The clinic was overflowing. Bodies filled every cot, every bench, every corner that could hold the weight of someone still breathing. The scent of disinfectant couldn’t mask the metallic tang of blood or the stiffness in the air. Nurses rushed from bed to bed, hands full, eyes darting. There weren’t enough of them.

That’s how you and Hange ended up here.

Your squad wasn’t just any squad. You were veterans. You were survivors. You were best friends.

Levi lay back in the corner cot, arms crossed even through the gauze at his ribs, his brows drawn tight in that familiar scowl. His leg was propped up—deep gashes barely sealed. He didn’t complain, of course. He just winced, quiet and stubborn, every time you touched the stitched skin.

“You’re breathing too loud,” he muttered as you tightened the bandage on his thigh.

“Yeah? You’re alive, aren’t you?” you shot back, nudging his shoulder just enough to hear his soft grunt of annoyance.

Hange was nearby, fussing over Erwin, who was sitting up with a slow, calculated stiffness. His side was wrapped tight, his knuckles bruised. He kept giving you that look—half gratitude, half guilt. Like he wished he could be the one taking care of everyone again.

“You keep trying to get up, and I’ll have Levi break your legs,” Hange said sweetly, adjusting his sling. You chuckled. Levi didn’t deny it.

There was no rank here anymore. No titles. No walls between you. Just the four of you, tired and bruised, holding each other up with the kind of loyalty that ran deeper than blood.

You handed Hange fresh cloth. She passed you more gauze. You leaned in to check Levi’s stitches again, and he didn’t flinch this time.

“Dumbasses,” you muttered softly, under your breath. “If any of you die, I’m gonna kill you.. in the afterlife.”

“Likewise,” Levi said.

And somehow… you all smiled.