Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The apartment wasn’t terrible. That’s what Armin told himself every day.

It had a stove, a sink, even a washing machine that worked half the time if he kicked it just right. The walls were paper-thin, whitewashed and unadorned. The couch had been salvaged from someone else’s past life, springs worn but soft. There was even a small shelf of books—child-friendly ones, carefully selected and censored. Armin had read all of them aloud, over and over, until the pages felt like prayers.

But none of it made the place feel like a home.

Because the door had no handle from the inside.

Because the windows were two-way mirrors.

Because every sound he made—every word, every breath—was recorded.

And because his children had never seen the sky.

“Yuna, slow down. We only have one cup of milk left.”

“I’m saving it for Theo,” she said, seven years old and already used to making sacrifices. “Mama, I’m not even hungry. Promise.”

Armin turned from the fridge, biting back the instinct to scold her lie. Yuna had her arms crossed stubbornly, curls tied up into a frizzy bun, oversized shirt slipping down one shoulder. She looked like a child playing adult—and she’d had to, far too early.

“I’ll talk to them about our rations,” he said gently.

“You always say that,” she muttered. “And they never listen.”

He didn’t answer.

Theo padded in from the corner they used as a “bedroom,” clutching his threadbare rabbit plush. “Is it breakfast time?” he asked, voice soft, still waking.

Armin crouched and pulled both children in, hugging them tight. Their scents grounded him—faintly sweet and so familiar it hurt. Theo was still warm from sleep, cheeks puffy. Yuna leaned in but didn’t close her eyes.

They called him “Mama.” Always had. The word had formed on Theo’s lips before he even said "milk" or "no." It made something in Armin ache and melt at once.

No one had told him he would have children.

No one explained when, or how.

They’d just come—first the invasive tests, then the injections, then the crippling heat that burned through him again and again without touch. He’d never seen the alphas whose semen had been injected into him. He didn’t even know if they were alive.

He only knew that they were strong. That’s what the scientists whispered behind the mirror. Something about “lineage optimization,” “military potential.” There were numbers—E32, A47—names stripped away.

But none of that mattered when Theo cried because the nightlight flickered, or when Yuna asked why no one else ever came through the front door.

“Mama?” Theo asked, blinking up at him. “Can we go outside today?”

Armin’s smile was soft but brittle. “Not yet, baby. Maybe soon.”

It was a lie he was starting to hate saying out loud.

The door clicked. A mechanical whir signaled the opening sequence, and all three of them went still. Yuna instinctively stepped in front of Theo, and Armin stood—body tense, protective.

The doctor who stepped in wasn’t new. Dr. Veller. Human. Clinical. Uncaring.

“Subject 019,” she said, not even glancing at the children. “Daily tests. Bring the boy.”

Armin’s hands closed around Theo’s shoulder. “He’s five. You took blood yesterday.”

Veller smiled like a machine. “Today’s for observation. Don’t make this difficult.”

Theo whimpered. Armin didn't move.

Veller’s smile didn’t falter. “You know what happens when you make this difficult.”

Armin’s stomach sank. Yuna’s fingers slipped into Theo’s. The girl was trembling but silent.

“Ten minutes,” Armin said tightly. “You don’t touch him.”

Veller gestured to the guard behind her. Theo was already being ushered forward.

“I’ll be right here when you come back,” Armin whispered, kneeling to kiss his forehead. “Just remember what I told you. You’re brave. You’re my brave boy.”

Theo nodded with watery eyes and was led out the door. It hissed shut behind them.

The room felt colder without him. Yuna silently climbed onto the couch and tucked herself under the blanket. Armin washed the cup in the sink even though they had no more milk.

Minutes passed.

Armin could feel his own scent spike—anxious and sharp.

He had been alone here before. Alone and pregnant. The memory of it crept in like a shadow from under the door: lying on the thin bed, clutching his stomach as the first contractions hit, monitored and drugged and utterly unseen.

But even then, he hadn’t felt as powerless as he did now.

Because now, he had something to lose.

-

Theo came back without tears this time—but only because Hange was holding his hand.

Armin rushed to the door the moment it hissed open. Yuna was already halfway across the room, blanket still trailing from her shoulders. Her eyes locked on her brother’s, searching for signs—bruises, blood, swelling. There were none.

Instead, Theo looked… dazed. But safe. Confused, but unharmed.

Hange crouched beside him, unzipping a small insulated pouch and handing it to him like it was sacred. “Go on, Theo. It’s mango juice. A rare treat, courtesy of a temporarily distracted lab tech.”

Theo looked up at them, uncertain. “For real?”

“For real,” Hange grinned. “Drink it before someone changes their mind.”

Theo turned and ran straight into Armin’s arms.

“Mama,” he whispered, the carton still in his hands. “It didn’t hurt today.”

Armin exhaled so hard his chest ached. “Good. That’s good, baby.” He kissed the top of Theo’s head and gently checked him over—habitually brushing behind his ears and checking his scent.

No sharp tang of distress. No trace of medication. Just the warm, sleepy scent of his child and—

His nose twitched.

He looked at Hange. “You took him out of Level 3?”

Hange lifted both hands. “Only briefly. I wanted him to see a window.”

Yuna gasped. “A real one?”

“Yep. A little one. Down the hall from storage. It’s grimy as hell and only faces a wall,” they said, glancing at Armin, “but Theo saw sunlight for the first time.”

Theo tugged on his sleeve. “It made my eyes hurt.”

“That’s how you know it’s real,” Hange said, winking. Then their smile faded into something gentler. “I know I’m not supposed to. But—he’s five. And five-year-olds deserve more than walls.”

Armin didn’t speak for a moment. He sat down on the couch and pulled Theo into his lap, guiding the straw to his lips. Theo sucked on the mango juice like it was the most important task of his life.

Yuna settled beside them, eyes still flicking between her brother and Hange.

“You’ll get to see one too, one day,” Hange said, sensing the jealousy but not shaming it. “Promise.”

