notes & things:
posted on my tumblr (heichews).
and my ao3 account (mitsuki).
eren/levi—oneshot, in-universe.
contains headcanons.
to be
clean again
(he wonders why eren doesn't bleed.)
He finds Eren before the rest of his squad.
The fifteen metre long carcass of his titan form lays sprawled on the ground. What's left of his arms are splayed to the sides, and he can see past the skin to the muscle and even to pure-white bone. The legs extend down, down, and he sees that from the ankles down, there's nothing left.
His throat tightens.
He sighs, but midway the sound lodges itself in his throat and he's going over to pluck the impulsive kid out and bring him home. Mid-step, he stops—something, his soldier instincts, the itch to survive tells him not to. He swallows because he doesn't need to be humanity's strongest soldier to know that something is ridiculously off.
The body isn't steaming-the flesh refuses to melt right off the bone. He brushes it off and decides that Eren must have exhausted himself not too long ago—maybe five minutes at most. But there's a warning voice, something tugging at the corner of his mind telling him not to hope because a miracle has already happened once and hoping for another is just being selfish.
There's no steam, no nothing, no expected heat rising from the body. He releases a breath that he wasn't sure he was holding and with a quick whisk of his blades, he cuts the back of the neck. It's a movement done so many times before that it's almost instinct.
He sees Eren inside, and growling about a stupid selfish brat, he pulls him out.
He's searing hot to the touch and that relieves Levi somewhat. The body slips easily out, and it's somewhat alarming—no resistance where titan meets human. He brushes it aside—there is still so much they do not know about Eren's abilities and his limits. His throat tightens again and he feels his heart clench almost painfully in his chest, and he lets out a sharp breath.
Pressing a cold, pale hand to the base of the boy's neck, he's pleasantly relieved to find that it's hot searing fire against his fingertips.
Stupid brat.
He pulls him out and he isn't aware of the footsteps that trail behind him, leaving muddy prints on the grass, he isn't aware that Squad Leader Hanji is talking to him, he isn't aware of any of that, only -
– Eren's not moving. He's deadly still, like a statue, green eyes still snapped shut and his hands are hanging limply at his sides. He furrows his brow – Eren is fine. There are no gashes, no cuts, nothing. His skin is unmarred porcelain, not even a scrape.
He's about to stand up when he feels Hanji's hand on his shoulder, and he turns to face her—bewildered to see that there is something akin to sorrow on her face. "We thought-" she says, but then she stops, like a dream catcher held the words from fluttering away.
Wind tousles Eren's bangs. He looks down. "What are you talking about?" he asks, and his voice is calm, silly, serene, even. They just need to go back.
Petra opens her mouth and he can see her thin frame shaking. "Corporal," she manages to gasp out before Auuruo firmly clasps his hand over her mouth, pulling her away into a tight embrace. She says nothing, only turns away, and he's wondering why she looks like a weed in a storm, like the wind could root her up and blow her wherever at any given moment.
They're surrounding him and suddenly he feels more caged than he ever has inside the walls. The air is stagnant, bursting, ripe with unsaid words. Hanji is stiff, hand extended but not reaching. "What?" he asks again, more irritated and urgent this time.
He looks down at Eren, who's deathly still save for the breeze that pushes his bangs gently out of his face. It looks like a pendulum to Levi, a clock that is
(slowly running out)
waiting for him and counting every second, every last thought. Something inside him snaps and pulls him back together, mending until the sewing needle finally drops. His head snaps up immediately and he nudges Eren's shoulder.
"Oi, kid," he growls, and Hanji's hand is stopping him from standing again, "you're not sleeping Beauty. We can't wait a thousand years for you."
(And it's rather ironic because he will wait a thousand years if he must, he's done it before.)
His fingers find Eren's neck again. The flesh is still burning hot; hot enough to make him draw back his fingers in surprise. Eren's lashes are ridiculously dark and long and fluttery against his pallid cheeks, lips parted ever-so slightly.
"Oi," he calls again, louder, harsher, and something close to panic flutters in his chest, bangs against his ribcage like his heartbeat. "Wake up." It's a command, he adds silently, and his chest is tightening, tightening, tightening—if it closes any tighter he'll explode.
