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Erwin doesn’t answer the phone the first time it rings. Nor does he the second.
He’s swamped in paperwork, and the unknown number displaying on his caller ID indicates that it’s not one of his superiors, and honestly, Erwin really, really does not have time for this.
By the time he does check his voicemail, he's sharing an elevator with his boss at the end of the day. Erwin is exhausted.
The voice is calm and composed, belying the earth shattering content of the message itself. Erwin’s blood runs cold, horror creeping up his spine in slow progression and settling in a cold, detached shock.
“Everything alright, Erwin?” Zackly’s voice cuts through the white noise roaring through Erwin’s head. He swallows hard, smiles woodenly.
“Yes,” he lies absently. The elevator dings. “I’m fine." He says, walking out of the building in a daze.
Erwin ignores the disapproving looks the neighbour gives him when he finally arrives to collect Armin.
He stills immediately when he enters the room. The boy is nearly catatonic when he sees him. Small hands clutch tightly at what he recognizes as their grandfather’s old sunhat. His lip quivers slightly as wide blue eyes not unlike his own stare blankly at the wall in front of him. Erwin’s heart breaks.
This boy has already lost both his parents, and now his primary care-taker. He’s not even ten yet.
“Armin,” Erwin says, keeping his voice low, stepping forward with caution so he doesn’t startle him. He’s not even sure if Armin knows anything about him other than his name, having only ever interacted with the boy when he was still in diapers.
Armin looks up slowly, head tipping in question and watching him with watery eyes. Erwin resists the urge to fidget; he’s completely out of his element and more than a little annoyed with himself that he can’t navigate around this nine-year old boy.
Something on Erwin’s face prompts a reaction from the boy. Armin seems to shrink into himself, shoulders hunching defensively as his lips quiver. His breath comes quicker, stuttering as he tries to draw breath. Erwin steps toward him, wanting to appear less frightening, but unsure of how to start. He calls his name again, gentler this time.
He looks up, eyes red rimmed. A sob tears through his throat, weak and vulnerable. He reaches for Erwin, and Erwin understands. In this context, he’s familiar—stable.
Erwin doesn’t think twice about picking Armin up, or letting the boy, so resilient before, bury his face into his neck and cry.
Having young parents had its ups and downs, Erwin supposes. His parents had him at the tail-end of their teenage years; the result of too much alcohol and too little inhibition. Cue a shotgun wedding at the urge of his grandparents and a sixteen-year long travesty of a marriage that was doomed from the start. Erwin likes to think he did his best to ignore the fact that his parents loathed each other, but something must have leaked through given his complete inability to maintain a healthy relationship for an extended period of time.
Coincidentally, a sixteen year age difference separates him from Armin. By the time a young blonde woman literally only a few years older than Erwin at the time came and delivered the final blow to his parents’ marriage, Erwin had been applying to universities out of province. When Armin came screaming into the world frighteningly premature and nothing more than a wrinkled hairy disaster than an infant, Erwin was preparing for his first round of midterms halfway across the country, and successfully avoiding massive collateral damage that Armin’s birth entailed.
Ironically enough, as melodramatic as their entire relationship was, Erwin thinks bitterly, the divorce went as smoothly it possibly could have; his mother wanted nothing to do with her cheating ex-husband and his father accepted that he had wronged her quietly without a fight.
And so Erwin became the aloof older brother, a mere shadow in Armin’s life. He watched him grow up from the sidelines, missing milestones with a detached interest and a vague feeling that he should care more than he did. Armin was an abstract concept. When people asked if he had any siblings, he replied with a stiff “technically” and laughed it off unconvincingly to anyone who knew him.
The paperwork doesn’t lie and though Erwin remembers when he consented to it, but he’s not entirely sure why he was even chosen as Armin’s next of kin, but he is and there’s no one left to raise him and Erwin is more or less adopting a child. He’s way in over his head at best and absolutely, terrifyingly not cut out for this at worst.
The funeral is a quiet affair.
The last funeral Erwin went to was their father’s and Armin’s mother’s four years ago. They had hydroplaned during a bad storm, and then proceeded to veer off the road and slam headfirst into a tree. The paramedics said they had both died on impact.
Armin was five years old at the time, too young to completely understand what was going on, but still pressed close to their grandfather as the man quietly wept for the loss of his son and daughter-in-law.
Now, Armin clings to his side, tears streaking silently down his cheeks as the coffin lowers into cold, unforgiving dirt.
Erwin is numb.
When was the last time he spoke to his grandfather? Months ago? Even longer? Erwin remembers him pestering to come visit, remembers being annoyed because he was busy. Erwin is a lawyer; he barely has time to breathe on good days.
Something in Erwin’s chest pulls tight. He shuts his eyes hard, willing that part of him to turn off. Beside him, Armin fists small hands in his freshly pressed trousers, whimpering softly, high, childlike, and so very defenceless. Erwin looks down surprised—he nearly forgot Armin was there. Armin looks up at him with big, glassy and Erwin can’t help himself.
He scoops the child up effortlessly, pressing his face into his neck while the last string keeping Amin together breaks as he sobs openly, ruining Erwin’s dress shirt. He says nothing as he holds Armin’s small body close to his chest, like he can defend him from the world and simultaneously use him as a shield for himself.
