They wandered through the forest, following a hunting trail. The smell of damp leaves and decay whiffed up from where their feet smashed the orange and yellow leaves into the damp mud. The bare tree branches clattered like bones, along with the lonely whistle of the wind that shook the treetops and shifted the imprisoning shadows. Here, there were no sounds of war, but the reality of death after the battle seemed to permeate the very air they breathed.

Eren glanced around at the bright colors mixed with decay. How like war itself this forest was! The bright joy of camaraderie mixed with death, those same colorful comrades now fallen into the mud and crushed under the stomping boots of War.

"How did you find me?" Eren suddenly asked, needing conversation to focus his mind away from the past.

"It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that!" Levi snapped. "You said you'd be in a vineyard you passed on the road to Saint-Avold. I had the doctor mark every vineyard between here and Peltre."

"Peltre?"

"That town we stopped in after we escaped."

"Oh, right," Eren muttered. "I did not know its name. I just remember the church and ... and meeting..." His words faded away.

Levi smirked as he glanced up at him. "Meeting your wife?"

His eyes narrowed angrily. "She is not my wife."

Levi shrugged casually and teased, "You married her."

Eren suddenly screamed, "You know what I mean!"

His voice echoed through the trees. They both stopped, a spike of fear that perhaps that shout had been overheard by someone hiding in the underbrush. Levi stared at Eren, astonished to hear rage in his voice. He had never acted angry about Louise. Guilty, worried, awkward, but never sneering with that sort of spiteful face.

Eren sharply turned away with his brow furrowed fiercely between his eyes. "I don't like when you tease me about that."

Cautious now, Levi replied, "I'm not teasing. You're married to her, legally speaking. That's just a fact."

His voice rose, not as loud, but still full of rage. "Then at least never call her my wife again."

Levi wondered why this issue was so upsetting to Eren, but he decided not to push it. Eren had many weeks to sit in that cellar and think about the chaos that happened in Metz. Perhaps, with some perspective, his view on things changed.

Eren let out a sigh, pushing that issue aside, and looked around him at the labyrinth of trees. "I am not even sure where I am anymore."

"Too damn close to an army, that's where! Let's keep going, and try not to shout again."

"Sorry," Eren mumbled wearily.

They walked deeper within this autumnal ossuary. Finally Levi called for them to stop and led Eren off the trail into the trees.

"Why are we stopping so soon?" asked Eren.

"It's almost sunset."

Eren looked up through the trees at the cloudy sky threatening rain. "But the sky is still bright."

"We need time to set up a camp, find some food before it gets dark, and you look ready to pass out."

"I have not done much walking," Eren admitted.

Levi frowned and mumbled, "I know what it's like." He came to a stop in a clearing. "Here. This place will work." He set his bag down. "I'll clear a spot, you gather wood. We'll get a fire going to warm you up."

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering. Stop being stubborn."

While Levi used his trench knife to dig out a pit for the fire and lined it with stones, Eren went around the clearing gathered sticks. He wanted to help as best as he could despite one arm being in a cast. He tucked the sticks into the sling holding his broken arm. Once it was full, he brought it over to Levi, who began to carefully line them up. Eren paused and watched the way Levi stacked the sticks into a pyramid.

"That is not how I learned to make a fire. I can teach you."

Levi muttered under his breath, "Yes, the German Method. Efficient, but only in perfect conditions. It's been raining. This method is better for wet wood. We need kindling."

Eren tilted his head. "Kindling?"

Levi looked up at him. "Pieces to start the fire."

"Ah, Anzündholz?" He walked away back into the trees to find moss.

Levi shook his head and muttered, "Still not totally fluent."

Finally, they were ready to start the fire. Eren still had matches, but he went through three, striking them with no luck, before Levi took away the matchbox.

"But your fingers!" Eren cried out in worry.

"You're shivering too much. That's why you can't light these." Levi gripped the matchbox with the thumb and ring finger of his mutilated right hand, plucked a match out with his left hand, and easily started the fire. "Luckily, those Gestapo bastards didn't realize I'm left-handed. They fucked up the wrong hand."

He tried to sound light about it, but Eren still cringed whenever he looked down at Levi's missing fingers.

"You're making that face again."

He jolted out of dark thoughts. "What face?"

Levi pouted as he added more kindling. "The face that says 'It's all my fault.' It isn't. You aren't the one who did this to me."

Eren gulped back his grief and looked away. "In a way, it is my fault. If I had never fallen for you, none of this would have happened."

"Do you really think, even if I never met you at all, things would have turned out differently? I'm a Jew. If anyone else had found me in that closet with a bunch of other Jews, we all would have been shot. If anything, the only reason I'm alive at all is because of you. So stop looking like that."

Eren knew it was impossible to simply not feel guilty. A part of his heart was still trapped in that prison, tortured and bleeding. He stayed close to the fire, his gaze focused on the flames so he did not have to see Levi and feel the piercing guilt.

Meanwhile, Levi unpacked some supplies from his bag. "We need to set up for the night. I don't have much gear."

"Do you have a ... I do not know the English word. Ein zelt. A large cloth, you sleep inside."

"It's called a tent, and no, Dr. Zackly couldn't find one for me. I have a single blanket. We'll have to share." Levi gave Eren a tiny smile, expecting him to blush, but the young man's eyes stared out, half lost.

His poor takhshet.

Levi pulled out the blanket and tossed it over to Eren. "Wrap yourself in that."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Warm up my blanket for me. Sheesh! It's the least you could do."

Eren pouted, seeing through Levi's weak excuse, but he gave in. The blanket was thick and warmed him quickly.

Levi gazed up at the cloudy sky. "I have some dried food in my bag, but it's still light out, and a forest is a good place to hunt." He rose to his feet. "I'm gonna go piss, and then I'll find some food for us. Stay here, keep the fire going, and be quiet." He pulled another trench knife out of his bag. "Use that to defend yourself. Use the gun only if you have to."

With that, Levi took off into the woods. Eren watched as his feet crunched over the autumn leaves. Once Levi was out of sight, Eren began to breathe faster and faster, building up into a panic. His head sank heavily into his good hand, and he clenched at his lanky hair as tears beaded up in his eyes.

"Hör auf damit, hör auf damit!" Stop it, stop it!

He gulped down a shot of acid and choked like he was about to vomit. Slowly, gradually, his breathing calmed down. Eren's eyes opened wearily and stared at the flames.

"Warum bist du so, Idiot?" Why are you like this, idiot?

* * *

Half an hour later, Levi came back with a rabbit hanging limply in his hand. Simply seeing Eren again brought a lightness to his heart. He sat down across the flames and handed the young man a handful of sticks.

"Here. These should be good for making a roasting spit."

"Röstspießes? For cooking meat, ja?"

"You've gone camping before, right?"

"Yes, with Hitlerjugend."

Levi could not help but curl his lip. Hitler Youth? Fuck them!

