Chapter Text
BANG!
Cold, cold, why did the air grow so cold? Was it their height? The blimp was heated though. Maybe just a random chill… gosh she could go for some meat right now. A nice, warm and juicy steak to celebrate their victory! As much of a victory as fighting a war, that is. They finally gained the land to breed livestock, so the days of stealing and robbing nobles of their precious beef is over.
She remembers that day. When they were atop the wall, discussing plans for something she can’t recall, she showed them the absolute hunk of meat she managed to swipe from the kitchen without anyone noticing. They lost their heads! All ‘you’re going to get in trouble!’ and ‘go put that back!’ Not once did they thank her for what she brought to their doorstep. Well… Their smiling faces when they ate the tender and soft bites of pure bliss is enough praise. After fighting her for it, as normal.
They all just enjoyed the moment. Reveled in it. A freezing spike penetrates her insides, twisting in all ways. What was she thinking about again? Right the… the weird coldness in the blimp.
No, wait, it’s getting warmer, soothing, sharp, painful… Something trickles down her chest, chilling her clothes, sticking them to her body. Her nerves take complete control, speeding up where her mind can’t catch up. The warmth turns to a quiet, numbing pain. Her feet stagger back. What’s going on? Strength takes its leave. Why am I so cold? Gravity snatches her down. Why does it hurt?
Why am I hurting?
The substance finally reaches her fingers, but she can’t bring herself to think of what it is. The answer is there, but her mind goes quiet. Too quiet. The cold, the warmth, the quiet, the loud… Why is it loud? Is that screaming? Who is that? Jean? Connie? Why are they…
Blood, cold, pain, screams.
…Oh.
. . .
So that’s why… my chest… hurts…
The burning sensation of what she assumes to be Connie’s fingers brush by her cheek.
“You’re so loud…” All she sees is the fading design of the airship. It sways in circles which would have made her mind dizzy if it wasn’t already numb. In her haze, her stomach rumbles, eyes wishing for water yet remain arid. Black spots dance in her eyes as the anesthetic death saps away her remaining life.
She feels her stomach angrily protest again. “Is the food… not here yet…?” Cold. Hungry. Painful. The traits shared within her weakening body. The voices all blur together with the scenery.
It cries for help once more.
“Meat…” Her lips freeze over.
And her world fades from her fingers.
Why is the ground so rough?
The grains of wood brush under her careful fingers, then the darkness over her eyes and the wall to her left side. Wait, no, scratch that—her right too. She doesn’t need to stretch her arms to reach them or the roof as well. I’m so hungry… Is it morning yet? The darkness suggests otherwise, so she rolls over to try and get some more sleep.
“Ow! What was that?” she yelps. A sharp pain stings in her finger, and when she goes to feel it, notices something sticking out. With all sorts of curious thoughts in her mind, she brings it up to her mouth and slowly takes it out. Is that wood? Wait, where am I anyways? She presses her hands against the walls, then the roof. Too small for a room, or anything for that matter, and why was it made of wood?
Too small and made of wood…
A lightbulb ignites in her head, every nerve freezing in place. Am I buried alive!? And as if to confirm her theory, she bangs against the roof with all the strength her groggy body can muster. “HELP! ANYONE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” she screams until her throat hurts, banging over and over again despite the wood scraping a bit of skin off her hand.
What? How? Why? So many questions and so little time. Who knows when the air will run out!? Screaming definitely isn’t helping either. She kicks and punches, every bead of sweat attempting to cool down her overheating body. Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh! Her chest rapidly speeds up with her panic, continuing to punch in a specific spot, but never was she known for her strength.
Wood rots overtime however. A specific spot in the corner of the coffin breaks open, loose soil pouring in from the hole and she quickly covers her nose and mouth with her undershirt. Okay, that’s a start! Though at this rate, she may as well be buried for real…!
She shuffles her body to let the soil pile up at the end of the coffin, and soon enough, it stops. She allows herself a long exhale before climbing into the hole and out of the coffin—only to be met with a stone plaque on top.
Crap!
Okay, okay… She positions herself to lean more on one side and she digs to the other, pulling dirt back down the hole. No turning back now. She keeps going then finally, the first ray shines through. As the dirt breaks apart, more and more glorious rays of sun beam down, and eventually, she manages to climb out completely.
Clothes soiled and drenched in sweat, but she basks in the sun, a hefty and somewhat delirious laugh escaping her lungs as she lays down on the ground. Oh freedom at last! Is this what Eren felt when he was freed from jail? The cooling air only makes her hungrier by the second. Maybe getting some food would be good… but a pressing question almost brings on a whole headache.
Why was I buried anyways?