Armin raised an eyebrow. “You promise a lot for someone who works for them.”

That made Hange go quiet.

“I know,” they said finally, voice quieter. “I know. I’m not here to play hero. I log blood samples and write reports and clean up the messes other people make. But… I’m trying. I’m trying to make small spaces a little more bearable. And I’m keeping an eye on your file.”

Armin’s body went still.

“What file?”

Hange hesitated. “Nothing’s official. Yet. But the data team keeps pulling your name up. They’re comparing DNA markers between you and the donors.”

Armin’s breath caught. “Donors.”

“Yes. The… the alphas. They’re trying to trace them down. Someone—high up—is requesting profiles. All hush-hush. But if they find one—”

“What then?” Armin asked sharply. “Are they going to drag him in here? Make him part of this?”

“I don’t know,” Hange admitted. “But if they do… I’ll let you know first. I’ll try to keep you one step ahead.”

Armin stared at them.

“I’m not saying I trust you,” he said. “But thank you. For the juice. For the window.”

Hange stood and gave a small, exhausted nod. “I’ll be back in three days. Try not to stab Veller in the meantime.”

Armin smirked, bitterly. “No promises.”

-

The apartment was quiet.

Theo had curled up into Armin’s chest and fallen asleep half a juice box in, his soft exhales puffing against Armin’s neck. Yuna lay across their makeshift mattress, knees to her chest, fingers curled into the sleeve of Armin’s old sweater. She always insisted on sleeping in something of his. Said it made her bad dreams go away faster.

Armin tucked the blanket over them both. Then he sat down at the edge of the bed, facing the door.

The same metal door that had never locked from their side. The same sterile gray, with the tiny light at the top that meant they were being monitored. Probably recorded. Probably noted down.

He was twenty-three now. Seven years since he’d been taken.

He still remembered the scent of the street that day. It had rained earlier—warm, summer rain—and the concrete was steaming. He was on his way back from tutoring, carrying a plastic bag with canned coffee and a microwavable curry bowl. His shoes squeaked a little from the wet.

He turned the corner near the construction lot—and the next thing he remembered was a wet cloth pressed over his face. A sting in his throat. A loud ringing in his ears.

He woke up strapped to a gurney.

Naked. Muzzled. And already half-turned into something he didn’t understand.

The pain came after that. Unbearable heat flooding his lower abdomen. Nausea. Screaming. Blood. Cold hands on his body and voices muttering about compatibility and mutation rates. There was no one who listened to his begging. No one who asked if he was even legal.

He didn’t know when the injections started. They never told him whose seed they were putting in him. It wasn’t sex—it was procedure. Clinical. Cold. Over and over. Until the tests read positive. Until he could no longer walk straight. Until his own body betrayed him.

He’d cried the most during the first pregnancy.

He thought it was a tumor at first. A slow-growing horror clawing through his gut.

It took a kind-eyed nurse named Petra—long gone now—to tell him the truth. She whispered it during a night shift while changing his IV bag.

“You’re pregnant,” she’d said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “They’re trying to breed hybrids.”

She said it like it was some great tragedy. Like she wanted to help him.

She was dead three days later.

And Armin had stopped crying after that.

The kids were a miracle, he knew that now. But back then, it was nothing but terror. His body changed. Shifted. His teeth sharpened. His heat cycles—if you could call them that—turned erratic and dangerous. They drugged him constantly. He was barely awake when he gave birth to Yuna. And when Theo came two years later, he didn’t even remember the day.

All he remembered was waking up to find her in his arms, already nursing.

And him? The boy with the sleepy smile and half-fanged teeth? He’d crawled into Armin’s bed on his own.

He didn’t remember their births, but he remembered their laughter.

He remembered Yuna’s first word: “Mine.”

He remembered Theo pulling on his sleeves the first time he saw blood and whispering, “Make it stop.”

Armin blinked.

The dim lights made shadows crawl across the metal walls. He glanced at the small paper drawing Yuna had taped over the vent—a crude sketch of the sun. It was her dream. To go outside. To feel grass. To run barefoot.

Armin didn’t know if he’d live long enough to give them that.

But gods, he wanted to try.

And if whoever their alpha was ever found them—

They’d have to answer for all of it.

The hum of the overhead light had finally faded into background noise, and Armin was drifting somewhere between half-sleep and full exhaustion. One arm cradled Theo against his chest, the other wrapped loosely around Yuna’s waist. The room was still. Too still.

Then the door hissed.

At first, he thought he imagined it.

Then it opened—fully, fast, wrong. Not the slow, coded click of a scheduled check-in.

Armin jolted upright, scent flaring sharp in the air. Theo stirred. Yuna’s eyes snapped open, already half-ready to bite.

And then—Hange stepped through the door, slightly out of breath, hair in messy tangles, and carrying a heavy duffel bag across their back like a soldier returning from the front lines.

Their glasses were fogged. Their shirt was soaked in sweat. And the urgency on their face said run before they even opened their mouth.

“Armin,” they said, voice low but fierce. “Get up. Get them up. Now. We don’t have much time.”

“What—?”

“No questions,” they snapped—not cruelly, but not gently either. “The power grid’s on a ten-minute override. Half the cameras are already out. The rest will follow in eight. We need to move. Now.”

Yuna sat up and instinctively clutched Theo closer. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when we’re out,” Hange said, already crossing the room and dumping the duffel on the floor. Inside were two jackets, a medkit, three sealed protein bars, and a handful of anti-suppressants. “Clothes first. Armin, get Theo’s meds if he needs them. Anything personal you want, one item each. No more.”

“Are we escaping?” Yuna whispered.

Hange looked her in the eyes. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Theo blinked slowly. “But... they said we never could.”

“They lied,” Hange said simply. “Now go.”

Armin's heart was thundering in his chest. His brain screamed trap. His instincts screamed hope. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling the kids’ jackets from under the mattress.

“Why now?” he asked, voice hushed.

