Chapter Text
Armin drew a large black X on the square marked September the fifth and sighed. Another full moon come and gone, and along with it the dwindling hope that he’d ever change. Two more phases, he reminded himself. Two more phases and then he’d be eighteen years old and long past the age at which most werewolves experienced the Quickening. The closer to eighteen he got the less likely it was to happen, and...well, being a nerd at school was enough, but a wolf who couldn’t change? Social pariahs never had it so bad.
Two more phases.
November the third couldn’t come soon enough or stay far enough away. At least it was his senior year. Come this time next year he could be at a university far, far away where no one was the wiser. He’d finally fit in with his peers, and Erwin could finally look at him as if he wasn’t about to become his worst nightmare before his very eyes.
A light scratching at Armin’s window snapped him out of his pity party and he got up to throw open the sash. A small black bat blinked up at him passively from its perch on the windowsill, and Armin stared at it expectantly for a long moment before it huffed out a tiny squeak.
Armin smiled warmly at the creature and stepped aside. “Come in, Mikasa.”
There was a sort of dry rustling sound, like autumn leaves blowing down the street, and suddenly Mikasa was standing before him holding a large paper bag.
“You can use the front door you know,” he said, taking a seat on his bed.
“Your uncle is watching television in the den,” she informed him. “I did not wish to upset him.”
Armin nodded, thankful for his friend’s consideration. Contrary to popular belief, vampires could come and go anywhere as they pleased: they were just unfailingly polite.
Mikasa set the paper bag on Armin’s night stand and gazed at him levelly. “There are still two more moons,” she said.
Armin gaped at her. “Jeezum, Mikasa. How long were you -”
“You appeared to be preoccupied. I thought it best not to interrupt.”
Armin groaned and flopped back on his bed. “It’s never going to happen,” he whined.
Mikasa sat beside him and reached out to gently brush his bangs from his eyes. “You have time,” she told him. “Many wolves are late bloomers.”
“Yeah, but not this late,” Armin grumbled. He sighed, letting go of his misery enough to concentrate on his friend’s cool touch. “No Eren tonight?”
“He is worried. Sit up.”
Armin did as he was told and turned his back to her, bringing his knees up to his chin. “Why didn’t he come himself, then?” he asked sourly as Mikasa swept up his hair and began braiding. He wondered what it would be this time.
“Would you like me to leave?” Mikasa asked him earnestly.
“No,” Armin said quickly, ashamed. He turned his head to meet her somber gaze. “That’s not what I - I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just -” He paused, searching for the right words, but only finding honest ones. “Do you ever wish your life was different?”
Mikasa stared unblinkingly at him for a moment before gently turning his head to face forward once again. “If it was, I would never have met you.”
Armin’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head a little, warming at his friend’s simple affection. She rarely gave it so openly, preferring to let it show via small gestures here and there. Like listening to him and not judging him for his self-doubt. Her hands moved a little longer and she gave his hair a tug, signaling her completion, then flipped the braid over his shoulder. Armin reached up and felt the fine weave with his fingers and smiled. Herringbone.
“Thanks, Mikasa,” he told her sincerely. “You’re a good friend.”
Mikasa dropped a cool kiss to his temple and stood, eyeing the paper bag on the night stand. “You should leave now. Visibility will be poor soon.”
“Thanks,” Armin said again. “I won’t be long.”
“Be sure that you aren’t. The zombie pens are treacherous even in daylight.”
“I’ll be careful,” Armin told her as he walked her to the window. “Levi will be there.”
Mikasa gave him an unimpressed look.
Armin grinned. “He’s your sire, Mikasa.”
“Immortality does not exempt me from daddy issues,” she sniffed, throwing her leg over the windowsill.
“You’re going to have to forgive him eventually.”
Mikasa looked at him flatly before swinging her other leg around and shifting closer to the edge. “‘Eventually’ is a long time to a vampire,” she said over her shoulder, and with that, she was gone.
