His Wounded Heart Beats For One (Levi x Reader Fanfiction)

24: The Nurses' Supervisor

You scold yourself for failing to retrieve any supplies. Flicking debris off the edge of the hatch and watching it plummet to the ground, you wish you had spent less time bawling and more time planning. It's easy to think that now, now that several hours have passed and allowed you to recollect your thoughts. 

It's midday, but recent cloud cover turns the sunlight into a grey gloom, with light the color of gunpowder filling the chasm you stare at. You wish to see the sky at least, to breathe cleaner air, but the attic remains tightly sealed. You can't descend either, not with that depressed Titan waiting outside. It's a kind reminder that you shouldn't get too flippant with your exploration, and that the nest you sit in is your only refuge.

Bored, you climb down two rungs of your ladder. It's enough to see through the single window, but it keeps you out of reach from any prying monsters. You situate yourself on one of the rungs, trying to sit as comfortably as possible. 

As if summoned by your appearance, the sad Titan emerges in the window and peers in. It sees you, blinks, then immediately shoves its hand inside. 

The hand is too far from you; it's a vain effort. It hits the vertical column, but it retracts when it slaps against your rungs. The slight retaliation exists as a victory in your mind, and you take the smallest amount of pleasure in inadvertently attacking your captor.

It draws its hand back and peers again. It just watches this time, waiting for you to do something.

"What?" you ask, glaring.

It doesn't respond. It looks offended you asked. 

"Could you just go away?" This damn Titan is your only conversation partner, your lone, unwanted companion in the farmland. You hate it, but you'll maintain some sanity by talking to it.

Maybe.

"Quit looking so sad," you reprove. "I'm sure you've eaten plenty of people already."

I want another, you imagine it saying. 

"You're not getting this human. I'm going to keep living."

We'll see.

"Shut up." You adjust your painful seating. "Quit staring. You can't beg me for anything like that." 

It grips the stone windowsill, looking up at you like a woebegone toddler. 

"Keep trying, Mr. Gloom." You pause, then shake your head. "No, I can do better than that. What's a good name for you?"

It waits, ready for you to brainstorm.

"Sad—you're sad. Glum. Mopey. Mopey? No. Hm." You purse your lips, lost in thought. "Help me, Walt. Give me some ideas."

Walter Halstein can't communicate with you. He's back in Trost, working and worrying. He doesn't know you're stuck in this windmill, abandoned by the Scout Regiment.

You mentally map out a timeline, trying to discern what the Scouts are doing. If they spent yesterday traveling, they should've easily made it to the Walls by now. They could be back inside, tending to the wounded and counting the dead. You'll be on some list somewhere, listed as dead.

Or missing in action. That's a little more hopeful. If Ruth is the one writing the list, she'll probably record you as such. 

And if Walter sees that list, he'll panic. He'll plead with the Scout Regiment leadership, begging them to go find you. He'll grasp their shirts and look desperately into their eyes, trembling and crying with no regard for affability. Keith will deny his request, will explain that they don't have to resources to find one individual. Erwin will be by his side.