"Use the trench knives. Chop them into the right size." He muttered, "We need an ax." Levi picked up his knife and looked down again at the rabbit. He glanced over at Eren, worried about how he would react to the gore that went along with preparing meat. "I'm going to prep this away from where we plan to sleep. We don't want blood around here attracting animals. Get the fire down to embers."

"Embers?"

"You know, when the fire is almost out and it's just glowing red."

"Ah, you mean Glut? Du willst das Kaninchen über der Glut rösten, ja?" You want to roast the rabbit over the embers, right?

Levi's mouth dropped, and he suddenly turned away to hide a smile.

"What?" Eren asked in concern.

Softly, he confessed, "I forgot how sexy you sound when you speak in German."

Eren's eyes widened, and his cheeks began to flush. He also looked away, feeling a surge of joy.

Pushing that aside, Levi picked up the rabbit. "I'll do this over here. I want to keep the campsite clean."

"Campsite? I am learning so many new words with you." Eren looked at the sticks. "I have not practiced English in weeks."

"I can tell. Your American accent is completely gone. You should practice it again."

"I will try."

"Oh, that's reeking of a German accent. Come on, you can do better."

"I vill ... Eye-ell..." Eren stopped, focused, tried to remember how he had heard Americans speaking over the radio in Maizières-lès-Metz, and loosened up his tongue. "I'll try."

"Better. Not quite there, but better."

Levi stomped off a little ways until he found a fallen log that worked well as a table for gutting the rabbit. He looked at his knife, then down at the rabbit, and muttered, "Now to see if I can do this without vomiting."

* * *

Over by the fire, Eren looked into the bag and found a steel canteen of water. He placed that near the flames to warm up. Levi would want to clean up after working with bloody meat, and some hot water would probably make him happy. Then he cut the sticks into a Y shape and forced them into the soft, damp ground to form the stand for a roasting spit

He smiled to himself as memories of camping returned. He and Reiner often went out in the woods during the summer months, camping with other local boys from Hamburg. Most of these boys had joined Hitler Youth as soon as they turned ten years old. Eren's parents had not wanted him to join, although by then it was mandatory for all children over the age of ten. After Hannes took guardianship over Eren, the Hauptmann made sure he was raised as a proper German boy, setting him on a path for military service.

Eren was mostly unaware of that end goal. Hitler Youth was a little boy's dream, hanging out with your school friends, learning how to use a knife and gun, going camping, and singing songs. He never really paid attention to what the words were; it was simply some songs to sing around the campfire.

* * *

We are the joyous Hitler Youth,
We need no Christian virtue,
For our Führer Adolf Hitler
Is always our mediator.

No priest, no evil, can ever hinder us,
To feel ourselves as Hitler's children.
We do not follow Christ, but Horst Wessel,
Away with incense and holy water vessel!

We follow our flags singing
As worthy sons of our ancestors,
I am not a Christian, not a Catholic,
I follow the Sturmabteilung through thin and thick.

The church can be stolen from me,
The swastika is salvation on earth,
I will follow him at every step,
Baldur von Schirach, take me with you!

* * *

Through his weeks in solitude, Eren had thought about many things. So many of his brightest childhood memories had darkness lurking just behind it. So many men he once admired turned out to be monsters ready to pull him down into that hellish darkness.

So many memories went through his head during that time of solitude.

So many beautiful, terrible, haunting memories.

Levi returned to the campsite with the rabbit skinned, gutted, and prepared for roasting. He arranged the meat on the spit to cook over the coals. While that smoked, he got to work on the rabbit skin. Eren watched with interest as Levi began to work on the hide.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"I'm not sure of the English word. Peaux tannées. Preparing the rabbit fur, making it into something useful."

"Das Gerben von Pelzfellen?" The tanning of fur pelts? "How do you know what to do?"

"It's one of the things I learned while living with my uncle."

"You mentioned an uncle before, but not much about your time with him."

"Because it was a shitty time spent with a shitty man," Levi said, his voice edged with disgust. "Kenny taught me how to survive, fight, steal, hunt whatever creatures we could find in the city, and eke out an existence. I hated every single day I spent with that psychopath, but in the end, it taught me how to survive an invasion of Nazis."

"By using rabbit fur?"

Levi shook his head. "You use what you've got. This could be made into something later, or it can be bartered for supplies. Everything is useful in this world." He smirked up at Eren. "Even a Jew."

Eren smiled and tugged the blanket closer around him. Levi put the fur to the side and turned the roasting spit. Already, juices began to drip and sizzle onto the coals below. A savory smell permeated the air and made Eren's stomach growl.

Remembering the trouble they had finding kosher food in Nicolo's restaurant, Eren suddenly blurted out, "Wait, I thought Jews can't eat rabbit."

Levi shrugged as he focused on the meat. "I never was a kosher Jew. I never even had a bar mitzvah. I used to eat ham, shellfish, and I once got to eat lobster in London. Ironically, I didn't pay attention to the religion of my ancestors until the Nazis decided they wanted to kill me for being born into it. So while part of me feels I should follow a kosher diet, my sense of survival says fuck it all, I want to live."

"I want to live," Eren repeated in a quiet mutter. "I want..." His words drifted as his face went slack.

Levi looked back around at him, expecting to see him salivating. Instead, Eren had a glazed look in his eyes as he stared blankly at the fire.

"Hey! Are you all right?"

Eren seemed to snap out of some memory. "I'm fine," he said automatically.

Levi pouted. Eren was anything but fine. After a few minutes, his eyes again began to stare off into a void. Levi watched closely as Eren did not move, barely even blinking, like he had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open.

Or more likely, he was having waking nightmares.

Levi knew all too well what those were like.

"Snap out of it."

Eren again flinched and seemed to take a while to remember where he was. "I'm tired," he said as an excuse.

Levi hated that Eren was not being honest with him. Then again, he had hidden his own trauma even from Petra for years, not wanting to worry her. "It's going to take a while for this to cook. Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch."

Eren cried out, "I wanted to eat with you!"

"I'll wake you when it's done. Sleep."

Eren looked ready to protest, but his mind was too lost to rouse up an argument. He turned around, found a spot to lie on the ground, made soft with fallen leaves. He adjusted their supplies to make a lumpy, hard pillow, wrapped the blanket around him, and lay down.

"Don't eat until I'm awake," he ordered.

"Bossy!" Levi teased. He scooted over a little closer, reached over, and began to stroke Eren's long, wispy hair.

Eren gasped and hissed, "Don't touch me!"

Levi's hand yanked back and his brow pinched in worry.

Eren sank and looked miserable. "Sorry. Just ... don't. Not yet."

Again, Levi knew the feeling all too well. How many times had he snapped at Eren not to touch him when the nightmares became too powerful? "I'll guard you. Rest, neshomeleh."

Hearing that term of endearment, Eren smiled peacefully, and in less than a minute he was out cold.

Meanwhile, Levi looked anguished. As he continued to cook, he gazed at Eren's sleeping face, yearning to touch him, yet respectfully holding back.

