Chapter Text
YOU'RE NOT SURE HOW YOU GOT HERE.
Surrounded by the corpses of your comrades. Their hollow eyes and bloodied hands reaching out mockingly as if to say ‘if only you paid more attention’. Their cloaks torn and mangled, dark green muddied with the presence of blood. Their limbs wrenched from their body, scattered around you like a child’s plaything. The wings of freedom lay slain and caged, drenched in an overwhelming sense of dread. Like birds who can no longer soar, their ODM gear crushed in the cruel hands of lady fate. The grass around you was painted in a scarlet haze, wet with battle and whistling from the summer wind. The sky seemed to take no notice of your grievous frame, pouring rays of sunshine from the heavens above-- illuminating every wound, every blood spatter, every tear shed on your comrade's cadavers.
The venomous smell of death slinked up your nose and sunk its fangs in your heart. The taste of copper blood felt heavy on your tongue. The only sound you could hear was that of your own heart, a crescendo of sorts, pounding relentlessly on your rib cage. Your vision swam, tears of vermillion blood falling down the curve of your cheeks. Your hands shook before steadying, only to flutter with the slightest breeze. Your legs screamed, attempting to wrench your stature to the grass. Your own soul begged and howled as you stood in the center of the massacre, titans closing in on your position. Greeted with death and a tormenting head there was nothing you could do. And then--
Clarity.
It was brief. One single moment of pure purpose and desire. A lustful rage that roared in your heart and cleared your vision. A sole second of conviction. If there was a god, then you would be their chosen victor. The messiah of a new age. The angel of death, violence, and god’s fury. The fragility of humanity yet the blood-thirst of a beast. You are the beauty of man and the hideousness of greed. You are mankind’s covets and their dreams. You are a raging sea and the still pond. The yin and yang materialized into one lone being. For when you blink, you are no longer surrounded by just the corpses of your comrades.
Ten, no-- fifteen titans lie in your wake. Your dual blades lay shattered and dull, seared with the pungent smell of such horrid beasts. Your face is drowning in a sea of their blood, lashes kissing cheeks thick with fluids. Your hands are no longer trembling but still, veins flowing with unrestrainable fury and remorse. Your legs give out as you sit on your throne of brutality, eyes wet with tears. You didn’t know why you were crying. Why your heart gave out such powerful laments as you observed the scene around you. You didn’t know if you cried for yourself, your comrades, or even the titans.
Perhaps you cried for humanity. The funerals you must attend. The corpses you must drag back into the city. The families of the deceased. The mothers and fathers of soldiers. Your own reflection when looking in a mirror. How horrible war is. Such destructive creatures humans have become. You don’t often regret becoming a soldier, it’s only in moments like these in which you are encircled by friend and foe that you yearn for the comforts of a simple life. The humility of a family man. The humbleness of a doting wife. Alas, you know the amenity of such lives is not for those like you. Those fueled by revenge and a drive for chaos. It’s only jobs like these that are fitting for you-- fitting for someone who longs for the rush of combat and despises the empty ache of one’s heart after embarking to one too many funerals.
There was nothing quite like the feeling of picking up fallen comrade’s cloaks. The blood-soaked fabric, battered and frayed, dropping into your calloused hands. As many times as this occurred, as many times as you collected the deceased's belongings-- it always brought about the feeling of anguish. And yet, no tears were shed, no cries left your throat. You simply made your rounds, heart dropping with each glimpse of a contorted face. You blighted yourself for allowing nostalgia to take root in your mind. With every grab of a cloak, you remembered picking them up on a hot summer's evening as you all went swimming in a hot spring near Fleur Levisay’s village. You reminisced on collecting them after a long day of training, ruffling Keane Ashford’s hair as he walked by. You dwelled on the time you all danced in the rain, holding Ceil Laurent’s hand as he spun you through the puddles-- shrugging his cloak on your shoulders once the rain seeped through your garments. And now the newest addition to those memories will be presenting these same cloaks to their families, face disfigured with grief and regret, falling to your knees on their doorsteps and howling with the force of hell-fire. You knew these events would occur, just as they occurred in the past.
“Oi! You! Time to retreat!”