She grasps at whatever she remembers, but it still feels all too foggy. A few facts she does recall though:
- She was on the blimp heading back to Paradiso
- She heard something, footsteps most likely
- Something… loud. Like a loud bang.
It rang in her ears, so maybe a gunshot? So if that hit her, and she was presumed dead, then that makes sense… right? With no one around to confirm her theory, she simply shrugs and accepts it. Though if she’s meant to be dead, then… How is she hungry? And breathing, that’s important too.
With a sinking feeling in her heart, she takes the hair tie out of her hair—noticing it to be a bit longer than before, but lets it cover her face. Okay, on three, get up. One, two… Three! She pushes up onto her feet, her aching limbs crying in pain, so she does a few stretches to calm them down. As she bends her arms up in the air, her eye catches the tombstone. The one she laid in.
Sasha Braus
Deceased at age 20
Loved by many, may she rest in peace
The sinking feeling grows, her gaze drifting across each letter. If she is considered dead, then what of her family? Mum? Dad? How were they holding up…? Cold tears well on her eyes, falling one by one along her face. Each breath choke up as she furiously scrubs the drops away. She caused them so much pain, so much heartache, and here she stands, looking at the site of her burial. Why couldn't this have happened sooner? When she was lowered or something, that would’ve hurt them so much less!
She forces down her sobs and commands her tears to stop. This is not the time for it! Focus Sasha, finding the Scouts is her top priority.
Rushing through the bustling streets, she weaves in and out of people walking and talking with as much speed as she can get in such a packed place. Her hair keeps her face covered, yet she opts to stealing a shawl off of someone's head to keep her anonymous. They can buy another one, who knows what would happen if someone recognises her first? The crowd ends at the riverbank, the Scouts HQ in view. With a determined breath, Sasha sprints over, ignoring the burning sensation in her lung. When arriving at the gate however, it hits her.
How in the world will she get in?
They obviously wouldn’t open the door for her, she’s pronounced dead for goodness sake! She surveys the area, looking for some tiny chink in it’s armour. One small weak point she can exploit… A distant window with a few ledges protruding from the side. Perfect! Just like scaling a cliff-face or similar, except with the lack of ODM gear to make it a bit easier…
She bites back her fear. It’s necessary, you can do this Sasha! For your friends and food! After slipping past the guards, she grips the first ledge, then the next, securing her feet under her hands. It’s almost rhythmatic. First hand, first leg, second hand, second leg, over and over. When you don’t look down, it’s actually kind of relaxing! Even if it all hinges on… well, the hinges of the window. She finally reaches the window, pressing her hand on the glass and sending each ounce of force to push it open.
It creaks and one door opens to the side. Obvious enough that no one ever uses the room, otherwise it would be locked. Better for me, she supposes and steps in. The eerie quietness sends shivers up her spine, like she’s somewhere she isn’t meant to be. Technically she is, but also not? Nevermind! She’ll think about all of that later, she’s done enough heavy thinking for today.
Sasha silently roams the halls, the shawl over her face and hunter’s footsteps help to mask her presence.
“You think I could get her to go out with me?”
“Oh no way man! You have no chance!”
“Seriously?” The man snorts and some sound of shoving echoes in the halls, alongside an odd stumble that doesn’t go unheard.
“Hey man, did you hear that?” he asks the other, but he only replies with a shake of his head. Even when they go to investigate, they can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Shrugging it off, the two continue their conversation.
What went unseen though, is Sasha hiding behind the door, hands clapped over her mouth and nose shaking like a child about to be found in a game of hide and seek.
When they leave, she can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. That was too close for comfort. The door softly closes behind her and she says goodbye to her small saviour before moving on. Beside those two, the halls are unusually quiet for the Scouts. Are they on a mission or something? Maybe, but more time to think just makes her heart worry. No, she needs to confide in someone… All Sasha can hope is that Connie—or even Jean—is nearby. Or Mikasa, she’s a fantastic listener, but Armin gives great advice…
Oh gosh, just any one of them would be wonderful.
“...that bastard laughed. I wonder what he found so funny.”
Every emotion hitches in her throat. She stops before her mind can even comprehend what she heard.
“Which part of Sasha’s death? Tell me, Mikasa! The damned serum didn’t work, was it that? Or was it her lifeless eyes? HUH!?”
The underlying aggressiveness in the words, the tiredness in the voice and each inch of grief coating his tongue… Sasha forces her body to stay in place, to stop it from forcing the door down. Oh every word from his mouth stabs her heart, opening up wound after wound.
Any words after is just a buzz in her ears, though she vaguely recognises who they belong to… She can’t stop thinking about his. Serum? That bastard? What was he talking about…?
The door creaks open.
Her eyes dart to his, a doe in headlights, before two meek words riddled in country accent speak.
“Hey, Connie…!”