Armin clutches his shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Erwin finds it easy to card his fingers through the fine blond hair, and rest a hand on the back of Armin’s skull gently, trying to ease the shudders that wrack his small form. He holds him like that long after the funeral ends; even when Armin falls into a fitful sleep and Erwin loses feeling in his arms.
Moving Armin in after the funeral is a strange process.
Despite slowly learning to adjust to Armin’s permanent presence, Erwin’s not used to having other people in his apartment—or his life— much less a child less than the age of ten.
It’s not that Armin is a nuisance; he’s quite the opposite really. He’s quiet, excessively so. It’s unnerving.
He moves Armin in, transforming the spare room into a child’s room only in name. Erwin’s not sure what else he can do with it. It has a bed, and all the furniture associated with a bedroom. It’s bare, impersonal, but he tells Armin earnestly that he’s free put up whatever he likes; anything to make it more comfortable, so long as he doesn’t damage the walls.
Armin nods mechanically. Erwin wonders how long it’ll take before he believes him.
A week passes and they fall into a steady routine consisting of Armin locking himself in his new room and Erwin cooking for two, mindful of Armin’s nut allergy and other dietary needs. Armin doesn’t talk and Erwin isn’t quite sure how to engage him. Erwin knows he’s still grieving, aware of how he tries and fails to conceal his puffy, red rimmed eyes during breakfast.
Erwin wants to believe Armin will reach out when he’s ready, tries to convince himself that he will, but he can’t shake the nagging suspicion that lingers in the back of his mind that tells him he won’t. The Armin he remembers was a shy, timid little thing in need of extensive coaxing to open up at all.
At breakfast, they sit at the table in silence not quite uncomfortable, but definitely not easy. Armin’s hands squeeze tightly around the circumference of his glass of orange juice as Erwin stares into his coffee pensively, newspaper forgotten.
He decides enough is enough. He can’t let the child lose himself to his mind and whatever other lasting damage that will probably follow. “Armin.” He says, trying for both gentle and firm.
Armin flinches, but Erwin doesn't deter. “Armin,” he says again, quieter.
“Yes, Erwin?” Armin’s voice cracks a little, hoarse from crying. Erwin’s surprised he answered at all.
“Who am I?” Erwin wants to kick himself the moment the words leave his mouth because, surely, there was a much better way of phrasing that, but it’s already done and he’ll have to work with this.
The blank, nearly deadpan stare Armin offers is almost amusing. Or, it would be amusing under any other circumstance, Erwin thinks something close to bitterly.
“You’re Erwin.” He says; voice soft, unassuming and far, far too deliberate. The slow-rising panic in Erwin’s chest crests.
Calming down by sheer force of will and a discipline he didn’t think himself capable of, Erwin steps out of his chair, approaches Armin with his palms open. He leans downs, bracing himself on one knee and balancing on the balls of his feet. Erwin ignores the way Armin presses farther back into the chair, but doesn't further invade his space. “I am,” he sounds considerably more in control than he feels. “Do you remember who I am, exactly?”
Armin blinks. “You’re Erwin.” He says slowly, voice taking on a new tone, like Erwin’s the one who doesn’t understand. Erwin’s lips twitch.
He keeps his voice soft and finds that it doesn’t take as much effort as he thought; that the need to comfort comes naturally. “You and I both know that’s not what I meant.”
Armin’s grip on the glass loosens ever so slightly, but Erwin notices his knuckles flushing a healthy pink, so he must be doing something right. A smile touches his lips and Armin relaxes even more.
“You’re my half-brother,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly. Erwin understands. It’s strange, the term brother hasn’t been at all significant in his vocabulary either. Until now, at least.
“We shared a father.” Armin says
Erwin finds himself softening in a way that’s completely unintentional, and he’s certain it shows on his face. He raises a hand slowly; giving Armin time to comprehend what he’s about to do, and lightly rests it on his sleek blond hair. Armin’s eyes widen. He doesn’t lean into the touch, but he doesn’t move away either.
It’s a start.
The pattern shifts subtly after that morning, but Erwin notices Armin warming up to him.
It happens on a quiet evening after a dinner of leftovers from earlier in the week. Erwin sits on the loveseat with his legs extended easily and an arm thrown over the back of the couch. He’s reading some documents for a case he's working when he hears light footsteps gradually getting louder as Armin heads toward the living room.
Erwin looks up to where he stands hesitantly across the room, instantly worried that something’s wrong. He watches Armin swallow visibly, clutching what looks like a leather bound encyclopedia he vaguely recognizes from their grandfather’s old collection.
“Everything alright?” Erwin asks when it becomes clear Armin isn’t going to provide an explanation.
“Y-yeah,” Armin stammers. He shakes his head. “Can I sit?”
Erwin blinks. “Of course.” He says, a smile touching his lips. Armin nods once, settling himself into a nearby sofa and resting the open textbook on his small knees. Erwin turns back to his documents, lulled by the TV playing softly in the background and the occasional rustling of Armin turning pages.
After that, they seem to come to some sort of agreement. Armin doesn’t avoid Erwin like the plague anymore and actually ventures around the apartment when Erwin is there. Usually, Erwin finds Armin curled up on the sofa with one of the books he brought with him from his old home.
