Title: Winter's Children
Summary: Four conversations leading up to the twenty fifth of December, 850. Of winter, snow, festivals, and birthdays.
Gen, interaction within Levi's Squad (104th version). Introspective.
Notes: Happy Holidays! This is my version of Levi's birthday fic, which turned out to be not focused on Levi at all except for the last part. Implied close relationship between Eren and Levi, though whether that's platonic or romantic is up to the reader. Historia/Ymir is canon in my eyes.
Mostly, this is gen, which I love writing.
The Longest Night
It starts snowing on the twenty second of December, its fall as abrupt and silent as a winter sunset. Mikasa wakes up, registers the cold, and wraps the scarf tighter around her neck. At six it is still dark, the snow fresh, and the woods are quiet.
She smells breakfast once she opens the door, and hears the soft murmur of conversation. She picks up Eren's voice, rough with sleep, and Levi's deep voice as he responds to Eren. It is almost comforting, she thinks as she steps into the kitchen, nods at Levi, then joins Eren at the counter. Eren is spooning a portion of eggs onto each plate when he says, absent-minded, "Hey, Mikasa."
So that's what made the air so fragrant; they haven't had eggs for a long while yet, and Sasha is sure to be up at any moment, hungry and drooling, breaking the quiet of the cold morning. Mikasa takes over making the coffee and tea while Eren toasts the bread and mutters, under his breath, "Wish we had more jam."
"No complaints," Levi says over the brim of his cup, palm secure around it – holding it like a normal human being for once, Mikasa thinks, instead of the strange grip over the top.
"Not at all," Eren says, though he shoots a glance at Mikasa and wrinkles his nose, the way they share secrets back home in Shiganshina. Mikasa knows Levi caught it, from the way he snorts in what seems like amusement. She shakes her head and hides her smile in the fold of her scarf.
The patter of feet in the hallway announces Sasha's presence, and when she bursts into the kitchen Jean is right behind her, clutching onto her collar to prevent her from pouncing at the counter.
"Eggs!" she says, eyes bright like a chipmunk's. "We never have eggs!"
"And we probably won't for a while," Levi says after another sip of his coffee.
The way Sasha's face falls never ceases to amuse. Mikasa brings the plates to the table and watches, out of the corner of her eye, as Sasha struggles against Jean's grip on her collar. The plates are warm and heavy with food, and by the time she turns around to bring another batch to the table Armin is there, hair still a little rumpled, smiling at her and holding a plate in each hand. Historia, face pale and wan, manages the cups with Connie.
After everything is on the table and all of them have a cup of their preferred beverage, it surprises Mikasa how quiet it is. As though the first snowfall had cast a spell over all of them. The clink of tableware is muted. Historia alternates between eating her food and staring out the window, and when Jean places his cup down a little too loudly he mutters an apology. Mikasa looks at her eggs, smooth and fragrant, and she holds the next forkful in her mouth for as long as she can. It tastes, brief and strong, like summer on her tongue.
.
An hour before sunset finds Mikasa in the kitchen, kneading flour, oil, and water until she has a soft dough. Armin keeps an eye on the soup for her and stirs the sugar in until she says, "That should be fine."
"Okay," Armin says, adjusting the fire low and covering the pot. He glances out the window where Eren is standing at a guard post, rubbing his hands together and stamping around in the snow for warmth. Dressed in hues of black and brown he is a dark sentinel, the weak rays of the sun casting his shadow against the snow. Mikasa kneads, rolls, tears off, and shapes pieces of dough, deft hands pressing a spoonful of peanut filling into the center of each piece before she makes it a ball. She thinks of the perfect balls her mother used to make, the way she spooned the filling onto the dough for her mother.
"The captain," Armin says in a low voice. Mikasa spares a glance out of the window and sees a shorter figure next to Eren. Eren is still – Mikasa can see, in the twitch of his fingers, that he's itching to stomp around again for warmth. They are saying something to each other, their breaths curling into mist in the space between them. Eren's lips twist, like Levi had said something funny, another of his jokes about bowel movements, and Eren is not sure whether to laugh or maintain his silence like a respectful subordinate.
Mikasa looks down at the dough, presses and shapes, presses and shapes.
