Altruism

My father taught me to be accepting of all types of folk, to never pass judgment with only appearances or rumors as the evidence. He always told me there's always more to the story than what the gossips whisper and the newspapers claim. There's always more than two sides to a story, and more often than not, it's the target who knows the truth.

Throughout my life, my family's house has seen many interesting people come and go, seated in that battered, extra chair at our table. It has never been empty under Isaia Jinn's watch. Without fail, Dad always found someone to fill it. Blind beggars and unsuccessful thieves, lost souls depending on alcohol to make it through the day, unfortunate women who'd given up their pride to keep themselves or their loved ones alive, orphaned children, abandoned children, homeless and starving families with nowhere else to turn.

They were always nervous at first. How could they not? Being taken in by total strangers who, by all accounts, should've cared nothing for them. The world simply doesn't work like that. The men would give us wary and hostile looks, the women wary and vulnerable ones, and the children wary, hostile, and vulnerable. All of them would sit awkwardly at the table, stiff and rigid as though they were preparing to fight or run away. They would answer Dad's jovial questions in monosyllabic responses. They would smile awkwardly at me, only a grinning child. Then Mother would set a plate piled high with a hot meal in front of them, and she would laugh at their startled faces. She has a way of getting people to open up, no matter who they are. A sort of maternal bearing that puts folks at ease, so no one ever feared drugged or poisoned food so much they refused to eat under our roof.

I would help my parents roll out sleeping mats and make up the bed in the spare room, make sure they had plenty of blankets to keep warm, and bring them a cup of water in case they got thirsty in the night. And when dad sent them on their way in the morning, he would press a bag of biscuits or some such in their hands, maybe a box of matches or a spare candle-enough to see them through the day-and told them if there was a time when they needed help or food or shelter or just an ear to listen, they knew where to find us. He would smile and promise we would be here and our door would never be locked, then he would stand and wave as they made their way down the street.

Dad had a heart that stretched beyond the Walls.

But I'm afraid he's gone now.

He passed away a year before I enlisted in the military, done in by a sudden fever. It was completely unexpected; one day he was fine, and then next he was too sick to get out of bed. To eat. To even take sip of water. Mother gave me the emergency money she kept and sent me out to find a doctor, who came as quickly as he could, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't bring down the fever or ease the coughing that afflicted my father, and before we knew it, he was gone. No closure or any kind of peace. I just remember sitting with my mother in the main room, my arms around Karoline, when I suddenly realized couldn't hear my father coughing anymore. The doctor came out and shook his head when he looked at us. Karoline started to cry.

I cried, too. My father, my friend and teacher, was gone. And for the first night in years, the chair was empty.

The funeral was packed with people who knew and loved Isaia Jinn, and almost all of them were his strays. His friends. His outcasts. The countless people he regarded as his equals when society would not. Everyone he had been so kind to. Women and children of all ages cried. Some of the men cried too, I remember, though they wiped their tears away before anyone could see. I also remember sitting on the stairs and realizing these people, every single one of them, didn't think my father was fool. They didn't just take advantage of his kindness for their own benefit. They were here because he was their friend and they loved him and they would miss him just as much as we would. I knew in that moment, even though the old man was gone, we could not close our doors to them. So the very next night, I went out and I found someone to fill the extra chair at the table. While I was in training, my mother and my dear Karoline did the same. And so it goes.

Given all that, what was I supposed to do when I found four soldiers in need of help and a place to stay?

-0-0-0-

When he passed by the darkened alley, Eld stopped and backtracked, peering into the darkness and spotting two men in uniform standing tall and imposing over the figure of a woman crouched over a body. Instinctively, he turned into the alley, and sprinted toward the group. In all likelihood, they were a pair of drunk soldiers harassing a couple out for a walk, beating a man half to death and having their way with the woman. Yet as he approached, he observed the two soldiers-Scouts, he realized-were merely standing there watching. And the man lying on the ground, clutching at his middle and vomiting into the earth, was a Scout as well.

Eld slowed to a walk and sighed in relief. Just comrades looking out for comrades.

The woman patted the fallen one's shoulder and cast a pleading look at her companions, who exchanged uncertain glances. Strangers to her, Eld guessed, then the woman saw him. Her face was pale and her frightened eyes were a warm amber. Not an unattractive face, he noticed absently, then turned his eyes to the Scout on the ground and realized with a jolt it was the Underground Rogue everyone was talking about. The only survivor out of the three Erwin Smith and his his squad had brought up from the city beneath the Capital.

"Why don't you just move along?" One of the soldiers-the senior one-snapped at him. "This is humiliating enough without an audience."

For who? Eld wondered as he knelt, placing his hand on the incapacitated man's head. You and your sober comrades or this gentleman here? Either way, he ignored him and addressed the woman. "What happened, miss?"

"I found him like this." She explained in a clear, formal voice. A soldier's voice, he realized and noticed she was a Scout, too. Her uniform was tied by its sleeves around her waist. "And I asked those two for help….help…." Help doing what she had no clue. Only that she didn't want to leave a comrade for the rats to chew on.

