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“To send out children against us,” Erwin muses, staring up at the ceiling, “was effective.”
Morning sunlight falls from the window and stretches lazily across the floor. Muffled groans of pain echo faintly from behind the door.
We lie in our hospital beds, having finished our morning broth. So that we can still manage the whereabouts of the Corps without disturbing other patients, we’re housed in a separate room from the rest of the infirmary.
“It was the only way they could infiltrate the military without garnering suspicion.” I murmur. “But yes, it was effective.”
During the Stohess raid, I had Armin memorize everything Annie said. Though I’m sure he would’ve memorized it anyway. Then, I asked him to write it down.
I kept staring at the words: “I’m not you, not a brave, reckless guy like you,” and “I failed as a warrior.”
Fifteen is a young age for failure.
“Cruel, but effective.” I conclude. “However, children are more emotionally vulnerable than adults. If Annie killed Armin, she wouldn’t have been caught. But she spared him. Additionally, when she was fighting Eren in Stohess, there was a hesitancy to her movement.”
“Children react strongly when frightened, though, so Annie managed to escape both the trap outside Karanese and the net in Stohess. I believe Levi provoked her that first time and you did the second time…?”
“Mmm.”
It’s jarring to see Erwin without his right arm. Tall, strong, square-jawed Erwin, missing a good fraction of body mass. Golden, summer-eyed Erwin, off symmetry. I look at him and expect his broad shoulders to lead to defined appendages. Though one side is familiar, on the other… on the other, there is an absence.
“They’ve disabled or killed many of our finest,” Erwin states. I glance up sharply.
It’s true. Of course. But Erwin’s face is bleak. The grimmest set of his jaw I’ve seen in a long time – such strained lines. His brow has furrows engraved into them.
“And it’s their children who did most of this.”
Unspoken thoughts hang heavy in the air. If this is what their children can do (a ten year old broke down the gate of Zhiganshina, another ten year old breached Wall Maria, a fifteen year old single-handedly wiped out a large portion of the Scouting Legion), then what can their adults do?
It’s frightening. I haven’t been frightened for such a long time. Fear of the Unknown, eh? What an unfamiliar feeling.
Humans are so weak, yet when there are humans pulling the strings, everything becomes ten times more convoluted. Complex. Terrifying.
Humans, frankly, are intelligent. And unpredictable.
I try to chuckle, but it comes out as a pitiful rasp.
“Back when I was in training,” I comment, “the supervisors never could deal with the bullies completely. Us trainees had to take those matters into our own hands. So, maybe, we aren’t supposed to fight the children. Perhaps there are some things that don’t change. Perhaps the adults are supposed to protect the children from the adults, and the children are supposed to fight the children.”
A half smile spreads over his face.
“It certainly seems that the new recruits are having more success in terms of dealing with the young enemy titan-shifters than we do.”
I close my eyes for a moment. I just – wish this would all end. We all do. I just wish to find the truth and resolve all this and watch as we wander out of the Walls, free. I want the youth to laugh and the elders to chortle at youthful antics and the babies to cry and the mothers to hush their babies and the merchants to haggle and the pickpockets to get a good meal and the farmers to bring in enough crops to feed the population and I don’t want to see another person with that blank, weary look in their eyes that means they have seen such horrible, horrible things.
My eyes shoot open.
“Erwin, if you can’t sleep, at least close your eyes and rest for a moment.” I chide, cheerfully. “If anyone comes, the nurses will wake us up.”
I’ve known Erwin for years. I’ve seen him develop his placid, pleasant Commander’s mask gradually, filament by filament, a controlled, harmonious masterpiece. It reveals almost nothing that he doesn’t want seen.
An unwritten rule of all creatures that nurse their young is that we all want a parent. Whether we’re grandfathers or infants or rebellious teenagers or lost soldiers, we all want someone who will hold us close and keep us safe while the sky burns. We want an unbreakable someone who will never leave, never let go. This is the reason why some of us have gods.
Erwin, as the Commander of the Reconnaissance Corps, must be the parent to hundreds of soldiers. He must seem infallible, emotionally. He must not show weakness to those who are willing to die while carrying out his orders.
But we all want a parent. All of us. So it’s hard when we have to be the parent instead.
“Even a great, big Commander needs his rest, Erwin. If it helps,” I add, “I’m going to sleep, too.”
An amused, rueful smile lights upon his mouth. Erwin turns his head to look at me.
“All right.” Erwin accedes, quietly. “Thank you, Hange.”
He shifts in his rustling, lye-whitened sheets, reaching towards me with his only arm. Weakly, I lift my right hand to grasp his outstretched palm, and we hold onto each other while we fall asleep.