Work Text:
He thinks he's seen it all in their dynamic. Physically, he's certainly been made privy to everything they have to offer. He's endured every little game and trick they play and use, and wallows in the afterglow rather shamelessly. He likes what's on his platter, in that sense, and almost eagerly rolls over for them.
His bark and bite are spewed more for their amusement than anything else. ...maybe for his pride, too.
There's no secrets between them. He knows their habits. All of their quirks, their routines, how much honey to put in their tea. His penchant for strategy makes part of Erwin complex, but out of his uniform, stripped of command, he's actually a rather simple man. So is Mike. He didn't think there was anything left to learn.
The normal routine when Levi comes home is this; he puts the horse in the newly built stable, slings his saddle pack over his shoulder, gets one foot through the doorway, and promptly gets overtaken by 225 pounds of a Survey Corps grade sniffer dog.
As Levi steps into the house, pack pulling his shoulder down and saddle sore from riding, he realizes there's still some surprises left.
Erwin is seated in his corner by the door, which is not unusual. Mike sitting so close to him is also normal. But when he's not immediately jumped by the hound just for entering the house after another month and a half apart, he has to stop and look.
Mike isn't climbing all over him because Mike is collared. Mike is under. With his head propped gently against Erwin's thigh...and Erwin running his fingers through his hair.
There's a rather simple wooden comb resting on his leg as the handler works through the delicate strands of warmed gold. The lacquer on the wood is thinner in some places, from where one would clutch to use it. From what Levi can see, four separate divots have been pressed into the finish over time, indicating regular use and hours upon hours of gentle care. A few stray threads wrap around a tooth or two, but the tool is otherwise clean, despite its age.
Erwin is deep in his focus, as deep as Mike's mind seems to be buried. Levi's mouth moves before he cares to stop himself.
''What are you, his mother?''
The handler chuckles softly at his words, ''God, no. His mother would never do this for him.''
''...no?''
''No.''
There's a bitterness on the end of his tongue that Levi just barely catches. Faintly sharp and fouled by experience, if he had to guess.
"She loved him, did the best she could," Erwin muses softly, brow twitching downward in something akin to hurt, "But... she didn't understand. ...neither of them did."
Levi sets his bag down on the nearby table as quietly as possible. Mike doesn't notice. Which is what he wants. Best not to startle the hound. As he's taking his jacket off...
"He was an unusual child right from the start. They considered him picky and difficult. To me, he was neither. He was fascinating. He still is."
The raven lingers by the chair and hesitantly peers at them from the corner of his view. His eyes bounce between the comb on his knee and the hound's eyes turned dark by his state.
"I learned to read him relatively quickly. I started teaching him his commands and he took to them so well... They thought, if they ignored the parts they didn't know how to read..."
Rambling.
''...can't he do it himself?''
''Mm... He could. For him, though, it's an excuse to sit and bond. It's something small and tender that he savors, that he enjoys, and I've come to enjoy it, too. Just... Harmless self indulgence.''
"You met them, then," the raven says distantly.
Erwin nods, ceases in his labors to take up the comb.
"Once. ...it was enough. They're still alive, but neither of us are really yearning for a reunion. They caught us like this. Him, sitting by me, getting combed. ...they didn't approve."
Levi swallows and looks out the window, realizing that his initial reaction may have been misinterpreted. He didn't mean it as disapproval, he just saw it as a grown man acting like a child.
"I'm sorry."
"Hm?" the handler perks up suddenly, blue eyes clearing as they turn to him, "For what?"
"I didn't think."
The man smiles softly, but he almost looks confused, "How could you know? You weren't there."
For some reason, that hurts. A lot. Levi sighs.
"I'm taking a nap," and he goes to bed before he can make a bigger ass of himself.
"Levi-"
"-forget it."
He sleeps, but with the ache in his chest. So he doesn't sleep well. He dreams of cornered dogs and ugly shouting. Of blue words and running away. Maybe it's just the power of suggestion, the implication of Erwin's ultimate statement.
"They didn't approve."
It pulls him in all the wrong directions in his sleep. Until it places him in a crowded house, seated between a faceless couple that orders him to sit up straight and stop sniffing. Stop fussing. Stop jumping. Stop being weird. To open his mouth and speak.
He kicks at the blankets every time he slips further into the ache. Restless, fitful, pained by the weight of his own comment when he walked in the door.
The sun is nearly gone for the day when he wakes. This time, it's not to a warm hand on him, stroking his back or working itself under his clothing.
This time, it's to the gentle scraping of teeth. Against the "D" ring on the back of his collar, bone nicks and clicks the metal. His eyes snap open, wide and alert and distinctly unrested. He bolts upright in the nest, clutching what little bedding remains at his side. He turns and sees Mike standing over him.
The hound is looking at him like he's just found a dying animal, all sad and broken.
After blinking twice and recovering some of his neurons, Levi remembers. Mike can smell the pain. Mike can smell the sadness.
"Puppy?"
Levi huffs, "I'm fine! I just..." he rubs at his face, wipes the dirt of soured sleep away, "I'm fine."
The hound doesn't believe him, and promptly crawls into bed with him. The raven tries moving away, but as soon as he's sitting properly, Mike pulls him back. Wrangles him into his arms, into his lap, despite the puppy's best attempts to get away.
Mike then holds him close, rests his chin atop Levi's head.
"I didn't mean it," he says, "I didn't mean t-... I didn't want..."
A large hand comes up to his hair. Fingers work their way into the silken strands so it can press his head into the hound's chest. The pressure and the warmth seep in slowly, and Levi has to force himself to not fight it.
The dog smelled distress. He's trying to chase it away. This is the only way he knows how. There's no petting, just the holding. Just a warm lap, a heavy arm wrapping around his waist while a steady heartbeat pounds against his eardrum.
He feels like he's being shielded. For once. There's always plenty of comfort to find between them, and he soaks it up when they sleep. The sensation of being protected is somewhat new, however. He doesn't know what to do with it.
The dreamscape normally torments him with bodies and blood. Not intuitions from the implications of conversation. He doesn't usually dream of something so emotional. That's not to say that the missions he's been on and the deaths that he's seen aren't emotional. Grief and loss are all too common. So is anger. But those feelings meld together into a pool of toxicity that he's familiar with.
The emotions this bout of sleep left him with are confusing and conflicting. He knows them, but they don't melt into each other. They're tangled. Dare he imagine it...snarled.
"Go back to sleep," Mike whispers.
"I just took a nap. I'm not tired."
"No, you didn't. Yes, you are."
"Mike, I have to get up. I have t-" his body halts and tenses with a yawn.
It comes with a cooling rush that runs all the way to his toes. It's the kind of sensation one responds to by curling up into a tight little ball and, well, going back to sleep.
"Damn it."
The hound snickers above him. It's a sweet sound. Not judgmental, not hurt, or even slighted. Levi's head suddenly feels like it weighs ten stone.
"I didn't mean it."
"We know. ...we're used to it."
"...you shouldn't... ...shouldn't be... ...fuck."
His eyelids slam down on him, the fight gone. He pulls his arms in and turns his face into the heat as consciousness slips away.
"...'m sorry..."
"Good puppy."