Stuff Sandy says that should be ignored: "This will only be two chapters."
First of all, thank you so much for the warm welcome into this fandom! I really enjoy writing AoT these days, especially anything involving hurt Levi cause I'm just a sucker for his stoic nature being peeled apart.
Second, I don't have any extensive knowledge of medicine. Anything I write is from slightly half-assed research, some stuff for (typical manga/anime) dramatic effect, or whatever I feel like I kinda think I already may or may not know from being alive and stuff.
I am licensed to hand out medication though. I can't prescribe medicine. Just, read a chart and hand it out. But I mean, I was supposedly number one in my course, so I can hand the shit out of those pills.
Furlan swore he had never witnessed Levi sleeping consecutively for more than three hours straight in the four years he'd known him. Whatever Dr. Jäger had given him must have knocked him right out, and they hadn't heard him cough for several hours.
The doctor had left a few bottles with unnatural-colored contents that Levi was supposed to drink when he was awake at the bed stand. One was a tiny container with a rike odor that made Furlan's eyes burn that he was told to place under Levi's nose if he had trouble breathing again. The nineteen-year-old could still clearly visualize Levi's reaction from a few hours ago when Dr. Jäger first had to use the pungent compound to make Levi draw a proper breath. Levi had inhaled sharply, eyelids covering storm-colored orbs flying open before a quick fist had dashed through the air, thrown at the well-meaning doctor. Luckily, Grisha Jäger seemed prepared for the sudden backlash and easily dodged the punch. He let out a disarming chuckle and assured Furlan that this had happened before.
Obviously, Levi had been wary of the new presence in their house. If he really had lived his entire life underground, he had probably never even had a proper check-up by a real doctor. There were several 'doctors' down there, but none that had actually studied conventional medicine. Not as far as Furlan knew, at least. Most of them appeared to be quacks, selling snake oil and dried, reeking animal parts with supposed healing abilities (that Levi would never even allow near the house).
A particular eccentric had tried to sell them an exorcism once, claiming that Levi was possessed by a demon. She had gone as far as to offer them a discount after Levi had gone off on her, chanting about how this was clearly a case of Lucifer himself.
On many occasions, Furlan had wondered if maybe he should have taken her up on her offer after all; witnessing Dr. Jäger try to coax Levi into accepting a spoon with one of the remedies, was one of them.
Eventually, the fight had left Levi. Half-asleep, they had managed to push the utensil in between his lips and poured the thick liquid down his throat. The raven had muttered a weak, "assholes," moments before fatigue claimed him.
In the living room, Isabel had somehow lured Eren into helping her clean up her mess from breakfast. The two seemed to be getting along well, and when Furlan and Grisha exited the bedroom, they had started dinner. Eren was deeply concentrated, chopping vegetables with a dull knife while Isabel was stirring the broth.
Eventually, Eren (and Isabel) had managed to convince the doctor into staying for dinner, and with a sighed remark about how Eren's mother was going to kill him, Grisha reluctantly agreed. With the time it took to make and eat the dinner, they did not manage to leave until the drunks were crowding the streets outside, and with the boy tucked tightly into his father's side, the pair made their way towards the military's tollbooth.
Furlan and Isabel had slanted off to bed minutes after the Jäger's departure, Isabel to the couch in the living room and Furlan to his bed in his and Levi's joint room.
For hours, Furlan laid awake, eyeing the black container of smelling salts, listening to rigid inhales and razor-sharp exhales, alert to any tiny pause or hitch. The Levi-shaped bump shivered underneath the blanket; the only sign that he was still alive. Furlan gently laid his own blanket on top of the bundle once he was dressed, noticing how Levi's shoulders seemed to ease into the added heat, a silent and contempt sigh whispering through cracked lips. His temperature was still high, but Furlan justified the additional cover to the bone-chilling cold that engulfed their house in the mornings.
He strolled into the living room where Isabel was sleeping soundly. She whispered occasionally under her breath, inching closer to the back of the sofa. The wariness of a sleepless night tugged at Furlan's eyelids, pulling them down and urging his body towards the peacefulness of the tattered furniture. Calmly, he lowered himself onto the seat Isabel wasn't occupying, pulling his legs up under him. Red hair sprawled out on a pillow next to him, a small hand clawing tiredly at the pillowcase. A draft from the windowsill pushed into their modest house and left a chill run down his spine.
Green eyes peeked drowsily between rowdy bangs. Wordlessly, Isabel shifted her pillow to rest on Furlan's lap before she offered him her blanket, revealing a second rag covering her icy feet.
