Levi - Mortal

As he lay face up in his narrow bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, he knew the sharp pain in his stomach, like a hot knife stoking a pile of embers deep in his gut, wasn't going to settle with being ignored tonight. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, inhaling in short, shaking gasps, and letting it out in shuddering sighs. Deep breaths made the pain worse. They woke it up. Shorter breaths didn't help much either. They made his lungs hurt.

Levi opened his eyes, moving one hand over his stomach and wiping the film of cold sweat off his face with the other. In the light of the moon, he spotted a spider spinning a web in the rafters. Wretched thing. He groaned and closed his eyes again.

When Eld was alive, he never let him knock down spiders and their webs. Whenever he tried, the man would stop him, grabbing the arm that held the broom and asking him to leave the spiders alone. They were beautiful things, the spiderwebs, and the creatures that built them were clever and patient. "Have you ever sat and watched one spin?" The man asked him. Levi thought it was a ridiculous sentiment but respected his comrade's wishes on account the webs were useful enough to trap insects.

He winced as his stomach twinged, a hole burning through wasting muscle and deteriorating organs. His jaw clenched and he inhaled sharply. In turn, his body scolded him, stabbing him from within with searing shards of broken glass. A pained cry died in his throat and he covered his mouth with the palm of his hand and tried to regulate his breathing. The glass burrowed deeper, and he struggled upright.

He tasted blood when he stumbled out of bed, landing hard on his hands and knees, and retched violently onto the floor, a thin, coppery-tasting fluid that was certain to leave a stain in the floorboards. He clutched his stomach with one arm and braced the other against the floor, panting and coughing, then heaved and vomited again. A shadow of his self scolded him for not thinking to find a bucket, or at least ask for one, but the pain drowned out any other thought, driving right through him. His arm trembled and gave out, smashing his elbow and bringing his face in closer proximity with the sullied floorboards. Sina, it hurt so much! And it burned all the way to his back, mercilessly searing through flesh and muscle. It was killing him. He could feel it like a poison, running rancid and boiling in the pit of his gut.

Not yet. He coughed and his stomach lurched. Please. If there's a god, please not yet. I can't go yet.

Then a third stream of liquid splashed onto the floor and he was done, bent over himself and gasping for air. The pain had receded to a dull ache, but he sensed even the slightest movement would wake it up again. He heard a small clack and stiffened, not raising his head as his door creaked open. He recognized the footsteps and sensed the ice blue eyes regarding the dark, crimson puddle he was kneeling in. It was a sorry sight and he kept his head down in shame, wrapping his arms around his stomach and stifling any cries his might've had.

A pair of boots thumped quietly against the floorboards and his visitor brushed the back of his hand against his clammy cheek, the same exact way Oruo used to when he suspected he had a fever. Levi grimaced at the contact, at the dry, calloused hand around his sour, perspiring skin, and turned his head away.

There was a familiar, resigned sigh, "You're getting worse."

He coughed and his stomach twisted, preparing to expel the contents it no longer held. The floorboards creaked as his companion knelt beside him, paying no heed to the blood and vomit. He did not put a hand on his shoulder-he knew him well enough to know he hated that-nor did he say anything more-he knew him well enough to know he hated that more. Whenever he was sick, he just wanted to be left alone no matter how much pain he was in or how miserable he was. Now and then, he had his exceptions, of course. As much as he never wanted to admit it, he did not hate how Petra used to sit with him when he was sick. Were she still alive, she would definitely be here now, holding his hand and rubbing his back whether he liked it or not.

Maybe he would've liked that. Maybe he would've liked to have Farlan sit and read to him again, just as he used to in the Underground. Maybe it would've helped him tolerate the pain a little more.

But Petra wasn't here. And neither was Farlan. Nor Eld or Oruo or Gunther or even Isabel. Lost in the Forest of Giant Trees. And dead on the Plague Moors.

Gone.

All gone.

Slowly, Levi scraped the heel of his hand over his chin and drew it away smeared with blood. The sight made him cringe, as did the the feeling of blood, even his own, on his hands. He cursed to himself. Why did this happen? When had it started? Surely something was wrong before he started to hurt like this, before he began vomiting blood every other night. Had there been signs he'd been too careless to heed? He didn't know. All he knew was one day he was fine and the next….he ignored the pain at first. He thought it was nothing and would eventually go away on its own. In the beginning, it came and went. One day it was there, the next four or so it was gone, a small pang in the morning, the rest of the day fine, and so on. Sometimes, there was nausea, too, which prompted him to stop eating.

Now and then, someone noticed something was wrong was wrong. They frowned in suspicion, squinting as though they might see something below the surface. Most of the time it was Sasha who noticed. Her sharp, tawny eyes missed little and her fine-tuned instincts missed nothing. Yet she never said a word and often took watches and did other chores for him. Armin noticed, too. Armin once asked him in a hesitant voice if he was okay, and he rewarded him with a snappish barb that had the kid walking away at a brisk pace. Levi felt bad about that. The kid deserved better than that. The day it could not be ignored or hidden from his comrades came quickly enough, though. Erwin was furious at him for hiding it. He felt bad about that, too. It was irresponsible, and the man deserved better than that.

Wincing in pain, Levi pushed himself upright and sat back on his haunches. He put a hand to his head as a faint, dizzy feeling came over him and the room swayed before his eyes. A firm hand caught him before he fell and jolted him back to awareness. His eyes flew open and he looked around the room.

Erwin knelt in front of him, asking if he was all right, but his voice sounded far away. Levi shook his head. The thought of speaking turned his stomach and the turning of his stomach stoked the embers. "I'll send Hange in with something for the pain." The commander said. "And something to help you sleep."

Levi did not answer.

"And I'll see to it someone cleans up this mess."

That made him smile. But it was a cold smile. He brushed the hand off his arm and turned to his bed. Gripping the sheet in one hand and holding his stomach with the other, he pulled himself up, pausing as the room went out of focus and waving Erwin away when he stepped forward to help. He stood unsteadily on his feet for an instant, then lowered himself onto the mattress, crossing his arms over his gut and doubled over, hissing at the pain the effort granted him. He could feel his ribs in his hands, sharp against his palms as he breathed in.

Erwin promised to be back soon and hurried out. Levi believed him. After all, Hange's room was just down the hall from his, and if she was not there, she would be in her lab, which was just next door. He would be back soon, as promised. But he suddenly found the absence of another human being an abrupt and empty feeling. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden and irrational sense of despair he felt. Of abandonment. What was wrong with him? They would be here soon. Hange would bring the pain suppressant that worked so wonderfully on the wounded and the smooth, calming herbal tea he loved so much. They would come.

He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes closed as a wave of pain lanced through him, then he fell on his side, staring at the flickering candle. He inhaled in a quiet gasp, then let it out in a shuddering sigh. I'm getting worse. He smiled grimly.

At the end of the day, Humanity's Strongest is just a mortal man.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: No, I didn't kill him.

Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan is owned by Hajime Isayama.