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They’ll definitely place them in separate cells; the three of them wreak too much havoc together. Mikasa shrieks and bites while Eren sleeps in blissful slumber in the solar powered car. Armin, however, is silent as he turns his head towards the skyscrapers. Relics, really, though Bertholdt knows some are occupied by squatters willing to walk thirty flights of stairs. Many things cost too much to repair.
“How do you keep the titans away from your settlements?”
Armin is composed and glacial. They expect no less of him and his diamond sharp mind, though Bertholdt suspects that he’s hiding any traitorous awe. Reiner ruffles long, blood caked blond locks, as though the young man were a common dog. Their captive does not so much as flinch.
“An invisible barrier emits a frequency that keeps them at bay. Kind of like insect repellant.” His partner’s nose crinkles in recollection. “I’m relieved to be going back to a place that isn’t filled with rancid armpits. You all need a bath.”
Three years made him strong to the point of terrifying. Armin closes his eyes; Bertholdt can’t help but think that his lashes are wasted on a man.
“What are you going to do with Eren?”
Annie’s hands rest against the steering wheel in a pale grip. “Our people will synthesize his blood into a chemical we’ll spray via plane. If our estimations are right, it will successfully eradicate the titans.”
“What was the original point of killing defenseless humans stuck in an enormous cage, then?”
Armin’s bonds clink like gentle bells while Reiner nonchalantly reaches to snake his hands under his pants. Bertholdt scowls at the reflection in the passenger’s side, but keeps his thoughts to himself. He hears a sharp intake of breath, though no squirming or protest. Mikasa writhes in her full body bond, a literal worm. She screams through her gag; what a bother. They’ll have to put her in high security.
“Humans turn into titans,” she answers with a placid expression. “Wiping out every last one of them would have caused a reaction for titans to cease to exist, but now that we have Eren, what remains of you all can live out your lives in peace. Once the wide spray is done, it will propagate through the air. Your people can go outside as they please once it takes its full effect.”
Bertholdt can’t tell if Armin’s choking noises are due to his partner’s insistence, or the information revealed to him. His mouth parts into a painful bastardization of a smile.
“I almost don’t mind, then. Will Eren die?”
“He’ll lose a lot of blood, but whether he lives or dies is up to him. As we promised ages ago, we’re willing to keep you all alive as fair trade.” Her eyes narrow into malicious slits. “Cut that shit out, Reiner. It’s disgusting.”
“I expected you not to mind, Annie. He could use a taste of our own cleverly devised torture methods.” Reiner buries his face in Armin’s neck and nips at his throat. “You a virgin?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Mikasa’s bothersome noises turn into vicious sobbing. Armin shakes his head and grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Shinpai shinaide kudasai,” he breathes, repeating the nonsense words like a prayer. It seems to soothe her, by a margin. Her weeping quiets into dull, white noise, accompanied by the whimpers that her friend stops behind clenched teeth.
“You’ll be a better fuck when you’re clean,” Reiner spits.
“You can get me soap that makes me smell like a woman, to make it easier on yourself.”
Bertholdt can’t help himself. “Reiner has no interest in women.”
Armin grins darkly. “In that case, I hope your dick is proportionate to the rest of you.”
“Shut it, all of you,” Annie says at last. “We’re here.”
The two men share the burden of slinging Eren and Mikasa over their shoulders; Reiner complaining of how much the woman writhes, despite his solid grip. Annie turns to Armin with proper caution, but he follows without resistance.
“I’m as smart as a whip and it doesn’t take any brain power to understand that we have nowhere to run to.”
For one of the strongest warriors humanity has ever known, Mikasa is crushing when she cries. Bertholdt almost pities them, but he knows monsters don’t deserve the luxury of concern. Armin is the most dangerous one of the three, but when he turns his eyes towards the shining glint of the buildings, Bertholdt imagines him young again, and wishes he remained as kind.
He can’t help himself. None of them can.
“You want to give him a go?” Reiner teases, ignoring Bertholdt’s tight, bloodless lips. “Annie told me she doesn’t care either way.”
“Why would Annie even tell-”
(It’s disgusting.)
“-Forget it. He probably tried to bite off your dick, and I don’t want that mess all over me.”
This is a lie, of course. Bertholdt is afraid of what he’ll discover, because Armin is an abomination that dissects an average mind like a soft slice of bread. If the misleadingly frail man were ever to lay beneath him, he knows he’ll be thoroughly disassembled and categorized. People simply aren’t made to be that intelligent.