Hange was checking a small handheld device, likely hooked into the facility’s camera feed. “Because you’re scheduled for transfer tomorrow. You, not the kids. They're separating you. Possibly permanently. Possibly worse. I only just found out.”

Armin’s stomach turned. “Fuck.”

“Exactly. So get moving.”

The kids scrambled into their worn shoes and coats, Yuna grabbing her drawing from the vent and stuffing it in her pocket. Theo clung to his mango juice carton, like it was a good luck charm. Armin considered grabbing the old blanket—they’d all shared it for years—but left it. It wasn’t warmth they needed anymore.

It was freedom.

He followed Hange to the door, one hand on each child.

“Hange,” he whispered, “you know this means they’ll hunt you too.”

They didn’t look back.

The hallway outside was nothing like Armin remembered.

It wasn’t the long sterile corridor they’d walked once or twice for blood work. This was deeper. Older. Pipes ran along the ceiling in rusty veins. The lights flickered and groaned like they were straining against age. And yet—there was air. Real air. Dry, cold, and moving.

“This way,” Hange whispered, pulling open a maintenance grate barely tall enough for an adult to crawl through. “Old infrastructure. Vampires don’t come down here. Too cramped. Too... mortal.”

Armin dropped to his knees, guiding the kids ahead of him. Theo was small enough to fit without effort. Yuna ducked once and slipped inside. Armin crawled after them, knees scraping metal. The air stank of dust and old blood, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting out.

“Hange,” he hissed back, “what about the security checkpoint?”

“Overridden. Temporarily. I have a contact in systems—don’t worry about it. Just keep moving.”

Armin did. Every sound felt amplified: the soft brush of Theo’s sleeves against the wall, the grind of metal under Yuna’s foot, the faint hum of electricity still surging through buried wires. A distant klaxon rang out—low and sharp.

“They noticed?” Armin asked.

“Soon,” Hange murmured. “We’re almost there.”

They reached a maintenance hatch. Hange unscrewed the latch with trembling fingers. Beyond the door—cold night air. Real air. It smelled like freedom. It smelled like rot, garbage, and smog, but it was alive.

“We’re beneath Sector 3,” Hange said. “Old city. Dead zone. No surveillance. We have five minutes to cross into the tunnel entrance. There’s a vehicle waiting.”

Armin stared at the darkness beyond the door. “If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” Hange said. “I won’t let you.”

They moved.

Yuna clung to Armin’s hand, wide-eyed but silent. Theo stumbled over a loose pipe, and Armin caught him just in time. The streets above were silent—1 a.m., maybe later. The buildings around them were long abandoned, the brickwork crumbling under the weight of time and neglect.

And then—the hum of a vehicle.

They turned a corner and saw it: a black transport van with its lights off, engine running. There was already someone present in the car, motioning at them to be quicker. 

The doors slammed shut behind them with the sound of finality—steel-on-steel—and the moment they did, the vehicle peeled off into the night like the hounds of hell were on its tail.

Armin was still holding Theo, whose arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. Yuna had wedged herself beside him, one hand clutching the seatbelt and the other locked around Armin’s coat.

Across from him, Hange gave a tight, strained smile.

“This is Moblit,” they said, jerking a thumb toward the driver. “He’s my assistant. He’s the one who found your case file in the system and got the route out stitched together. He’ll be taking you and the kids somewhere far, somewhere quiet.”

Moblit glanced at them in the rearview mirror, giving a slight nod. “Pleasure. Just sit tight. We’re going to be driving through the backroads until sunrise. No stops.”

“Where... are we going?” Armin asked hoarsely.

Hange reached into the bag they’d tossed in earlier, unzipped the main pouch, and shoved it toward him.

“Not important right now. Just know it’s across multiple vampire zones and out of this jurisdiction,” they said, eyes gleaming behind their fogged glasses. “That bag has clothes for all three of you, forged IDs, a burner phone, a map, and enough vampire supplements to last three months. Also cash. A lot of it.”

Armin blinked. “Three months?”

“I figured,” Hange said with a shrug, “you’d need time to lie low, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to contact you again for a while.”

“But—what about you?” he asked. “Won’t they come after you for this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hange replied with a manic little grin. “Which is why Moblit and I are going the opposite direction the second we drop you off. You’ll be safe. We’ll be ghosts.”

Armin stared at them, mind racing. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

Hange looked at the kids.

At Yuna, who hadn’t spoken but whose eyes burned with the knowledge of someone who’d seen too much. At Theo, still curled up like a kitten against Armin’s chest.

And then back to Armin.

“Because you didn’t ask for any of this. You were sixteen. You should’ve been in school, not locked in a sterile hell and forcibly bred like livestock.” Their voice cracked. “You’re a victim of something no one talks about. And those kids—they’re not things. They’re people. Just like you.”

Armin’s throat felt like it was closing.

For a moment, he had no words. Just gratitude, thick and choking.

“Thank you,” he managed, voice raw.

“Don’t thank me,” Hange muttered, eyes flicking to the window. “Just survive. And stay hidden. And if you ever see someone from the facility again—run. Got it?”

He nodded.

Moblit made a sharp turn. Gravel kicked up under the tires. They were well out of city limits now. The buildings had disappeared, replaced by endless stretches of forest and the occasional moonlit hill.

And for the first time in four years—

Armin allowed himself to hope.

Theo kept clinging to the sleeve of his worn-out shirt and Yuna simply had laid her head on his shoulder—oh, she was composed. It hurt Armin’s heart knowing what the doctors might have done to his poor girl for her to act so mature when girls her age were out, getting excited over dolls, skirts, frocks, the color pink. And here she was, innocence torn away just because she came from an experiment—just because she carried a vampire gene. He laid his head on his mess of a hair. He'd have to clean it, maybe where they were going they'd get to have a shower. God knows how much Armin missed standing below a shower, doused in hot water. Maybe he could buy her some new clothes, things she would like to wear and not the tattered mess they'd call clothes in the facility.