A month ago, Eren was just a young soldier, laughing with his friends, drinking beer, flirting as they both played a dangerous game of two men in love. Now, he had such harrowed, gaunt features, jittery nerves, and that hollow stare that haunted soldiers who had seen Hell on Earth.

Levi shook his head. He did not want to regret falling for Eren, but he really wished this young man could have lived a normal, happy life. Now, he could be arrested by people from either side of the war.

Then again, getting Eren to escape Metz before the Americans bombed it was probably a blessing.

* * *

By the time Eren woke up, the forest had grown dark and eerily silent. The rabbit was off the coals, and Levi had started the flames back up to warm the area.

"How long did I sleep?" he yawned.

"Not long. The food just finished."

In reality, the meat finished an hour ago, but he did not have the heart to wake Eren while he slept so peacefully. Were his nightly dreams horrors, or were they the only time Eren could escape the guilt and remember good times? In either case, so long as he slept silently, Levi reasoned that he should rest as much as possible.

He ripped off a roasted leg, blew on it to cool off, and handed it to Eren. He pulled off the other leg for himself. Eren tasted the meat. It was dry, no seasoning, but it was food. As an officer, he had learned about keeping his men fit for battle, and they needed protein if they were going to travel.

He looked up at Levi. "Are you sure you want to eat a rabbit?"

"Stop asking. You'll make me feel guilty."

"Sorry," Eren whispered. He supposed, even if Levi could claim he was not really kosher, it still bothered him.

They silently ate and threw the bones into the fire. As the temperatures plummeted, Levi got up to get some more wood. Part of him wanted to demand that Eren share the blanket; another part knew that Eren needed it more, and if he was skittish about being touched, cuddling was probably a bad idea.

As Levi added more wood, Eren poked the fire with a stick to get the flames a little higher. "Do you know where we are going?"

"Not really," Levi confessed. "Your friend Armin came up with a good plan months ago—I still remember the map he gave me—but right now we're too far east. We'll have to backtrack almost all the way to Metz, head north, cross the Moselle, and walk all the way to Luxembourg City. The original plan was to cross using the bridge at Kœnigsmacker."

"How far is it?"

Levi pulled out a map the doctor had given him. He shifted over to sit on the same side of the fire as Eren to show him the paper. "We're around here. Kœnigsmacker is here."

Eren took hold of the map and glanced over it. "So it is..." He measured it out with his fingers. "...fifty kilometers. How far to a Seehafen?"

"Sea haven? Do you mean a seaport? From Metz, Calais was over 400 kilometers away. From here, probably 500."

He groaned and gazed over the entire map. "Verdammt. I wish Jean was here. He was going to help us cross die Alpen."

"The Alps?"

"It would be closer, about 200 kilometers away." Eren's face looked suddenly weary and mature as he wistfully thought about his former NCO. "Jean wanted to go there with his russisches Mädchen." Russian girl. "I hope he is okay. Should we go back to that town to check on him? He may be waiting for us."

"Absolutely not," Levi said decisively. "If he was waiting, he'd be long gone by now. Besides, I won't put those people at greater risk."

"I guess you're right. He and his girl are probably already in Geneva."

Levi ate a little more rabbit. "I have to admit, heading to Switzerland might not be a bad idea. It's a lot closer, but I don't know the way, and making it there on foot will be tough."

"Switzerland?"

"That's the English name. Suisse?"

"Schweiz?"

"Right. I don't know why the English call it Switzerland. I thought maybe it was German."

"No. It's weird."

"Suisse is closer, but it's through the front lines, and we'd have to cross the Alps. It'll be snowing soon. Any mountain passes are probably snowed in."

Eren muttered, "We would reach the border only to not be able to cross. If only we could have left a few weeks earlier."

Levi had to agree with that. If they had left Metz a month ago without any injuries, then reaching Switzerland would have been ... well, not easy, but doable. Now, the weather was bitter, Eren had one arm broken and the other arm recovering from getting shot, Levi was still healing, and two armies were clashing around them.

"Suisse would be safer for us both, but traveling through the front lines is too dangerous. Western France is safe for me, but the deeper into Allied territory we go, the more dangerous it is for you."

"Then we head to the coast," Eren said decisively.

Levi snapped, "Didn't you hear me? That will be dangerous for you."

"Better than putting you in danger. I will not let that happen again!"

Levi stared at a raging fire smoldered just behind Eren's eyes. He decided not to argue. He returned to the map and looked down.

"With the weather about to get bad, we're limited on travel options. For now, it's safer to stay in France, but we have no idea where the different armies are located. I don't want to get caught in the crossfire. We'll stick to Armin's plan and head north. Where we end up ... well, we'll figure it out. It needs to be a place that's safe for us both."

Eren scoffed and shook his head. "Is there such a place anymore?"

Levi knew of one place: Switzerland. Except, that meant traveling right through the front lines. "One option is to find a city where I can rent a room over the winter. We would need to hide you, though."

"Great! More hiding," Eren grumbled.

"The problem with that is finding a city that hasn't been bombed to hell. Metz is out of the question. Nancy probably took a beating too. I think they're still fighting over Antwerp."

"What about Luxemburg-Stadt? The Wehrmacht evacuated the city before the Allies arrived, so it is likely intact."

"That's the location Armin suggested. So, that's Option One. Option Two: find a farmer, clergyman, or other local who is sympathetic to both Germans and Jews. The problem with that is finding one without getting shot, and there's no guarantee the war won't surge right back across this area."

"Also, we would have to trust someone we don't know."

"True. I know firsthand, that doesn't work in a world full of shitty bastards. Option Three is to find an abandoned building where we can at least sleep and build a fire. With the whole countryside ravaged by war, it shouldn't be hard to find a cabin or empty house. The problem with that one is, how do we know if it's truly abandoned, and what happens if we're found?"

Eren thought it over. "At least with renting a room, you'd be able to go out, buy food, and have some freedom." It meant he would be the one locked away in hiding, but maybe that was just life balancing things out.

"Even if we made it 500 kilometers to Calais, there's the issue of boarding the boat."

"Bord des Bootes?"

"How do we get you aboard a ship?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't take you onto a ship heading to America. You're obviously German."

"I can sound American," Eren said in his best American accent.

"That was terrible. Besides, they'd want to see your papers. What are we supposed to do, tell them you're a runaway Nazi and hope they show pity on you?"

He paused as guilt shadowed Eren's face. He realized that was a harsh thing to say, although true. As a Jew with family in America, Levi stood a chance at making it out of Europe and seeking asylum. As a former Wehrmacht officer, the same was not true for Eren.

"You can just ... go," Eren muttered. "Get on a boat, and when it's safe, I'll join you."

"That's out of the question!"

Eren's eyes suddenly turned angry. He snapped, "You're doing it again!"

