Armin rubbed his hand back and forth over the little band-aid, wincing a little as pain sparked up his arm from his ministrations. Needles. Dussander was going to kill him once they were somewhere private. But it wasn’t his fault, there could have been anything in those syringes. How was he supposed to understand what the doctors were telling him?

’Oh, it’s only a blah-blah-blah for blah-blah-blah.’

Dussander couldn’t blame him for not understanding.

“Stop that, Mendel,” Dussander snapped at him, casting him a sharp look from over his shoulder.

Armin slid his hands down his forearms and let them drop to his sides, bowing his head just enough so that the brim of his cap shadowed his face.

Dussander was talking to the Hurst lady again. Armin caught the majority of their words…something about resting until they were ready, but no longer than a week. It would be pointless after a week. Meanwhile they were to…guard? Yes, that made sense. Guard the building. The Hurst lady’s voice fell a little, and Armin had to strain his ears to catch what she was saying.

She didn’t trust everyone in the complex.

That was fine for her to tell them, but what could they do about it? What was loyal and what wasn’t? He and Dussander certainly hadn’t been there long enough to start judging character.

They would watch the children.

Armin froze and lifted his head, peering past Dussander to stare at the Hurst lady. Her eyes flickered toward his momentarily, but quickly returned to Dussander’s. She was frowning very deeply, waiting for a response with her arms cross over her chest.

Dussander moved forward, she moved back.

Armin shivered and looked away.

“For the week?”

“For now,” said the Hurst woman.

Dussander nodded and held out his hand. She took it, very slowly and very carefully, but they touched palms, fingers curled about fingers, and they pumped their grip twice before letting go of one another.

“Their mothers are staying with them, of course.”

Dussander nodded.

“And there is no entering the room unless one of the mothers requests your presence.”

Dussander nodded again,” Is that all?”

“Meal times are indicated by a bell – our walls are soundproof, and we normally inform the sentries through walky-talkies – and curfew for adults is 12. As you’ll be on guard duty, this won’t apply.”

“Wann schlafen wir?” Armin piped up, pushing off the wall and stepping forward.

“English, Mendel.”

Armin sucked in a breath and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, and tried again,” When do we sleep?” He exhaled deeply and stepped back again. That hadn’t been too difficult.

“I’ll be putting you on opposite schedules. Dussander will take the day shift, and sleep at night, and you…Mendel?”

“Ja,” a sharp look from Dussander, “Yes…yes…Armin Mendel.”

“You’ll work at night, sleep during the day.”

Dussander shifted stiffly in front of him, his jaw clenching tightly. But he nodded, none-the-less, and the Hurst woman stepped out of their way.

“Top floor, right wing, the furthest room down that hall. As for sleeping quarters, I think room 21, right wing, is free. That way you’ll both be close to the room if something should happen.”

Some of the stiffness left Dussander’s shoulder at that. He turned on heel and stalked away from her, a shouted order to ‘Come!’ following him. Armin slapped his had upright and hurried after him.

He felt the Hurst woman’s eyes following him as they rounded down the corridor. He didn’t like her, and he certainly didn’t like her watching them. She didn’t like them either, and that was a messy combination.

Armin leaned against the wall beside the nursery door (although, by the sound of it, some of those children were old enough to be taking care of themselves. Not that Armin could say much against them. He himself had had a rather overbearing mother). Dussander had left him without a word, which worried him at little, because he’d disobeyed him, and furthermore he’d endangered the lives of those he was meant to protect. Dussander should have disciplined him.

It was unnerving. Armin didn’t like it. Not at all.

But he could see the door to “their” room from his post. It was hardly five steps down the hall and sitting against the opposite wall. That was a little reassuring, at least. Not that he would go to Dussander. He didn’t need to be babysat. He was a soldier, he knew how to guard.

He just didn’t like doing it without a commanding officer present.

But what sort of power did Dussander have here? Not very much. And what about the Hurst woman? She didn’t trust people, which meant that people didn’t always listen to her. Which meant there wasn’t any order in the settlement. Things could lead to utter chaos! And what happened if these strangers did up and rebel against authority? Half the people would be shoved outside and used for fodder for the Infected. They’d be killed.

God, they were all going to die.

And even if there wasn’t a rebellion, how long would they last? No food, no water, no radio communication, no weapons. The infected were everywhere, they knew where the settlement was. They’d get in eventually, and then they’d slaughter them.

Armin’s hand squeezed the butt of his gun and he clamped his eyes shut, sucking in deep breaths to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Mister?”

Armin jumped, whipping his gun from the holster and swinging it around. His finger tightened against the trigger, eyes wide, heart hammering.

A little girl.

Armin lowered the gun and wiped his brow with shaking hands.

“Mister?”

“J-j…yes?”

“Are you going to save us? Are you going to bring us home again?”

“Ich…I…we are going to try.”

“You talk funny.”

Armin let out a nervous laugh and bobbed his head, lowering himself to crouch on the floor,” You talk funny, I talk fine.”

The little girl shook her head, grinning. She lifted a hand and patted his cheek before turning around toward the door,” I have to go to sleep now, mister. I used to be afraid, because of the monsters, but you’ll make sure they don’t get in, right?”

Armin nodded slowly,” Right, ja.”

