Set during chapters 9 - 11.

This one's entirely Levi's thoughts, of his past and present, so... you have been warned.

Chapter 2: Of Blood, Dirt and Dreams

"Your choice, runt," Kenny said, pushing the knife into his small hand before stepping back. "It's either them, or you. I sure as fuck won't save your scrawny ass. Might as well find out right now if you've got what it takes. I don't wanna waste my time."

Eyes wide, Levi looked back and forth between the four approaching men that were almost twice his size, each of them holding a knife and grinning at their easy prey, and Kenny, watching without interest, arms crossed. The knife in Levi's hand was shaking violently.

"Pretty little boy," one of the men said, leering at him, his rotten teeth on full display, "Might fetch a nice sum. Supposed there's anything left when I'm done with him."

"He took food from us, might as well pay for it," another added, cackling.

Scum. They were the worst kind of scum, worse than him, even. And Kenny would watch them killing him, or worse. Would he laugh at him, or be disappointed? Would he even care?

The men came at him, all at once, and Levi's mind went blank. He wasn't afraid anymore, the tears that had been threatening to spill a second ago dissolving into nothingness. Instead, there was only this moment, and knowledge, sharp and crystal-clear, coming from a place deep within him, flowing through his head and every inch of his body.

Knowledge of what exactly had to be done, and how. Knowledge that he could.

The only feeling left was rage, not hot and bright and overwhelming, but cold and hard as steel.

Without a sound from his lips, Levi charged, sidestepping the blade of the first man and plunging his knife deep into his throat. Before any of the others had even registered his movement, the man fell to the ground knees first, blood spluttering from his wound, covering his dirty front and spraying on Levi's face. He didn't even feel it.

The three men left attacked him between shouts and curses, coordinated now. Levi couldn't remember a single time one of them managed to even touch him. He evaded and sliced, over and over, severing tendons and cutting off fingers, stabbing one of them right through the heart from his back with a strength no man, let alone a child, should possess. The next man dropped with a huge gash across his neck, so deep another strike would have been enough to sever his head.

The sole surviving member of the group stumbled back with a scream, cradling his mangled right hand in his left. The knife it had held earlier lay forgotten somewhere on the ground. What was left of the hand was a limp piece of meat with five stumps instead of fingers, hanging uselessly from a sliced wrist.

"Monster," he was screaming, voice shaking as badly as his heavily bleeding body, "You're a monster! You're not human!"

Levi let him run. He was standing amidst blood and carnage, and while he knew every single detail that had happened over the course of the last minute, he could not make sense of it. He looked at the scarlet blade in his hand, slick with blood.

It wasn't shaking, his grip steady.

Monster.

He was right where he belonged.

#

How old had he been, back then? Ten? Eleven?

Did it matter?

He had learned what hunger was before knowing his name. He knew what sex sounded like, from within the darkness of a cupboard, before he was able to understand any of it. By the time his mother had taught him how to read, write and do sums, he knew she was the only person who would ever love him.

When she died, Levi knew he was alone.

I love you, she had whispered through cracked lips before closing her eyes, leaving him forever. It was the last time someone had said those words to him, and the last time he had said them.

Maybe he hadn't been a monster, then. Or maybe he just hadn't known yet.

When Kenny came for him, he was barely there anymore, so starved he didn't feel anything else, numb. He had no tears left, and he hadn't moved in days.

After the man had fed him, watching him with cold, calculating eyes, Levi wondered if maybe he wasn't alone, after all. Had the man been one of his mother's clients? He hadn't caught sight of them often.

Kenny had eyes just like his, just like his mother's. They were lacking a certain quality, though, something that had given her eyes warmth and life. No one else in the Underground had eyes like that, without any colour in it. So, Levi once asked if Kenny was his father. The answer was a resounding No emphasised with a fist to his face, splitting his lip and giving him one hell of a nose bleed.

With that, Levi learned he still was alone, just as he thought. Kenny barely tolerated him, threatening to throw him out if he didn't pull his own weight.

Four or five years later, Levi had lost count of the number of humans he had killed. You couldn't call them 'people', really. Unlike Kenny, he did not smile when he took a life. That was the one difference between the two of them, and he held onto it: one murdered out of enjoyment, the other out of necessity. It made no difference to anyone but himself. He was a piece of trash, yes, but Levi would be damned if he let himself sink as low as them.

