Wall Maria is on fire. Flames lick the sky. Taste the sun. Regurgitate smoke. Darkness engulfs at noon. The world is tainted black and red.

I have to go back. Delve into the heat. Smoother. Kill anything that crosses my path. Titan or soldier. They are filth. They will all fall before me. I will crush them. Tear limb from body. Bone from flesh. They deserved the worst. Everything is their faults. Everything.

He's waiting for me. He has to be.

I'll run through the fire. He'll still be near what use to be my house. He'll be mulling over our discovery, trying to determine our next step. He'll see me. Call to me. I'll approach him. He'll meet me half way. He always does.

I feel hands on me. They dig into my chest. They are holding me back. My throat is torn on the inside. Blood dribbles down my chin. Fluid fills my lungs. I choke. I still scream. I hear nothing but the buzzing. The sound echoes. It is hollow. Death. I scream harder. My lungs give out.

Wall Maria is on fire, and he's burning with her.

Therapy was supposed to help.

The first week had been nothing but blood tests and pointless questions: Do you consume alcohol? Shoot tranquilizers? Take blood pressure medications? Any antidepressants? Street drugs? Smoke? Do you eat right before you fall asleep? What about sleep apnea? Do you have issues falling asleep? Have you been bullied recently? Do you worry about school? Has anything specifically traumatic happened lately? Are you in a gang?

The second week was filled with him trying to remember the dreams and failing.

By the third week, the blood tests were back; Eren hadn't lied. Except for the strain induced by the nightmares, his body was a fit as a fiddle.

Finally, after a month of no success or relief, his therapist assigned him to keep a dream journal. The first few nights left him with vast white papers, untouched by ink or lead. Armin was the one to suggest he focused on characters as opposed to the scenes as a whole. With the new plan set in motion, background characters, faces he only saw flashes of, and names became increasingly familiar.

"Since they don't appear in chronological order, I always thought my nightmares could just stand alone, but I was wrong. Each nightmare is like a puzzle piece. They all fit together somehow, but I can't figure it out. If I had all the pieces... I don't though. So I have to try to put them in an order. The only way to do that is to follow who's there. If I don't see them one time, it mean's they're already dead, so if they show up in the next one, I know that part happened before the other. You get what I'm saying?" Eren was writing like a madman, grinning as he did so.

Armin sat at the edge of Eren's bed. His eyes were half hung over with sleep, but he couldn't miss the joy bursting through Eren's face. Armin wrapped his arms around his chest, struggling to keep warmth in his body. For the past week, he had been staying the night, trying to help however he could. The night was colder than normal; coldest night of fall, if he had to place a guess. Or perhaps not. It wasn't every morning he was woken up at four, so there was no way of knowing if it wasn't always so chilly. No, he should have been asleep, curled up on the air mattress next to the bed and buried under an army of blankets.

A loud scream had woken Armin though. A loud, ear piercing scream followed by hysteria and rambling. Eren turned his nightstand lamp on. Despite damp eyes, shaking body, and hyperventilating, Eren pulled out the notebook from under his pillow and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. All the while, little whispers slipped from his mouth, but they weren't intelligent. Little grumbles and grunts. The occasion word or half of one.

Eren froze and glanced up at his friend. "Cold?" he questioned, smirking. He shuffled over and lifted his blanket. "Com'ere, I have to show you something."

Armin obeyed. He slipped under the blanket next to Eren. Any sense of coldness fled him; the blankets were nice and toasty. More so than they should have been. The other boy's body was running like an oven. "Eren, do you have a fever?" he asked, but Eren dodged his inquiring hand.

"I'm fine. Look at this."

Scribbles and chaos covered the notebook. The handwriting started as neat little words, two whole sentence jammed onto one line. It grew slowly until the letters lost form all together. Thoughts were dropped mid-sentence or mid-word. Doodles of long blades and deform humans interrupted, ripping apart whatever sanity may have remained. Drawn with heavy black lines and grotesque proportions, they were hideous. But Eren looked as pleased as punch staring at the paper, as though he could see something more in the images and gibberish.

"Eren, you need to get some sleep."

"Quiet. You don't know what you're talking about," Eren snapped. "I'm fine."

Eren was not fine; anyone could see the fact. His face was gaunt with paled skin. Heavy purple bags became a common fixture under his eyes in the last few weeks. It was rare if the whites his eyes weren't a rich red. Even his lush green irises fogged, having lost their burning spark. Hair stuck to his forehead, glued in place by the constant sweat in which he seemed to be covered. He was slipping farther each day.

How much more torment could he handle? The mind was a powerful being with the capability to build and destroy worlds, but it was not immortal. There was a certain level that could snap his mind, twist it to the brink, and cause him to fizzle into nothingness. If that point were to be reached, what would happen to him?