His choice in reading material is advanced beyond what Erwin’s pretty sure his level should be, and though Armin isn’t picky about what he reads, and he’s quick. He tears through long, chaptered books in hours, sometimes bringing multiples when he joins Erwin in the living room straight after dinner. However, the volume he brought the first time he joined Erwin’s company often shows up. It’s obviously a favourite.
“Which one are you reading?” Erwin asks suddenly one day, startling Armin out of his focus.
“Um,” he starts. “Volume thirteen. The one on deep sea marine biology.”
Ah. Erwin remembers skipping that volume when he was a child. Biology bored him—still does, but he doesn’t miss the way Armin’s eyes light up and takes the opportunity presented.
Erwin nod appreciatively. “I always preferred grandfather’s old history textbooks, to be honest.” He remembers sitting in his lap as a child, his grandfather reading him stories of war and politics when his parents worked double shifts to try and sustain them. “I—I never had much heart for the sciences.”
If Armin notices his fleeting lapse in composure, he doesn’t say anything.
“Oh!” He exclaims instead. “I brought some of those, if you want to see them! I couldn’t bring all of them, so I only took my favourites.” He cuts off abruptly. “Uh, if you want to, of course.”
Erwin doesn’t pass up the opportunity Armin is providing him. He smiles easily, casting his laptop aside. It’s Friday, he can afford a break.
“In your room?” Erwin asks, leaning forward with interest. The tension in Armin’s drawn up shoulder releases almost immediately as he nods brightly. A boyish smile lights up his face. Erwin feels young again.
And that’s how he ends up sprawled out on his stomach on Armin’s bed, leaning on his elbows and pouring over his grandfather’s well-worn texts like he’s eight-years old again. It’s nice, like their grandfather never left. Like Erwin can pick up the phone and call him back for once.
Armin sits back against the headboard near Erwin’s head, giggling occasionally when he read something particularly strange about some strange deep sea creature.
Erwin hasn’t seen the boy at ease like this at all since he moved in. It takes Erwin by surprise how much that bothered him, and how Armin’s relaxed stance and easy smile curbs the anxiety in him.
It’s comfortable.
Erwin forgets more frequently than he’d like to admit that he doesn’t live alone anymore.
During the day when it’s light out and they’re alert, Erwin is hyperaware of Armin’s presence in the apartment. Despite the slowly dissipating tension between them, Erwin and Armin still tiptoe around each other like they’re navigating on through a minefield. It’s frustrating, but Erwin isn’t sure how to proceed.
Learning Armin’s habits is both fascinating and frustrating. Erwin quickly figures out that Armin prefers to bathe in the evening after dinner and wander around the household in pyjamas that hang off his thin shoulders, making him look younger that he is.
He learns that while Armin isn’t a picky eater, he is a type one diabetic that unfortunately forces him to constantly check and ask about the food he eats. While Armin is good at maintaining his condition, Erwin makes sure Armin has a steady supply of insulin in the fridge at an accessible level. He keeps small bowls of candies and boxes of chocolate in every room in case of an emergency and hopes to every god he knows that an emergency never occurs.
Erwin reads and reads and reads. He knows Armin has his own supplies, but he has his own glucagon kit, he keeps digestive crackers on nearby at all times just in case.
He realizes he’s probably overreacting, but he’s always prepared for anything, and while Armin’s condition doesn’t define him in the least, the glint of the silver medical bracelet encompassing his thin wrist serves as a constant reminder. Erwin’s more aware than he’s been in years.
One morning while Erwin was making his way bleary eyed to the bathroom for a shower before work, when the metallic tint encompassing Armin's wrist doesn't draw his immediate attention, he nearly falls over himself when he opens the door to reveal the small, blond haired boy perched on a step stool, quietly brushing his teeth.
“Jesus Christ,” Erwin yells.
Armin, who had been gazing listlessly into the sink with all the coherence found at 6AM, flinches so hard he falls off the step stool and lands hard on his rear, a shrill screech tearing through his throat around frothy toothpaste. It's a wonder that he doesn't choke.
They stare at each other wide eyed for a moment, before Erwin steps forward to haul the boy up from under his arms and perch him back on the stool. He clears his throat. “Um. Good morning, Armin.”
“Mornin’,” Armin mumbles around his toothbrush, cheeks still pink. He holds out the tube of toothpaste in Erwin’s general direction when he walks over to brush his own teeth.
As it turns out, Armin, for some inexplicable reason, likes to brush his teeth then crawl back into bed and wake up at his usual 7AM.
It’s fine. Erwin can work with this.
The summer draws to a close and with it the tentative routine they’ve developed. Now, Erwin adds elementary school duties to their daily routine.
Armin's school has this brilliant care program for kids whose guardians work odd hours. Essentially, all Erwin has to do is pay a fifty dollar registration fee, and Armin will be taken care by a means that hopefully doesn’t leave him feeling more abandoned than if he left him with a babysitter in his own home. He was told other kids would be present. Erwin hopes the program helps Armin adjust.
Likewise, the situation could go completely array because of bullies and doubts festering in Armin’s young mind, resulting in a complete emotional shut down, and Erwin successfully destroying the fragile foundation he’s built with the child, but who’s counting?
Erwin’s always been good at gambling.
