[Pain. Pain. Pain. That’s it. There’s barely room for coherent thought. It hurts to move hurts to breathe and it leaves her making aborted, strained noises with each every uneven inhale, exhale, inhale again.]

[He’s… talking to her. She registers that. She registers his hold, his tone, if not the specifics of what he’s saying or the motions he’s making. The impact doesn’t connect yet. Without thinking she tries to obey his command, some instinct reacting while her conscious brain flounders; it’s a sorry effort, but hell if she doesn’t try.]

[Despite all tension her hands go limp when grabbed, as if it’s a cue to finally give in, and they drop like lead when he lets go. Her head spins. With the pressure on her abdomen she sucks in sharply, teeth shut like cement, shuts her eyes.]

[It’s a miracle she doesn’t scream, if only because she doesn’t have the air. But she grabs out. One hand closes on something with a vicegrip. It’s flesh. (It’s Eren.) She’d cry if she had the breath. Tears flow anyway.]