It's dangerous to remain outside the walls, he knows—it's like holding a bomb and waiting for it to burst into flames. They have no idea how many more titans are in the immediate vicinity though he doesn't doubt they can handle them. It's not the thought of more titans that worries him but-
Stupid brat. Stupid goddamn brat.
Levi's heart is beating faster now, pounding desperately. It almost feels as if his chest will give way at any moment and his heart, bleeding and beating, will fall to the ground. The world sways before him and he's tentative to press his ear to Eren's chest because he's afraid of what he will—or won't—hear.
Eren's sleeping. Eren's tired. Erens' exhausted himself. That's all, he tells himself calmly, and the detached voice is back again, lulling him into the world of dreams.
And it's Petra's soft, muffled sobs that bring him back. Why are you crying? he wants to ask, but a part of him knows, a part of him has known since the beginning.
It's stupidly unfair, the way Eren's pressed against him like he could be sleeping (he is sleeping, he tells himself, he is, he is, he is), soft and warm and curled against him like a newborn bird.
Long, pale fingers reach for his neck, feeling for a pulse that he knows has escaped him only a few minutes before.
stupidbratstupidbratstupidbratstupidbrat—
And then he's turning, angry, furious—steel grey eyes flashing silver as they narrow into tiny slits.
"Who was supposed to be watching him?" he snaps, because Levi's always been good at playing the blame game. "He's humanity's hope!" He stops himself from using past tense.
They say nothing, because they grieve too in the own small way, and grieving does not include picking fights with the Corporal.
"Who was supposed to watch the fucking brat?" He hears someone—that's him—scream, as if he screams loud enough, Eren will awaken, green eyes sleepy and then confused and then infuriated-
Hanji draws her hand back. They know the answer as well as the Corporal does. It was his decision, the air whines, buzzing with everyone's silent answer. Petra has quieted down, but he knows without looking that she's still wiping at her cheeks. She'd always been slightly fond of Eren.
On a whim, he presses his ear to his chest, hoping for a miracle because he's a selfish Corporal, because somehow his quick anger and yelling will soften the hearts of whatever gods are out there.
A minute passes. They all stay in dead silence—perhaps Levi is still holding on to a fleeting thread of hope, but the others are mourning.
Two. He hears nothing, and his mind is numb and his hands are frozen, and he's laughing because that can't be true—Eren is still warm, Eren is always warm, and then his fingers are grazing Eren's cheekbones and then-
He's marveling at how something can be so cold and hot at the same time, ice-cold and soft fire to his fingertips but he's still tracing Eren's cheekbone with his finger, gently, gently, gently, because he doesn't want to wake him.
And his throat closes and all the silent world falls around him—Eren isn't going to wake up because the stupid fucking brat had to go off on his own, because Levi had to do the same, because they're only human and a human can only play god so many times.
He's a patchwork soldier, a tin foil prince. He's fallen apart many times before and he'll put himself back together again, imperfect and unclean but rising again and again like a phoenix from the wreckage. He'll put himself together with whatever pieces he has left, whatever he can manage, whatever he's sure won't be torn away because even humanity's strongest can only carry so many.
His arms are unbelievably sore, the numbness hangs to them like frost on trees. The skin is still hot to the touch, and he wants to kick himself for hanging onto something so superficial. He wants to cry, but he has no tears left because a soldier has to be ready for these kinds of things and a soldier has no time to cry, only to climb back up even when it's still a wreck of pieces.
Eren's death is on his hands like black ink. The blame settles heavily on his shoulders.
He's wondering why Eren isn't bleeding, why there aren't any cuts or scrapes or gashes or even bruises, he's wondering why he has to look so unmarred. It's unnatural to him, a death without the cloak of red or shroud of injuries. It gives him hope and that angers him. Words flutter back down his throat, back into his heart where he keeps them for someone else.
Levi is a soldier whose very existence is wrapped around death; something born straight of battle. But through all the death he's seen, with blood-soaked fingers and dying eyes, hope fading from them so steadily he can almost see the color change, he's decided this is the worst.
Because there is no blood. Because he can't—
And he's not crying, not mourning, not longing—only staring, blankly, furiously, because he wants Eren to bleed—he wants desperately for there to be blood, because he's wondering how he's going to forget, how he's going to wash Eren away.