He drops Armin off to school earlier than usual so he can make it to work on time and doesn’t pick him up until around 5:30PM.
“Now, you’re sure you don’t mind?” He asks him for what felt like the thousandth time when he drops him off.
Armin merely shrugs a shoulder, showing no trace of annoyance. “I can get my homework done early. Besides, Mrs. Jaeger works late too, so Eren and Mikasa will be there with me.”
Erwin’s still not sure who Eren or Mikasa are, but he takes Armin’s word for it. While he’s fairly certain Armin would lie to him if he actually had an issue, the boy is fairly easy to read now that Erwin’s picking up on his mannerisms.
Erwin walks Armin in the first time, unable to ignore the anxious look in his eyes. He holds his hand, walking into the building nearly as nervous as Armin.
The room itself is inviting. There are a couple of children there already, a few toys scattered around, and crayons strewn across a low table. A short, dark haired man stands near a desk, arms crossed as he glares at the toys on the floor like he's personally offended by their presence.
He notices Erwin walk in with Armin at his side, however. The man glances over to the papers on his desk before gesturing him to come near with a crook of his finger.
“Are you okay on your own?” Erwin asks Armin, who frowns at the shelf of picture books. He nods, a little hesitantly, but releases Erwin’s hand and walks over to where a dark haired boy is trying to yank a black crayon out of another boy’s hand. “Eren!” He calls, and Eren looks back excitedly, gesturing for Armin to come faster. Even the other boy grins when he sees him.
Erwin smiles, and then turns back to where the black haired man is quite obviously losing his patience if the impressive scowl he wears is anything to go by. Erwin walks over without hesitation.
“Good morning,” Erwin greets mildly, and is met with the blandest look he’s ever seen from one of the shortest men he’s also ever seen.
“You’re Erwin Smith?” He asks, no nonsense. Erwin nods.
“And that’s,”— he glances at the papers again—“Armin Arlert? You’re listed as his guardian. Older… brother, right?” He asks, nodding his head toward where Armin is talking quietly to who he assumes to be Eren.
Erwin nods again. “And you’re Mr. Ackerman?”
Levi’s eyes narrow at the title, like he’s uncomfortable with the title. “It’s just Levi,” he says stiffly. Erwin can’t even try to keep the smile off his face.
“Right, Levi. You’re in charge here?”
Levi grunts, but nods his assent. “Yeah, don’t worry. He’s in good hands.”
Erwin hopes so. “I’m sure he will be.” He says calmly. Levi’s eyes narrow.
“If you don’t have any questions or concerns,” he says the words carefully, tilts his head to the side, “go say your goodbyes. Try not to linger, it never does anyone any good.”
“Right, of course.” Erwin turns to where Armin’s seated only to find him staring back. Armin waves, a shy smile on his face. He waves back.
Armin will be fine, he reassures himself as he walks out the door toward his car. He’ll be fine.
*
“Hey, Erwin, you alright?”
Erwin startles slightly, turning to where Hange is leaning against the door frame, watching him amusedly.
He adjusts his tie, clears his throat. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Hange rolls her eyes, looking pointedly where Erwin is obviously not doing anything productive. “Isn’t it Armin’s first day at school?” She asks, throwing herself in the chair in front of Erwin’s desk.
Erwin sighs. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t tell you that.”
She kicks her feet up on his desk, crumpling his papers without a care in the world. Erwin picks up her ankles and gentle extracts the case study, and then settles her feet back down. Hange cares very little for social propriety, a trait Erwin simultaneously both endearing and highly, highly irritating when pressed.
Hange snorts. “It’s September and you’re more nervous than I’ve seen you in a while. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, man. How is the kid, anyway?”
“He’s… fine.” Erwin says, face twisting.
Hange watches him incredulously, and then laughs fondly. “How convincing. Come on, let’s get lunch, you’re useless right now anyway.”
He is fine, Erwin tries convinces himself. Better than he was before.
They settle in a Tim Horton’s down the street from their building, Hange talking animatedly about some documentaries about the ocean she thinks Armin would enjoy. Erwin takes note.
Erwin speeds a little when he picks Armin up and ends up waiting in the parking lot for him to come out. It’s tedious. However, when the bell rings and he catches a glimpse of blond bounding toward his vehicle, his anxiety melts away when he sees the grin on Armin’s face.
Armin tucks his backpack by his feet, strapping himself in, and Erwin pulls out before traffic backs up too much. “Good first day?” He asks.
“Yeah,” Armin says excitedly, and proceeds to tell him about his classes, his best friends Eren and his foster sister Mikasa, and all the adventures they had at recess.
“How was your supervisor?” Erwin asks during a pause, curious.
“Oh, Mr. Ackerman? He’s good; turns out he’s Mikasa’s older brother and Eren’s foster brother. It’s weird, but he’s good. It’s impossible to lie to him; Reiner tried, and wow, Erwin, if looks could kill—” and he enters another spiel.
It’s relieving to see Armin so animated, especially after the weeks of desolation he spent locked up in his room, a ghost in this strange new house.
Armin's happy, and that’s enough to makes Erwin happy.
He catches Armin eyeing the marble chess set their grandfather had given him as a graduation gift years ago when the idea hits him like a blow to the head. “Armin, do you play chess?” He asks.
