Attack on Titan: Beyond Canon

Helping Hand | Levi x Reader

You stare at Levi's office door for a great deal longer than you probably should before you eventually raise your knuckles. They rap softly against the wood and the impact sends little tingles through your hand. You lower your hand and feel your fingers shaking.

"Squad Leader..." your comrade's rasping voice fills your memory.

You can still see the bloodied fabric in your hand and the strands of blonde hair turned crimson in the other. You can still feel the last breath of your comrade tickling your face as you told them that they'd make it home, that you'd save them. In the farthest recesses of your mind, you can still hear the thundering feet of the titans and feel the rush of air around you as you narrowly missed the titan's grasp. You can still feel the tears staining your cheeks, hot and sticky.

"Come in," Levi's voice brings you out of the flashback and you exhale as you push the door open.

You don't remember walking in or closing the door behind you. Suddenly you're in front of your partner's desk, staring down at him. His hair strands are more disorderly than usual, as if he's been raking his fingers through it. He pushes several strands out of his eyes. The circles around them are just as dark as usual and in the firelight, his already pale features seem even lighter. His shoulders are drawn and his brow is pinched. You wonder how long he's been at this work.

The clock on the mantlepiece says 2am. It was a very late ride home. You barely even noticed your own arrival at the base let alone how you made it this far. You blink slowly as your head throbs.

You briefly eye the two massive piles of paperwork taking up space on the desk. He still has so much to do, you think.

You swallow, trying to find the words to address him, to report on the mission but they won't come. It's as though they've fled from you. You hate it. You've done this all before so many times. You should be able to do it now. You should be good enough to do it again.

"Welcome back," Levi stares up at your with a neutrality that is a cooling balm against the heat of frustration gathering in your face and chest, "now fucking help me."

The blunt order snaps you to attention. After four years of serving in his squad, the command still has that effect on you. You notice then the chair that's been set out next to his, that sits in front of one pile of paperwork. You spot the cup of steaming tea with the dash of milk he knows you take. You're sure that once you taste it, you'll taste the pinch of sugar that you're able to afford. You sniff and force a smile down at the papers.

You sink silently and gratefully into the chair and shrug out of your cape and jacket. You get to work on the paperwork, your eyes scanning the forms and training reports that he's left you to do. You want to cry with the gratitude of not having to work on death certificates and reports just yet. You begin to throw yourself into two words and a date, repeated over and over. You focus on that and just breathing.

The minutes roll by and the words blur along with your vision. You can hear your own breathing become hitched and your body shaking. You bow your head and try to catch yourself, to push aside these weaknesses.

Levi's hands folds over yours at once.

"It's not on you," he whispers your name like a caress. "You did your best. You always do."

You bring your free hand to wipe at your eyes and the sob escapes before you can help it. His hand on yours squeezes and you feel his other hand move to your back, rubbing large circles into your tired, aching muscles. A whimper escapes your throat and that same hand is guiding your head onto his shoulder and you feel all your restraint spilling out of you at once. That one sob brings on another and then another and then you're crying. Crying for things that you couldn't have prevented no matter how much faster you'd been. Crying for the world in which you live. Crying because you would give anything for some armour around your heart, something to make all of this easier. Crying for the people you couldn't bring home and those you did but will never talk to again.

You cry for it all.