The pot simmers away on the stove. Mikasa uses all of the dough and loses count of the number of peanut balls she had made. She looks up to catch Armin's eyes and the way he worries at his lip, the confident mask of a strategist falling away to reveal a fifteen year old boy.
"I'm worried, Mikasa," he says after a long moment. "What's going to happen to us? To Eren?"
That's not my job, she thinks, knowing it's unfair all the while, leaving this job of thinking to Armin. I only know how to do one thing, and I fail even at that. She's not sure how to protect Eren anymore, when it's something she barely understands. She can throw herself in front of him all the time, can die for him, and even then she cannot protect him. She looks outside the window again, looks at Levi smacking Eren on the back of his head lightly, Eren huffing out what looks like mingled apology and laughter.
"We survive," she says. Her lips feel tight and frozen but she manages a smile. "Don't think too much, Armin. Not tonight."
Armin chuckles. It's nervous and breathy but it's a laugh all the same. "We survive," he repeats, saying each syllable with weight. "We survive."
She washes her hands off and brings up the heat on the stove so that the mixture is bubbling and roiling. One by one she lowers the balls, stirring until they float to the surface, luminous and shiny. As the last of the sun's rays disappear, Eren and Levi stay for another moment at the guard post before they make their way into the house.
It's the start of the longest night in the year. With every bowl she fills with soup and peanut balls, Mikasa hopes they will not lose more than they already have. The likelihood of her hopes coming true is so low she thinks she might laugh. She passes each bowl of soup to Armin with a small smile instead.
.
Snow People
She thinks it's a little strange, how peaceful it all is, when she remembers surviving a snowstorm two years ago, seeing Ymir jump off a cliff so Dazz could be saved, remembers when she was still called Christa Lenz. It still trips them up a bit, but they all remember to call her Historia. It's some form of masochism, she's sure, the way it cuts into her every time they call her by her real name, when the one who had given her the courage to do so is somewhere out of reach.
Not exactly out of reach, she amends. Just gone, for a while, and when she's back Historia wonders what the first thing she will do is. She is split between slapping Ymir and kissing her. The latter might be worth it for all the shocked faces, but maybe she will stick to the former. Ymir needs to be taught a lesson after all. Then she can get a kiss.
The snow makes them all a little antsy. It was nice for a while, especially last night when Mikasa had made the sweet soup. She had liked the way the peanut oozed in her mouth. For a while everything had seemed normal as they waited out the long night. This morning they fought for guard job while Levi, as usual, started cleaning the hut, and Historia made her escape to care for the horses. She rubs their noses after making sure they're covered with blankets and supplied with fresh hay. Then there's nothing to do except think, which she has done too much of these days.
So she heads out to an area of undestroyed snow, watching her legs sink in to the calves with each step she takes. It seems a waste that they are not doing anything with the snow. She had seen children once play with the snow, making things they called snow people, though she was never once asked to partake in the activity.
She shrugs and starts rolling the snow under her palms until she gets something that vaguely resembles a ball. A little flat and oval-ish, and that's when she stills and stares at it for a long, long while.
Some time later, Connie comes back from guard job, and he stares as Historia struggles to make long spikes of hair out of snow.
"What is that?" he asks, trying not to sound disturbed.
"A snow Ymir," Historia replies, voice sounding far away as a strand of snow hair breaks. She curses quite audibly, making Connie wince.
"Uh."
Perhaps if he squints and tilts his head to the side the thing might look like a snow Ymir. A snow titan Ymir, to be exact, with stumpy limbs and wild hair of uneven length. Historia gives up on the hair and sticks two small stones into the head. After a moment of consideration she uses her finger to draw a squiggly line that might pass for a smile. She looks at Connie, tilts her head to the side like he is doing, and smiles in satisfaction.
"How does it look?"
Connie waits a beat too long before saying, "Like Ymir?"
She huffs. "It looks terrible."
"Well," Connie says, thinking of how best to be tactful, before he sighs and says, "yeah."
Historia's shoulders slump and she sits back in the snow, placing her cheek on one cold hand. Connie looks at the snow Ymir grinning at him with its squiggly mouth, and he squats next to Historia.
"She looks a little lonely, yeah?" he says, smoothing out a patch of snow next to Ymir.