Armin startles, but Erwin thinks he’s getting used to his jumpiness. He doesn’t do it so often anymore, and Erwin desperately hopes it’s because he’s getting used to him.
Armin tugs at his sleeve, but he maintains eye contact. “I do.”
The childlike suspicion in his voice is oddly endearing. Erwin smiles. “Grandfather taught you, right? He taught me, too, when I was younger.”
Armin tilts his head, contemplating. “He told me that, actually. He said that you used to pretend you were losing until the last minute, then uh—” he cuts off, flushing red. Erwin arches an eyebrow.
“Go on.”
“He said you’d pull some ‘backward strategy out of your, uh, butt and completely turn the tables.’ Or try to, at least. No one could beat grandfather, not unless he let you, anyway.”
Erwin nearly chokes on his own spit. Armin presses his fist to his mouth to smother a laugh.
Erwin walks over to the cabinet, pulling the dusty box down to set it up on the coffee table. He takes note of the way Armin’s eyes light up as he folds his legs under him on the opposite side. “Did he say anything else about me?” Erwin asks, with no small amount of affection.
Armin plants his elbows on the table, locking his fingers to rest his chin on charmingly. “Yup, he talked about you a lot.”
The wave of grief hits Erwin unexpectedly, the ache in his chest no less strong than it was on the day of the funeral. He keeps his face away from Armin, busying himself with setting up the board. “Is that so?” He struggles to keep his voice light.
Not light enough, evidently. “Yeah.” Armin says carefully, retreating into himself. He doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t look Erwin in the eye.
Erwin tries to do damage control before he spoils the mood further. “How did that even come up in conversation?” He’s genuinely curious and his voice sounds less forced now.
To his surprise, Armin lets out a laugh, short and sweet. Erwin turns around, openly stunned and not trying to hide it in the least. Armin has a wicked gleam in his eyes, one Erwin knows all too well.
“That’s because he said I was better at it than you.”
Erwin blinks. Armin smiles shyly in a way that is nowhere near shy at all.
God, it’s like looking in a mirror.
“Really, now?” Erwin crosses his arms over his chest. He knows how to play this game and Armin is still green around the ears.
“Yup.”
Erwin sets the last rook in place, swiveling the board around so that the white pieces face Armin, grinning wolfishly back. He feels lighter than he has in years.
“Go on, then. Show me."
When Erwin gets home from work, he's greeted with the downright awful image of Armin's bloody nose flanked by tear stains and the beginnings of a vivid bruise discolouring the side of his face from temple to cheek. The slump of Armin’s thin shoulders indicates something more than the average playground scuffle and the thought settles in his gut like a stone.
Erwin sees red.
He maneuvers quickly around furniture to where Armin is perched on the coffee table. There's a boy he vaguely recognizes from PLASP, the one Eren likes to harass, gently pressing tissues to Armin's nose, tipping his head back with an impressive scowl on his face.
"Armin," he says. The boy jumps, glancing up at him with apprehensive brown eyes.
"Hi, Erwin." Armin says nasally from around the tissue, voice cracking painfully. “Jean, this is my brother.”
“Oh.” Jean’s face relaxes in an instant. “Hello.” He says politely, turning back to Armin’s bloody nose. The scowl returns almost immediately.
Erwin steps in, gesturing for Jean to move aside so he can kneel in front of Armin, who watches him with bright eyes. he touches two fingers to Armin’s chin, swallowing down the rage that threatens to breach, and tilts Armin’s head back slightly to assess the damage.
“Jean?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, he can see the boy perk up, eager to help. “Can you go to the kitchen and get some ice? It’s right around the corner over there.”
Jean nods firmly, already making his way to the kitchen before Erwin can finish his request.
“What happened?” He asks, straight to the point.
Armin is silent. Erwin sighs, snagging a tissue from the box and pressing it gently to Armin’s still-bleeding nose.
“I was right.” Armin says suddenly, shattering the silence, voice low and quivering. Erwin's eyes snap up to his immediately. He raises his eyebrows in question.
“It was because I was right,” Armin says repeats harshly, glaring down at the ground. His lip quivers, but the steel in his eyes is undeniable.
“I was right and they couldn’t prove me wrong and they knew it, so they hit me instead.” His voice shakes.
Erwin is quiet, trying to figure out what to say. He tips Armin’s head back gently in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.
“It’s a laudable trait,” he says mildly, free of judgement. Armin’s eyes snap to his sharply, attentively. “To persevere when others are against you. To bend, rather than break under scrutiny.”
Armin blinks slowly, eyes moving away from Erwin’s. His breath stutters slightly, like he wasn’t expecting the praise.
“And I’m proud of you.” He says after a beat, quietly. He rests his free hand on Armin’s shoulder, squeezing gently. His breath hitches more audibly this time.
He doesn’t expect Armin to respond, he doesn’t need to—but the small thank you he utters is a pleasant surprise. A very pleasant surprise.
They stay like that, comfortable in the silence. Armin’s more at ease now, and it settles something in Erwin that roused angrily at seeing him so distressed.