The shout startled Levi. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Staying somewhere you shouldn't because of me." Eren gritted his teeth in anguish and growled, "I won't let you put yourself at risk. Not again."

Levi shouted back, "And I'm not going to split up! I was scared sick that I'd never find you."

"You did this before! You could have left Metz weeks—no, months ago," Eren shouted. "Why didn't you? None of this would have happened if you had left."

Levi's eye flashed up, glaring dangerously. "I stayed in Metz because the Resistance needed my help."

"Das ist Schwachsinn." That's bullshit. "Maybe that was your reason after Yelena was arrested, but not before."

"I was busy training her men."

"Even before you joined them, you could have left. In fact, rather than go to them, you could have left the city as soon as we arrived."

"There was never a good time."

Eren barked out a sardonic laugh. "Is that the excuse you're going for? I thought Jews were creative with their lies."

"Fuck you," Levi sneered.

"You didn't have to wait for me, or Yelena, or blame it on the weather. With your skills, you could have easily escaped. Why the hell would you stay?"

Levi shouted, "Isn't that obvious?"

Eren froze out of their argument, wanting to believe that what he thought at that moment was really what Levi meant. "Why?" he whispered, his voice wavering.

Levi let out a scoff and rolled his eye. "I don't need to say it."

"Yes, you do."

"Then you're an idiot." Levi tried to focus on the map, but he felt Eren's eyes staring, yearning, practically begging.

"Did you stay because of me?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Then why?" When Levi refused to answer, Eren folded his arm through the cast and gazed hard at him. "I never took you for a coward, too scared to admit your feelings."

"Fuck you!"

Eren waited, holding his breath.

Slowly, Levi reached over and laid his left hand on top of Eren's leg. "You're right, I could have left Metz, but I didn't want to leave without you by my side, so I came up with every excuse I could not to leave." Quietly, Levi confessed, "The reason I stayed ... is you."

They shared a plaintive smile. Eren reached down, laid his hand on top of Levi's, and they squeezed each other's fingers with a feeling of hope. Yet as Levi laid his right hand down, Eren's eyes drifted to the stumps where Levi's middle and index fingers used to be. His face began to wince again.

"Then I really am the one at fault."

"No. Stop it. I'm in charge of my own destiny, Eren Jäger. You don't get to take credit for my victories, nor are you to blame for my defeats. You're not that special," he added with a playful smirk. Still, Levi pulled the injured hand away to get it out of view. "Are you going to start crying again?"

Eren shook his head and shoved down his feelings of guilt.

"Good."

Levi looked down at the map. Arguing so soon? They just reunited! Were things really going to be this much of a struggle now?

Levi folded up the map. "In the end, we may not have a choice on our destination or the route we take. We'll ask around, get news of the war, and plan accordingly. As soon as we find something that works, we'll take it. It's eighty kilometers to Luxembourg, so we have a few days to figure it out. In the meantime, we need to find you new clothes, burn that uniform, and get supplies for traveling."

"Burn it?" Eren cried out, clutching the uniform tunic. "What if there is a surge and we come across the Wehrmacht, like with the roadblock on the way to Saint-Avold?"

"What roadblock?"

"You were unconscious, I guess. We came across soldiers blocking the road. They saw I was an officer and let me through. Then in the hospital, because I was in uniform there was no trouble. It was the only reason we even got you to a doctor. This uniform could save our lives."

"It could also get you killed."

"I'm not burning it!" Eren shouted. His lips trembling, he muttered, "It's all I have left."

"You have your gun and your life!"

"This isn't even my gun. It was my captain's gun, a British gun," Eren said, spitting the words out like they were distasteful.

"If anyone sees that uniform, they'll know what you are."

"What, ein Deutscher?" he yelled. "Am I supposed to hide that now?"

"If it can save your life, yes!" Levi shouted back.

"Ich werde immer Deutscher sein." I will always be German.

"At least without a fucking Nazi uniform, you're just some civilian. That uniform is a liability now. I'm sorry, Eren, but burning it would be for the best."

"Oh? Like how burning your mother's holy book would have been smarter?"

Levi's eye narrowed. "I distinctly recall ordering you to burn it, twice."

"And I knew you would have hated me if I did."

"You're too fucking stubborn!"

Eren opened his mouth, about to say more. He paused and laughed instead. "We're both stubborn, aren't we?"

"You're the stubborn child! I'm just old and cranky."

"You're not old." Eren sighed out his frustrations. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I ... I don't know why I'm like this," he said, sounding like he was close to tears.

"I do," Levi whispered. "Now you know why I act this way." He wrapped his arm around Eren and leaned his head to rest on the bony shoulder. "Whatever we end up doing, I'd rather make the trip with you watching my back. I feel safer with you here."

Eren grinned, instantly back to being happy. He leaned his head over, resting on top of Levi's head. The soft, weary, contented sigh that loosened the muscles in his body made Levi feel warm inside. Before he became overwhelmed with sappy happiness, Levi pulled away and worked on the last of the rabbit meat. He handed the final bit over to Eren.

"Here."

"That part is yours."

"You need to eat more than I do. The hospital fed me three meals a day. Good meals! So while I feel fat, you look starved. Eat! Besides, I never liked rabbit meat anyway."

Eren pouted, but he obediently ate the last pieces, picking the meat off the bones so that none of it went to waste.

Levi stood up, stretched out his stiff muscles and rubbed a painful spot. He pulled the torch out of his bag and began to walk away from the clearing. Eren looked up, and his eyes grew massive.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his heart racing in fear.

"I need to take a shit. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Eren watched Levi walking off, and the dark woods swallowed him up instantly. He shrank down and shivered. His eyes darted all around, and suddenly he was acutely aware of every nightly noise.

In a tiny voice, Eren whispered, "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

* * *

Shining his light forward, Levi walked farther away from the camp than he usually would. He found a bush with some useful leaves still attached, undid his trousers, and relieved his bladder first. Then he lowered his trousers and underwear, squatted, and mentally prepared himself.

As soon as he felt his bowels give way, a sharp pain came with it. Levi slapped a hand over his mouth, holding back a scream. It was not just pain, but memories.

Horrifying memories.

Tears threatened to come to his eyes, but luckily the experience was over quickly. Levi breathed a sigh of relief. He grabbed some leaves to wipe himself, but shining the light onto the messy leaves, he saw something that still troubled him.

Blood.

He had been warned, he was not fully healed and may still see blood in his stool. So long as it was only a little bit after defecating, it should be fine. He still needed medication to soften his stool, and might need it for years. How he was going to get such medication while on the road, he did not know.

It was the nightmares that troubled him most.

Every shit. Every single time.

"Merde," he whispered.

Eren was not the only one changed after that day.

He wiped up, pulled his trousers back on, and made the journey back through the woods to the camp. He smiled at seeing Eren still sitting by the fire, but then worry took over.

Why was he so pale?

Just what was going on in his head?

Levi was afraid to ask.