"Shitty night, sleep more," she murmured as she got comfortable, curling up on his lap.
Furlan thought for a moment, casting a worried glance towards the bedroom where Levi was sleeping fitfully, then down at Isabel, who was already dead to the world, emitting worm breath against his stomach with her light snores. He was tired, more so than usual having watched over Levi for a good portion of the night.
Picking up the offered blanket, he tucked it around his shoulders and sunk down on the couch, letting his head fall against the overstuffed cushions where he fell back asleep within seconds.
Both of them woke up an hour or so later. Out of habit, Furlan checked the bucket on the corner-counter for clean water, adding the small amount left into a brass kettle, putting it on the gas stove to boil before he got on his shoes to bring the bucket outside and filled it up at the well. Peering around,, he looked for his knitted sweater, but decided he probably had put it in the wardrobe yesterday. He would have to manage without; there was no way he would risk waking up Levi by rummaging around the bedroom when he slept so soundly for the first time in what had to be at least four years. Instead, he draped the blanket around his shoulder and headed out.
The first batch was always for tea. The tea they made down here did not taste as good as Furlan remembered from before, but he guessed they could not get the same high-quality ingredients here. The dried leaves they would boil it on tasted bitter and bland, but they drank it all the same. The second and third batch of boiled water was cooked in a larger pot, and was used for personal hygiene. The fourth, fifth (and so on, how many it may take) was for chores; cleaning, dishes and so on.
"Furlan?" a sleepy voice murmured from the couch when he came back inside. Two small fists rose above the back of the couch and Isabel groaned softly as she stretched.
"Good morning," he responded with a strained voice, dumping the heavy bucket on the counter before quickly removing the whistling teapot from the stove. "D'you sleep well?"
The redhead peeked half-lidded towards him, a small pout on her lips. "Not really. I had a bad dream about Aniki."
Furlan paused for a moment, quickly realizing that he did not have any comforting words to offer her. Instead, he filled a mug with grimy tea and handed it to her before filling up his own and Levi's designated cup (the one with a cracked piece around the rim and a broken handle).
"At least he slept through the night," Furlan muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess that's something."
"Except it's not," Isabel sulked, blowing on the boiling liquid. "He never does that. It's only concerning."
"He's sick, Izzy. Rest is good for him."
"Yeah, but…" The short redhead slid back against the armrest of the couch, nuzzling into her thick duvet with the steaming cup in her grip. "...it's still nothing. It just means that he's still sick."
Furlan couldn't argue with that. The entire night had been filled with guttural coughing and struggling gasps for air. In all realness, the fact that he still hadn't woken up was starting to become concerning. Even when he was out working all day, came back home drunk out of his wits, injured or… appearing like another piece of his soul had been ripped out, he never slept like this.
"He is," Furlan finally agreed. "But you found a doctor who believes that he can get better. He gave him medicine which makes people drowsy. As much of an übermench Levi might be, he gets tired from meds just like the rest of us."
Isabel pouted childishly, tucking her duvet tightly around herself. "I guess. Did Dr. Jäger say when he'd be back?"
"He'll try to stop by this evening. If anything changes, we should come look for him in the area you met him yesterday. If he doesn't show up, he'll be here before his rounds tomorrow."
"I think I'm gonna go find him anyway," she stated determinedly. "Maybe he needs some help. I could be his assistant or something, make some money while Levi is sick."
"I mean, I guess it won't hurt to ask," Furlan drawled thoughtfully, picking up Levi's cup to bring it to him. Isabel's face lit up, hurriedly untangling her legs from her covers. The blonde smiled fondly, watching her bounce onto the floor as he started to get dressed while he headed for the bedroom. He carefully shifted the door open, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the windowless room.
The blankets were neatly folded on the beds, wrinkle-free pillows propped against the headboards. The soaked clothing Furlan and Isabel had helped Levi out of the night before were removed from the spot in the corner, and Furlan knew he would find it in the laundry basket. With his heart leaping out of his chest, he returned to the living room, passed the kitchen area, and located the shoe-rack. Only two pairs of boots inhabited the ramshackle wooden shelf; Isabel's small cinnamons, and his much larger dark ones. The black pair that usually stood between them was missing.
"Damn," Farlan snapped, quickly grabbing his shoes and started tying them on. The large pan on the stove started to boil and spat scalding water all over the hob, steaming and evaporating. With one boot on, Furlan leaped over and shut it off, pushing the pot away.