Armin closed the window behind her and sighed. He loved his friend - he truly did - but he sometimes didn’t understand her. Maybe family was a different concept altogether for vampires, or maybe not having much of a family himself made him particularly sentimental, but Armin always thought he could forgive his family anything. Or maybe it was simply a case of too much of a good thing: Mikasa’s one hundredth birthday was quickly approaching, and Armin supposed that seventy-eight years of Levi Ackerman could become a bit stale. Still, between Mikasa’s cool disdain of Levi and Eren’s hot-headed defiance of his father, all Armin could do was wish he even had a father to hate. They didn’t know how lucky they had it.
Armin checked the clock above his desk and decided to heed Mikasa’s advice. He grabbed the paper bag from his nightstand and headed downstairs.
The television flickered in the living room, but Armin heard the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen and poked his head in the door to find his uncle unloading the dishwasher.
“Erwin, I’m going,” he called, holding the paper bag out of sight.
The man turned and regarded Armin thoughtfully. “Eren’s?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Armin lied.
Erwin turned back to the open cupboard and placed a mug on the shelf. “Don’t be too late,” he said.
“I won’t,” Armin promised, and waited a moment to be sure Erwin wouldn’t turn around again before heading for the front door. He grabbed his keys and looked back toward the kitchen, a little guilty at the lie he told every Friday night, but had Erwin known what he was really up to, Armin was certain he’d be grounded for his natural life. Probably the unnatural one, too.
The drive to the abandoned granite quarry known locally as the zombie pens wasn’t far, but it was long. It was located just four miles up an old logging road, hidden neatly in the mountains. The road was rarely used as, strictly speaking, no one was supposed to even know of its existence, but being the son of zombie researchers granted Armin certain liberties. He drove carefully along the dirt road, avoiding divots and washboard where he could, but it was still a bumpy, uncomfortable ride. He was as relieved as he always was when the single floodlight from Levi’s watch tower came into view. He threw the car into park near the fence, grabbed the paper bag from the passenger seat and jumped out to greet his parents’ oldest friend.
“Is it Friday already?” Levi called from his perch thirty feet above the ground. His face popped over the short wall, pale in the bright moonlight.
“Hi, Levi,” Armin called back. “How are you?”
“Another day in paradise.” He eyed Armin critically, then frowned. “No change yet, eh?”
“No,” Armin replied, glum.
“Fuck ostie,” Levi barked, then waved a dismissive hand. “I bet your uncle’s happy. How is he, by the way?”
Armin sighed. Levi’s interest in his uncle was never “by the way,” and he’d never understood it. Erwin was the most boringly normal man in the world. “Still hates everything supernatural.”
“How sad for me that vampirism is chronic.”
“So’s being human.”
Levi arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“For him,” Armin amended quickly.
“For now.”
“Levi, please don’t turn my uncle into a vampire,” Armin moaned.
Levi huffed and turned his sharp eyes back to the yawning darkness before him. “Relax, kid. Your uncle’s pulse is partly why I like him. And his ass. Now, scram.” He glanced pointedly at the paper bag in Armin’s arms. “Your boyfriend’s hungry.”
Armin rolled his eyes; he should have known better. “Thanks, Levi,” he said, and descended the platform stairs to the security door. There was a loud click and buzz as Levi disengaged the lock, and Armin threw him a nervous smile as the automatic door swung open.
“Be careful tonight,” Levi called from his perch. “The natives are restless.”
The smile dropped from Armin’s lips and he gripped the paper bag tightly to his chest as he stepped through the door and found his well-worn trail.
The path Armin was on faded with the last of the floodlight, and Armin had to use the scanty waxing moonlight to carefully pick his way along the fence. His ears caught the rustle and murmur of zombies deep within the quarry and he shivered. Though he’d been making the same trek once a week for nearly a year now, the idea of thousands of hungry undead barely fifty feet away still unnerved him. He concentrated on the low hum of the electrified fence instead, thankful he didn’t have much farther to go.