He wasn't quite sure why he never managed to let go of this stupid, useless scrap of humanity left in him. It must be something the love of his mother had instilled in him over the first ten years of his life, the reason why he was plagued with nightmares of all the death he had seen and dealt with his own hands.

Maybe it was just because he was a stubborn bastard, refusing to go against his own, deeply ingrained convictions, refusing to regret. In the years Levi lived with him, Kenny couldn't talk or beat it out of him, and not for lack of trying. It made his life even harder, but if there was a single thing Levi never doubted about himself, it was the fact that he did not want to be the same as those disgusting pieces of shit. The same as Kenny.

He was alone, so he would live for himself and no one else, on his own terms.

#

Levi opened his eyes to the first rays of sunlight trickling through the window.

It had been a long, long while ago since he had last dreamed of his childhood, last seen his mother's face in his sleep.

Twenty years was a long time; enough to forget what someone who had once been your world looked like. When he was awake, he could barely recall his mother's features, only vaguely remembering eyes shaped and coloured like his, but with a warmth and kindness to them his had never emanated. Same went for the smile she'd permanently worn when she was looking at him.

In his dreams, Levi could see her face clearly, though, his subconscious dragging the memory from some dark, unknown corner of his mind, together with the sound of her voice he thought long forgotten. It was reassuring, even after all this time, and it was fucking torture.

He might dream rarely of his childhood and those formative years with Kenny the Ripper, but the Underground never really left him. The one good thing about his insomnia was the lack of opportunity for his brain to concoct nightmares. Most of his short bouts of sleep passed in a shallow blur of jumbled thoughts and darkness, and when he opened his eyes again, he was well aware of his surroundings, glad if more than two hours had passed.

Still, dreams happened sometimes, just like this night. He'd wake up to the unforgettable stench of the Underground lingering in his nose, the images of humans bleeding out under his hands, the light leaving their eyes as their bodies slackened, the terror on their faces eternalised. Or, he'd wake to the smell of thick, warm blood and the screams of his comrades ringing in his ears as giant, smiling mouths bit down on them. Sometimes, the soldiers wore the faces of a redheaded girl and a young, sandy blond man.

Which reminded him of the new favourite way his own mind had taken on torturing him on the regular. A small, freckled woman, dying a dozen different deaths. Exploding in a burst of blood and innards, head tumbling to the ground, large, dark brown eyes unseeing. Snatched mid-air by a huge set of teeth, swallowed whole. Or crushed between giant hands, like she very nearly had been, that one time. That last scenario had definitely been the first to visit him in his sleep, a recurring scene in his nightmares ever since he had witnessed that particularly close call, unable to intervene in time.

There was one thing every single occurrence of these nightmares had in common. Nora would shout his name, her voice high and desperate, and Levi would watch her die, helplessly, never fast enough to prevent it.

With a deep sigh, he got up, rubbing at his tired eyes. He went to the bathroom to freshen up, lost in thought. Sometime last year, that woman had managed to get under his skin. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact incident, he knew only that it must have happened early, and without him noticing until it was too late.

Was it the first time he had ran into her in the middle of the night, looking up at him from the pages of her book with a stunned expression, her hair spilling down freely in all its glory, as undone as her uniform? She had poured him a cup of tea, then, and he remembered how fun it had been to squabble with her, to watch her every reaction, to be the sole recipient of her sharp wit.

No—that must have been when he first noticed he had a small problem—barely over five feet, to be precise. It must have started earlier, maybe when they'd fought in the stable over her lamentable cleaning and she'd opposed him fearlessly, eyes glimmering with righteous anger, flinging back his every insult.

Most likely, the foundation had been in the works from that very first day when Nora had so insolently stood up to him interrogating her in his office, and earlier, when he'd seen her flying.

So, Levi really couldn't say when exactly she had gotten under his skin. Only that it hadn't taken more than a few weeks, and that it had been inevitable from the start.

Unwittingly, she had only dug in deeper and deeper over time, anchoring herself, irreversible. Now, a year later, Levi knew: When the moment came that she was wrested from him, when his nightmares would become reality once again, she would take something of him with her.

#

He had his first kill years before his first kiss, before he'd first slept with someone.

If that fact alone wasn't enough to stay away from her, he didn't know what was.

And yet, here he was, making a mess of everything. But Nora had been so unguarded, saying those things to him, about him, and he'd barely seen her in days ever since the Battle of Trost, and earlier, at the hearing, she'd snuck up behind him and breathed right onto his neck, whispering and grinning furtively as if she, too, had noticed they had never spent this much time apart ever since they knew each other.

