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The box trembles in his blood-soaked hands as he thinks. He runs through the outcomes in his head over and over, a plethora of scenarios spilling over the rim of the goblet. Erwin had spoken of dreams, of the basement, of sacrifices. Levi understood, and he still understands.
A selfish part of Levi wishes Erwin would have died out in that wide, open field with everyone else so this choice wouldn’t bare its fangs at him. Most of him had accepted that Erwin would charge out to his death, as it had been the way he always expected Erwin to go. Anyone would be crazy to not think that. Seeing him here, on the cliff’s edge of the afterlife — he realizes he hasn’t accepted anything at all.
His knees are digging into the roof painfully, but he doesn’t feel. The blood had turned to steam already, but he wishes it would have stayed for a bit longer. It was Zeke’s blood after all, the only blood he had spilt that he wanted to savor.
But he knows Zeke is already long gone.
There is a lot of rustling and tension, and time is running short. He had always prided himself on being able to make decisions, prided himself on being able to influence others to make decisions. He feels like a fool now, his hands still shaking, jostling the box around and around until he swears both of them had stopped breathing. He collects himself for two seconds, and silence creeps onto the roof. Even Mikasa and Eren are quiet. Then, two different breaths fill the space and they are much too loud.
He holds the serum in hand, and he thinks he says his decision out loud, but he doesn’t feel his mouth moving. He can’t hear over the breaths in his ear — can’t think with the unfamiliar panic throttling his head. One breath, a few more, and Mikasa is at his throat. He tries to explain himself, but he doesn’t feel connected to his body. Words spill out, but that seems to make them angrier. Floch, he thinks, jumps to his defense. He wants him to shut up. What would he know? Although, he had been there. Out in Death’s valley. The hell that was Zeke Yeager. Rocks ripping apart their flesh and blood spilling over the field. Teeth gritting together, he holds the serum to his chest. A part of him knows what is going to happen.
Erwin is the devil, they say. A devil that sacrifices mankind for his own purposes. Erwin was — is, selfish, Levi knows. Would he be human if he wasn’t?
He could be selfless, too. Making sure Levi is okay after long days, sharing wisdom and advice to people who seeked it. Staying with him when it was too much, even when Levi didn’t want to ask. Did that outshine his selfishness, his burning curiosity? All these memories stored inside him, possibly his most cherished ones; would they be good enough for everyone else?
Armin dreams of the sea, and so does Levi in a way. A life outside the walls — freedom. He wanted that even when he lived in the Underground, a major reason why he stole the omnidirectional-movement gear.
What had Kenny said? Oh, right. Everyone was a slave to something, or something like that, he remembers.
He takes the needle out of the box that Kenny had shoved into his hands. His hand is moving towards Erwin’s arm, he realizes, and he knows Armin is dying quickly and there’s loud pleading behind him.
A shift, and Erwin’s arm is up above his head and then down back on the tiles. A last ditch effort to touch the sky.
He spares a precious moment to glance up. Through the ashes and smoke, two birds soar above them, wings spread brilliantly. Tears threaten his eyes, bubbling up until they couldn’t hold them anymore, and Levi cries for the first time in a long time.
Is this really the end?
—
Erwin’s green cape drapes over Levi’s roughened hands. Hange had helped him move the body to a nearby house, one still standing. After a few moments, Hange leaves without a word, leaving Levi alone. He looks around the room, avoiding the bed, and wrinkles his nose. Cape still in his hands, he folds it and sets it on the nightstand.
He cleans and cleans, using old supplies he had found in a cupboard downstairs. Dust scatters in the air, brushes along the floor from the broom. After a while, the window gets cleaned and opened, hardly any sound entering the space since the commotion had ended. He doesn’t know how many hours have passed once he has finished, but the sun is creeping low in the sky.
For the first time in a long time, strong fear strikes his body, following down to his feet from his chest. He nearly stumbles over to the bed, floorboards creaking underneath him. Erwin’s eyes are closed, but Levi feels as if he is staring right into them, shining with a new fascination. It unnerves him, and breaks loose things he’d rather not feel, so he unfolds the cape and softly flings it over Erwin. He tediously adjusts it so the symbol is perfectly straight, a part of it bringing him ease.
A second passes, and he starts to open his mouth. There’s a sharp inhale when he closes it, his mind blank but also racing. Erwin can’t even hear him, but maybe —
Words somehow push past his lips for several moments, words he had wanted to speak for the amount of his life spent with Erwin. The cleaning had helped reign in his emotions, but he knows that only lasts so long. His hands ache from gripping the broom so tightly.
“I love you —” he manages to say it without stuttering, “— so much so that I think it’s foolish of me.”
Is this really goodbye?
“But I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. No matter how much of an idiot that makes me.” He pauses, all of him aching for one last word, one last touch. Memories flash through his mind at the speed of light, threatening to blind him. “I’m hoping I did the right thing. I think I did. And. . .I hope, wherever you are, you think the same, although I don’t have time to linger over it. I have to deal with all of this mess left behind. All of the mess going forward. I know you understand.”
The sun is much lower when he finally stands, the world distant to him. He feels like he’s looking from afar, as if he died too, and that he’s observing from the heavens. The silence settles over the room, over his mind, and time is nonexistent. Another glance, no words — he has said all he could say, or what he feels he could handle — and heads for the door. He almost expects Erwin to walk over to him, to put a hand on his shoulder and urge him to stay and rest, to kiss the back of his head and hold him in an embrace. He glances over his shoulder; the bed remains still.
The door opens quietly, as if afraid to disturb the atmosphere, and he takes a step. Two steps. He counts the amount of steps it takes to walk down the stairs and get to the front door. It grounds him again, and it takes everything he has to not turn around. To not sit in that room and waste away the rest of his days. Erwin expects better. He knows he can do better, so he straightens himself and moves.
The house stands silently behind him.