Theo was young—the doctors wouldn't have started the experiments till he was atleast six years old. Just one more year, Armin thought, and Theo would've suffered. He hugged Theo closer, scenting him and blanketing him with a protective scent. Their second genders hadn't kicked in yet, maybe because of the amount of drugs they had been pumped up. Even Armin, his heats had completely stopped after his second pregnancy. That too only because of the medicine administered to him on a daily basis and now that they were gone, would he start having heats again? How would he take care of the kids during the time?

And… the vampire in them. He could send them to school. Maybe instead of juice, he could slip in some blood in their tiffins—the kids could go on days without human blood and somehow walk in sunlight. Courtesy of being half breeds, one doctor had said.

Oh, his babies. How much have they suffered. Kids, infants, barely able to make decisions on their own and Armin had helplessly let those vile doctors take them away to do God knows what. He could taste the bile rising in his throat from the thought of it. He couldn't. He didn't want to. They were safe now. 

That's… that's all that matters.

As long as he has kids with him, he'll be fine.

Chapter Text

It was just past sunrise when the van slowed down. The sky was a pale gray, fog curling lazily around the buildings like ghosts reluctant to let go. The city was already stirring—traffic lights blinking red to green, early risers filling sidewalks with hurried steps and warm drinks in gloved hands.

Moblit parked in a narrow alley between a laundromat and a grocer. The street smelled of city things—oil, concrete, baking bread, cheap perfume. Life.

“This is it,” Moblit said, cutting the engine. “This building here—unit 3B. The lease is under an alias. Utilities paid a year in advance. No ties to you, or Hange, or anyone from your records.”

He turned slightly in his seat and offered Armin a small envelope. “Keys. One’s for the apartment, the other’s a mailbox across the block. Hange might use it to reach out later.”

Armin took it with shaking hands.

Yuna was peering out the window in awe. “It’s… loud,” she whispered.

Armin smiled faintly. “That’s good. It means we can blend in.”

Moblit helped them unload the bag—just one, but heavy with the weight of survival—and led them to the stairwell. The building was worn, with peeling paint and rusted banisters, but the apartment was clean. Small, yes. But not suffocating.

Two bedrooms. A real kitchen. A window that looked out over a convenience store. The fridge was stocked. The lights worked. The water was hot.

When Moblit turned to leave, he hesitated at the door.

“You’ll be okay here,” he said quietly. “Keep your heads down. You’ll blend in—especially in this part of town. No one asks questions.”

Armin nodded. “Thank you. For everything.”

Moblit hesitated just a beat longer, then smiled softly. “They’re good kids,” he said. “They look at you like you’re their whole world.” Before he turned around, he looked back once, hand slipping into his coat pocket. Armin watched as Moblit took out a piece of paper. “Here, if things go south, you run out blood bags, or need a job, go this place, they'll get you sorted.”

And then he was gone.

Armin clinched the sheet of paper in his nimble fingers. He'd see it later.

The door clicked shut. For the first time in four years, Armin was alone—not in a lab, not under fluorescent lights, not within reach of white coats and cold hands. Just… home.

He sank to his knees, overwhelmed. Yuna stood near the window, eyes wide, taking it all in. Theo crawled into his lap without a word and tucked himself close.

“Is this our real house now, Mama?” he mumbled sleepily.

Armin swallowed. His throat burned. “Yeah, sweetheart. This is ours.”

He held both his children close and listened to the sound of the city.

No alarms. No doctors.

Just footsteps, laughter, and the distant chime of a bakery bell.

It wasn’t even ten minutes after Moblit left that the questions started.

“Can we sleep in our own beds now?” Yuna asked, standing in the doorway of the smaller bedroom with her hands on her hips, like she was inspecting it for traps.

“Can we use the sink whenever we want?” Theo chimed in from the bathroom, poking at the faucet with fascinated wonder. “Can we flush the toilet twice?”

Armin laughed—like, actually laughed, a sound so rare it made both kids turn and blink.

“Yes,” he grinned. “Yes, you can flush the toilet as many times as you want. And that,” he pointed with a dramatic flair, “is a TV.”

Theo gasped. “Like the ones in the doctor rooms?!”

“Better,” Armin said, eyes shining. “Ours. No one’s going to turn it off unless we want to.”

They ran to it instantly, fingers poking buttons, Yuna tugging at the remote with both hands. Armin let them. He sat cross-legged on the couch—which, holy shit, was soft—and just watched them squeal when the screen came alive with colorful cartoons and fast-talking characters.

There were two bedrooms. One for them. One for him.

Beds, real ones, not mats on the floor or cold medical cots. Each had blankets. Pillows. A fucking dresser.

Armin pressed a hand over his mouth to smother the way his face crumpled. This... this wasn’t what he thought freedom would feel like. He thought it would be terrifying. He thought the panic would stay with him forever.

But this? Watching Theo try to name every cartoon animal on screen while Yuna declared this channel is my favorite now, Mama after just thirty seconds?

This was joy.

And the kitchen. God, the kitchen.

Armin flipped open cabinets like a madman, stunned at the stocked shelves. A half-used jar of peanut butter. Pasta. Soup. Utensils that weren’t bolted down.

And the fridge. There were labeled pouches of vampire-friendly supplements in a drawer just for him.

He ran a hand down the side of the refrigerator and smiled like it was an old friend.

Theo appeared beside him. “Can I eat the yellow cheese?”

Armin opened the fridge again, pulled out a slice, and handed it to him. “You can eat anything you want.”

Theo gasped and ran off yelling, “YUNAAAAA! I GOT CHEESE!”

Armin leaned back against the counter, the knot in his chest loosening bit by bit.

There were still so many unknowns. So many dangers. But for the first time in years, he could breathe without looking over his shoulder.

They had bedrooms. With doors. With locks.

They had hot water, clean floors, noise outside that wasn’t screaming.

They had a home.

By late afternoon, Armin had finally gotten the kids to sit still long enough to eat sandwiches at the tiny kitchen table. The light coming through the window was golden and soft, and for a moment it felt almost like a dream—one he wasn’t ready to wake from.