"You think?" she asks.
"Yeah, think she needs companions," Connie says before he starts gathering some snow.
Historia watches him as he rolls snow, more expertly than she had done. He seems to know how to pack the snow and make sure it doesn't crumble. "When it snowed back home, I always played with my younger brothers. So I learnt how to make snow people," Connie explains as he places a stocky body next to Ymir. The head goes on next, and Historia starts to recognize the figure when Connie shapes the hair and the arms.
She rolls the next body with Connie, larger than the previous two snow people. Connie makes the long oval head, places it on top of the body, and guides her fingers onto the correct spots for the head to draw out markings. When that is done they stare at the three snow titans with their crooked smiles, standing next to each other, smaller than the real things, so small Historia could crush them with her foot. It would be so easy, all she would need is a little weight.
Connie laughs then, a brief sound that disappears into the wind. Historia listens as he takes a choked breath, stroking the colossal titan's head with his cold, wet hand. Historia feels like she's watching a scene from another life as he squelches it to the ground, the markings they had made with such concentration and the small smile disappearing into the ground. She watches as Connie does the same to the armoured titan. He smashes his hand down again and again, though there's no longer anything to suggest there had ever been snow titans. There's just a pile of slush.
Connie doesn't make a move to touch the dancing titan. Historia is sure she might have kicked him if he had tried.
They breathe for a while before Connie says, looking at his hand covered in snow, "I shouldn't have done that."
Historia looks at his small figure, his downturned lips, the way he has an arm wrapped around his knees. She isn't sure whether to agree. "Maybe."
"Well. I could always make some more," he suggests, looking from snow Ymir to the pile in front of him.
"You could," Historia says. It doesn't matter, either way. They will all disappear when it next snows and the world is covered in another layer of white. Historia thinks she will have to keep making snow Ymirs, over and over.
Historia pats her snow Ymir and watches more hair crumble off.
Connie says, in a small voice, "It's terrible. I actually feel better."
Historia smiles and rolls a bit more hair for Ymir. "So do I," she says, looking at the lumps of snow that had previously been snow Reiner and snow Bertholdt. "So do I."
.
Winter Festivals
It really is not fair they are not allowed to hunt. Even in winter, the woods and mountains are full of food, if one knows where to find them. Sasha watches the trees from her guard post, rifle slung across her back, hands tucked in her pockets to keep them warm. When she closes her eyes she can hear the life of the woods humming through her being.
"Daydreaming already, Sasha?"
Her eyes snap open and she glares at Jean. "Not at all. Stop sneaking around, will ya?"
Jean shrugs and steps up next to her, looking at the woods as well. The snow has stopped today, so some of them are off gathering supplies. Last Sasha checked, Eren and Historia were in the house, having some sort of intense chat that she hadn't dared interrupt. It's a terrifying combination, now that she thinks about it.
"Say, what d'ya think Eren n' Historia are talkin' about?" she asks. Normally she would ask Connie, but Levi had chosen Connie to go along on this supplies run.
"Huh? Does it matter?" Jean asks, looking at her instead of the woods now.
"I dunno…they were really intense," she says, thinking of their heads bowed low together and the emphatic cadences of Eren's tone. "They don't usually talk together, the two of 'em…" She trails off, not knowing how to explain. She used to be closer to Historia, but with Ymir gone it's like Historia had cut herself off from all of them.
"Knowing Eren? Something about the titans, I bet," Jean says, though his tone lacks the bite of the past. He sighs and leans against the railing. "Or reaching Wall Maria. It's all anyone talks about these days."
Sasha holds her tongue back from commenting that it's what Jean talks about too. That, and scolding Sasha for nicking food. She tries to think of what they used to talk about during trainee days, before the invasion of Trost. She's sure they used to laugh more. She had thought, when they all moved here, that it's going to be like trainee days again. But they're all so scared now. Connie is so sad.
It's all too much to think about. "Wish I could hunt," she murmurs.
Now Jean looks even more confused. "Huh? How did you get from that to this?"
She laughs and adjusts her rifle, comforted by its steady weight. "Times were simpler then, though I always argued with Da. What didja do, before the army?"
