Chapter Text
The 104th is a collective of truly strange, somewhat idiotic motherfuckers, hand-picked by their own personal Papa Smurf. Is that allowed? Generally not, but if you ever met Levi you’d let him rearrange your troops instead of your face too.
They’re a tight-knit group, and you’d be hard-pressed to find one without the rest. Some more so than others. For example, Eren, Armin, and Mikasa are the truly inseparable trio. Eren is reckless, Armin is a (pretty deceptively terrifying) tactician, and Mikasa… well, let’s just say that if Mikasa Ackerman is the last thing you see before you die, you probably had a pretty fucked up life.
Sasha and Connie are jokers, but don’t take that to mean they’re not to be feared. There’s a rumor going around the barracks that Sasha once ran out of ammo while she was solo and in deep, so she fashioned herself a bow and arrow and fought her way back to the resupply. She didn’t talk much for a few days after that. No one asks about it.
Jean and Marco are something else. Jean’s something of a savant with a rifle; when he holds his breath and steadies his scope, it’s like all of time stops around him. And Marco, he’s just fucking invincible. He once dragged a broken leg around for three days making sure all of his squadmates made it back before falling over, as if his concern splinted a fucking disgusting open break just long enough to save everyone around him. Really, it was nasty. They say one of the noob medics almost puked on him.
The last three are Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover, and Annie Leonhardt. No one really knows anything about them, except that once Thomas tried to knock Annie for being a midget and he went missing for two days. Afterwards, he showed up in the barracks one day with his clothes on backwards and a haunted look in his eyes. He denies all claims of this, and no one has the balls to ask Annie about it. As for the other two, they’re fucking giants, man. Reiner is a beast of a human, and while Bertholdt may be sweaty, you do not want to see him when he’s pissed. They say the sweating is a fighter’s response, to make him slippery and hard to grab. Like butter on a boxer or something.
As for Levi, their mother goose, no one fucking dares spread rumors about him. The last guy that tried it ended up with a broken nose and cleaning duty for a year. Or something.
Yeah, they’re a squad of lunatics, but realistically, what better place is there than a war for looney tunes? They’re more solid than any other group, essentially a well-oiled machine by definition.
That’s why the head commander of their district, Erwin Smith, decided to use them as a recon squad.
The day they head out on their first mission, they’re up before the wakeup and on their way out, but somehow everyone in the camp still watches them leave.
“Alright, assholes,” Levi begins, crossing his legs. “Listen up.”
It’s still too early to form human language, so the squad just turns their eyes toward their fearless leader.
“We’re just doing recon. No spec ops shit, no heroism,” Levi looks pointedly at Eren, “just scouting. Erwin wants to know what’s going on downstream, so our job is to find out and come back in one piece.”
The squad nods their heads, Jean rubbing his eyes a little. They drive in silence for a while, Armin definitely not falling asleep on Mikasa’s shoulder, until they hit a deep supply zone a few hours later.
Reiner and Bertholdt jump out first, moving to refuel their vehicle, while the rest of the team move wordlessly to their individually assigned tasks.
Levi stays in the vehicle, opening a check-in video chat with Erwin.
“We’ve landed at resupply,” he says, removing his helmet to run a hand through his already-sweaty hair. Fuck this climate. “Tell me again what I’m looking for.”
He already knows. He just wants to know what the higher-ups have “edited” into their task sheet.
“You know, Levi,” Erwin says, shuffling some papers on his desk. “Suspicious activities. Evidence of grassroots. Civil unrest. Anything out of the ordinary.”
“Am I supposed to believe that anything in this war is within the ordinary?”
They make eye contact, and like a challenge, Levi holds it, unblinking.
As if to prove his point, a blast comes from nearby (far too close for comfort) and Levi is immediately on his feet and out of the truck, ducking back into his helmet and taking cover. Sharp eyes take in the scene; a bunch of his best, hard-wired to respond like animals to sudden noises, are sprawled in various cover positions around the empty center of the resupply, where a huge plume of smoke and sand rises toward the sky.
“IED!” Marco calls from somewhere, poking his head up just enough to make eye contact with Levi.
Levi looks around and sees no suspicious individuals, and no casualties. He creeps out from behind the van, spotting Bertholdt in the process of cutting off the gas to the pump. “Recover!” he orders, and his troops do so, carefully and efficiently clearing the area. After they do so, and Levi has thoroughly whipped the garrison in charge of securing the resupply, he returns to his call with Erwin. “That,” Levi sighs, sinking into his seat. “That is ordinary, Erwin.”
The commander doesn’t object to the drop in formality. He doesn’t argue Levi’s point, either. They disconnect after a few moments of silence and Levi confirming that there were no casualties.
That is ordinary these days.