Yuna chewed slowly, watching the window with a wary expression. “Mama… why are there people walking so close to the house?”

“It’s called a sidewalk,” Armin said gently, buttering another slice of bread. “It’s normal. That’s just how cities work.”

“Do they know we’re here?” she whispered, pressing closer to the glass, eyes narrowed.

Armin’s hand paused for a second.

“No. No one knows. This place is safe.”

Yuna didn’t look convinced, but nodded slowly anyway, like she was trying to believe it for his sake.

Theo tapped his fingers against the table, staring at the light switch on the wall. “Can I press it?”

“You can press whatever you want,” Armin said.

Theo scampered off and flicked the lights on and off with reverence. “It doesn’t even shock you,” he whispered in amazement. “They used to shock you when you touched stuff in the lab.”

Armin swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “Yeah… this place isn’t like that. No one’s going to hurt you here.”

But even as he said it, his eyes drifted to the door. The lock had been turned. The chain was drawn. But his heart still clenched at every footstep outside. Every door slam. Every engine revving.

He sat beside the kids as they flipped through a worn storybook from the bag Hange had packed.

“What’s a supermarket?” Yuna asked suddenly.

“It’s where you buy food.”

“But… don’t the doctors bring food?”

Armin shook his head. “No, sweetheart. People go outside and choose what they want.”

Both kids stared at him like he’d described flying.

“And what’s a… ‘movie theater’?” Theo read the word carefully from a book page, tilting his head.

“That’s a place with a giant screen,” Armin said, voice low and warm. “And rows of soft seats. You get popcorn, and you watch a story with a room full of strangers.”

“Why would you watch with strangers?” Yuna asked, frowning. “Don’t they want to hurt you?”

Armin couldn’t answer that right away.

His fingers trembled slightly as he turned the page for them.

Because the truth was—he didn’t know. Maybe some of them would. Maybe some wouldn’t. But that wasn’t something his kids needed to fear yet.

“Not everyone’s like them,” he said instead. “There are people who don’t want to hurt us. People who just… live.”

Yuna squinted. “Like Hange?”

Armin nodded. “Yeah. Like Hange.”

They sat in silence for a bit longer, the storybook forgotten between them.

Outside, the world moved. Cars passed. Dogs barked. Somewhere, a bus honked.

Inside, Armin clung to the small things: a clean room. His kids fed. His arms around them.

He was happy. Terrified. Grateful.

And waiting—always waiting—for the knock on the door that would make it all come crashing down.

But until then…

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling them close. “Let’s watch a movie tonight. Something fun. Maybe with talking animals.”

Theo lit up. Yuna looked skeptical, but curious.

And for a moment—just one more moment—it felt like maybe, just maybe, freedom would last.

The apartment had gone still.

Yuna was curled in one of the twin beds, hugging a blanket to her chest, fast asleep. Theo had fallen asleep on the couch midway through the animated movie, face smushed into a pillow, breathing slow and even. Armin had left the TV on, volume low. A part of him didn’t want too much silence.

He sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a lukewarm mug of tea, eyes trained on the door like he was waiting for it to knock. Waiting for the dream to shatter.

It hadn’t. Not yet.

But the stillness of the apartment wasn’t comfort—it was unfamiliar.

There were no distant screams. No fluorescent hum. No countdown voice reminding them it was feeding hour. No boots against tile. No alarms. Just… the low hum of the fridge and the soft ticking of the microwave clock.

Armin took a shaky breath and opened the notebook Hange had packed into the bag. It was blank. Waiting.

He clicked the pen and, slowly, began to write:

Find schools or homeschooling options. The kids didn’t even know what a playground looked like, much less what a classroom was. Armin wasn’t sure he was ready to let them out of his sight—but he also didn’t want to be the reason they never knew what life could be like.

Secure IDs. He didn’t even have a last name anymore. Just “Subject 42” burned into a file in some locked lab. If he wanted to work, rent, buy food long-term—he needed to be real on paper.

Look for work-from-home options. Something safe. Hidden. No risk of someone seeing the scar just under his collarbone, or asking too many questions about his omega scent layered with a strange iron tang.

Teach Yuna and Theo how to blend in. Not because he wanted them to change. But because the world wouldn’t understand. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And if someone saw their eyes flash red when they were upset, or if they bit too hard while playing—

Armin blinked fast, heart tightening.

He didn’t want them to grow up hiding.

But he wanted them to grow up.

He wanted them to live long enough to make that choice for themselves.

He flipped to a fresh page.

Things I Want for Them

To laugh without guilt

To make friends

To not flinch at raised voices

To pick their own clothes

To be proud of who they are

Armin stared at the last one for a long time.

That one might take the longest.

The tea had gone cold.

The clock ticked past midnight.

He stood, gently covered Theo with a soft blanket, and checked the locks one more time.

Still secure.

Still safe.

But in the back of his mind, there was always the if.

If they find us.

If someone reports us.

If the labs are still watching.

If freedom is just a pause before the next trap.

But for now, the kids were sleeping soundly.

And he had a pen. A notebook. A list.

Tomorrow, he’d start.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Armin had woken up early—just early enough that he could see the sun peeking from the horizon. After Yuna and Theo had fallen asleep on the couch, he had moved them to his bedroom, keeping them close to his body. They may have separate rooms now but Armin wasn't quite ready to let them go. It was unhealthy but his life wasn't exactly picture perfect now, was it? He had draped them with extra blankets, AC on blast as he left them room—just for extra measures, he placed pillows around the edges of the bed, to prevent the two from falling and injuring themselves.

Shower was great. It was the first time he had felt happy to take a shower. His time back there he was only allowed twenty minutes of bath time and with the kids, just thirty minutes. So, screw him for taking almost an hour in the shower. He only remembered to get out when he heard footsteps clambering around before the faint sound of the TV pulled him out of his shower bliss.

Were the kids up already? He thought, drying himself up.