He notices the falter. It’s unmistakable.
“It was actually like fucking a scowling corpse, but at least he’s a lot better looking now. Maybe you’ll get something different.”
Curiosity gets the better of him. Bertholdt never considered himself smart; just too good at following orders. The room is small and only holds a thin mattress, a toilet, and a sink. Armin rests knobby elbows against open legs. He wears gray clothes too loose for his frame and smells of Annie’s cherry blossom soap, but his smirk is anything but gentle.
“Aren’t I a popular guy! As expected. Eren and Mikasa would tear skin out with their teeth.”
Bertholdt nearly steps back when Armin stands, approaching him with soundless footsteps. (Like a phantom, or the breath of corpses.) A slim, curling finger pokes at his chest in a parody of courtship.
“I prefer something deeper than that.”
He shouldn’t be afraid. “Try me.”
Armin smiles, reminding him of shy girls and true love, slinging pathetic arms over his shoulders. He nuzzles against him, skin ice against his warm neck. “Do you really think I’m devil spawn, Bertl? I’m hurt. It’s so sad that you stepped on Connie, and we cried over Sasha’s body for weeks. No more potato jokes, I guess. Humans are so terrible, to want to live. What selfish creatures.”
His waist is almost small enough to be encircled by both hands, and Bertholdt does so, unsure if it’s foolish desire or a show of dominance. “This is bigger than you can understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly, you fucking hypocrite. As a superior civilization, you feel more entitled to live than us. It’s no different than what humans do to ants or cows. That’s all we are to you.”
Despite ugly words (and he’s true, it sinks deep and buries in the dark), Armin’s body warms up against his, relaxing even with the knowledge of his life in the mercy of these vicious strangers.
“Fuck me,” Armin says with horrifying delicateness; paper thin and light. “Isn’t that what you came here for?”
It sinks, and his lungs fill with ink and the blood he’s spilled. He’ll be transparent no matter what; there’s no use lying. Admitting defeat, he meets already parted lips and shares a savage kiss that leave both of them panting. Armin tilts his head when traveling hands push aside loose strands, offering his neck to angry bruises. Bertholdt lets fury get the better of him; he tears the dull prisoner’s garb off like a spoiled child would with a Christmas present.
(He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know anything, that fucking monster. Annie, Annie-)
Reiner said he scowled when they fucked, but Armin betrays nothing here but half hardness and a swollen bottom lip. Bertholdt holds two fingers in front of his mouth and his prisoner sucks them off so lewdly that he may very well be mocking him. There’s not left much to do but part his legs and loosen him in preparation; this time, Armin doesn’t subdue any noise.
(It’s disgusting.)
Reiner’s come is still inside, which makes entering easier. Armin quivers like a willow heavy with snow, with harsh sounds to match. If this is any sort of ploy, Bertholdt is definitely too stupid and enraged to see it right now, further appalled when Armin reaches between them and stokes himself off in time with his thrusts.
“Do you like it, fuckface?” Bertholdt snarls. His thrusts become erratic; quick and shallow. Armin laughs and yanks him by the hair, mouths meeting again; the smaller man’s moans croaking against his throat.
“Yes,” he chokes out, and continues to repeat it.
(Everyone’s going to hear. Will his reputation as the colossal hero be sullied?)
Armin comes before he does, body going slack, though the white knuckled grip in Bertholdt’s shoulders remains firm. It doesn’t take long to follow after. Armin relaxes when he pulls away, smiling in smug satisfaction.
“You proved me right. Congratulations.”
It tears worse than teeth. Bertholdt backs away, repulsed, but Armin is already ignoring him, rolling to face the wall.
“Come back any time. You’re a lot bigger than your friend. Maybe suggest Annie to come along too. Goodness knows that I might even get a boner unaided.”
That snake doesn’t deserve an apology, but when he leaves with rumpled pants and closed fists, the blood drains from his face. If Annie found this disgusting, despite all that Armin has said and done, then they must be monsters, as humanity has always proclaimed them to be.
Bertholdt does return; two visits a week, though the sex grows gentle over time, and Armin speaks a lot less. It’s no use; everyone is shop window glass to this boy, wasting to twig thinness and a flawless swan neck. He shudders when rough fingers run against his thumb; laughs bitterly when Bertholdt calls him beautiful.
If this is any sort of ploy, he should consider it a success.