The Rogue seemed relatively intact. No excessive bruises or abrasions, so he must've wandered out here himself rather than forcefully removed from a tavern. He had some coin left in his pockets, so he surmised a pickpocket hadn't gotten to him yet. Perhaps that had been the woman's intent when she discovered him. But what was he even doing here in Karanes. The last expedition had departed from Shiganshina, and the regiment more or less skirted the Walls anti-clockwise, arriving in the West District three days later. He, of course, had continued on to his home city as soon as they were dismissed. What reason did the Rogue have to come this far in? He didn't have any family here. Was he on his way back to the Underground? Perhaps the other two who hadn't survived had family unaware of their deaths. Maybe he had family himself.

Maria, what were their names again?

No matter. He couldn't stay here, that much was certain. "One of you help me get him up." He said to the two men. The younger one stepped forward, and together they managed to make a chair with their arms, holding him between them as they made their way out of the alley. The woman and the elder gentleman followed alongside. No one asked questions.

His house wasn't too far away from the local pub, and his family had left a lantern burning on the porch. At his knock, Karoline opened the door and cried out when she took in the sight of four soldiers standing on the doorstep, two of them carrying a senseless man in their arms. She stepped aside to let them in, "Rose, is he all right?"

The soldier across from Eld made an indecisive, "Eh." As they made their way toward the back room.

"We'll put him in my bed." Eld instructed, looking up as Mother came downstairs. "Hey, Mom."

"Shouldn't we get him to a doctor?" The female Scout asked.

It might come to that. Eld considered as he and the other soldier lowered the Rogue onto the mattress. It had been been a long time since he'd seen a man this drunk. He pressed his middle and forefinger to the Rogue's neck and felt a rapid pulse, then pried an eye open. At that, the man lashed out at him, missing entirely, then went limp again. Eld paused. "I'm gonna take that as a good sign. Hello, I'm Eld."

The man next to him frowned. "Gunther."

"Nice to meet you, Gunther." He grinned, shaking his hand, then turned to the others. "You two?"

"Oruo Bozard."

"Petra." She nodded toward the unconscious Scout. "And that's either Farlan or Levi."

"It's Levi." Bozard muttered. "Farlan was the one who couldn't salute and kept grinning like an idiot."

Karoline came into the room, then, holding a cup of water in her hands. "Evelyn's gone to fetch Doktor Sárközi."

"Good." He stood aside to let her pass, and turned to Petra. "You have any idea how much he drank?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, I just found him like that on my way home. Just sprawled out in the alley."

"Should've left well enough alone, girl." Bozard leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "This is shameful behavior for a Scout. Hell, this is shameful behavior for a human being."

"Give him a break, man." Gunther protested. "He lost his friends."

"He isn't the only one!" The elder Scout snapped. "Every friend I ever made when I was a cadet is either dead or in the Garrison now. That's just how it is. You step outside those Walls, and you or someone you know will die. Every time. Without fail. And if a Scout wants to drink himself into a senseless stupor like this, he oughta do it out of sight so he doesn't embarrass himself or disgrace the Survey Corps. We've got enough ill-favor from the people without lowlifes like him proving their point."

"Enough!" Karoline glared at them. "If you're going to bicker, take it outside. If you don't know him personally, then nothing's keeping you here. By all means, feel free to leave. Otherwise, shut up." Then she looked to Eld. "I heard a name? Levi was it?" He nodded, watching her slipped a gentle hand behind the Rogue's head and press the rim of the cup to his lips. Levi coughed and turned away. "No, come on." Karoline whispered. "Shh, shh. Everything's all right."

Eld leaned over him, "Hey, come now. We just want to help, okay?" Two navy blue eyes cracked open and blinked up at him, dull and unfocused. "Hey, you coming back to us already?" Levi stared blankly at them for a moment, then muttered something no one understood and closed his eyes again. "Shouldna've….nev….shho…." He repeated. "Shouldna've….shouldna've…."

"You should check him over." Bozard suggested. "He keeps a knife on him, I'd wager. Don't need him suddenly panicking and stabbing your sister."

Eld nodded and circled the bed to stand on the other side. He found one knife hidden in the back of his trousers, a small pig sticker of a blade but ideal for slipping between one's ribs or cutting someone's throat, he supposed. Maybe stout enough to drive through a breastbone and pierce a heart, provided its owner was strong enough. Eld wrapped it up in a cloth and turned to the old man. "Good call that. But Karoline's my lover, not my sister."

Oruo narrowed his eyes in confusion, looking back and forth between the pair, then shrugged dismissively. "How's he doing then?"

"I got him to take some of it." Karoline sighed, feeling Levi's forehead. "Maybe it's best if we don't bother him. He's not vomiting anymore and his breathing's normal. And Sárközi will be here soon, so he'll be able to tell for sure." She set the water on the nightstand and turned to Eld. "What about them?"

"Uh…." He turned to the three in his doorway. "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

"Shouldna've…." Levi murmured. "Shouldna've….nev….shhor….ee."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: So here it is, Venture 25. Right back to the beginning.

POV Count thus far if anyone's curious.

Levi: 8

Petra: 4

Oruo: 4

Eld: 4

Gunther: 4

Eren: 1

The next chapter will be Gunther's, and Venture 27 will finally be the continuation of Venture 16: Forlorn. Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think. And be sure to check out my new Shingeki no Kyojin series, In the City of Shadows, Candles, and Broken Things.

Shingeki no Kyojin is owned by Hajime Isayama.