He could hear the kids whispering in the next room. Theo’s hushed voice, full of caution. Yuna’s louder, animated, confident. Probably arguing over what was in the strange rectangle on the wall—the TV—again.

Yuna had some idea about basic human things, he had spent most of her childhood teaching her those things. He never got that time with Theo. Theo was more innocent, naive, and perhaps more emotional than Yuna. He couldn't stand one minute ripped away from his older sister or Armin. It was sweet yet also reminded Armin of the horrible treatment they'd induce on Theo for that behaviour.

He got up and padded into the room. Yuna perked up from the bed immediately, face lighting up with mischief and glee.

“Mama! Theo thinks the TV is magic,” she said, crossing her arms.

“It is magic,” Theo muttered, tugging the blanket over his head.

Armin chuckled softly. “It’s electricity, not magic. I’ll teach you both how it works. But first... we need clothes.”

He moved to the big duffel bag Hange had left. It sat untouched in the corner, still zipped. He crouched down and unzipped it slowly.

Inside was a carefully packed assortment—neatly folded shirts, little pants, socks, undergarments, even a few warm jackets. There were shoes in the side compartments, labeled for size. Armin’s hands trembled a little as he took out a small navy hoodie. It had a cartoon dinosaur on it.

He held it up to Theo.

“It might be a bit big,” he murmured, “but you’ll grow into it.”

Yuna zipped open her section of the bag herself, pulling out a bright yellow shirt with a flame design. “This one’s so cool,” she grinned. “I’m gonna wear this forever.”

Armin laughed. “Maybe just today.”

As they got removed the clothes, he kept sneaking glances at them. How Theo’s hair curled at the nape of his neck when damp. How Yuna’s stance—feet planted wide, hands on her hips—was confident in a way that reminded him of someone he'd never met but felt somewhere deep in his bones. A powerful alpha. Untouched by his life. But unmistakable in her.

He didn’t tell them about the experiment. About how they came to be.

He couldn’t.

That story wasn’t for them—not yet. They deserved this first.

Once ripping out their entire wardrobe, the kids stood in the hallway, eyes bright.

“Are we going outside?” Theo asked, gripping his shirt sleeves.

Armin nodded. “Yes. Just a little. We’ll walk around the block. Get a feel for things. You’ll see cars, people, stores. No one will hurt you.”

“And if they try,” Yuna said, fists curled, “I’ll bite them.”

Armin startled. Then laughed despite himself. “No biting people, sweetheart. That’s for emergencies.”

She grinned like she had just been given permission to cause a very cool emergency.

Before they went out though (and it wasn't as if Armin was delaying it for his own nerves), he had to give them a bath and maybe breakfast with how he could Yuna’s stomach rumbling.

The bathroom was still foggy with warm steam, the cheap mirror above the sink blurred with condensation. The water heater groaned faintly, but it worked. That alone felt like luxury.

Armin rolled up his sleeves and tested the water temperature again with his fingers. Not too hot. Gentle enough. Theo had extremely soft skin, prone to more bruises than Yuna, who somehow never got injured and even if she did, they'd heal almost instantaneously—Theo’s would take hours at end and with broken bones the process would be even more painful.

“Theo, your turn.”

Theo peeked around the corner, clutching his tiny towel like armor. His hair was tousled from sleep, and his green eyes wide and unsure.

“Do I… get in?” he asked, voice soft.

Armin gave him a small nod and a smile. “Yes. I’ll help you.”

Armin held out his hand, ushering Theo to hold it. Theo hesitated only a second before holding his hand and stepping into the tub. His breath caught at the feel of the water. “It’s warm…”

“It’s supposed to be,” Armin said gently, kneeling beside the tub and helping him sit. “That’s how normal baths work.”

He reached for the soft sponge and poured a bit of the lavender-scented soap into it. It wasn’t much—just a basic brand from the supply bag—but it filled the room with a calming scent Armin hadn’t smelled in years.

He began washing Theo’s arms with slow, careful motions, scrubbing away grime that felt years old. It wasn’t just dirt. It was the sterile, artificial scent of the lab. The chemicals. The cold.

Theo sat very still as Armin moved to his back, the little boy’s head bowed.

“Are you liking it?” Armin asked, holding a hand above Theo’s eyes as he washed the remnants of conditioner, in a way that it wouldn't irritate his eyes. Theo clutched the sides of the tub with an iron grip, eyes screwed shut as water cascaded down from his head and collecting in the tub below. Once Armin finsihed cleaning his hair, Theo opened his eyes, rubbing them clean of water. He looked at Armin with almost a glint in his eyes and nodded vigorously, splashing water everywhere.

“Yeah! I did!” He exclaimed, grinning with all teeth. “Can we take more baths like this every day, mama?”

Armin’s chest ached.

“Of course, baby. You can have as many baths as you want.” He whispered, pushing back Theo wet, matted hair.

By the time Theo was bundled up in a fresh towel, warm and pink-cheeked, Yuna was standing at the door with her hands on her hips.

“I’m a big girl now,” she declared, “so I’ll do it myself.”

Armin raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how to turn the taps?”

“I’ll learn.”

She marched in confidently, shutting the door behind her, and Armin bit back a laugh as he heard her talking to herself: “Okay, lefty-loosey... maybe?”

Ten minutes later she emerged, hair damp, water everywhere, and a proud gleam in her eye. “See? Told you I could.”

Armin handed her a towel. “Next time maybe don’t soak the ceiling.”

She beamed. “No promises.”

Once they were both dressed and clean, Armin set about breakfast. It was simple—toast, scrambled eggs, a little fruit Hange had packed into a cooler pouch. He made a small bowl of blood-substitute packets too, mixing them into tomato juice for the kids, just in case. They’d grown up needing it, and while they didn’t need much, it had always kept them stable.

They all sat around the small kitchen table, knees bumping, feet swinging.

Theo stared at the toast like it was a piece of art.

“Is it… sweet?”