The lookout point Armin preferred was about a half mile away from Levi’s guard station and just a hundred yards south of the shallowest point in the quarry. Flooding that spring had been violent and bore away a significant portion of the rock wall there, and while the Council bickered among themselves about whether to repair it or put a bullet into every single zombie’s head, the area was largely left unprotected. It was dark and dangerous, and if it was ever discovered that Levi allowed Armin back there, not only would his uncle kill him, but the Council would probably permanently kill Levi. If it was possible. Armin had heard some rumors.
The clouds parted long enough for the moon to illuminate the granite, giving it an unearthly glow. Armin could easily see the trail as it dipped and followed the natural contour of land and terminated at a flat precipice barely twenty feet above the quarry floor. He picked up the pace, wishing to take advantage of the break before thicker clouds rolled in as they always did at night in September. Not for the first time Armin wished zombies weren’t so mindlessly attracted to light, though he supposed he should be thankful for the floodlight at Levi’s station. It was small, but kept the bulk of the horde enamored enough so Levi could keep an eye on them, with the added benefit of thinning the crowd to the point where Armin was able to find him. And with him, his hope.
The trail finally ended and Armin found himself standing near the edge of the quarry, heart beating nervously in his chest. He peered over into the darkness. The area was empty.
“Marco?” he called softly, but nothing. Not even the chirps of late season peepers reached his ears; it seemed even Mother Nature had forsaken this place. Armin wondered vaguely when he’d wise up and follow her lead, but... “Marco?” he tried again, and there! The dry scrape of footsteps on stone. “Over here, Marco,” he called a little louder, and sure enough, the unmistakable shape of his old classmate slowly shambled into view. He looked the same as he always did, maybe a little soggy from the earlier rain. Still familiar, though. And despite it all, still friendly.
Armin sat in place and opened the bag. The odor of fresh brain hit his nose and he grimaced. He’d never understood what zombies saw in those things, but considering how their taste buds probably didn’t even work anymore, he didn’t think about it too much. The organs were cheap and Mikasa gladly supplied them. The biggest issue, really, was how Marco managed to eat them with only half a jaw, but maybe he was better off not knowing the particulars of that one. He dumped the contents of the bag into the quarry and watched as Marco shuffled over to it and began to cram bits of it one-handed into the hole in his face.
“Sorry it’s not bigger,” Armin apologized. “Looks like Mikasa could only get her hands on sheep tonight. Though you really ought to be grateful - those other guys down there probably don’t get anything at all, do they? Not unless their friends or family know they’re here, which they probably don’t. I’m not even supposed to know that you’re here.” He leaned back on his hands and gazed unseeing at the scuddering clouds, suddenly somber. “I saw your mother yesterday,” he said quietly. “She looked sad. Sometimes I want to tell her, but I think she knows and doesn’t want to talk about it. No one wants to talk about it. Well, except Hanji, but she won’t stop talking about it once she starts. Did I tell you she’s offered me a job once I get my biology degree? Four more years and I could be helping to find a cure. Assuming I take classes during the summers, which I will. I probably won’t be able to come see you much once I start college, but it’s for a good cause. Maybe Mikasa will visit you for me.”
A quiet moan floated up from the quarry floor, followed by the wet squish of fingers digging through meat. Armin sighed.