Isabel came tumbling out of the bathroom, wide-eyed, and cheeks covered in toothpaste. "What's going on?"
"He left," Furlan sighed irritably, running his hand through his overgrown bangs.
Thin, cherry eyebrows knitted together. "What?"
"He left!" Furlan raised his voice, leaning heavily on the counter. A thin layer of sweat had gathered at his hairline. He swiftly wiped it off, shifting nervously. Isabel disappeared back into the bathroom for a brief moment, then returned fully dressed.
"Let's go!"
Levi leaned against the ruins of a brick building out of view from the main road. His ankle was hovering a little above the ground to put his weight off it. The limb felt warm and pulsated in rhythm with his heartbeat. The violent throbbing made it feel like his leg was about to burst out of the tightly knitted walls of his calf-high boot and the added weight of his stolen ODM gear didn't help. The hem of Furlan's sweater hung awkwardly mid-thigh, but his own thin jacket simply wasn't enough to keep the merciless morning-chill out.
The memories of the day before were hazy. The last thing he remembered was getting home after stalking a group of gun-traffickers from above-ground to their warehouse. Then, he woke up with a luke-warm rag across his forehead and a tower of blankets on top of him in the bedroom. A crushing headache laid heavy in the back of his head and down his shoulders, his lungs were stuffed and airflow restricted, while his joints were stiff and painful.
That didn't matter though, because today, a few lowlifes from the Underground were coming to purchase those firearms (another group of idiots trying to gain power in a place where power was useless- didn't mean Levi wanted a herd of trigger-happy jackasses waving around semi-automatics in his home though), and Levi would be damned if he wasn't there to offer a few rifle-colonoscopies to make them change their minds.
Testing his weight on his weak limb, he kept walking inside the shadows, tracing the wall with his arm for support.
Eventually, he arrived at the large building, close to where the tunnel they called home ended and about an hour from the public areas. There looked to be several entrances, but Levi no longer "did" entrances anymore. He released a hook from his gear. The point connected to the roof and swung him seamlessly through the air and clumsily landed on his knees on top of the building to protect his wounded ankle. Brick tiles smashed under his modest weight, but Levi bit his lips and swiftly moved across the uneven edges, before he swung his body through one of the shattered windows high up on the three-story building.
His boots hit rotten wood, the lithe landing soft and noiseless. The impact left a cloud of dust to rise and brush through the air, provoking the scratchiness that lingered unyieldingly in his throat. Stifling his coughs, he couldn't help but worry about how his vision kept blurring every time he exerted himself. But, as always, he pushed it to the back of his mind and kept going forward.
His movements weren't as fluid as they usually were. Every time he put weight on his left leg a sharp pain shot through and threatened to cut his control over it. That couldn't be allowed to stop him; not when he could hear the deal going on from the open floor downstairs. He lowered to his knees, letting his body glide over the floor until he reached the edge; a small fence overlooking the main floor beneath.
There were twelve people except for Levi; five military police and seven thugs. Levi had to wait until the deal was closed until the MP's had left. They were all armed and skilled in combat; the thugs were only armed, but probably had no idea how to use the weapons they had just purchased. Levi could easily take them out.
Crawling over towards a stable of crates, he settled behind them, letting his aching leg stretch, massaging the knee tentatively. His breath was starting to feel strained, each inhales raspy and inconveniently noisy. Thick drops of perspiration ran down his forehead and bled into the fabric of Furlan's sweater. Was it getting hotter in there?
Tugging at his collar, he eventually decided to pull off the itchy woolen jumper, abandoning it behind the wooden boxes. He could hear the deal coming to an end, and he started scooting over to where he'd spotted a ladder to the floor beneath, out of view from where the men were talking. He needed to get down there now while the group was still busy.
He skidded his body down the hole in the floor, catching the first step, and started climbing down. Only a few feet from the end, his left leg failed to hold his weight and folded beneath him, resulting in him losing his grip and plunging to the floor.
Trying to land on his feet, his left leg caught his fall. It seized agonizingly, bending awkwardly beneath him, and instantly forced him to the ground. The impact with the stone floor sent him into an immediate coughing fit. He heaved, catching for air that refused to fill his lungs. Small hands clutched his mouth, trying to stifle the sound as much as possible but he couldn't stop it. His chest trembled with the cramping hacks and his whole body sized.
By the time he had been surrounded, his mind was anywhere but there. A filter of haziness made a divide between himself and the danger encircling him. A curtain of black sparkles spotted his vision, and he was unaware of the bad company until a heavy boot stomped on his chest.