It had taken a long time before she found out Mikasa was a farmer's daughter, when they had kitchen duty and Sasha was curious about how well Mikasa handled the vegetables. Nobody dared ask too much about Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, after hearing they were from Shiganshina. She feels a little like a hoarder, hearing about people's pasts, collecting them and thinking, how strange, how interesting, that the sons of merchants and daughters of bakers and children of the wild can come together in one place, and how titans don't care who's rich or poor, they all get eaten anyway. Her Da was right – she had been so narrow-minded until the army.
Jean scratches his head. "Well…my dad and mum had a shop. They did okay, not, you know, that much money or anything."
"Only child, yeah?"
"Well, yeah…I told you that?"
"Na. Just guessed," she says. Just like how Connie seems like an older brother, Jean seems like an only child. It's in the way he talks and his dreams – at least, that was before Trost. Before he could say anything more, retort or prod her for more information, she stretches and continues, "Ya know what we do, cold days like this, back on the mountains?"
"Obviously I don't know," Jean says with a scoff. Sasha sticks her tongue out at him until he chuckles. "Go on."
"We'd build a huge fire – "
"Obviously."
" – and there would be so much food for everyone – "
"How surprising."
Sasha scowls and crosses her arms. "If you're gonna interrupt I'm not gonna tell."
Jean rolls his eyes. "Did I beg you to say anything?"
"Hmph." She turns away to hide a small smirk. "Anyway, we'd all gather around a fire and eat and eat. Oh, and tell stories. About the mountains and our ancestors. Our ancestors are everywhere, ya know? Cos' they turn to dust and become part of the wind." It's one of her favourite stories, and why she's so scared of titans. Well, besides the being eaten part, it's also because she'll never be able to join her family ever again.
"Really?"
There's a strange note in Jean's voice now, like he's wistful. Sasha wonders which he's thinking about. The day they burnt their comrades, or the way they fought the dark cold of winters in Trost. She bumps her shoulder against his and smiles. "Didja do anything special in winter?"
Jean thinks a long while. She does not bother him, just returns to scanning the woods. A gust of wind brings the smell of the forest and a sharp chill. She digs further into her coat pockets and hunches up, squinting in the light. The glare of the sun bounces off the ground, making it dazzling, almost painful.
"Not in winter."
"Hmm?" She focuses back on Jean's face instead of the surroundings.
"Winter is…well, we have to save. Everyone does," Jean explains, pushing a small pile of snow from the railing onto the ground. Sasha is distracted by the snow while Jean continues, "But during autumn, when the harvest comes in and everyone's doing well, just before the first day of winter we would have a bit of a feast. Some wine if we can afford it. Sort of a festival, and people would sing and dance."
Sasha imagines the singing and dancing and, above all, the fresh food and the full bellies. "That's nice," she comments. "I think I like that."
"You would, of course."
"I wanna do something." Sasha pulls herself straighter and looks at Jean with all the determination she can muster. "With the rest of the squad. Before…well, before, ya know, before we hafta go out to Maria."
"Don't know if the captain will approve," Jean warns.
"He has to. Oh, he has to," Sasha says, nodding to herself and squinting at the woods once more. She would make sure of that. Going with a bang and all, before the snow melts into reality again.
.
Holly and Noodles
It is blasted cold when he wakes up. There are many reason he hates winter, such as the fact that he grew up in the Sina underground, bloody hot in summer with the smell of shit everywhere, and unbearably cold in the winter with fresh corpses every other day. It didn't get better when he joined the army, since it meant he had to go out in the cold anyway, when the titans were sluggish with the relative lack of sunlight and they could pretend they were making progress for humanity.
He glances at the calendar, registers that he's just aged another year, and scowls at his stubborn leg. An injury is fine and all, but it's a bitch when he has to deal with the cold seeping its way into his bones. The supplies run yesterday hadn't helped things. Gritting his teeth against the ache he pulls on his clothes and freshens up, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. First day of his thirty fifth year and he feels like shit.
In the kitchen Eren is the first one awake as usual, and his cup of coffee is already waiting on the table. What he does not expect is the bunch of holly sitting next to it.
"Oi. What's this?" he asks, moving his coffee further away and eyeing the plant.