Eren looked up as soon as he reappeared, and relief sank in. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Levi replied. It was a bit of a lie. He took the water container still by the fire and washed his hands as well as the rabbit fur. He stretched the fur out by the fire to dry through the night. Once Eren was done eating, he also left to relieve himself far away from the camp.

For Eren, somehow leaving the camp himself was fine. Watching Levi leave was what terrified him. He would always come back to Levi, but what if Levi decided not to come back to him?

It had been the fear that haunted him in that wine cellar, weeks of thinking about what he would do if Levi never found him, fears that Levi would decide his life was safer without some homosexual monstrosity around. Now that he was back, Eren wanted to cling to him.

He also wanted to push Levi away before they got into trouble again.

His heart battled with both desires, but Levi's safety overwhelmingly won the fight.

After Eren returned, Levi carefully poured the hot water over his hands. He glanced up at Eren, smiling at the boyish face.

"We'll find you a razor."

Eren looked up in confusion.

Levi reached forward and touched his cheek. "I hate the beard." His hand drifted up, combing through the lanky strands. "I like the long hair, though. Keep it."

Eren's eyes fluttered shut at the gentle caresses. Then he suddenly jolted and pulled back. His face looked pale again.

"Eren?"

He suddenly removed the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and shoved it over to Levi, pushing him away while he was at it. "It's your turn to sleep. You took a watch, now I will."

Levi frowned. He was hoping to hold Eren through the night. He missed him ... so much his chest ached.

Still, if Eren needed some time to get over things...

"If that's what you want," Levi whispered.

"Sicherheit geht vor." Safety first. "The woods are not safe. Give me your watch so I know the time. Two hours, each of us. The nights are long, so we'll both get enough sleep."

Levi felt dejected, but he knew Eren was right. They were in an active war zone. Keeping a watch through the night was smart. He removed his pocket watch and handed it over.

"Don't let me sleep too long. If you don't get enough rest, I'm not dragging your sleepy ass around tomorrow."

"Ich werde mich an die Regeln halten." I'll follow the rules.

As much as Levi thought Eren sounded sexy speaking in German, this time he sounded a bit too ... militant. Rather than making him blush, it sent a chill down Levi's spine.

"Eren..."

"Go to sleep," he ordered coldly.

Levi closed his mouth into a pout. He should have expected Eren would be changed after the ordeal they went through. Still, it troubled him.

Levi went to the indent made in the leaves by Eren's larger body. He felt tiny in comparison. He pulled the blanket around him, thoughts of snuggling together under this blanket dashed away. He faced the fire at first, watching Eren's profile.

The long hair, the scanty beard, the gaunt features...

He barely looked like the same man.

Levi did not feel like sleeping. He wanted to gaze at Eren all through the night, to hold his hand and caress his body, to kiss him all over and remind himself that he really was there.

Eren turned over to look at him, and those teal eyes were ice cold. "Turn around. Sleep."

Pouting, Levi rolled over, facing the darkness of the woods.

Was Eren still the same?

Was his takhshet buried somewhere deep inside that cold shell?

Levi hoped so. The thought of losing Eren—losing the sweet soul who had captured his heart—pained him. He closed his eyes, but sleep struggled to capture him.

By the fire, Eren waited. It was almost an hour before he heard Levi breathing heavily in deep sleep. He checked the watch, deciding he would start counting the two hours of sleep now. Nodding to himself on that decision, he gazed into the fire.

Fire, like the flamethrower he had wielded in Maizières-lès-Metz, burning American soldiers with a wild scream of rage.

Like the flames that had swallowed Thomas and Franz, helplessly listening to their cries before they suddenly vanished in the abyss left by an artillery shell.

His heart raced at the adrenaline of those memories, like he was back there again. He could feel the heat of the flames, hear their screams, smell burned flesh...

He shook his head and pinched himself to force his mind back into the present. Then he looked over at Levi. His heart ached. His hand reached up to where Levi had touched his cheek. That area still burned with joy.

And with fear.

He pressed his lips tightly together, holding back agonizing emotions. He looked down at the gold wedding band on his finger. Levi had placed that ring on him twice, once before he went into that dreaded battle, and again after he finished his final fight, the showdown with Captain Kitz Woermann.

* * *

"The last thing this part of your finger will feel is my lips. That way, the ring is protecting my kiss. You have to wear it all the time now, never take it off, or my kiss will wipe away. If you're ever lonely and you wish you could kiss me, just kiss my ring and remember that my kiss is lying there, just behind it."

* * *

The problem was, the ring had been removed. Not by choice. Kitz had yanked both of their rings off and pocketed them, saying he would sell them to buy beer. To think, he almost got away with stealing something so precious! Levi had the mind to take them back after killing the captain. He had slipped the ring back onto Eren's finger. The words this time were not as romantic as before.

Instead, they were words that haunted Eren.

* * *

"I could never hate you, takhshet. Even if you had chosen to kill me to save yourself, I wouldn't have hated you."

* * *

If he had chosen Kitz's option, to shoot Levi in order to prove his loyalty to the Führer, Eren was sure that Levi truly would not have hated him.

But what if he had chosen another option?

Moving with stealth, Eren pulled the gun out of his holster.

Kitz's Webley! A British gun the captain had taken off an enemy during the Great War.

Eren stared at the gun for many minutes, watching the firelight flicker on the metal. It was beautiful craftsmanship, as elegant as it was deadly.

Slowly, he brought the muzzle up to his head.

There had always been the other option. He almost picked it after returning from Maizières-lès-Metz. If he had, none of this would have happened. Levi would have remained with the Resistance. He never would have been captured and hurt. The Resistance fighter who became a traitor never would have done so if he was not angry about Levi taking a German lover. That massacre! All of those lives would have been spared.

So much death, all because he fell in love with a man.

That thought had echoed through his mind many times during his weeks of solitude.

* * *

I'm a weakness to Germany.

I'm a danger to the world!

A monster!

Tainted!

Weak!

Not only a faggot, but a Jew.

My father was a Jew. My mother...

Subhuman Jews! Abnormal homosexuals!

I am the worst of both.

I am a danger to Levi.

If not for me corrupting him with this sinful lust...

This never would have happened!

All those deaths!

It's my fault.

All my fault!

* * *

To protect Levi...

He glanced over to the sleeping Jew. His life would be easier without the struggles of dealing with some damned homosexual German officer threatening his life and screwing up his travel plans. Without him around, Levi could easily escape to America and be safe. The price for Levi's safety...

...was his life.

"Worth it," he whispered as his finger drifted over to the trigger.

He heard a groan of pain from Levi, and Eren yanked the gun back down, hiding it from view. He held his breath, shivering with fear, but Levi remained asleep.

Exhaustion sank into Eren. He looked down at the gun, shook his head, and returned it to the holster. His head sank into his hands, and his nails clawed into his scalp.

Up until that afternoon, he had no idea what he would do if Levi did not find him.

