Chapter Text
Being a peasant already kinda sucked, but I think I can safely say it's never sucked more until this particular moment.
There are splinters digging into my back, and they only bury themselves deeper when I try shifting away. The shackles I'm wearing hurt like hell, rubbing away at my skin and cold enough that my wrists and ankles ache. But this isn't the worst of it, not at all. The worst part of this fucking terrible journey is the way it's going to end.
Every year, someone from our village is selected at random to go and work for the oh-so mysterious ass that lives in the mansion up the mountain. This has gone on for...I'd say, a little over ten years, maybe more. I only heard about it when I moved here this winter, so I'm not exactly an expert. The gist of it is, they like to take someone poor, insignificant, since this unknown person doesn't seem to care and the person they send up never returns. Don't wanna sacrifice anyone important, after all.
I just arrived here a few weeks ago, I'm jobless, more or less homeless and without connections to anyone; the perfect target. So now, I've been packaged up and tossed in the back of a wagon, wheeling my bumpy way up a mountain. I'm next to two large, foul-smelling packages that are leaking something suspiciously similar to blood. Nice.
I'd be a little more terrified, but I'm the kind of person that's all brave until I see what it is to be scared of. It's like I'm too stupid to realize I'm gonna die, except I know I am and it hasn't sunk in yet. A rock hits me in the eye, and I wince, trying to shout a curse at the driver through my gag. He doesn't seem to care, and I'm not surprised.
I try to remember who all was taken. There were so many, they read names off of a list when they chose me. A girl, Mikasa - I remember her from my family's trip down here when I was younger. Not that I have a family left, anymore. There were three people that year, I remember - she and another boy I vaguely recall volunteered themselves after their friend was chosen. There had been volunteers before, but never three in the same year. A boy saying he wanted to be taken, after his best friend the last year. A woman stepping up with a grin, apparently wanting to learn about this unusual occurrence. Batshit crazy if you ask me, but of course, I've never felt dedicated enough to anyone that this would even occur to me.
The wagon slams to a halt, and I bump the thin wooden board holding me up with so much force that it breaks. All the air in my lungs rushes out as I slam against the ground, and I wheeze for a few moments. My harsh breaths are overshadowed by the crunching of gravel, feet pressing against the ground directly in front of my face.
I think I hear a "Get up" grunted through the ringing in my ears, and I'm hauled to my feet. As we walk, I'm not entirely sure that I'm actually walking and not being dragged, but it doesn't make a difference to me. We reach a pole, and my stomach drops.
It's covered in slashing marks, like someone took three toddlers with swords and told them to go at it. A large, gnashed up spot where I'm positive someone's head once was lies around the top. This, this is the moment where fear starts to set in, but I'm too beaten up to do shit about it. My shaky legs try to hold me up, but when I collapse anyway I'm allowed to sit.
I try to make a little last-conversation attempt, voice raspy. "Done this often, you sick fuck?"
I'm met with a painful tug on my shackles, which I'm assuming he's redone around the pole. I'm bent back, on my knees with my wrists bound to my ankles, and I can already tell it'll be torture in an hour. There's no way I'll be able to get out of it, either, not unless I could jump ten feet without using my legs.
There are two huge thumps, and I can hear him climb back into the wagon. I glance down beside me, only to feel a sick roil in my gut. In a little clearer light, those packages look eerily similar to wrapped corpses. Looking away, I try to keep my mind off it.
Similar to my predictions, in an hour, my shoulders and thighs are screaming. Even my ankles hurt, every part of me pulled back into a position that I really shouldn't be in. I've never really been athletic, and I sure as hell haven't been flexible. Night's fallen, too, and I won't lie when I say I'm twitching at every noise. A rustle sounds like a footstep, an animal's call threatening predators and fangs...even the moonlight, something that normally would have been appreciated, adds an eerie feeling to an already terrifying situation.
And then I hear it. A heavy, slow breath, a footstep that holds considerable weight. Something that exists very much, existing very largely and very close to me. I would turn my head, but I think I might just piss my pants if it's the monster my head is making up. So, instead, I close my eyes and hold my head down, suddenly feeling exposed. It walks closer to me, and I tense when there's a warm breath on my cheek.
The trembling that's started up grows stronger when it moves away, because I hear something that's far more sickening than any breath or footstep. A ripping sound, first of cloth and then wetly of flesh. It's...eating them. The dead people that were brought with me. It's eating them.
I fall limp against my bonds, a choked sound of horror deep in my throat. I'm too scared to open my eyes, to see whatever monster is devouring humans just a few feet from me. I can only imagine that I'm next.