Pain struck Armin's chest like a hammer. Twelve years. He had been with Eren for twelve years. Their friendship had survived over a decade of fights and temper tantrums, ups and downs, both hard times and good times. In fact, the good times were vast enough in numbers to overshadow any of their past pettiness. Those precious memories inspired future hopes, and he couldn't imagine a life without Eren next to him. Eren was going to be there for his wedding; he'd be an uncle to his children. In turn, Armin would stand by any decisions Eren made, even if he didn't particularly agree with them. They'd have odd "guy's night out" adventures, just like a bad movie. They may not remain neighbors forever, but all the distance in the world could demolish their bond.

Seeing Eren slip so low stirred his worst thoughts. It took all the optimism he could muster to keep a tiny seed of hope from being crushed. They would make it through this. They had to. "What are you thinking?" he asked, softly. He placed his hand on top of Eren's and gave a light squeeze.

The contact pulled Eren out of his hectic mood. His smile slipped from his face, replaced by an exhausted frown. "I've only seen one image that goes past your death," he admitted. "Some time has passed since you left, and I'm traveling alone with a woman named Mikasa. I'm not sure why, but we separated from the rest of the group. She may have needed to talk to me. Her face looks like she has something to say, but we are attacked before she has a chance to do anything. I battle with a man; he is large and built like a grass-fed ox. His eyes are sharp. I lose. Or, I think I do, because everything becomes washed in darkness. I'm pretty sure that's how I die."

His head rolled back. He stared without blinking at the ceiling. "The earliest memory I do remember is pulling you out of the mouth of a titan." The word "memory" echoed in the small room, but Eren didn't seem to notice the odd choice of words. "You are crying, but through your fear, you still reach for me. You want to get me out. I can hear your screaming even as the titan swallows me." His lip trembled.

"I sound pathetic," Armin said, trying desperately to light the mood. The idea of being eaten alive made him want to vomit, so he steered clear of thinking about it. If only Eren could do the same.

Eren's eyes hardened. "You weren't. Sure, fighting wasn't your forte, but you could out plan anyone. You saved our asses more than once with that noggin of yours. Hell, you were able to determine those damn traitors among our ranks. You did everything you could to rescue me each time I was kidnapped by our enemies. You and everyone else."

"Each time?"

A tinge of pink overtook Eren's cheeks. "Uh, yeah. I was kidnapped three or four times. But that's not important. I don't think I got to properly thank you for all you did for me back there. I guess a part of me thought there would be plenty of time once we won the war; however, that never happened. We died before it could." He shook his head, chasing away the thoughts for a moment. He offered a weak smile. "It's a little late, but here you are: Thank you for everything you've done Armin." For a moment, the old Eren was back. His eyes burned with life. His shoulders were squared with strength. In a flash he was gone.

Armin wasn't sure how to respond. Tears began to hinder his vision. He wiped them away with the back of his wrist. "Sorry. I'm not sure why I'm so emotional," he said, laughing a bit.

Eren returned the laugh with one of his own. "Must have touched a cord, or something."

They fell into a silence that bordered peaceful, but Armin had to break it. "Eren, are your dreams ever peaceful?" He had been wanting to know since the first incident, but some sense of foreboding dread had stopped him. He didn't want to think of the terror as constant. He wanted to believe that Eren was given breaks from the visions and blood shed. He wanted to know that something positive could rise from the ashes of Eren's despair. He had tried to deny the facts that presented themselves, but he couldn't anymore. Not after the heartfelt gratitude Eren had showered down on him.

Now, he was ready to accept the truth.

Eren's eyes fluttered shut. "Yes."

The answer knocked the wind out of Armin's lungs. An uncanny sense of joy rose from his stomach, but Eren continued before he could express his relief.

"They're the worst of all."

Morning light invades. Streams through the window perched above the bed. Soon, it will fall upon us, stirring us from our slumber. A natural alarm. However, I am already awake. I must wake up before him. Otherwise, my opportunity is lost. I drink in his presence.

His head is tucked into the crook of my neck. His breath brushes against my collar bone. It is warm. Soft. His arm is draped over my chest. His hand clutches the sheets. Our legs are intertwined. If we were any closer, we would become one person. The idea doesn't disturb me. We would never be apart.

I curl a piece of his hair between my fingers. I listen to his breathing. I feel his bare being against mine. He smells clean. Like soap. My senses are overwhelmed. Warmth floods my chest. I am at peace.

The sun is about to touch him. When it does, his steel eyes will open. He will leave me. My tranquility with be slain.

He needs to rise. The others require his guidance. Without him, we can't last.

I am a selfish creature. I sit up. He slides down my torso. He doesn't wake. His arms snake around my waist. My body blocks the rays from his face. A shield. He can sleep for a bit longer.

A/N: If I knew I would be updating this the very next day, I probably would have just waited to make this a one-shot...