Now, he had no idea what to do now that they were together. He felt like an anchor holding Levi back, literally keeping him from sailing away to a land free from bombs and artillery shells.

He gazed up into the heavens, but even the view of the stars was blocked from him. In a breathy whisper, he prayed, "Was soll ich tun, Gott? Ich möchte ihn nur beschützen, selbst wenn ich sterbe — was soll ich tun?"

What should I do, God? I just want to protect him, even if I die — what should I do?

# # #

# #

#

If you or someone you know are in a mental health crisis, please seek a professional therapist, and if you can't due to location or monetary struggles, there are people who can help. Even if it's just talking to a sympathetic voice when you're feeling alone with your pain, you'd be surprised how much it helps.

In the USA:
Dial 988
Text HOME to 741741
Chat support: https://988lifeline.org
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Trans Lifeline: 1-877-565-8860
TrevorLifeline for LGBTQ Youths: 1-866-488-7386

In Canada:
Dial 1-833-456-4566
Text 45645
Chat support: https://talksuicide.ca
Trans Lifeline: 1-877-330-6366
Quebec Centre Prévention Suicide Faubourg: 1-866-277-3553
Free web therapy (Canada only): https://naseeha.org/web-therapy/

In France:
Dial 3114
S.O.S. Amitié: 09 72 39 40 50
Chat support: https://www.filsantejeunes.com/tchat-individuel
More support: https://3114.fr

In Germany:
Dial: 116 123
TelefonSeelsorge: Dial 0800 111 0 111
Chat support: https://online.telefonseelsorge.de

In the UK:
Dial 116 123
Text SHOUT to 85258 (use THEMIX for people under 25)
Call No Panic (for panic attacks and anxiety): 0844 967 4848
Chat support: https://www.thecalmzone.net

Mental Health Hotlines Around the World:
https://www.therapyroute.com/article/helplines-suicide-hotlines-and-crisis-lines-from-around-the-world

# # #

# #

#

Fire Pit Methods – I learned many methods for stacking a fire depending on the circumstances. I figured, this is good survival knowledge to pass on.

1) The Log Cabin Method – Place kindling in the bottom. Stack wood two pieces in alternating directions, building a "log cabin" around it with a little "roof" on the top. Positive: best method for even distribution of warmth and longer burn time, thus good for drying out clothes, coals are decent for cooking, works in slightly foul weather. Negative: not the most efficient heat, must have dry wood.

2) The German Method – AKA the "Reverse Log Cabin." Place down four or more pieces of wood, then another layer in alternating directions, crisscross-style to build a "checkerboard" tower. Place kindling on top. The fires burns top-down rather than bottom-up like the Log Cabin (thus, reverse). Positive: creates the hottest fire, perfect coals for cooking. Negative: requires ideal conditions: dry wood, no rain, no wind.

3) The Teepee Method – Place the kindling in the bottom. Balance three pieces of wood upright crossed together at the top, like a pyramid. Continue to stack wood around this, creating a "teepee." Light the kindling inside. Positive: best method for using wet wood, good in foul weather, ideal for standing around the fire toasting marshmallows. Negative: the heat goes straight up, terrible for drying out clothes or actually warming up.

4) The Lean-To Method – Create some sort of wall to brace your wood. Stones or more wood you plan to burn works best. In the direction of the wind, lay wood to make a ramp, sheltering the kindling below. You are creating a windbreak for your kindling, allowing the fire to catch without the wind instantly blowing the flames out. Positive: good in windy weather, can help to shelter fire in the rain. Negative: no heat distribution, poor coals. Really, this is only good if it's really windy, but please, never light a fire in the forest when it's windy! You'll be warm enough ... when you set the whole fucking forest on fire!

Where I live, in the cold rainforests of the Pacific Northwest, the chance of finding dry wood when you're out in the wild is only possible in the middle of summer. The rest of the year, it's rainy, so unless you brought your own wood, what you find in the wild will definitely be damp. Wet wood is notoriously hard to light. It'll also likely be drizzling (we get up to 200 rainy days a year) so starting your kindling on the top like the German Method will be impossible. In wet weather, the normally insufficient "Teepee Method" is best. The teepee structure shields the fire inside from the rain, the larger pieces of wood around the pyramid of sticks have time to dry out, but you have to keep feeding it kindling. (We have a lot of moss around for that.) Still, when you're cold and damp, that's when you need a fire the most! So this is the method Levi is using.

Switzerland — Like much of our language, this was a case of the French and German languages clashing for dominance across the British Isles, and the English were like, "Why not both?"

Flashback to the 15th century. Norse/Germanic was the most common language among the peasant class in England, but upper class French words were slipping in. So we have the French Suisse and the Alemannic Swiizer (from Middle High German Suizer). In the 15th century, it was common in Germany to call the area in question Schwytzerland, and it was called such on German maps.

By the way, the "y" comes from the 15th century handwriting style that made the letter "ij" (often considered to be a single letter) blend into "y." In Dutch, this led to all usage of "y" (except loan words) becoming "ij," but the opposite happened in Dutch-derived Afrikaans, where all "ij" was replaced with "y" ... anyway, side note from someone who has written essays on the crazy history of the letter "Y".

As spelling was sort of amorphous in English (and all medieval languages across Europe, to be fair) the "y" in Schwyzter fell out of fashion, as did the "Sch-" (which happened in a lot of our German- borrowed words). So Schwytzerland became "Switzerland," and someone from there was a Switzer. By the 16th century, the French loan word Suisse had gained the upper hand, but the British didn't like the spelling, as it clashed with Switzerland. We liked the sound though, so we kept the "sw-" spelling, and Suisse became Swiss.

Meanwhile, Germans dropped the -land in the 17th century, but Britain either didn't get the memo, or didn't care. (Please tell some someone gets that reference. I love "Lost in the Pond.")

# # #

During WWII, the U.S. Army Corps Of Engineers War Art Program hired Tom Lea to paint idealized versions of war that fell in line with America's propaganda. He did for years, until he saw real combat in the Battle of Peleliu, a tiny island in the South Pacific where more than 1,700 U.S. Marines lost their lives. Mr. Lea realized that war was not glorious and heroic. It was bloody, filthy, and it left those proud soldiers he had been painting as shattered shells, their souls trapped behind vacant eyes. In June 1945, Life magazine shocked the public when they published this gritty version of war. It was one of the first times American civilians saw a soldier, not standing proud in a shiny uniform, but dirty, bleeding, exhausted, uniform frayed and torn, with a hollow gaze widened by trauma. Tom Lea titled his painting Marines Call It That 2,000 Yard Stare. The condition was later simply called the Thousand Yard Stare.

SHELL SHOCK AND KRIEGSNEUROSE:

A HISTORY OF INVISIBLE TRAUMA

Descriptions of soldiers suffering from nightmares after intense trauma date back to the oldest book in existence, The Epic of Gilgamesh. After watching his best friend Enkidu die, the hero Gilgamesh suffers nightmares, anxiety, and a drastic personality change.