There's a pause, and I'm almost relieved until the unbearable sound begins again, on the second person. It's horrible, nauseating, and after a few moments of it starting again I heave, throwing up a good amount of nothing and bile onto the ground in front of me. I've never felt fear like this, never been so utterly horrified.
Minutes later, the sounds stop. I strain against my shackles as it approaches me, stinging pain accompanying every movement. Something like a mix between a hand and a paw lays on my arm, claws digging in just barely and holding me still. It's face is directly in front of mine, I can feel it, I can smell the blood. Even so, I still can't open my eyes.
And then, with that, it's gone. I can't hear it anymore, there's no sound or warmth and the smell of gore has disappeared. In it's place, I hear someone running up, someone that calls my name and is clearly human. There are surprisingly gentle hands, on my wrists, unlocking my chains. When I'm released, I slump over, curling into myself and sobbing. There are more people, now, and they mutter and talk with worried tones. I'm picked up and hoisted like a child onto a broad back, but I don't have it in me to protest.
"Why the hell didn't they tell us he was here?"
"I don't know, but from the looks of it, it's already visited him."
There are vibrations from the person beneath me. They must be talking.
"I don't know why the deliverer didn't give us any alert, but who knows what he's seen. We need to get him inside." I almost laugh, but I'm slipping into unconsciousness.
I didn't even see anything.
**
Much, much later, I open my eyes, realizing that I must have passed out. I look around the...room? I'm in a room, now, and there are bandages around my wrists. I'm wearing different clothes, too...I'd be more concerned about that, under normal circumstances.
I pull off the blanket that's been carefully laid over me, shivering at the chill that follows. My feet burn when I place them on cold stone, standing with a wobble, and I proceed to the door.
"Um...I think it'd be better if you laid down, for a while." A voice interjects, out of absolutely nowhere. I jump, nearly losing my balance, but warm hands grab me and keep me upright. I stare into cocoa-colored eyes - eye? I'm a little taken aback; one entire side of this guy's face is covered in three deep scars, his eye covered with a black patch and the very tip of the corner of his mouth dragged down, like it was cut and healed that way. I overcome my shock, gathering the willpower to scowl.
"And just who the fuck are you?" He smiles, just a bit of hesitancy in his kind expression.
"I work here. My name's Marco, and you're Jean, correct? I don't know if I'm saying it right, but regardless, it's nice to meet you!" Why is he so damn cheery? I was nearly killed, threw up all over myself, and got stolen away into some mystery mansion from hell, and now he's smiling at me like a fucking advertiser for a new wagon.
"I don't care about your name. Why are you here? Why am I here? Where is here, even?" I demand, but he doesn't seem fazed by my hissing tone. Maybe he's used to it, or maybe I'm just not that impressive after he saw me nearly pissing myself.
"I'm here to look after you, Master's orders. You're here as a new worker for the Master in his estate, and we're up in the castle, remember - I know it's a little secluded, but we're all like a big family here, I promise!" I scowl at him.
"That's not what I mean. Why does he want us to work here?" His smile falters, just a bit, before he picks it back up.
"I can't say I know, sorry. But I promise, you'll like it here. From what I've heard, you weren't getting on so well, back at the town, right?" I nod cautiously. "Here, you'll have a warm bed, food, and everyone cares about you. If you really, truly don't like it, you can leave - but no one has ever wanted to." My lip curls. This sounds like some freaky story where everybody's enchanted, or something. But what else can I do? I doubt the townspeople would welcome me with open arms, and I'm honestly a little too scared to go back down the mountain with that...thing, roaming around.
I don't respond, but I don't argue, either. Instead, my stomach answers for me - a loud grumble fills the room, and Marco laughs. "Oh, you must be hungry! Here, I'll take you to the dining hall. You might want to put on some shoes, though, we had a pair made for you." I raise an eyebrow - did they just ask for my shoe size, or something? - but comply, taking the leather shoes he hands me and leaning against the wall as I slip them on. They're actually fantastic, nicer than any shoes I've ever had - soft, and well-fitting. Not that I'll tell him that, of course.
Walking is a little less difficult, now, but my legs are still sore from the ride up here and being tied back for so long. I'm sure my eyes have circles like tar underneath them, and I know my hair is a mess, but I'm not in the mood to care about shit like what I look like. I'm traumatized, starving, and I just woke up. I think I might just stare down a bear, right now. Since I am in such a state of no-fuckery, I decide to bring my blanket with me, slinging it over my shoulders and trudging out of the room.