Levi had thought his actions today would repulse her, would show her who he was. Everyone else at the tribunal had understood this, after all, watching him with as much hate and fear as respect and awe in their eyes. Not how you'd look at another human being, and he relished it.

It was different with his closest comrades, and Nora, of course, so he had given in to the urge and asked, the uncertainty of what she might be thinking setting his nerves on edge. The way she brushed off his assumptions, matter-of-factly, as if there was nothing more absurd than the notion of her being disgusted by him, was equal parts relieving and frustrating. He had tried to make her see, tried to repel her with the truth, but she was stubborn and steadfast in her believes.

I know who you are, Nora had said, her voice throaty, and the look in her eyes had made his mind run wild with forbidden ideas. He had touched her, because he was an idiot with not as much self-control as he'd thought, and because he'd expected her to finally back off. Instead, she had leaned in, her intent unambiguous, because apparently, she was an even bigger idiot than him. She couldn't seriously be stupid enough to want him, could she? It must have been the spur of the moment, because he'd taken her by surprise.

Levi had done the sensible thing and made an utter ass of himself, hopefully shutting down that possibility of something he shouldn't even consider once and for all.

Shit, but after how he'd behaved today, he was sure she'd be livid.

He should probably start packing some of his stuff for their departure tomorrow, but instead he was sitting uselessly in his armchair, thinking of Nora's angry-face with a hard-on that was here to stay. Levi was as honest with himself as with everyone else, so he'd long since admitted to himself that he wanted to fuck her. Badly.

That he really shouldn't and probably wouldn't be allowed to, anyways, didn't keep his shit brain from fantasising about it. He wasn't above to relieve the tension with his hands, but more often than not, he was so pissed at himself that he'd refuse to give in and got up to clean something, instead. And if that didn't add a whole new layer of fucked-up to that strange hobby of his.

The other option for distraction was to go take a shower, but that one was largely ineffective. Most of the time, his mind would bombard him with explicit images of Nora, wrapped around him and pressed against the wet tiles, or on her knees before him, her lips doing things to him that—

The point was, he usually ended up making a mess before getting himself clean.

Right now, Levi couldn't see himself falling asleep if he didn't take care of the situation in his trousers. He was disgusted with himself, but he had also life-long experience with that feeling, and in this particular case, he never was disgusted enough. Not enough to drive away the fantasies that were torturing him.

So, closing his eyes, fingers making swift work of the buttons on his waistband, he gave in.

#

After what had happened between them in the mess hall, Levi didn't know how he'd managed to survive dinner. His lack of expressiveness must have worked in his favour.

And he had thought it was impossible to get even more distracted. That minx, with her smart mouth, sharp tongue, delectable lips, and that damn mass of hair. Asking him what he wanted, in a voice so breathy and suggestive it should be forbidden, shooting right to his groin. As if it wasn't obvious.

No, it was as much his fault as Nora's; his fault for continuing to 'ogle' her, as Hange had been so kind to point out, ever helpful and nosy. His fault for bringing up anything about her appearance, and definitely his fault for touching her again, for being so fucking pathetic and transparent. Her only fault was going on the offensive, doing to him what he had done to her, first. For reciprocating, instead of pushing him away or kneeing him in the balls.

She really must be an idiot.

Levi had always prided himself on his ability to keep a clear head, no matter what. Even in the worst situations, his focus would narrow, his mind would turn sharp and cold as steel, and he'd think before he'd act, and fast.

Yet somehow, it didn't take more than Nora getting a bit too close for him to completely lose his head. The moment her breath had graced his skin, his mind had short-circuited. Then, he'd only been occupied with her smell—lavender and tea and something else, emanating from her skin, driving him insane every time they sparred—and with the feel of her petite, hot body all over his, soft lips attacking his neck.

When she'd started to move against him, it had been his undoing. The delicious, small moans and whimpers his administrations elicited had only spurred him on, and he knew he wouldn't forget the sounds she had made anytime soon.

If she had let him, if they hadn't been interrupted, Levi would have fucked her against the counter, right then and there.

"Shit," he murmured in the privacy of his room, dragging his hands over his face, "Shit, shit, fucking hell."

The mission. They were soldiers, and they had a mission, and if they fucked up, they would die. She would die.

He couldn't afford to become distracted. He had to focus on what he could do best, the entire purpose of his existence: fighting, for freedom and humanity, and killing their enemies.

There was nothing else in this world for someone like him.