Author's Note: In this story, Jean is 19, Levi is 25, and the OC is 21. Thanks! Enjoy :)
"I've got a bastard who refuses to die."
Hange heaved the wheelbarrow to the cottage door. The sight punched a gaping hole in Karma's gut.
Her captain was sprawled inside—Broken. Mangled. Deep wounds in his cheeks and neck were packed with moss. Big chunks of shrapnel were left lodged in his abdomen to staunch the blood.
Hange had patched him up, but it was like spitting on a knocked-out tooth—a temporary means to preserve him on the journey to Karma. He'd need extensive medical treatment and constant observation.
But even then, there was no guarantee.
"The hell happened to him?" Karma's throat felt like it was coated in sand. She sounded as if she'd stretched her vocal cords between her hands like taffy. Her knees were as sturdy as water balloons.
"Thunderspear explosion at point-blank range. He's alive, but just barely." Hange pulled her glasses off her face and cleaned the lenses on her shirt, an excuse to look away from the wheelbarrow.
"No shit." Karma clamped her teeth until they screeched together. "Let's get him inside."
She and Hange hoisted Levi by the armpits and legs into her cottage. They dropped him on the twin bed of the dowdy guest suite. Yellow lace curtains. Exposed pipes. A basin of luke-warm water. Porcelain saucers and tea cups on the bedside table.
"What do you need?" Hange said as Karma went to work, cutting through Levi's shirt and assessing the damage. Karma could tell she was anxious to leave. Probably didn't want to stick around for the sticky part.
"An extra set of hands—if you can spare it—calendula oil, beeswax, and lots of whiskey. I've got the rest."
Hange nodded, glasses flashing. "I'll find someone. I'm sorry I can't stay."
"It's alright, the Scouts need you more than they need me, Commander."
"That's not entirely true; I'd clone you if I could. But Levi needs you most. I'm hoping a familiar, pretty face will motivate his ass to wake up."
"I hope it's that easy."
"Me too. God…" Hange turned toward the bed. The slight rise and fall of Levi's chest was the only indication that he was alive. The crinkled, cream sheets were already soiled with blood.
"He's lucky to be unconscious. That body looks like hell," Karma said.
"Hell's looked better." Hange nudged her glasses up the hump of her nose. "You're a godsend, Karma. The hospital wing is smothered. Even still, I wouldn't leave him with anyone else."
"Neither would I."
"We'll see you when he wakes up then."
"Count on it."
Hange frisked back to her blood-stained wagon. Horse hooves died down the road.
"Shit, Levi, you look like shit," Karma said under her breath.
She measured his breathing and weak pulse. His temperature was teetering on a fever and his blood pressure was dangerously low.
She didn't have time to mourn the scars that would disfigure his handsome face or the burns that would jag his skin. Instead, she scavenged a few loosely-rolled bundles of bandages and a sewing kit.
Stitches were not included in her extracurricular infirmary training, but she'd seen them be done and right now that needed to be enough. She removed clumps of soggy red moss that left her fingers tacky. Then she dabbed the abrasions clean with a wet rag and began sewing Levi's skin with her clothing-grade thread and needles. She willed the thin strands of fabric to hold.
The guest room door creaked open an hour later.
"Finally—" Karma turned, hopeful that Mikasa—or, hell, even Connie—would be in the doorway. But her new assistant wasn't her close friend or even that annoying kid from her graduating class. It was Jean. One hand was in his pockets. The other was clutching an assortment of bottles and salves.
"Oh." Karma's smile wilted.
"I'm just as happy about this as you are," Jean said, plopping the bottles on the bedside table, rattling the tea cups. Karma steadied them.
"Hange couldn't just send me an actual horse?"
"Turns out hands are more useful than hooves."
"We'll see how that theory holds."
Jean peered down at the crooked stitches cut across Levi's torso and neck. It was like someone had taken a marker and scribbled lightning bolts across his body. But the stitches on his face were more like train tracks, straight and precise. One went from his forehead, through his eyelid, to his chin—Karma had been extra careful with that one.
"So just what was that errand run for? I could make better use of whiskey than this sleeping pile of bandaids," Jean said. He lifted Levi's hand and watched it slump back onto the sheets.
"He needs it more than you, horseface."
"Why? Look at him—he's passed out—he can't even drink it."
"It's not for drinking. But it will be if I have to keep putting up with your crap."
"What about this thing?" Jean held up the palm-sized tin of odorless beeswax.
"It's to prevent scarring."
"Right. I see you're taking extra good care of the money-maker." Jean nudged his chin toward Levi's face.
"I'm sure he'll appreciate it when he wakes up." Karma's voice bumped up a defensive note.
"If he wakes up. And we all know you're not doing it for him—heaven forbid he isn't pretty anymore."
"What? I'd do the same for anyone."
Jean just pressed his lips. "Well, what do you need me for? I'm at your service, doc."
"I need your horsepower. He's too heavy for me to lift and roll by myself."
Jean wrapped his hand around Karma's upper arm. His thumb and middle finger were two inches from touching. "I knew you were short, but damn you're scrawny too. You do need my help."
