Birdie (Levi x OC)

forty-two

In my dreams, I was standing, laughing, beside Hange and Moblit, the air smelling of pine and dark earth. I wasn't running—I never really enjoyed running—but walking with ease beside my two friends, making our way towards Levi's squad for another hardening trial with Eren. Hange was gesturing wildly, telling me some crazy theory. Moblit was beside her, his steady gaze trained on her face.

Her face.

I narrowed my gaze at the blood dripping down her left eye.

'Hange?'

I tried to ask, but the trembling of the earth crushed my words.

The scene shattered.

Hange and Moblit vanished, replaced by blinding smoke and searing heat. I was thrown down, my world narrowing to a single point of agonizing pain.

The rebar. Dirty and thick, sickeningly warm, shoved straight through my thigh, pinning me to the wreckage.

I heard Levi's voice, a raw, choked sound. His face was masked with desperation, the knife already in his hands. I felt the sharp yank—the screaming agony of the rebar being ripped free from my thigh.

And then the blood. It was everywhere, all at once. Too much. Too fast.

Heat followed, and a sizzling, sickening hiss as that hot blade was pressed to my thigh.

I was on fire.

The smell of my own burnt flesh flooded my senses, my scream trapped in my throat.

The oppressive weight of the dream melted as a loud, metallic clack echoed outside the window. The sound of a heavy metal latch being thrown against brick.

My breath caught in my throat. I sat straight up, ignoring the sharp pain in my thigh. My body was rigid, snapping me out of the memory and into a cold sweat.

"Easy," a strong, familiar hand was instantly on my shoulder.

I fought for air, my chest heaving. The proximity of him—the memory of his desperate face in my dream, the memory of that blade—made me freeze.

"I—I'm sorry," I managed to choke out. The shame of making noise, of disturbing him, was immediate.

His fingers moved, gently smoothing the damp hair away from my forehead. His touch was careful and tender, a stark contrast to the violence in my mind.

"What's wrong with me," I choked between breaths.

"You're panicking," Levi said quietly. "Try and focus on your breathing."

But I couldn't fucking breathe. I put my hand to my chest, air coming in and out shallow and quick. Tears free falling from my face. I wanted to scream and thrash. I wanted to get up and slam something across the room.

"No, no, no, no," I squeezed my hands around my throat, trying to force air to my lungs.

The room tilted, and I wasn't in the room anymore. I was back in the smoke, smelling iron and burning tissue. The sheets no longer felt soft or smelled nice. Instead they felt hot and sticky, slick with my blood.

"It hurts," I whispered. I could feel my body vibrating, trying to escape the sounds and feelings around me.

"Look at me, Birdie," Levi's voice cut through the vision. "Look at me. It's not real, I'm here. We're safe."

He shifted, putting his face in front of mine. His intense gray eyes were the only stable point in this world of chaos. He didn't hug me, or coddle me. Just provided a line for me to follow out of this.