Jean returns with a small sandwich bag filled with ice. Erwin thanks him, scooting over slightly to make room for the small boy on the coffee table. Erwin promptly presses the ice to Armin’s nose, smiling when he pulls a face. Out of the corner of his eye, Erwin watches Jean takes Armin’s hand and laces their fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s okay, Armin.” He reassures. Erwin stares in wonder at the way Armin softens. “They were stupid anyway, and Mikasa got them good, too.” He looks indignant, brown eyes narrowed angrily.
Erwin sees Armin’s cheeks pull up in a small smile and decides not to question whatever this Mikasa did to Armin’s assailants.
“Eren helped… kind of,” Armin rasps out. Jean snorts, eyebrows climbing up his forehead.
“No, he didn’t.” He deadpans. Armin laughs.
“He tried, though.” Armin reasons. Jean rolls his eyes.
“Thank you for taking care of Armin, Jean.” Erwin cuts in, lips quirking when his cheeks flush. He claps the boy’s shoulder gently.
Jean smiles briefly and Erwin doesn’t miss the way Armin squeezes his hand.
Armin’s birthday lands on a Friday this year. Erwin schedules his week so he can get off early on Friday and pick Armin up early from school and... do something, hopefully. On the Saturday a week before the entire affair, Eren invites Armin over to his home and Erwin is provided with the perfect opportunity for gift shopping.
Except he’s never done this before, which is also how he ends up walking kind of aimlessly throughout the mall wondering what the hell prospective ten-year-olds even like.
Armin likes books, but a random book seemed… impersonal? He’s not sure. Erwin doesn’t like being unsure.
“Erwin?” A familiar voice calls.
He snaps to attention immediately, looking down to where Levi stares at him with a hip cocked out and arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a very, very flattering pea coat.
“Levi. How are you doing?” he asks, smiling pleasantly.
“What are you doing here?” Levi asks, never in the mood to entertain small talk.
Erwin laughs. “I’m allowed to go to the mall, aren’t I?”
The flat look Levi gives him is a lot funnier than it should be. “Please, you look so lost, it’s embarrassing. What’s up?” He asks.
Erwin stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Ah, well. Armin’s birthday is next week.”
Levi nods understandingly, and then tips his head slightly in question. “Right. Need help?”
Erwin purposefully ignores the fluttering in his chest that feels oddly like hope. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your plans—”
“As much as I love to watch grown men squirm, I can’t do that to the kid. Come on, follow me.” Levi says, turning around to walk in the opposite direction.
Erwin follows.
*
Levi ends up helping him choose a book on advanced chess strategies after telling him of their prolonged game earlier in the month. Erwin had won; of course, he found that Armin managed to keep the game up for over an hour, which was definitely something else. Levi also insists on getting Finding Nemo.
“Goddammit, Erwin,” Levi says without bite. There’s even a hint of a smile in the way his eyes crinkle around the edges. “The kid likes fish, and everyone likes that Disney shit. You’re not that old, come on.” Levi scolds in the middle of the store.
He treats Levi to coffee as a thank-you, but doesn’t stamp down the thought of getting to know him better. Levi’s remarkably easy to talk to, despite his crass exterior, and Erwin finds that he doesn’t want to stop.
“You’re very good with children,” Erwin says when Levi comes back with their drinks.
Levi rolls his eyes. “I work at a daycare; of course I’m good with children.” He slips Erwin’s coffee across the table in his direction, sliding easily into the chair across him. Erwin takes it gratefully, inhaling the heady scent before taking a sip.
“There’s something else, though.” He says, leaning forward slightly.
Levi arches one thin eyebrow slightly and clasps his fingers around the rim of his cup, purposefully ignoring Erwin’s bemused expression at the action. “I also have two younger siblings.” He shrugs.
Erwin startles. “Really?” He figures he should have known.
Levi rolls his eyes again. “Foster siblings stick together, you know. A brother and a sister. I got put on babysitting duty a lot.”
Erwin hums. “Was it difficult?”
Levi actually snorts. “Of course it was, I’m not sure whose dumbass idea it was to leave a fourteen-year-old in charge of two brats, but they’re alive, so I must have done something right.”
Erwin recalls the faded picture of what looked like a younger scowling Levi flanked by a widely smiling brunette and a pensive looking blond gripping him tightly he saw briefly in one of the cardholders in Levi’s wallet and grins despite himself.
“You must have.” Erwin says, eyes dancing with amusement. Levi’s eyes darken. He kisses his teeth.
“Drink your fucking coffee.” Levi mutters, breaking eye contact.
Erwin laughs. They exchange personal phone numbers under the spoken agreement that this getting to know each other is something they’d like to continue.
Erwin walks to his car feeling lighter than air.
Armin’s sniffling doesn’t go unnoticed when Erwin’s dropping him off to school one morning. He watches Armin rub at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt roughly from the corner of his eye at a red light.
“Are you sick?” Erwin asks, debating turning around. He doesn’t have any kind of baby sitter, but he thinks he could pull off calling in sick—the case his firm is working on is still in the stage where he can accomplish a lot at home.
However, Armin shakes his head. “It’s probably just allergies. The seasons are changing.”
His voice is hoarse and Erwin isn’t entirely convinced, but if he is getting sick, it isn’t too bad right now, so he doesn’t see the harm in taking him to school anyway.
“Regardless, I want you to call me if it gets worse, understood?”
Armin nods, sniffling again. Erwin blindly hands him a box of tissues from the backseat when he hits another red light.