Tired eyes flickered to the voice in front of you but took no notice of the figure on the horse. He had no place in the affairs of your squad, the audacity to tell you to retreat nearly pulled you out of your mournful stupor. You would leave after you collected the cloaks of your squad, only then could return to the safety of the walls-- heart laced with agony and an overwhelming feeling of not being able to keep anyone safe.
“I’m speaking to you, brat”
This comment earned the click of your tongue and the complete attention of your eyes. They bored into his skull and the man was able to feel the heat of your anger searing his skin from nearly twelve feet away. Levi Ackerman took no special attention to this, choosing to observe you rather than break your challenging gaze. He studied the features of your face, the way your hair fell in untamed strands, the way your eyes narrowed when he scoffed, the five o clock shadow of your jaw which was more dirt than anything else. He took notice of the various injuries which danced upon your skin and the fashion in which your right leg dragged across the valley. Despite these abuses, your posture was tall and proud-- holding your head high as your hands clutched onto your squad’s cloaks. You couldn’t have been much younger or older than him, perhaps a year either way if any difference at all. You made no snivels or moans of pain, Levi could only hear the steady, yet labored inhale and exhale which sounded slightly too loud to be coming from your own throat.
“I won’t hesitate to leave without you”
A grunt. “Be my guest”
“Eh?!” Levi Ackerman was always quick to anger, “What the hell did you just say?”
“I don’t need your help, Captain . So piss off already”
You would be dumb to not know who the famed Captain Levi Ackerman was. You’ve never met him before this moment, choosing to stay out of his way due to his famous temperament. In no shape or form were you afraid of him, rather you simply didn’t get along well with cold-hearted people like him. Those with kind hearts and sunny smiles always did you much better, and yet, as you always picked them for your squad-- they always winded up dead as well. Perhaps mean spirited, self-reserved people would do you better.
As Levi snatched your wrist in a harsh manner, you decided that those people would not do you much better. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed that he dismounted his horse, eyebrows furrowed and face set in infuriation. Nor did you care, you still had cloaks to obtain and nothing would stand in the way of completing that task. Nothing except Levi Ackerman.
“I’m your superior officer, brat . Talk to me like that again and you won’t be making it back to the walls alive”
You ripped your wrist out of his grasp, before turning your back to him. Levi sighed, sounding bored with your attitude, there was an underlying tone of irritation, however, which you easily picked up. It reflected your own emotions, anger filling where misery was. Couldn’t he leave? Didn’t he threaten that moment before? What’s stopping him from fulfilling his threats?
“How do you know that I’m not your superior?”
Levi blinked quickly, swiftly covering his surprise at your remark with a scowl. It took him a moment to respond and you found yourself wishing that you never wrestled back a comment at him.
“You’re out here collecting cloaks like a rookie who’s in shock. You’re not fit to be my superior”
You laughed. It was dry and humorless, entangled with melancholy tones. It was the type of laugh which started in your throat and ended up silencing another’s. It was harsh and rough, obvious signs that screaming and hysterical sobs afflicted your frame. It made your shoulders shake and your heart clench. Your tone afterward is different. Hostile, feral even.
“Get off your high horse”
Before Levi can respond, you thrust the cloaks into his arms before smearing the blood on your face with the back of your hand. You both stand there for a moment, unsure of which actions to take next. You’re too tired for a fight with your commanding officer and Levi isn’t quite sure if he wants to pour you a drink for your grievances or throttle you. But with one look at that godforsaken scowl on your face, he decides on the latter.
“I should have left you here”
You're quick to bark back despite your exhaustion. “Dying here would be more agreeable than dealing with you”
You don’t see the slap coming but you certainly feel the aftermath. Your cheek stings as if scorned by fire and the involuntary tears of pain prick at the corners of your eye. Your teeth grit and press to your tongue, the taste of blood once more slips into your conscience. You haven’t turned your head yet, fists clenched and nails breaking the skin of your palms but you know you’ll be faced with the unreadable face of the captain. There's resistance in your heart and the urge to hit back fuels your movements. You raise your hand as you turn back, eyes wide in acrimony. A substantial trail of blood spills from your lips, leaving a stream of crimson over the darker maroon.