“Good-night, mister.”

“Good-night.”

Poor little children. This was not a place for them to be.

He wanted to go home.

Dussander did not sleep. He was tired, but there were other things, more important things, that buzzed through his head and forced him to keep his eyes open (even if the only thing he could see was the bleak, inky blackness of the room).

I don’t trust them.

Dussander shifted, tucking his arms under his head, brow furrowed deeply. Dr. Hurst didn’t trust her own people not to harm the children. Children, as Dussander had learned through second hand emotion (he himself never had children, and there were several reasons for that), were normally the last thing ordinary people wished to kill. In the army, children were often used to make the soldiers think. If the enemey soldier is using a child as a shield, or taking one as a hostage, you’re either damn careful (and expect a lot of yelling afterward) or you let the man go.

One did not harm children.

Dr. Hurst wanted them out of the way because she didn’t trust them.

Dussander lifted a hand above his head and flicked his flashlight on, illuminating it.

For good reason too. One couldn’t expect unconditional loyalty after deciding upon sending two newcomers on a suicide mission, with three or four men who were just as untrustworthy as they. Oh yes, Dussander had no doubt in his mind as to what sort of men Dr. Hurst would be sending along with them. The rowdy, boisterous ones that didn’t listen to her, maybe men she had a grudge again, new back on earth and didn’t get along with. Men who talked of hopelessness, or with too much hope. Trouble makers.

Maybe one or two would be picked off, but she’d make sure her troublemakers were capable men. Supplies were more important than revenge.

Dussander flicked his flashlight off and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and marched toward the door, easing it open slowly and carefully. They weren’t well made, the doors, and they squeaked. Dussander had no intention of waking anyone.

Armin was a pale shape in the darkness, leaning up beside the nursery doors. His head was bowed, fingers strumming at his sleeve where the doctors had given him his shot. He stopped, smoothed down his uniform, picked his cap off his head, raked his fingers through his hair, set it back down, picked at the band-aid.

The boy had more nervous ticks than a mental ward.

“Mendel.”

Armin’s head snapped up, eyes wide. They flew toward Dussander and Armin reached up, shoving his goggles over his eyes.

Dussander jerked his hand at him, motioning for him to come. Armin paused, glancing back at the door, but came easily enough anyway.

He looked relieved.

Dussander ushered Armin into the room and eased the door shut before flicking on the flashlight. Armin peeled his goggled off his head and slid them up under the brim of his hat before forcing his arms to lie very stiffly at his sides.

“Sir,” he said. A little too loudly for Dussander’s tastes.

He sneered at him and hissed a ‘shh’, setting the flashlight on the nightstand. It sent a small beam of light across the room, illuminating the rest of it rather faintly.

“Sit down.”

Armin did, teetering against the edge of the bed. It wasn’t much more than a cot and if Armin didn’t sit properly it would flip over with his weight. Dussander sneered and surged forward, shoving Armin back. Armin moved willingly, eyes wide and lips parted, until his back hit the wall.

“You pulled a gun on a man twice.”

“I-.”

Dussander slapped a hand across his mouth and frowned tightly,” On the doctors, and on the little girl.”

Armin’s eyes widened.

Oh yes, let him worry about how Dussander had known. Let his paranoid little brain race to conclusions.

Dussander kept their eyes locked and pressed a hand to the mattress, beside Armin’s thigh. Armin stiffened, and he could feel the boy’s jaw working beneath his palm, blubbing uselessly, nervously. He squirmed, fingers tapping against the wooly blanket.

“Don’t say a word,” Dussander eased his hand back, and Armin nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“We may not be an army any more-“ Armin winced at that, and his fingers began to tap more rapidly.

“- but I refuse to let a soldier go undisciplined for such an action.”

Armin nodded again, still not looking up at him.

Dussander rested his weight on one hand and lifted the other to Armin’s jaw, squeezing hard,” What should it be? Twenty push-ups? Thirty? Ten laps around the building?”

Armin’s eyes flew open. His head shook minutely, as much as it could in Dussander’s grip. He squeezed them shut again and wrinkled his nose, as if waiting for a physical blow to come.

Dussander let go of his jaw and let his hand rest on Armin’s chest.

“Can’t do that here, can we? You’d be no use to me dead.”

Armin shook his head frantically.

Dussander’s hand trailed lower, fingers crawling spider-like down the boy’s chest, lingering on his waist where they toyed with a button,” How might I punish you then, Mendel?”

Armin’s chest was heaving for breath now, and his fingers had stopped the insistent tapping to curl in the blankets. He lips were pulled back, teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut so tightly they might have been sown that way. He tipped his head back until it clunked against the wall.

Dussander’s fingers abandoned the button and trailed across his belt, from left hip across to his right him. They butted against his holster and snaked up that as well. Dussander grabbed the butt of his gun and stood, backing away, tapping the weapon against his hip.

“Your gun will be confiscated until we leave. There will be no complains, no questions. When we return, it will be confiscated again, until I can trust you not to pull it on your own comrades.”

It took Armin a moment to register what happened. He let his eyes fall open, blinking against the darkness. His breathing slowed a little, evening out, and he nodded his head.

Then froze.

“Where are we going?”

Dussander might have grinned, if it was in his nature to do so.