clouded her vision, but she could make out her daughter and two contrasting heads of hair now standing behind her.
She cleared her throat for the sake of her children and quietly addressed them.
“I’m sorry,” She said. For breaking down or for letting them get to this point, she did not know. Her eyes locked onto Erens worried teal ones. He stood proud; he always did. His brown hair that he refused to cut sat complacently on his shoulders, still damp, she noticed.
“You’ll catch a cold,” she stated simply.
The boy had smiled softly at her and tilted his head like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, and kept silent.
Walking to the reaping should have been a silent and solemn affair. However, the marching of the peacemakers alongside the crowd made it a fearful one. The walk was not long, as the district's size was not significant. Even so, it felt like hours before they reached the square. The rows of children stood silently in front of the Capitol officials, lined up like cattle as they awaiting their blood to be taken. Their identities were just numbers, their lives entertainment for the rich and the privileged.
As he stood in line, Eren thought back to his first reaping; at age twelve. Mikasa had stroked his hair back from his face as she told him, ‘it’s just a prick.’ She had been fifteen at the time, so much older than she could take. But she’d experienced so much at that age. Much more than someone who was barely a teenager should. Eren knew his mother and Mikasa had made a deal to not let him be chosen for the games. It was planned for his sister to volunteer if he was chosen, but he never said anything. He didn’t like to be thought of as weak; he didn’t like that his mother believed Mikasa could handle it better than him. That she was stronger than him. Although, maybe it was best to stay silent, as to not endure another breakdown from Carla.
“Eren Jaeger?”
The woman sitting at the desk furrowed her eyebrows at him, her mouth twisting and her lancet device waiting in her hand. Eren couldn’t help but think that she had too much of an attitude for someone that was looking these children in the eyes and sending them to a potential death sentence. Even so, he placed his hand in front of him and winced as the device pricked his skin. She pushed the paper towards him so that Eren could press his finger on it and leave a stamp of blood in the designated square. Finally, it was over, and the boy let out a heavy sigh and stepped towards the crowd who stood silently row by row.
Soon enough, Armin following suit behind Eren; the shorter boy had come to stand beside him. Of course, Armin wanted to act more assertive than he was, to stand taller than he could handle. But Eren could see the slight tremble in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his baby blue eyes. Any other day, Eren would have placed a hand on those shaking shoulders, but on this day his limbs felt like lead. So he kept his hands by his side and looked towards the large stage that imposed over the crowd.
The harsh screech of a microphone drew the crowd's attention towards the stage, it rang loudly in Erens ears even after it was concluded.
“Welcome, Welcome!” An overly-enthusiastic voice exclaimed loudly, seemingly unaffected by the microphone’s cry.
The crowd had been silent before, but now the air had turned deadly. Hange Zoe, they were unrealistically tone-deaf; it amazed Eren how anyone could be so oblivious. Or ignorant. The outfits were even more absurd than the speech they gave every year. Androgynous and over-the-top fabrics flounced around them and took up more of the stage than an outfit should. Their hair stood wild and kept captive under a too-large hat. The nails attached to their fingers made Eren cringe slightly as he wondered how they went to the bathroom, if at all.
His slightly judgemental thoughts were interrupted upon the realization that Hange had already stuck their accessorized hand into the glass bowl and began rummaging around between handfuls of paper.
He wasn’t ready yet. He wanted to tell them to wait, just a second. His breath caught in his throat, the blood pounded in his ears. His heart banged against his ribcage. He had to get away. He couldn’t stay here awaiting somebody’s name to be called. He had seen too many friends and passing faces walk onto that stage and not return. He’d seen too many families break down and carted away by peacekeepers. He had to run, but where? Run away and be beaten? Or even worse, shot in front of his town, his family.
Eren made the decision to stay put.
The escort retrieved their hand from the bowl. Eren’s heart only beat harder in his chest; he thought for a fleeting moment it would escape after bursting out of his chest. That it would run away from this place, through the fence, and into the woods, so it could live without his vessel, without his body. He wished he could do the same. His thoughts drifted as the silence of the air around him saturated his senses. He could barely hear due to the blood rushing in his ears, however, nothing could’ve stopped him from hearing Hange Zoes next words.
Eren Jeager.
Feet shuffled, and heads turned. But the only thing he could focus on was his younger friend, who could not hold back choked sobs as he looked up towards Eren. Armin knew what this meant that his brother would not return, even if he survived.
Eren wished that he could feel something, anything. But there was nothing. No fire coursing through his veins, no anger seeping into his bones. He had thought it would make him furious, believed that it would make him foam at the mouth that they dared to call out his name. But, instead, nothing was running through his blood. His limbs still felt heavy, and he pushed past the crowd around him to walk through the center. For once, he was glad for his hair falling into his face; he didn’t want to see the look on his people’s faces, much less for his family to see him. He didn’t want to solidify it just yet; he wanted to let them have just one more moment of maybe Eren would be safe; perhaps it wasn’t him.
His footsteps were loud against the silence of the crowd; it was deafening against the ringing of his ears. He trudged closer and closer towards the steps of the stage, towards the overly made-up escort who awaited him. They smiled at him widely, eyes crinkling beneath their large glasses.
He stood next to them as his mind wandered once more.
Eren always had a tendency to dissociate from essential matters. Like when his father had passed away while in bed, and Eren could only watch as he withered. Eren wished he could have screamed for his mom, but he had rooted the ground as he stared at his father’s lifeless eyes. Once when he and Mikasa had been out hunting, a snarling wolf had appeared from behind a rather large oak. Eren stood and stared. Mikasa said she had been screaming at him to run, for god’s sake. He hadn’t heard her at the time, heard anything for that matter. He only recalled the aftermath. Of his wrist being held so tight it bruised and his ankle twisting from being dragged violently through the woods. Only knew what she’d screamed at him from what she told his mother back at the house. Eren had sat silently then, too, listening to her shout at Carla that “ he just fucking stood there” and that “ He could have died, Momma.”
Eren supposed he got it from his mother, whose breakdowns were frequent after the death of his father. She would lay in bed for days unmoving, barely eating and letting the world pass her by, day by day. She had scared Eren with this; he didn’t want to see his other parent rot away in that same bed. It held enough souls for now.
Aunt Faye had come round often then, taking care of Carla. Until she realized that her help was unwanted. After a few smashed china and a rather forceful slap to the face from Carla in a fit of rage, she learned of this the hard way. Faye had run out of the door that day, told the then short-haired boy that he could stay at her house whenever he wanted, and left. Eren had not seen her since; he hoped she was alive.
Eren was brought back to reality at the sounds of paper rustling beside him. His eyes drifted down to those godforsaken nails once more as they shot up to reveal the piece they’d chosen. He took a moment to glance over at the crowd; Armin stood tall, though his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Good, don’t break , Eren thought silently. From this point of view, he could oversee everyone in the town; they were all required to be there, of age or not. It served as a reminder that nobody was safe; they all had to pay for their rebellion 75 years before.
Hange cleared their throat as Eren scanned the crowd once more. Finally, he found his mother and Mikasa standing close at the back of the public. Carla, unsurprisingly, looked like a shell. His mother had lost the light in her eyes as soon as he was born, but now there was barely even a dim bulb, not even a flicker. Mikasa had held her up slightly, eyes downcast with something like guilt.
The crowd fell silent once more, and several intakes of breath were heard; Eren could practically hear District 12’s collective thoughts of, please don’t be them or me. The voice rung loud and clear against the microphone. A pin drop could have been heard after the next name was called.
It’s Armin Arlert.