Hippocrates wrote of people having "frightening battle dreams." There are reports of otherwise valiant Athenian warriors being struck with inexplicable blindness after a sudden fright on the battlefield. In 50 BC, Titus Lucretius Carus wrote about soldiers having traumatic nightmares in a poem called De Rerum Natura. 1300 years later, a French chronicler during the Hundred Years' War (1337-1453) wrote about a man who could no longer sleep near his wife and children because he often woke up from nightmares, grabbed a sword, and attempted to fight an invisible enemy.

We understand today that these are all signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Over the millennia, it was an invisible illness, too often vilified as a sign that a man was "weak" and seen as a "catching disease" that could cripple a whole army if the afflicted soldier was not weeded out. The Bible addressed the idea that PTSD was contagious in Deuteronomy 20:8: "Then the officers shall add, 'Is anyone afraid or fainthearted? Let him go home so that his fellow soldiers will not become disheartened too.'"

In the 1600s, Swiss doctors diagnosed some soldiers with "nostalgia," which had two forms: 1) being in the midst of battle and yearning to go home; 2) after the war was over and the soldier had returned home, being unable to forget about the horrors of the battlefield. In other words, war flashbacks.

In 1792, Goethe recorded his own personal issues with derealization, depersonalization, and war flashbacks. During the French Revolutionary wars (1792-1802) and Napoleonic wars (1803-1815), physicians described "vent du boulet" (bullet wind) as soldiers were seen falling into long trances after artillery shells whizzed past them, although the soldier had not been physically hurt. The idea was that explosions (the "wind of the bullet") had changed how their brain works. That belief persisted throughout Europe into the World Wars.

Across the Atlantic, traumatized soldiers in the American Civil War (1861-1865) were written off as "feeble willed" with public humiliation being a doctor-prescribed cure, believing that peer pressure would toughen them up. After it was noted that sufferers all had similar cardiovascular symptoms, like heart palpitations and shortness of breath, the disease was called "soldier's heart." They were treated with a drug prepared from foxglove (poisonous if not prepared right) and sent back out into the battlefield as soon as possible. The idea was that the best way to treat that weak heart was exposure to even more battle.

In 1893, Sigmund Freud summarized the concept of "traumatic hysteria" and some of its effects on the subconscious, including dissociation and forgotten memories. He experimented with "cathartic treatment," or talk therapy.

The Russian-Japanese war (1904-05) marked the first time that post-battle psychiatric symptoms were recognized by both doctors and military command. The German physician Honigman assisted the Red Cross Society of Russia, and in 1907 he was the first to coin the term Kriegsneurose ("war neurosis").

(Colorization of a shell shocked soldier at the Battle of Flers-Courcelette, the first time tanks were used in battle. September 1916)

During the First World War, British doctors believed that shockwaves from exploding artillery shells caused lesions in the brain, thus "shell shock" became a diagnosis; however, doctors realized that soldiers had the same symptoms even if they were not near percussive hits. Thus, affected soldiers who were near exploding artillery shells were deemed "Wounded" and awarded as such, while soldiers who had not been near exploding artillery shells but still displayed the same symptoms would be dismissed as "Sickness," could be stripped of commission, and received no pension. A few British soldiers who refused to return to the battlefield were even tried for military crimes of "cowardice" and executed.

It was written off as a failure of the man's spirit, or even failure in his training, and battalion commanders could be reprimanded if too many of their men were diagnosed with shell shock, leading to commanders being highly reluctant to give affected soldiers any medical leave at all. The prevalence of shell shock after the Great War was so vast, soldiers with long-term effects filled 19 hospitals, and the UK could not afford to properly treat all these soldiers as Wounded. The British Army banned the term "shell shock" to save money on treating soldiers.

(American sunshine room)

Sometimes, being diagnosed was a worse fate. There were two routes for how to treat shell shock, depending on the symptoms displayed. For those with mild cases (or those who were rich) treatments may include trips into the countryside to pick berries, learning a new craft like whittling or leatherwork, and resting in "sunshine rooms," brightly lit and tastefully decorated rooms designed to cheer up depressed patients.

(WWI shock therapy)

If you were unlucky or deemed incurable, "treatments" might include being hosed with cold water, putting out cigarettes on the patient's tongue to "cure" muteness, electrocution to zap them out of a manic state, or shoving heated metal to the back of their throat to shock them out of their dissociated state.

While most of these were plain sadistic, some "treatments" yielded results. We still use electroconvulsive therapy today for depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, mania, and catatonia, done with consent and under general anesthesia so the patient experiences no discomfort (unlike the past torturous, teeth-shattering, massive jolts of electricity inflicted on a screaming patient bound in a straight jacket). My sister has a vagus nerve stimulator to treat her epilepsy and cerebral palsy, which is a similar concept of zapping electric pulses directly into the brain to stabilize it.

Doctors in the early 1900s knew they were onto something, but they lacked the technology. It took decades to refine the treatments, and sadly those people in the past suffered horrifically.

(U.S. Marine Private Theodore James Miller exhibits the thousand-yard stare after two days of constant fighting at the Battle of Eniwetok, February 1944. This is a colorization by Piece of Jake. His Instagram is a history nerd's dream! The photo was one of the few to portray the stress of combat to the American public. Private Miller would die a month later during the invasion of Ebon Atoll, just days after his 19th birthday.)

During World War II, the British Royal Air Forces stigmatized men who were in shock and refused to fly missions as "LMF" or "Lack of Moral Fibre." They were sent to latrine duty or made to work in coal mines. Americans used the term "battle fatigue," which ended up affecting half a million American WWII veterans, although soldiers often still called it "shell shock" up into the 1970s.

Over in Germany, Hitler no longer deemed mental illness as a war trauma, and around 5,000 veterans of the First World War who were too traumatized to function normally were killed as part of Aktion T4, the Nazi campaign to "cleanse" Germany of the mentally ill. During the Second World War, German soldiers who suffered from trauma, notably stomach and cardiovascular ailments, were pulled from ranks, grouped into "Magen-Bataillonen" (stomach battalions) and used as cannon fodder.

No matter which side of the war a soldier fought on, be it Axis or Allies, one universal trait was that after the war, no soldier suffering from trauma wanted to talk about it. For Allies, the media portrayed soldiers as brave heroes, and soldiers returning from war were encouraged to keep up that shiny image. In America, this hero-worship was key to the government controlling public opinion about increasing militarization spending in the face of the Cold War. Veterans were strongly discouraged, even threatened, not to tarnish that idealized image; displaying too much of any emotion could be seen as a man being "weak," leading to the rise of what we now call toxic masculinity.

On the Axis side, admitting to suffering from mental anguish was taboo. They were told "you deserve it" and ignored. In Japan, soldiers were banned by the government from talking about the atrocities they had personally seen or committed, families who suffered abuse from traumatized veterans were socially expected to suffer in silence, and the Japanese government did not even begin to study the effects of PTSD on soldiers until 2023. Germans saw suffering as their collective punishment, and the few soldiers who wrote about their psychological suffering were not permitted to publish their autobiographies, as it was seen as highly inappropriate to talk about one's own suffering compared to the horrors of the Holocaust.