“Yeah, probably not. She still hasn’t forgiven Levi for kicking Eren’s teeth in, even though he deserved it. Zombie chicken’s a stupid game, and he could’ve -” Armin cut himself short, a little ashamed. The last thing he needed to do was lecture Marco about the thing that put him there in the first place. Undead or no, Marco was still his friend, and Armin would treat him like one. “I’m sorry. It’s just...wicked frustrating when one best friend is a colossal idiot and the other is a total mom. I don’t care that she’s bound to protect the Jaegers in perpetuity or whatever, sometimes she just has to let Eren learn the consequences. Jean did, and he’s the starting center of the hockey team this year. He’s so good that even Erwin’s interested, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to even acknowledge anything supernatural.” Armin pried some lichen from the granite at his feet and flung it angrily into the quarry. “Sometimes I think he’d ignore me if he could. He definitely didn’t suspect that I was coming here tonight, and all he would have to do is call Eren’s dad to find out I lied, but he still hates supes so much that he’d never do it. Part of me thinks he even knows, but he doesn’t want to know. You know?” He leaned over and giggled when he spied Marco watching him hungrily with bits of brain and lichen on his face. “Sorry, bud,” he said again, and leaned back, falling into silent contemplation. His train of thought was getting a little too depressing, even for sharing with a zombie. Marco moaned as if in agreement.
“Anyway, I really hope we find a cure soon,” Armin murmured. “I could really use you out here. Mikasa tries, she really does, but there’s only so much she can do with Eren to keep track of, and Eren...well, I told you he and Annie were back on. He’s been hanging out a lot more with Bert and Reiner because of her, and Mikasa and I told him it’s not a good idea, not since...but you know how he is. At least he’s too busy to fight with Jean anymore.” His cheeks warmed a little as his thoughts turned toward Marco’s best friend. “You should see him now, Marco. He’s so, so hot,” Armin groaned. “Wicked smart, too. He’s in most of my A/P classes and I’m pretty sure Yale offered him a hockey scholarship, but I think he’s holding out for UVM for some reason. I mean, I get it, state pride and all, but Yale. Not that UVM’s bad or anything, Erwin went there and he works for the governor, but nothing beats Ivy, which is why I’m hoping to hear from Harvard soon. Their biology program is the best in the country and -”
A twig snapped off to Armin’s left and he froze, heart hammering in his chest. There weren’t any animals in these woods. Perhaps it just fell? It was a little breezy, but then it happened again. Armin stared into the trees, rooted to his spot in terror. No one was supposed to be here. Not even him.
“Le -” Armin tried, but his voice caught at how dry his throat suddenly became. He swallowed. “Levi?”
There was no reply, but another crack, then the steady crunch of leaves underfoot. Armin scooted away until his back hit the rock wall and he hugged his knees to his chest, trembling. This was it. This was what happened to stupid little boys who defied authority and sneaked around on their uncles: they ended up zombie food in the middle of the night, with no one the wiser. No one to know that they died - or worse - just that they were gone, like Marco. Armin buried his face in his knees, hoping for it to be over as quickly as possible. Maybe Levi would feed him a brain once in a while. If he found him. God, he was so stupid -
“What the -” a man’s voice exclaimed. “Armin?”
Armin pried his eyes open to find Jean Kirschtein several feet away, staring at him with wide eyes and holding a stick the size of his forearm.
“What the fuck, dude?” Jean threw the stick off to the side and brushed his hands off on his pants, regarding Armin with a mixture of shock and relief. “I was about to bash your head in! What the fuck are you doing here?”
Armin could wonder the same thing about Jean, but words failed him at the moment. He willed his heart to slow down as he stared at Jean dumbly.
“Are you all right?” Jean asked. “Christ, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come on.” He reached a hand out to help Armin to his feet. Armin took it, stumbling on unsteady legs. Jean caught him as he pitched forward, the rush of adrenaline leaving him shaky and hot. “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he set Armin aright.
“Thanks,” Armin breathed, and straightened. It was okay now. He was okay.
“What are you doing here?” Jean asked again. He seemed much calmer now, his handsome features relaxed but intent.
“I, uh -” Armin began, glancing toward the quarry. “I come here sometimes.”
Jean’s eyes followed Armin’s to the empty paper bag left forgotten near the edge. “You mean you -” he began, then looked back to Armin. Something appeared to click. “How did you know?”
It was then that Armin noticed that Jean was holding a paper bag of his own and blinked in surprise. “About Marco?”
Jean nodded.