They toss Mikasa in the cell with Armin to say goodbye to him; five guards dead means she is too unsafe to keep. Bertholdt watches the two speak in that foreign tongue; a language that will die with them. When the woman digs into soft pale hair and kisses him, open mouthed and desperate, he can’t help but envy the intimacy.
(What a disgusting thing to say.)
“Moushiwake arimasen deshita,” she whispers against his forehead, accepting now.
Armin smiles when they pry her away, both of them looking fragile again; young and crushed underfoot. His eyes remain fixed at the shut door and refuses contact with Bertholdt, even as the hands wander, long grown into a custom.
“You win. I’m all yours.”
What presumptuous words. All Bertholdt can feel is loss.
On a typical visit to the facility (in which Armin is now the sole occupant), a guard stops him and says that the prisoner has another visitor, but allows Bertholdt to stay outside. Annie sings to Armin, muted but clearly affectionate.
(She’s never spoken about ever visiting him. His accomplice is many things, but forgiving is not typically one of them.)
It dies down, and they converse about speech. Armin lays down the pattern of the coded language, and Annie is patient.
“You learned a few words, so we can start stringing them together soon. It’s subject - object - verb, while what we speak is subject - verb - object. So instead saying ‘I went to school today,’ you say ‘I school went,’ or something like that.”
“Mikasa only taught this to you?”
“Eren didn’t have much interest in it.”
Was that a chuckle? “I’m not surprised, considering he killed two men at the age of nine.”
“Hey, that’s not right. The collapse of Wall Maria only happened a year after that.”
“Fair enough.”
(Cut that shit out, Bertholdt. It’s disgusting.)
“What do you two talk about?”
Annie grimaces.
“I don’t know. Things you miss out on when you fuck him senseless.”
“Reiner made a comment about us sharing him.”
“He’s always been perceptive.” She packs grapes in a small container and he connects the dots as to who will receive them. “Do you want to know what he thinks of you? Because I can tell you right now and gut you without laying a finger.”
(no, no no no)
“Try me.”
Her posture softens into something meek; fine china in rainy weather.
“Bertholdt has never been harsh with me. I’m grateful.”
“I-”
“Do you like fucking him because he’s lower than you? I must be nothing compared to someone completely helpless, then. God fucking help you if we ever argue about who cleans the stove! Always the easy way out, always look like you did nothing wrong. Bertholdt fucking Hoover, king of avoidance.”
“You forget what he’s done to you,” he retorts with gritted teeth.
“You forget what we’ve done to him.”
(you win)
They arrive at his cell with a change of clothes and sneakers they hope will fit. Armin is tired and emptied out, but he smiles at Annie regardless (a club that Bertholdt will never be privy to). She approaches him and hands the garments on his lap; he stares at it without comment.
“They said there’s no use keeping you here anymore. There’s more dangerous prisoners who need these facilities, so we’re taking you with us.”
He doesn’t reply, so Annie kneels down and encloses his wrists, as though he were a child. “Put these on. You can’t go outside looking like that. I’ll turn around.”
Shame stabs him with endless needles, but Bertholdt follows her lead. When Armin is finished, he looks much less hungry, but still very much dead. Annie leads him with a steady hand to their car, and flanks him in the back seat.
“Let’s take him to the beach, Bertl. No one will be there to bother us in the middle of October.”
“It’s going to be too cold. He’s not going to be able to tolerate it.”
They carry on a typical argument, but Armin is completely disinterested, gaze transfixed at the passing cars and neatly lined houses. Bertholdt’s mother pressed roses into books as a hobby, once. He can finally appreciate the sentiment.
“Do you want to go the sea, Armin?” she asks with a warm smile.
“If it’s convenient for you two. I don’t mind either way.” He swallows and closes his eyes with harsh breaths. “I don’t know what you both see in me. There’s nothing left here.”
“You win,” Bertholdt says with watering eyes. “We’re all yours.”
Annie rubs her thumb in repeating motions against the back of Armin’s palm, while the rail thin man hides his face with a free hand. The sea is not far of a drive, though they have to squeeze through well-hidden holes in the fence to access it. They take off their shoes in unison (as creatures all originating from water, Bertholdt thinks it’s just something ingrained in them), and step into the water together.
Armin begins to cry, making him recall that tears were the only thing he had yet to yank from him. Judging from Annie’s experienced embrace and soothing words, this is not the first, for her. Bertholdt feels filthy; filthy and wrong and vile, and does not join them, fearing the enclosure quickly degrading into a cage.
When the thank you comes, he knows that they’re just as much as prisoners as Armin is.