*
When his cellphone rings at around 3PM, he picks it up immediately.
“Smith speaking,” he says.
“Erwin. It’s Levi—”
Erwin sits up straight. “Levi? Is everything alright?”
“Calm down, it’s nothing too serious. You might want to pick Armin up early today. Kid’s about to hack up a lung.”
Erwin relaxes only slightly, already typing out an email to Zackly. “Is he alright? Where is he?”
“He’s sick, obviously he’s not— look, are you coming or not? He’s miserable. Running a fever. Leaking at least twelve different bodily fluids out of his face. It’s disgusting and every child in this place is going to catch his disease. I’ll be covered in snot for weeks.”
Erwin chuckles, closing the reply his boss sent confirming his request to leave early. “Yes, I’m just leaving now. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Yeah, whatever, just get here.”
Erwin makes it to Armin’s school in twenty-three minutes and walks into the room to find Levi kneeling in front of two disheveled looking girls, one dark haired, the other blonde and giving what looks like the mother of all lectures from the way their little mouths are pulled down.
Levi gestures for the two girls to leave and they slink off dejectedly, the dark haired one shoving the blonde’s shoulder half-heartedly, who responds in kind by baring her teeth.
It’s adorable.
“Oi! Watch it, Mikasa, at least wait until you're out of sight!” Levi yells at them. Erwin smiles. It’s endearing, really. He’s like a mother hen.
“Levi,” he calls from the front of the room. Levi turns around, gesturing for him to come in. He leads him back to his office where Armin is curled up in a ball on the couch with a spare blanket thrown over him. He walks over, resting his hand over Armin’s flushed forehead. He’s burning.
“Has he eaten?” Erwin asks suddenly. Levi nods. “Yeah, it was a struggle, but he kept it down, so it’s fine. His blood sugar was pretty stable too, the last time we checked—here,” he hands Erwin a small notebook, two recordings already written down. He takes it gratefully.
“Just sign him out and you’re free to go. Make sure he eats regularly, yeah? I know you know what to do, but call me if anything, okay?"
Levi turns his attention to Armin. "Get well soon, alright, Arlert? We can’t let Jaeger run wild now; his sister can only do so much and she’s too busy fighting with Annie to pay attention.” Levi rolls his eyes, but Erwin can tell he’s fond. Armin rasps out something close to a laugh.
He gets Armin home with minimal stress, save for a bunch of rowdy kids yelling get better, Armin! on his way out.
Armin camps out on the couch, huddled in enough blankets to stifle a grown man and takes his cough syrup every four hours without fuss, though he does wrinkle his nose each time.
“Can you even taste it?” Erwin asks, amused.
Glassy eyes narrow. “Don’t underestimate how potent that stuff is.” He mumbles around his blocked nose, the words coming out high and nasal. Erwin laughs.
Armin’s out of commission for the rest of the week. Thankfully, when he calls his mother in the middle of the night nearly frantic because he can’t actually miss so many consecutive days of work and Armin’s too cranky to sleep, so they're awake, miserable and snapping at each other. She happily offers to take care of Armin while he works and Erwin's pretty sure his mother is god sent.
Erwin wonders if it will be strange for her, his mother watching her late ex-husband’s mistress’ son, but she reprimands Erwin immediately, flat out calling him a moron, which is so ridiculously out of character that he actually gapes for a moment. She reminds him that Armin’s just the result and should not be blamed for his father’s actions.
Erwin rolls his eyes, of course he knows that. His mother rarely talked about Armin after the divorce, not even in passing. It’s nice to know where she stands.
She greets him when he returns from work every day with a fond smile and a new story explaining how he and Armin are so alike, especially when he was that age. She’s smitten.
She’s also quick to criticize his soup making abilities. Or lack thereof.
“Erwin,” she says sternly. “I know you’ve never been able to handle spices, but could you at least put some salt in this? Black pepper? Anything?”
He bristles because he did put salt in it, but lets her make her own batch, preferring hers to his own anyway.
He lazes around on the couch watching random TV shows ranging from documentaries to mind-numbing cartoons that make Erwin want to smash his head off a wall, but he sits with him anyway while his mother’s pot of soup boils away on the stove.
He makes sure Armin eats regularly, spoon feeding him soup when he’s too weak to do it himself. He reminds him to check his sugar levels so he can mark them down to note for abnormalities. He’s sure to make sure Armin’s temperature doesn’t rise too high, checking regularly and keeping him cool.
Levi ends up calling at least once every night like he’s trying to make sure Erwin doesn’t accidentally kill the boy. He gives him tips, suggests a hot soup recipe designed to ‘clear the sinuses’ but just makes Erwin blanch at the thought. Levi laughs at him for that and Erwin can’t help but smile.
Of course, Erwin’s nose starts to run one day and within hours, he’s rendered just as useless as influenza wreaks havoc on his body. He calls his mother back, who comes in with the most pitying expression on her face when she sees the pair of them lying foot-to-foot pathetically on either end of the three cushioned couch.
“Useless.” She says fondly, scratching long fingernails against his scalp. He resists the urge to pout, trying to retain some semblance of dignity, but he can tell Armin sees right through him and Erwin hates being sick.
He tries to snag the remote, but Armin’s fast because his fever broke during the night and he’s well on his way back to good health, the brat.