Levi raises his eyebrow, practically imploring you to attempt to strike him. You both stand like this for a moment, summer breeze ruffling your hair as rays of the light brush across your countenance. The bird’s chirp an eerily cheerful song as they fly past the surrounding trees. The flies buzz their own composition as they rub their limbs on top of the maimed carcasses around you. You lower your hand and for a moment Levi seems pleased. That is until you lift the remains of your demolished blade to his neck. You don’t have to say anything for your superior to get the message.
“Do you have a death wish, brat?” he huffs, distastefully eyeing the blood on his hand.
“It’s Lieutenant Commander sir,” you snarl, “Apologize”
Levi Ackerman isn’t able to hide his confoundment as quickly as before. His lips settle in a thin-lipped glower as he blinks slowly-- as if he’s trying to understand what your words meant. You chuckle, tongue running behind your lower set of teeth. It’s a toothy grimace which you flash at him, covered in blood and spit. You seem to take no notice of his undesirable reaction at this. But he’s so nonchalant at this moment that your aggravation can’t help but grow each second. You shake your blade in a ‘please continue’ gesture, scraping his adam’s apple with the slightest jerk of your hand. Levi clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. The cloaks of your comrades drop from his hands and in the time it took you to gauge this action, his hand is wrapped firmly around your wrist-- forcing the blade to leave your fist. The next thing you know, his own pristine sword is pressed to your throat.
“Your turn, Lieutenant Commander”
The way your title leaves his lips is more than enough for your back to straighten, shivers shooting down your spine. His eyes are darker than they were before, his fists clenched so hard that the skin on his knuckles is bleach white. His hair falls neatly to the sides of his face, leaving you nowhere to gaze but his icy complexion. You’re not sure how long you stood like this, Levi’s blade to your throat. It could have been seconds or minutes. However much time it was, it was more than enough time to gather your wits. If you were angry before, you’re infuriated now as the cloaks of your friends seemingly sink into the terrain. How dare he raise a hand to you and then proceed to tarnish the garments of his fellow soldiers?
Spitting blood onto the face of your commanding officer is never an excellent idea. Especially when that officer is Levi Ackerman, ‘humanity's strongest soldier’. But fuck it, because you’re pissed and frankly a minute or two away from collapsing onto the valley from both your wounds and lamentations. As his hand drags across his eyes ever so slowly, you know you’re not making it back to the walls alive. It isn’t the drinking, or the fighting, or the war which will kill you-- but Levi Ackerman. This you’re sure of.
That is until the fixed footsteps of a titan makes both of your heads snap towards the source of the disturbance. If it was any other opposition, you’re positive that Levi would have slit your throat then and there before leaping into action and taking down the beast. But as it’s a large abnormal running towards your position at an alarming speed, he only has a split second to make a decision. Giving you a nasty shove to the right, you stumble back before rolling onto your back-- face pressed to the decaying corpse of Fleur Levisay.
There was composure when obtaining cloaks, there was composure when observing the dead, there was no composure, however , when landing face down in the organ system of your friend. Your breath catches in your throat as you push yourself off, cool demeanor evaporation in an instant, stammering muddied words from your lips. You blink once, twice, and then five times before shaking your head almost frantically. You force back a bloodied cough and urge your eyes to look towards the immediate danger rather than the face of your comrade. And yet, you can’t. The flies buzzing in and out of her eye sockets, the flesh almost peeling off her bones, the rotten smell of bile fills your lungs. You see the strings of organs falling out from her half-eaten abdomen, intestines wrapping around shards of grass. You try to rip off her stray veins which are stuck to your face, gasping for air as you scratch at your skin.
At this moment, there is no clarity as before. There is only the crash of the titan’s corpse behind you and the feeling of raw skin being clawed at again and again and again. The buzzing in your ears comes to a full crescendo, the hammering of your heart ascending to an all-time high, the hair on your skin standing up straight before dropping like pins. Your breaths are labored and hands adorned with fresh blood, your head is spinning now as if you’ve received a blow to your neck. Your nose is wet with snot and tears threaten to fall from your dry eyes. Nimble fingers scramble to Fleur’s face, brushing back her hair and apologizing over and over. They rush over to her skin, aiming to piece her back together. They skim over her innards as if to scoop them up and rush them back inside.