“No,” Armin said. “But there’s jam. Try it.”

Yuna didn’t wait. She grabbed her toast, took a huge bite, and immediately lit up.

“This is the best thing ever,” she said with her mouth full.

Theo copied her, cautious but curious.

Armin just watched them eat, his own plate untouched for a few moments. Their cheeks were flushed from the bath. Their clothes were clean. Their eyes sparkled like kids and not… test subjects.

The dishes were still drying on the counter when Armin crouched down to his children’s level, brushing Theo’s damp curls out of his eyes with gentle fingers. The scent of soap still clung faintly to their skin from the bath, their cheeks rosy from warm water and soft towels.

“So,” he said with a small smile, “do you two want to take a nap, or… would you like to go outside today?”

There was a beat of silence. And then:

“Outside!” Yuna gasped, her eyes glowing as she bounced slightly on her toes, nearly tipping over the chair.

Theo looked to his sister, then back to Armin. “We really can?”

Armin nodded, his chest tightening—not in fear, but in something warmer. Maybe disbelief. Maybe hope.

“Yes,” he said, “just for a little while. But we have to be very, very careful.”

He rose to his feet and made his way to the bag Hange had packed, kneeling in front of it like it was a treasure chest. The zipper gave way with a soft hiss, revealing stacks of neatly folded clothes—shirts, jackets, socks, even a few pairs of shoes. Armin’s throat thickened. Hange had thought of everything.

He pulled out two warm jackets, one a dusty blue and the other a forest green. Matching gloves, scarves, little beanies with animal ears sewn into them—Yuna’s had little cat ears, while Theo’s had tiny bear ones.

He dressed Theo first, careful and methodical. Theo obediently lifted his arms as Armin helped him into his jacket, his small hands disappearing into the gloves. The scarf went next—wrapped snugly but gently, hiding most of his face.

“Too tight?” Armin asked.

Theo shook his head, blinking up at him with big green eyes.

Yuna refused to sit still. “I can do it myself! I’m a big girl now!” she declared, already trying to jam her head through the wrong hole of the sweater.

Armin chuckled, steadying her. “I know, I know. But let me help with the buttons at least, okay?”

She grumbled but let him. As he tucked her unruly hair under the beanie and adjusted her scarf, he couldn’t help staring. She looked just like him—well, not quite. Her eyes were too bright. Her expression too fiery. Her hair too dark. She was—she was—

Don’t think about it.

He stood and moved to the coat rack by the door, pulling on his own jacket. He hesitated for a moment before picking up a plain black surgical mask and slipping it on. His heart was already starting to race. But the mask helped.

He turned back to the kids, who were both staring at him, wide-eyed.

“There are good people out there,” Armin said quietly. “Kind people, like in the stories we read. But…”

He knelt again, pulling them both close so they would really listen.

“There are also bad people out there. Some of them might look like the ones from the lab—white coats, badges, black boots. If you see anyone like that, you don’t stop. You don’t wait for me. You run, okay? As fast as you can. As far as you can.”

Theo swallowed hard. “Will you… will you come too, mama?”

Armin nodded without hesitation. “Always. I’ll be right behind you, no matter what.”

Yuna frowned, clutching his hand. “I can fight. If they touch Theo again, I’ll bite their face.”

That made him smile—a fragile thing, but real. He ruffled her hair gently.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He took both their gloved hands in his own, unlocked the apartment door, and stepped into the hallway. It was just as cramped as the rest of the building—peeling wallpaper, dim lighting—but there was life here. Someone was watching a comedy show behind one door. A baby was crying behind another. A couple argued in the stairwell, laughing through their bickering.

It was ordinary. Normal. Alive.

Armin’s breath hitched as he locked the door behind him and led the children down the stairs. Each creak of the metal made his stomach twist. But they made it outside without anyone stopping them.

The moment the door opened, sunlight poured across the cracked pavement. Warm. Blinding. Real.

Theo froze. His eyes stretched wide behind the scarf.

“Is that… the sky?”

Yuna bolted ahead a few steps, her arms flailing as she spun. “It’s HUGE!” she shouted, laughing, completely uninhibited.

Armin stepped out after them slowly. The light hit his face. The air smelled like old engine smoke and cooking oil and something sweet—syrup, maybe, from the breakfast place across the street. There were people everywhere. Talking. Living.

The noise was overwhelming.

He could barely hear himself think. His heart pounded so hard it almost drowned everything out—but then he looked at Theo, who was clutching his hand tightly, and at Yuna, who was yelling about a pigeon sitting on a traffic light, and something in him finally loosened.

“We’re really out here,” he whispered.

He looked up, just for a second, and let the sun hit his face.

As Yuna’s voice rang out, full of giddy excitement, Armin let his eyes scan the street ahead—just to be sure. Across the road, nestled between two apartment complexes, was a small but lively city park. He could make out a jungle gym, a faded green slide, and two swings swaying gently in the wind. There were children there. Playing. Laughing. Parents sitting on benches chatting with coffee in hand.

His heart thudded. This was normalcy. This was real.

“There,” he pointed, crouching slightly so the kids could see where he was directing. “That’s a park. We’re going to go there, okay? And we’re going to have so much fun.”

Theo tilted his head curiously, tugging at the scarf near his mouth. “What’s a park?”

Before Armin could answer, Yuna let out a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes like a seasoned teacher. “It’s where kids go to play, Theo. There’s swings and slides and sand and grass! It’s in the books, remember?”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Like the one with the dragon hiding in the sandbox?”

Yuna puffed up proudly. “Exactly! Well—probably no dragons. But maybe pigeons.”

Without waiting for further instruction, she grabbed Theo’s hand and bolted across the pavement, her boots thudding in hurried rhythm.

“Yuna! Theo—wait!” Armin called after them, panic flaring in his chest as they zipped toward the crosswalk.

Thankfully, the light had just turned red. Cars were stopped. But that didn’t stop Armin from rushing forward, his voice edged in nervous laughter. “Slow down! Please—watch for cars!”