Erwin’s never been pleasant when he’s sick, he can admit this.
“It’s my turn to choose.” He says.
Armin snickers, and then starts coughing. “Not when there’s an Avatar marathon on.”
Erwin groans, accepting that he must have been responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths in a past life to endure this torture.
He can also accept that he gets melodramatic when he’s sick.
As it turns out, this Airbender nonsense ends up being surprisingly good and soon they’re both whining at his mother when she cuts in front of the TV to take their temperatures, narrowly avoiding swats to the head. While Armin’s already seen the series, Erwin wants to know if Aang can save the world, dammit.
“Erwin! Look what I found!” Armin calls one day, bounding into his home office clutching what looks like either a photo album or some kind of scrapbook.
Erwin’s busy, but the playful smile on Armin’s face isn’t one he sees often, and it’s too sweet to be ignored. He pushes his laptop away. “Baby photos?” He guesses.
Armin nods excitedly. “Yes! Of you! Look, look.” He jumps up onto the chair across Erwin’s desk, kneeling so he can sprawl the album over his desk sideways.
“You looked like me, but creepy.” Armin sing-songs, point to a picture of Erwin around the tender age of six, small, thin-shouldered and doll-eyed with an atrocious bowl cut that reminds him Armin needs a haircut. He’s holding an ant farm with a truly hair-raising expression on his young face.
Erwin grimaces, turning the page so he doesn’t have to see himself. “What makes you think you’re any less creepy?”
Armin looks up slowly, face the picture of innocence that immediately raises Erwin’s hackles. “I’m adorable. It makes up for any genetic creepiness.” He says, nonchalant. Erwin snorts and ruffles Armin’s hair into his eyes.
The next photo is one where’s much younger. He’s learning how to walk, stumbling toward his grandfather’s with his arms stretched out toward him. The twinkle in the older man’s eyes is nearly tangible.
Erwin stiffens immediately, closing the book shut in a deliberately controlled movement that cuts off Armin’s comment just as fast. “I think,” his voices sounds odd. He inhales deeply, trembling. “That’s enough for today, Armin.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to—”
“Please.” He snaps. Armin flinches, but nods. He scampers out of the room with minimal noise, door clicking shut behind him.
Erwin releases a shuddering breath, resting his elbows on the table and scrubbing his face with his hands. His eyes well up against his will and he wipes at them angrily, trying to get himself together.
He calls Levi on his cellphone without thinking, only to hang up after four rings at the complete absurdity of the idea. It’s far too soon to unloadthat kind of baggage on… whatever Levi is to him at the moment.
Instead, he flicks throw the pages of the album, each happy, smiling photo of his grandfather adding to the guilt welling up in Erwin’s chest.
“Erwin?” Armin’s voice filters through the door sometime later. He waits until Erwin responds before coming in, carefully holding a mug of tea in his hand. He places it on the desk carefully, then perches on the chair, small enough for his legs to fold comfortably beneath him.
Erwin takes the cup gratefully. He opens his mouth to apologize for his earlier behaviour, but what comes out instead is, “I should have called him.”
He says it mildly, a statement. Armin tips his head, considering. “Yeah, you probably should have. It would have made him happy.”
Erwin doesn’t choke, but it’s a near thing. There’s no heat in Armin’s voice, no anger he can detect. He waits for him to continue. Armin tugs at a loose thread on his sweater. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t happy to begin with, you know?” he reasons.
He doesn’t know. “What I mean is,” Armin clarifies, finding strength when he looks up at Erwin imploringly. “He raised you, right? Like, he raised me. And now you’re raising me, and I think you’re doing a pretty good job, so he obviously did a good job, too. He would have been proud of you. Probably is proud of you if you believe in all that.” Armin shrugs.
“I don’t think grandfather ever doubted that you cared. He wasn’t unreasonable, you know.” Erwin smiles. He does know that.
He feels better—a lot better, actually. He’s filled with warmth that he didn’t realize was missing for quite some time. Probably since he first got that life altering phone call.
Erwin leans back, content. He rests the half-full mug on the desk, hand lingering around its edge for warmth. “I still should have called him.”
Armin shrugs again. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. Just gotta go forward.”
The setting sun in the window bathes his office in an orange light, warming his neck comfortably as he and Armin sit together in a relaxed silence. Erwin smiles. “I might be able to dig up some old home videos, if you’re up for it.”
Armin grins, wide and genuine.
Levi calls him later that night after Armin’s long been asleep and Erwin’s just dozing off himself.
“Levi?” He asks, stunned. He wasn’t expecting him to call back. Text maybe, but definitely not call.
“Why do you sound so surprised, you’re the one called me.” Comes the familiar deadpan. There’s sizzling in the background, he assumes Levi’s cooking something. Interesting.
Erwin hums. “There was an issue, but it’s been resolved. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you alright?” He asks, concern bleeding through.
He pauses.
“Yes,” he says, honest for once, smiling wildly. “I am.”
“Right then.” He replies, like he can hear the smile in his voice. “You free this Friday?”
They lapse into comfortable conversation, Erwin resting against the headboard, catching each other up on their daily lives while listening to Levi curse every time the splatter of oil sears his skin.
Erwin’s pretty sure he could get used to this, too.