It’s only when Levi’s hand lays roughly on your shoulder that you look up and pause. His face is painted with a mixture of your own blood and that of the titans. It holds no emotion nor remorse, in fact, he almost appears as vexed. He observes your features one last time, noting the desperate look of realization dawning in your eyes before it was smothered with something he couldn’t quite pick up. But as you stand up, wiping your hands on your uniform-- presenting yourself as if nothing happened, he becomes painfully aware.
You lean down a few feet ahead, gathering the cloaks in your hand, and spare him no further attention as you make your way to his horse. You don’t have to wait long as Levi stands beside you, mounting the saddle before offering you a hand. You don’t accept, pushing his foot out of the stirrup, replacing it with your own, and swinging yourself onto the horse. He clicks his tongue and urges on the animal, making the rest of your journey to the walls in utter and warmly welcomed silence.
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The next time Levi Ackerman saw you, it was clear that you were not the same soldier he met on the battlefield. You’re sitting at the bar of the mess hall, hands resting on your knees and head thrown back in laughter. It’s hard to believe you’re the same person he met three weeks earlier, covered in the blood of your friends and opposition. He remembers the empty expression in your eyes and is scorned with the duality of man.
You’re easier to observe without blood covering your features. He watches the squint of your eyes while you laugh, the stretch of your face when you smile, the way your lashes kiss scarred cheeks, and how your eyes scan over the form of your friends. He prefers you this way. Snorting and carrying on without the tears and snot racing down your face. The look of joy reflecting in your wide eyes and your hands no longer trembling as they hold onto fallen comrade’s cloaks. In every respect, he preferred you when you weren’t holding a shattered blade to his throat.
As if feeling his stare, you whip around, smile evaporating into a scowl. There are a few moments where you both just stare at one another before you shake your head and lift your hand-- flipping him off before snickering at your friends' battering to put your hand down. Levi takes it back. He didn’t prefer you in any fashion. There was one thing that didn’t change from that day, however, you’re obvious loathing of him. He slams his cup down, preparing to walk up to you and make you wish you died on that battlefield before Erwin and Hange take a seat next to him, stalling his movements. Your scowl turns into an egotistical smirk that makes his fists clench. He didn’t know what happened to the fiery yet silent (he puts emphasis on the silent portion) soldier from the valley but he’s sure that it's you. Levi finds himself wishing he left you there.
“The Lieutenant Commander doesn’t have a position”
It takes Levi a moment or two to recognize that Erwin is gesturing to you, who was currently pouring yourself another shot due to the lack of your better judgment. The Captain grunts in recognition, not fully understanding what the Commander is getting at.
“I’m sure you’re aware but her squad all perished in the last battle”
It seems painfully obvious to the raven-haired man in the current setting and he feels slightly regretful that he snapped at you for gathering their cloaks. Of course, at the moment, he assumed that you were collecting remnants of the unknown dead in a shaken daze-- not that of your friends, family even. But as he remembers how you spit blood on his face and snapped back at him numerous times, that remorse is quickly diminished.
“She spoke at their funerals. It was quite a beautiful service” Erwin’s eyes darted over to you, now drunkenly flirting with Mobilit who seemed all too giddy to receive your attention. “I admire her resilience after losing those individuals. She’s a good leader and an even better warrior”
Levi’s patience ran on the short end of the stick. “Your point , Erwin?”
“She killed twenty-two titans that day” Levi raised a brow, “Her kill streak is over one hundred”
It would be pointless to lie and say that Levi was unimpressed. Even Hange, after whining about the loss of experiments, chimed in with various praises. Scraping over sixty was a feat in itself, but over one hundred ? That was an achievement far beyond the skill of your ranking, even if it was just below Captain.
“I think she would make an excellent addition to the Levi Sq-”
“No” Levi’s response is immediate and Erwin blinks slowly, gauging his reply. Hange says something that he can’t quite understand but overall ignores them as a whole.
He recalls the appearance of despair in your eyes only to be washed over with a look of denial. He remembers the shake of your hands and how quickly they steaded when he locked your gaze. He thinks back to the way you stood tall in the opposition of death and challenged his authority. You might be a good soldier but that doesn’t mean that Levi had to take you in like some stray dog.
“I wasn’t exactly asking you, Levi”
Fuck.