Yuna skidded to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk, pulling Theo to a halt too. She looked back at Armin with a guilty grin but then pointed triumphantly toward the park entrance. “We’re not crossing yet! See, Mama? I know the rules.”

Theo, a little winded from the sudden sprint, looked up at her with both awe and concern. “We’re gonna get in trouble.”

Yuna beamed. “Only if we get caught.”

Armin reached them, breathless, but smiling now despite the pounding in his chest. “Yuna,” he sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t just run like that. You have to look both ways. Twice.”

“I did,” she said, a little smug. “But okay. I’ll look three times next time.”

He ruffled her beanie-covered head, his touch lingering just a bit longer, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“Let’s go.”

The crosswalk light turned green, and together, the three of them stepped across the road—Armin’s hands never letting go of theirs.

And just like that, they entered a world they had only read about.

The park.

It smelled like crushed leaves and distant food carts. There were other children, squealing as they raced down the slide or dangled upside-down from monkey bars. Someone had brought a frisbee. Dogs barked in the distance. Music drifted faintly from someone’s Bluetooth speaker.

Theo stood stock still.

Yuna, however, turned to Armin and whispered, eyes wide, “Can we… really go in?”

Armin nodded. “Yes. Go on. But stay where I can see you.”

He watched as Yuna marched ahead confidently, dragging Theo behind her like a proper big sister, announcing loudly, “Okay, Theo, first rule—don’t eat the sand. I don’t care how pretty it looks.”

He laughed softly, then walked over to an empty bench nearby, close enough to keep them in sight, far enough to let them feel free. For a long while, he just sat, watching. The kids hesitated at first—then they were running. Laughing. Yuna bossing Theo around. Theo making a pile of leaves and pretending it was a nest.

And Armin? Armin sat with his hands clenched together, a lump in his throat. His heart still screamed for caution. But for once, it didn’t win.

They were outside. They were free.

They were living.

Armin sat back against the bench, his scarf loosened slightly now, but his surgical mask still in place. The cold breeze tugged gently at his hair as his gaze followed Yuna and Theo—she was helping her little brother climb up the steps to the slide, holding his hand tightly, even pretending not to see his hesitation. His heart warmed watching them, but the flicker of anxiety never quite left his chest.

This was peace, yes—but peace was fragile. Temporary.

His thoughts drifted to the bag Hange had packed. The pre-packed vials of nutrient-thickened blood would last… maybe two months if rationed carefully. The money, though generous, would barely stretch past three if he counted rent, food, the occasional necessity.

And the kids… they were growing. Fast. Theo had already outgrown one of the pairs of pants that Hange had left. And Yuna’s boots had a small tear near the sole. They’d need shoes. Underwear. Maybe even toys. And school… Armin bit his lip. That was another layer of fear entirely.

He blinked down at his lap, where the edge of the jacket's inner pocket peeked out. He remembered the card. Moblit had handed it to him just before they pulled up at the apartment building, pressing it into his palm like it weighed more than gold.

“If something ever happens, or you need help settling in—anything—call this number. No questions asked.”

Armin hadn’t even dared glance at it since, afraid to tie himself to anything. But now…

What if I can’t keep them safe forever?

His fingers twitched toward the pocket.

But then—

“Mama!”

His head snapped up at Theo’s sudden cry, heart already flipping in panic. Armin stood instantly, eyes scanning the playground, breath caught—

Theo had tripped.

He’d been running toward the swings when his foot caught a root pushing up through the ground. Now he was on his knees, sniffling, little hands trying to push himself up from the mulch.

“Shit, brat,” a gruff voice muttered. “Watch where you're going.”

Armin’s eyes locked onto the source of the voice—someone was already crouched beside Theo. A short man in a long, dark coat. Broad shoulders. Neat, pressed clothes. Thick lashes under furrowed brows, and a frown set deep into a sharp, pale face. His hair was jet black, and slicked neatly back, save for a few strands falling across his forehead.

He looked… annoyed. Intensely annoyed. But not cruel.

“Can’t be crying every time you scrape your knee,” the man muttered, but even as he said it, he was brushing mulch and dirt off Theo’s coat and inspecting his scraped palms with a frown of concentration. “Tch. You’ll live.”

Armin was already halfway across the playground by then, boots crunching across gravel as panic flooded his chest. “Theo—!”

Theo turned, eyes a little glassy, but when he saw Armin, his face lit up with relief. “Mama!”

He ran, half-limping, and Armin crouched to catch him mid-leap, wrapping both arms around his son protectively. He whispered something soothing into his hair, brushing it back, inspecting him quickly. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Armin turned his gaze up—grateful, tense. “Thank you,” he said quickly, quietly.

The man just shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

His tone was curt. But not dismissive.

Armin took in more of him now, eyes flickering—there was something faintly strange about the man. His posture, too still. The subtle sharpness of his irises. The faint scent, different than most humans on the street.

But Armin knew better than to ask.

“Well… thank you anyway,” Armin said again, more softly. “I’m… grateful.”

The man gave a short nod and turned without another word, hands tucked in his pockets as he walked toward the opposite path and disappeared into the park’s crowd.

Armin stayed frozen for a second, holding Theo tightly, heart still thudding from the scare and the unexpected encounter.

Theo sniffled against his shoulder. “Mama… he was kinda mean.”

Armin laughed weakly, pressing a kiss to Theo’s hair. “Maybe… but he helped, didn’t he?”

Yuna came jogging over seconds later, frowning. “What happened? I told you not to run too fast, Theo! You always fall!”

Theo groaned. “It wasn’t that bad!”

Armin just smiled and stood, brushing off the rest of the mulch from Theo’s clothes and adjusting Yuna’s scarf. “Alright,” he said gently, “maybe we’ve had enough of the park for today.”

As they turned back toward the apartment, Armin’s eyes flickered once to the card again through his coat.

He hadn’t used it yet.

But maybe… maybe he would.

Later.

Just not today.

Today, they were still safe.