In all countries involved in the war, the psychological trauma in men returning from war resulted in wives suffering the consequences. Some found their husbands changed into totally different men. Others were harmed during violent flashbacks. Copious drinking to numb the pain resulted in a rise in domestic abuse. This led to the highest rates of divorce ever seen. Yes, there was a surge of marriages and the Baby Boom, but the Divorce Spike of 1946-1950 is something rarely discussed.

(Divorce in the USA spiked in 1946)

In 1952, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) coined "Gross Stress Reaction" to describe psychological issues stemming from traumatic events, although it assumed that the issues were short-lived. If the problem lasted for more than six months, the APA declared it had nothing to do with wartime service, and thus the Veteran Affairs hospitals would stop treatment.

Not war-related, not their problem!

(Traumatized U.S. Marine at Con Thien, Vietnam, 1967)

Near the beginning of the Vietnam War, so many American soldiers were diagnosed with "battle fatigue" and "gross stress reaction" that the APA removed the diagnosis altogether, similar to when England banned the term "shell shock" to save money. Thus, Vietnam War veterans did not receive proper psychological help.

This time, the soldiers themselves—many of them the sons of WWII veterans who watched their fathers suffer without help—protested and marched in the streets to fight for their health benefits, including mental health. They insisted, they were not cowards, they were not fainthearted or lacking in moral fiber, and this was in no way a testament to their manhood. It was a normal response after experiencing trauma, and it did not always clear up in six months. The damage from trauma could last years!

As television crews brought the brutality of the battlefield into the living rooms of civilians, they saw what sorts of horrors these soldiers faced. The glossy Hollywood version of war was shattered. The government could no longer shelter civilians from just how bad modern warfare was and threaten soldiers not to talk about their experiences. Public outcry forced psychiatrists to reevaluate the psychological ramifications of war, stress, and trauma.

The APA finally recognized that the same "stress reaction" was present in combat veterans, Holocaust survivors, rape victims, domestic abuse victims, and survivors of accidents, vastly different forms of trauma, yet all with the same symptoms. Rather than focus on the cause of psychological trauma, the APA changed to only consider the symptoms, an approach still used today. Thus, in 1980, the term "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" was coined.

PTSD is now acknowledged to be a reaction to trauma in general. 20% of soldiers who served in recent conflicts were diagnosed with PTSD, while 50% of rape victims will develop PTSD, sometimes years after the attack. Depending on the country, 5-10% of the population will experience PTSD at some point in their life, yet statistically only half will seek treatment, either due to medical expenses, fearing it will cost them their job, or the lingering social vilification of it being about "manhood," "cowardice," and a sign that they are "weak."

After going through names like vent du boulet and shell shock, studies in 2015 detailed longterm brain trauma from being close to exploding artillery. Indeed, even low-level blasts from IEDs were shown to have resulted in cerebral inflammation, affecting 380,000 American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan, causing the same changes in mood, focus, and psychological distress as has been noted since the Mesopotamian epics. The United States Department of Veteran Affairs continues to use the term "shell shock" to describe this specific type of explosion-induced PTSD.

(Not just a thing of the past, the thousand-yard stare can still be seen on battlefields today.)

This is a condition that is still being researched, still not fully understood, and has a history with many different terms spanning languages, going all the way back to the Bronze Age. Luckily, rather than public humiliation or executing soldiers as cowards, psychologists have come up with numerous ways to help people suffering from PTSD.

# # #

On a personal note:

I'm pretty sure I've talked about this before, either in notes or commenting to people, but I'll mention it again here. My grandfather had violent flashbacks after World War II and received no help at all until the 1980s, when it got so bad, he tried to murder my older brother. He had just hit puberty, was trying to grow out a mustache, Grandpa saw it, believed he was Hitler, and chased him around the house with a knife. My brother looks Cherokee, nothing remotely like Hitler, but the mustache triggered him.

My father was diagnosed with PTSD decades after fighting in the Vietnam War, but because he felt it was a blow to his manhood, he refused to get therapy until about 20 years ago. In his case, it got so bad, he took a hammer and destroyed the walls of his bedroom, believing he was back in the jungle and surrounded by the enemy. I'm proud to say he's finally getting help now, and he has improved so much!

On an even more personal note, I was diagnosed with PTSD in college after one abusive boyfriend, two men molesting me, three creepy stalkers, four years of undiagnosed epilepsy — FIVE GOLDEN RINGS! (Sorry, I gotta add humor to all that.)

Although I've been helped immensely by years of therapy, I still have moments of dissociation, depression, and vivid flashbacks. The important thing is, I can recognize it now, and I have learned tricks to help me to recover. I have a bottle of lemongrass essential oil near my couch at home, and if anything triggers me, I put on drop on my hand and sniff it. Remember back in Chapter 77 His Own Kind, Eren used a lemon to pull himself out of a flashback? Yeah, that is based on personal experience.

I don't know if I'll ever NOT have flashbacks, but I learned how to fight past them.

If you have experienced trauma, please get professional therapy. It helps once you find the right therapist and the right type of therapy for you personally—although, please realize that this can take time, as each person is unique. This can be talk therapy, hypnosis, biofeedback, medications, hot baths, cold showers, aromatherapy, acupuncture, tricks to pull out of flashbacks—my dad knits and I write, because these tactics worked for us.

Never let anyone convince you that it's a sign of being fainthearted, weak, or a coward! You're experiencing the same effects from trauma that people have been going through since literally the dawn of human civilization. Even Gilgamesh needed to seek out the wisdom of a sage ... or in modern context, a therapist. They are the sages/oracles/scholars of the days of yore.

Heed their wisdom, young adventurer! You'll be okay.

References:

• https://www.history.com/topics/inventions/history-of-ptsd-and-shell-shock

• https://www.warhistoryonline.com/instant-articles/shell-shock-first-world-war.html

• https://www.pbs.org/newshour/nation/from-shell-shock-to-ptsd-a-century-of-invisible-war-trauma

• https://medium.com/invisible-illness/soldiers-heart-the-history-of-ptsd-80aab84ef55c

• https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/wwii-post-traumatic-stress

• http://traumadissociation.com/ptsd/history-of-post-traumatic-stress-disorder.html

• https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/wwii-post-traumatic-stress

• https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/15210254

• https://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/06/shell-shocked

• https://europepmc.org/article/PMC/3181586

• https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kriegstrauma

• https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shell_shock

https://youtu.be/zbnbPf2ErdM

A rambling video of me trying to explain why it took me so long to finish this chapter, including some hints about where we are going in Book Four. I tried to edit out accidental spoilers, but a few may have slipped in. (Cue River Song: Spoilers!)