Marco, fresh breeze that he is, beams the whole way. Leading me down endless stony hallways, he's constantly pointing someone or something out. "Look, that's Ymir," He says, and points through a window at a tall, freckled girl cutting wood outside. "She was chosen last year, and Christa - over there, with the blonde hair - decided she wanted to come too. Sweet couple, although Ymir just about murders anyone that looks at her." I run my hands through my hair, working out a few knots. As he describes more about the layout of the castle, we pass a burly blond man and his nervous-looking pal. Marco waves. "Hi! Jean, those two are Reiner and Bertholdt. You'll never see them apart." He gestures to each with their name, and Reiner holds reaches out for a firm handshake.
"Nice to meet you, newbie! You'll like it here." I stare at him. That voice...
"Did you carry me inside? Last night?" He grins, nodding, and my face erupts into flames. This guy...he saw me crying and covered in puke. Great first impression. He just laughs at my reaction, slapping me on the back.
"Relax. Everyone makes an idiot of themselves when they're new, nothing to be ashamed of." When I give a small noise of assent, he and Bertholdt move on. I wonder why the tall boy doesn't say anything.
Marco continues with his tour, and we reach a staircase. "Now, there are roughly five stories, and a basement. The kitchen and dining hall is on the floor below this one, so you'll wanna go down that hall we just passed through and head for the spiral stairs here." The stairs remind me a little bit of a painting I saw once, where sinners were descending to hell. Hopefully this isn't the same.
Surprisingly enough, it isn't. When we reach the bottom, a warm, pleasant smell emerges to me. Like...beef stew? And fresh-baked bread. Marco must see the eagerness on my face, because he leads me to one of many long, wooden tables. "Wait here, and I'll get you some food. I think the cook and her assistant want to meet you, anyway."
I sit down, sniffing slightly - it's warmer in here than the rest of the castle, but there's still an underlying chill. Well...so far, this place doesn't seem so bad. A little strange, but not particularly threatening.
A door slams open, and I jump. "JEAN!" My name is screamed with two simultaneous voices, and at the same moment I'm hit in the gut and side by what feels like cannonballs. I struggle to escape four vice-like arms, trying to get a look at my attackers. My jaw drops.
"Connie? Sasha?" My two childhood friends grin at me, while Marco stands with an apologetic smile behind them. The bowl and bread in his hands pop out to me, and I push them off to sit back at the table. "What are you guys doing here? I didn't know you were chosen!" Connie plops down opposite me, and Sasha next to him.
"They weren't." Marco answers before either of them can, setting the bowl of stew down in front of me. I take the chance to start wolfing it down while he talks. "We found them lost up here, brought them in for a while, and the Master was impressed with Sasha's cooking. So, we told them they could stay if they wanted, and they agreed." Sasha shrugs, looking pleased with the compliment.
"Neither of us really liked it in the village. So, we figured, why not stay here? Everyone's super nice, and I can spend all my time in a kitchen."
"Not bad, eh?" Connie grins. I don't know what to think about this. This place...all the stories about it, everyone made it sound like a death sentence. They even treated me like someone being taken to my execution - although maybe, just maybe, that was because I cussed out the delivery man and wouldn't willingly stay in the cart. But who would?
"And what about the monster?" Their faces fall, in slight confusion and worry. "It didn't attack you?" I look around, for some kind of assurance that the monster is nothing to worry about. Surely Marco, at the very least, would know what was going on.
Instead, he stands up, face unnervingly blank. "I need to go tell the Master you're awake. Sasha, Connie, you can take care of him from here, yeah?" They nod solemnly, and he takes off. I stare at him until he passes out the door, before turning back to the uncharacteristically quiet duo.
"Alright, so what the fuck was that?" Sasha doesn't say anything, and Connie hesitates before answering.
"Marco...was the first one here. The first person 'chosen'. And when he got here, he didn't follow the rules. Mainly, the gist of it is don't go in the Master's room, and don't go outside at night. That's all. Nothing bad has ever happened since that first incident, and he's taken it upon himself to be an example for us." I don't like where this is going, but there's a falling sensation in my gut that tells me I know exactly what happened.
"He went outside at night, to try and head back to town. The Master would have let him, he really would, but he'd told him to wait until morning. He didn't. And...he was attacked by the monster." I shake my head. No. This isn't right, no, things like that shouldn't happen to people like him...
"It took his eye, but the Master saved him before he was killed. And so, Marco is the most loyal to him, and the only one who is ever allowed to see his face. Apparently he was scarred up even more than Marco was." I feel sick. I knew it had to be bad, whatever hurt him, and deep down I knew what it was...but somehow, that monster that's outside...it scares me more than I ever thought possible.
"What is it?" There's a long silence, and this time, Sasha speaks.
"There's a lot of stories...everybody here has a different idea of what it is. Marco says the closest thing he can find is a wendigo. Weren't you right there with it, though?"