Karma tugged her arm free. "For now, we just need to stitch his back then wrap him up. Depending on how much his wounds leak—"
"Ew."
"—we might have to switch the bandages every few hours. Also, I'm gonna leave the naked stuff to you, like catheters and bathing—"
"Woah, woah, woah, no one said anything about taking a bath with Captain Levi."
"Obviously, you won't be bathing with him—we can't submerge his wounds anyway. It'll just be a sponge bath. And that's only if he doesn't wake up to do it himself."
"Which he won't."
"Don't you have any faith in my healing skills?"
"Well, I mean, look at him. He's a breath from death."
"Doesn't matter. I'll save him."
"I know what you're thinking, Karma—"
"This should be good."
"—You think true love or some crap is gonna heal him."
"No I don't."
"Then tell me you're not fantasizing about him waking up from this coma and seeing you as his knight in shining armor, or whatever."
Karma held a cloth against the whiskey bottle and tipped it until her fingers felt the cold alcohol bleed through. She dabbed it against the tracks of stitches. "I'm not."
"Liar."
Karma continued to dab Levi's skin. If he were awake, the alcohol would sting. He'd be writhing and groaning and swatting her away. But his face was perfectly placid, lids half-closed, lips parted and still. She'd prefer him to writhe and groan, then at least she would know there was someone in there.
She shook her head until the thoughts tumbled out of her ears. She wouldn't let Jean get to her. Levi was inside. He was alive. And she'd wake him up.
"Dammit, stop already. His face is fine," Jean said. Karma realized she'd been dabbing the same spot.
"Right, sorry. Help me get him on his stomach."
Jean heaved Levi over without gentleness. Levi's back wasn't clawed like his front—it was mostly red splotches and purple bruises, so he wouldn't need stitches. Karma cleaned off the dirt and sweat. She and Jean mummy-wrapped him from neck to toe.
She mixed the healing oil and beeswax then dragged generous globs across the cinched planes of his face before bandaging it. Now the only parts of Levi not trapped beneath white, cloth ribbons were half his face and the top of his head.
Karma dismissed Jean.
"I take it you'll want me first thing in the morning? For his bandages or whatever?" Jean said.
"Yeah. That'd be great. Thanks."
"Sure…" Jean scratched behind his ear. "You need a dinner break or anything? You've been going at it for a while."
"No, I'll stay here." Karma sat in the chair she'd scooted from the dining table, blotching Levi's face with a rag. There wasn't anything to clean, but she couldn't stand doing nothing.
"I can bring you something." Jean was leaning against the doorframe, studying the way his toes traced the grooves in the wood.
"That'd be nice. Thanks, Jean."
"Sure."
Then he left the cottage.
The moment she heard the front door close, Karma let her stitches unravel. She crumpled on the edge of the bed, staring through wet eyelashes at Levi's bandaged hand. He'd lost two of his fingers—the pointer and middle. She traced her thumb against the knuckle stubs.
"How are you gonna flip people off now, Captain?"
Could he hear her? She imagined if he could, he'd say, "With my other hand." Karma smiled at the thought and swiped her runny nose with her sleeve.
His hair felt soft as she stroked her fingers through it, though there were a few clumps glued together with hardened blood that she picked clean with her fingernail.
She'd always dreamt of touching his hair, but in a more romantic circumstance.
"Dammit, why'd it have to be you, Captain?"
Jean was right—she wanted to be Levi's hero the way he'd always been hers. She imagined his left eye opening and crinkling into a smile at the sight of her. He would be so elated that she'd nursed him to health that he'd pull her against his chest and tell her he'd loved her all along.
He'd be alive and healthy and hers.
The door creaked open again. She yanked her hand into her lap and snapped her spine upright.
"I got some stew." Jean offered a plastic container with chunky vegetables. Beneath a buttered dinner roll, the clear top was dripping inside with condensation.
"Thanks, Jean," Karma said. And she meant it. A part of her was glad Hange had sent Jean. He kept her feisty. He kept her grounded. She felt like she was still herself despite the hell their world inside the walls had turned to.
"Anything for you, doc."
"Did you eat already?"
"I'm not very hungry."
"Good, I'm not either. We can share." Karma peeled open the lid. A waft of warm garlicky steam greeted her cheeks.
"Try it. You're not gonna want to share."
"Holy crap. Where'd you get this?" Karma said, mouth full of mushy goodness. It was savory and buttery and creamy. She hadn't had anything this good in months. Hell, years.
"This little hole-in-the-wall place. I knew you'd like it."
"I love it. I'm convinced a bite of this would heal Levi."
Jean didn't laugh like Karma expected him to. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He twiddled his thumbs. He scrubbed his stubble.
"You alright?" she said.
"It's nothing."
"When you stop talking that means something's wrong."
"Good thing I'm still talking."
Karma continued slurping her stew, watching Jean over the brim of her spoon. His knee was bouncing his arm and shoulder. He looked like a shaken-up soda can a crack away from bursting, so Karma didn't press him.
Jean left once the last drops of stew had been licked from the rim.
Karma fell asleep in her chair watching Levi's slow breathing.