Eren looks up from the pot and says, "Ah. Good morning, Captain." He sounds cheerful, which is disturbing, because Levi doesn't think the matter of a plant in his usual seat should warrant this much cheer.
Levi sits in the chair and continues shooting distrustful looks at the plant. It is nice enough, sure, but he's not sure what might be crawling all over it. And there's still the issue of Eren avoiding his question. He decides being direct is the order of the day. "Eren. Why is there a plant at my seat?"
"Oh. That. It's for you, sir. I've checked, it's clean. I did not use disinfectant though," Eren says a little too innocently.
Levi narrows his eyes and says, with much less force than he would have liked, "You have not explained why they're for me, brat." He blames his lack of force on his shitty mood and the early morning.
"Yes, sir," Eren says, not even denying it. Instead of answering he turns his attention back to breakfast, which means he will not be talking for another ten minutes or so. Levi takes the time to cuss (which Eren can obviously hear), drink his coffee, and examine the holly. The red berries are too bright. He does not mind the dark green leaves, waxy and sharp, as he learns from rubbing them between his fingers.
In the time the coffee takes to coax him into full wakefulness, Eren has tested the food and drained the hot water away, leaving a strainer full of noodles. Seemingly satisfied, he nods at a wide awake Levi and says, "Happy Birthday, captain."
Levi scowls at the reminder. "I'm not happy. And who told you it's my birthday?"
Eren is unaffected by the rebuff. "Squad leader Hanji did, captain."
"Nosy shitty glasses," Levi declares.
Eren looks like he's repressing a smile as he divides the noodles into separate plates. The house is still quiet – at the very least Levi is thankful for that. He does not need the rest of the brats finding out about his birthday. He's not even sure what deal they make of birthdays.
"Back home, we didn't do much for birthdays," Eren starts explaining even as he prepares the soy sauce, "but it's considered good luck for people to get their, um, their birth plant, I guess. And eat noodles. Well, that one's from Mikasa, she says it's for longevity."
For whatever reason that bit is amusing. A long life to either starve from lack of resources or get eaten by titans. Or to naturally die in one's bed, sure, but who has that fortune? "Horrible thought, that. Longer life for what?"
"Well…I thought so, too. But I guess, being in the Scouting Legion and all…it's a reasonable wish," Eren says, placing a plate of noodles and a dish of soy sauce in front of Levi. Eren smiles a little then, a bit of the manic determination coming back. "I would like you to live longer, sir. Long enough to see the walls go down and enjoy the freedom."
Levi sighs. This is why it's hard to deal with brats. Especially brats like Eren, who hasn't lost his idealistic madness even after all that has happened. Nothing will break him – he had come close, with Levi's previous squad, and this time too, with Hannes. But Levi had been right the first time around. There's a beast inside him that cannot be tamed, no matter the destruction and the pain.
"Don't you dare tell the rest," he says, running his fingers over the berries and the leaves. The leaves spring back after he presses them down.
"I won't," Eren promises.
"This plant will rot, you know."
"No, it won't. Not for a while yet. It's hardy." Eren pauses then before he continues, slowly, "Sort of like you, sir."
That makes Levi scoff. "What, I'm slow to rot?"
"You're hardy, sir. You'll be here awhile yet." Eren grins, eyes bright in the gas light. Like a creature's eyes gleam in the dark cover of forest nights. "A long while yet."
"Well, fuck me, what a curse," Levi says, shooting a pointed look at Eren. Hope of humanity or not, the brat is still a brat, and Levi decides he will say whatever he likes, this being his birthday and all.
Eren laughs as they hear the sounds of doors opening and the rest of their squad coming awake. Outside their hut, the morning is dark and still on the twenty fifth of December, year 850.
Notes:
I did not put in references to religious holidays, because religion seems to be a new thing in the SnK world. Eren, when he sees the Wall Cult for the first time, recalls they are part of something called a "religion". It's also why I have a knee-jerk reaction when I see references to gods or hell in the manga.
However, I do love certain customs that are practiced in my culture. Eating glutinous rice balls in sweet soup on winter solstice as well as noodles for birthdays are part of Chinese culture. We don't give birth flowers, but I needed something they could give each other which wouldn't cost too much money.
I come from a place that is summer all year around, do forgive me if descriptions of snow are inaccurate.