“An accident,” Armin admitted with a shrug. “I came here looking for...but then I found him. I asked Levi about it and...I’m sorry. How did you -”
“Marco’s mom,” Jean cut in. “She let it slip a couple months ago. I come whenever I get the chance, but. You know how it is.”
Armin did.
Jean gave the paper bag a shake and nodded toward the quarry. “Do you mind if I..?”
“Oh! No, sorry. I should get going anyway. My uncle thinks I’m at Eren’s, and Mikasa will kill me if I stay out too late. I’ll just -” Armin made to run over to scoop up the empty bag, but was stopped short by a warm hand on his arm.
“You don’t have to go,” Jean told him. His face was open, honest. He smiled, and Armin felt warmth bloom in his chest. “It’s nice. Someone else remembering him. Sometimes I feel like everyone else forgot.”
“All right,” Armin breathed, and led the way to where he once sat.
Jean came up beside him and peered over the edge. Marco peered up, and Jean laughed. “What’s that on his face?”
Armin flushed, fidgeting in place. “Sheep’s brain and, uh...lichen.”
Jean arched an eyebrow. “Lichen?”
“I picked it off the rock and threw it. Nervous habit,” Armin explained with a shrug.
“Dude,” Jean began gravely, “dude. Don’t fuck with lichen. Do you have any idea how hard it is to grow on a rock? Shit’s metal as fuck.”
Armin giggled, the last of his residual nerves finally fading. It was categorically unfair that Jean was hot, smart, and funny.
“That’s better,” Jean said with a lopsided smile.
A terrible fluttering replaced the fight-or-flight in Armin’s stomach. If zombies weren’t going to be responsible for Armin’s death, this boy certainly would.
“So what have you got there, then?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.
“Cow,” he explained, and sat down before tipping the contents unceremoniously into the quarry. It landed with a sickening plop.
“Much better than my offering,” Armin said and sat beside him. He leaned over to watch Marco shuffle over and begin the disgusting process of ingesting the organ again. He somehow seemed more enthusiastic. “I only brought sheep. I think it was a little too small for him.”
“Marco always was a size queen,” Jean told him with a rueful grin, but grimaced when a particularly loud schlorp echoed up the stone walls.
Armin stared at him, shocked that he would say such a thing, then broke out into laughter. This boy.
Jean joined him, barking out a few solid laughs before wiping an eye with the back of his hand. “God, you have no idea how good it is to be able to laugh about this with someone,” he huffed. “I fucking miss him so much.”
Armin sighed, stilling the last of his laughter. “Yeah,” he breathed, warm all over. “Me, too.”
A loud groan sounded from the shadows below, followed by another several feet away. Jean eyed the darkness critically.
“We’ve got company,” he announced. “Looks like that’s our cue.” He clambered to his feet and reached out to haul Armin up once again, catching Armin’s eye. “When do you..?”
“Every Friday,” Armin replied. Was he asking what he thought he was asking?
It was Jean’s turn to look nervous. “Do you think we could do this again sometimes? I mean, the season’s about to start, but I won’t have games every Friday, and -”
“Of course,” Armin agreed quickly. “I’d like that.”
Jean heaved out a breath and flashed a relieved smile. “Good. It’d be nice to talk about him. Remember the good times, and...stuff.”
“Yeah,” Armin agreed again.
The noise from below grew steadily louder as more and more voices joined in the chorus. Dammit. They had attracted too much attention.
“You’re a good friend,” Jean said, and flicked Armin’s braid. Armin thought his heart might stop. “See you at school Monday?”
“Yeah,” Armin repeated breathily, then realized how stupidly in love he sounded. “See you Monday.”
Jean gave a little wave before disappearing into the woods whence he came.
Armin heaved a sigh. He might have been a lonely little nerd who hadn’t Quickened yet, but Jean wanted to spend time with him, so...maybe senior year wouldn’t suck that much after all. He smiled to himself and picked up the discarded bag. Yeah, it definitely wouldn’t suck that much.