Fever Dreams
"Captain?" Armin stares at him, worry clouding his features. "Are you alright?"
Levi wants to tell him he's alright. No need to worry about him. They have more pressing matters to worry about, after all. Instead, he nearly throws up onto the dusty earth beneath him where he's seated.
It's not even two days after their accomplishment of bringing a halt to the destruction of the world when he falls ill. The fever overtakes him completely, and it leaves him lying confused and delirious and shivering on a makeshift bed in an old military tent. It takes nearly two days for the fever to break.
In his incoherent dreams, his mind spurred by the haze of delirium, sorrow, and guilt, they visit him, one by one. Erwin, Hange, and Mike. Furlan and Isabel. Petra, Eld, Gunther, Oluo. Sasha— and the countless numerous precious lives lost during the piled-up years. They come to him one by one, asking and pleading. Why. Why did he let them die? Why wasn't he there when they needed him the most? Why is he the one to live?
Their disappointed gazes pierce through him, leaving him gasping for air and blinded by the blur of tears that won't fall. And he wants to apologize, say that he's sorry. Sorry for failing them all. Sorry for the pain and sorrow that he couldn't prevent. Tell them that he's sorry that he's the one to keep breathing. But his voice doesn't work. His body won't move. He can only watch and listen, his vision filled with decaying corpses and in his ears the echo of anguish and shrieks, thundering footfalls, shattering boulders, the earsplitting low hum of a plane.
Amidst his state of seemingly endless frightened confusion, there are also brief flashes of steadiness and clarity. In those moments, he rouses enough to take in his immediate surroundings, mumbling nonsense in response to the questions that don't seem to reach his ears, several faces weaving in and out of focus in his blurry view. When fingers swipe away his hair, he has not enough strength to push them away, although the feel of a cool cloth on his forehead has him closing his eyes again, relaxing his taut muscles, the darkness once again taking hold.
When he finally awakes completely, he's sweaty and clammy and greasy and hurting, his mouth sporting an awful taste. He closes his good eye and curses under his breath, remnants of his fever-spurred dreams flashing through his still somewhat muddled mind.
"Mr. Levi, are you finally awake?"
A shift has him turning his head toward the source, squinting against the bright morning light. Gabi, he realizes after a second, is sitting close to the bed, hands resting in her lap, seemingly relieved.
"I am." He croaks, tongue going over a deep split in his lip. The tang of iron spreads his mouth. He closes his eye again, the other throbbing sharply, and he wishes for the pounding in his head to go away. "I feel like shit." He mutters, his hand coming up to rub at his head. Fuck. His head hurts.
"Here."
A cold cloth makes its way onto his forehead. The chill feels amazing against his warm skin. "You should try to drink some water. Do you think you can sit up?"
She helps him sit up and provides him a flask. After the first sip, he realizes just how thirsty he is. He downs nearly half of the water. When he lays down again, Gabi busies herself with re-wetting another cloth, and she places it once again on his forehead.
"You should try to eat something. I'll get you some soup."
He squints at her. The thought of food not all too appealing. "How long have I been out?"
Gabi blinks. "Two days."
Two days. Fuck.
"I need a shower." He grumbles, shutting his eye, feeling the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin. He shivers.
"And food."
Gabi goes and gets him bread and some bland and watery soup that is honestly not all too bad. Because after the first spoonful, Levi realizes just how hungry he is. He eats silently and quickly despite his arms feeling a tad shaky. The questions of "Are you alright, Captain?" and "How are you feeling?" are not all that bad either. He's relieved to see that the kids are doing reasonably well, despite the circumstances. Armin shortly briefs him on their situation at hand before giving him a quick smile and stepping out of the tent. Onyankopon comes to see him too and sits beside his bedside for a while. He gets him another clean and wet towel when Levi asks.
He wipes himself down. And after he has finally managed to clear away some of the worst grime clinging to all sides of his body, he puts on a new shirt that's a few sizes too big, but he doesn't give a shit. Gabi attends to his injuries - quietly and with swift and careful hands. "How's the pain?" she asks after examining the still-healing wounds, glancing up at him. He shrugs. "Could be worse." He grunts. Gabi stares at him a second longer before resuming her examination of his knee. When she's finished, he shifts to lay back down, worn and body throbbing uncomfortably, head pounding with increased intensity. Connie comes by once more to check on him, asking if Levi does need anything. He waves him away, reassuring the visibly tired boy that he's alright. He doesn't need anything - doesn't even want to think. But things are never that simple. The thoughts still come - fever dreams and memories blurring together. And with thinking comes the pain - a hurt different from his missing fingers or fucked up leg. A hurt distinct from his sliced-up features.
He lays in the dimmed morning light on the makeshift bed, listening to the sounds outside, his breathing loud in his ears. At some point, he notices Falco coming up to him. The boy hesitates for a moment but then wordlessly settles himself down beside the bedside. Levi doesn't ask and doesn't move, and Falco doesn't speak.
And like that, eventually, he drifts off into a fitful sleep.
All the mistakes are mine.