"No, I..." I don't really want to tell her I was just too wimpy to open my eyes, so I just stretch the truth a little. "I didn't get a chance to see it. Wendigo?" The closest thing I can think of is some old myth I read once, nothing like the monster I was envisioning.
"Yeah. He said it was really, tall, sort of like a werewolf? But its chest was open, with ribs showing and its heart and everything. Like it was dead. And it had six arms, one big pair with claws and then smaller, human sized ones. And...he always seems to freak out when he talks about this part, but its eyes...burn, into you. You can't think when you look into them. You can't breathe. It's just...terror, he said." Connie shivers.
"He never talks about it anymore. Just shuts down and walks away. I think he's trying to forget, but it's a little difficult when it lives right outside." My heart is pounding. Suddenly, I'm very thankful for the sunshine that pours in through the windows, wondering what was waiting outside for night to come. I must have been asleep for a while, though, because it looks like late afternoon already. Just thinking about nighttime makes me feel a little creeped out.
I start when I hear a door open, surprise showing on my face. Glancing over, I watch as three people enter the dining hall, only to have my cheeks heat up when I see familiar black locks, ones that I remember stuttering a compliment to. Mikasa.
And, of course, her asshole stepbrother. I'm now all-too aware of my bedraggled state and the blanket lying childishly over me, so I stubbornly keep my eyes on my stew. No luck. They start walking over to me anyway.
"Jean!" I look up, giving a forced smile.
"Nice to see you...Armin." Phew, holy shit, I almost couldn't remember his name. The blonde smiles, the select one of the trio that doesn't make me feel awkward or enraged. I can't help but be a little more genuine in return, although even just glancing at Eren's silent form makes me irritable.
"We heard you had a rough first day? It's not normally that bad, but the man who brought you up here didn't tell us you'd arrived. He even tied you up, they normally don't do that."
Eren scoffed as they sat down, the three of them in a line beside me. "Probably did something to piss him off, if he's the horseface I remember." I scowl, resisting the urge to flame up in return. I fail. "Sorry that I don't have two babysitters to look after me, asswipe." He starts to stand - you just sat down, dude, are you serious? - but stops when Mikasa places a hand on his chest.
"Eren. He just got here." We glare at each other, customarily, until he sits back down. Feels just like when I was a kid, visiting this place.
"So, what happened?" Armin asks, and I can see the eagerness held back in his eyes. He always was a bit of a geek, and I can imagine him overwhelmed with curiosity for the resident monster. I take a breath, before beginning to share the details of my experience. I carefully leave out the parts where I don't open my eyes, hurl on my shirt, and start crying - although, if I remember correctly, Armin was there anyway. Well, Eren doesn't need to know- wait...fucking shit. Eren was there too.
We talk for a few hours, everyone - even Eren and Mikasa - sharing some details about the place and telling me I'll feel right at home in a few days. I hope I will, because monster or not, this is nicer than anywhere I've ever been. Food and company go a long way, compared to an empty belly and a lonely spot in the corner of an abandoned building.
When the sun starts to go down, though, everyone starts acting a little weird. Apparently, that's another one of the rules - although not entirely necessary, it's best if everyone heads to their rooms for the night. Armin takes me back to mine, and the walk is uncomfortably quiet. "Marco should be back by morning, okay? He patrols the halls for a while before he goes to bed. He actually shares the room, but he should be quiet enough that you don't wake up." I notice now that there's a second bunk, against the other wall. That must be where he had been sitting this morning, even though I completely missed his presence.
"Got it. Night."
Armin smiles at me, and for whatever creepy-ass reason, he looks a little sad. "Goodnight, Jean."
So, I slip off my shoes and lay in bed. Even though I've barely done anything, I'm completely exhausted - maybe that's what trauma does to you, makes you want to sleep for two days straight. As such, it only takes a few seconds for me to pass out after my head hits the pillow. I dream of warmth and old friends. It's pleasant, for a while.
When I feel consciousness rising again, something is acutely wrong. I'm frozen stiff, and I feel a terror that makes bile rise in my throat. Stiffly, I force my eyes to open - it's nothing, it has to be nothing - and a scream catches in my throat, silently choking.
Two - no, one, one eye stares at me, inches away from my face. It's red and burning, set into a long face that looks like it's rotting away, skin falling away from parts of the muzzle so that fangs and bone are visible. I can't move, I can't breathe, I can only focus on it and on one thing.
Across its face, where its other eye should be, there are three long, deep scars.
I scream, long and loud and filled with fear, sitting up straight in my bed to find that...it's morning? Tears streak down my cheeks, and my head twitches to the side. Lying in his bed, completely human and staring wide-eyed at me in the purplish morning light, is Marco.