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On the worn wood floor of a half-empty storeroom just inside the boundaries of Mitras, Armin squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to block out the day’s many horrors. After the disaster at Shiganshina—redeemed only by the finding of Grisha’s journals—they had straggled their way back to the inner walls before collapsing in a barely-organized heap. The Military Police had attempted to usher them to their own rooms for the night, but they were too exhausted to comprehend the instructions. That was how the nine of them, the last scraps of the Scouts, had settled in a disorganized array in the nearest empty room they could find.
Now there were seven. Mikasa and Eren had been ushered off to some dank prison to await their punishment for insubordination and he was not yet allowed to visit them. Though it was driving him out of his skin wondering where they were and what was happening to them, it might have been for the best. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to seize them by their collars and ask them what the hell they had been thinking or to curl up in their arms and cry until he had no tears left. Unable to do either, he instead lay there in his well-worn Scout sleeping bag in the quiet dark and listened to the syncopated breathing of seven familiar sets of lungs.
Floch was crammed against the far wall, his back to everyone, tossing and turning at intervals—plagued by nightmares, perhaps, a mirror of what awaited Armin if sleep took him. Levi made no sound, but Armin could tell he was still awake. Was he replaying his decision over and over in his mind’s eye like Armin was? Regretting it, maybe? Hange slept soundly beside him, their legs splayed out at awkward angles, seemingly comfortable despite having just lost an eye. Connie was curled up catlike beside Sasha’s too-still form, her usual boundless energy all but extinguished by her injuries.
And then there was Jean. Jean, who had rolled out his sleeping bag next to Armin’s without a word, giving him a small, tired smile as he stretched out beside him. Armin wondered what it was that drew Jean to his side that night. Did he, too, expect greatness from him, now that he was charged with making good use of their Commander’s sacrifice?
Armin’s eyes prickled as he imagined himself sandwiched within the stone shell of wall Maria in a space just large enough to store his trembling lungs and fluttering heart. One wall was formed by expectation: Levi’s, Hange’s, Jean’s… expecting him to be—what? Something. Anything. Anything more than what he really was, a boy in the shape of a shoulder. The other wall was formed by the reality that he had no choice. Erwin had been humanity’s hope, once, which meant it was now Armin’s duty to carry on that hope. But how?
His throat began to constrict as, in his mind’s eye, he imagined the many ways he would fail. Coming up with plans that didn’t work. Abdicating responsibility to his subordinates. Leading cadets into battle to be slaughtered for nothing. He was doomed already, destined to disappoint everyone he knew—no, not just his friends, but humanity itself!
Armin started as the heavy weight of Jean’s arm, warm and solid, settled across his chest, and he realized then that he’d been on the cusp of hyperventilating, his breaths coming short and fast, his hair wet with tears he hadn’t known he was shedding.
“Whatever you’re worrying about, it can wait until tomorrow,” Jean mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
Armin looked at Jean. His eyes were closed. He’d turned slightly toward Armin, tucking his injured arm gingerly into his chest. He looked so peaceful that Armin almost believed he’d imagined Jean’s voice, until one of his eyelids cracked open, a sliver of gold catching a moonbeam that streamed in through the lone window in the storeroom.
“‘Kay?” Jean asked, his lips barely moving.
“O-Okay,” Armin said, hating how fragile his voice sounded.
Jean’s fingertips clenched around his arm, inviting him closer, and Armin allowed himself to be pulled into a lax embrace, shivering as a puff of warm breath stirred his hair. He closed his eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths to steady his breathing, hoping to put to rest the panic that was still very much alive inside him.
It was hard to argue against Jean’s point. He’d still have the same problems tomorrow, and he’d be better equipped to face them on a full night’s rest, or as close to one as he could get. He was reminded of earlier that day, when Jean had agreed to take over for him until he could get a plan together. He was right to rely on Jean then. Maybe it was okay to rely on him now, too.
Slowly, the tension in Armin’s muscles ebbed away as he focused in on the warm weight of Jean’s arm across his chest, grounding him, keeping him out of his head. Suppressed exhaustion flooded through him all at once, making his eyelids droop.
“Thanks, Jean,” Armin whispered.
Jean didn’t answer. He’d already fallen back asleep. And thanks to him, Armin soon followed.