Eren - Crimson

In retrospect, it had almost felt like instinct. Like I'd known exactly what to do.

In the house where I was born, there were two places I wasn't allowed. One, of course, was the basement. The other was my father's consulting room/study on the second floor, for reasons less mysterious than the basement. I was pretty young back then, and he didn't want me getting into the medicine cabinet he kept up there, in case he'd neglected to lock it by accident. Not that I could even get in the room to begin with; the door was always locked and bolted.

I was young at the time. Maybe six or so…not important. That day, I had been given a pear to eat, so I was spending the afternoon toddling from room to room and munching on the rare treat. It was a juicy one, I know that, and I'm sure I must've left a pretty conspicuous trail behind me. Whatever madness led me to trying that old, tarnished doorknob I don't know. It's not like I was in the habit of trying doors I knew were locked. But I did, and the latch gave. I knew I shouldn't, and that I would probably be punished very severely, but my curiosity rarely coincides with my common sense and I pushed the door open.

Now, I wasn't stupid about it. Like any expert in mischief worth his salt, I made sure the coast was clear, looking all around the room to ensure it was empty. I remember feeling a profound sense of disappointment when I found nothing but shelves, books, an exam table, and an old, weathered writing desk inside. Of course, being unable to read at the time, I couldn't appreciate the value of such a collection. In retrospect, I'm not exactly sure what I'd expected to find, but an unexplored room was good enough for me, so I slipped inside anyway.

One particular volume immediately caught my eye, a battered, old thing with a murky, dark red spine with more than a little wear and tear. It was on a high shelf, one I had to use the chair to reach, and even then, it was just barely within reach of my fingertips. It was heavier than I expected and I nearly dropped it on the floor, which no doubt would have made a loud noise that would've certainly resounded throughout the house and given me away. But I held it in my little hands, staggering under its weight until I sat down on the floor, laying it over my crossed legs and studying the cover. The title's letters were painted in dull amber but probably had been a shiny gold when it was originally printed. Had I been able to read then, I'd have known the letters said Tschida's Anatomical and Physiological Reconstruction. Well, Edition Two, but that's not important, either.

Inside was all words. All tiny, printed words, some of them circled or underlined, or hand-printed notes in the well-thumbed margins. That was nothing interesting, so I began turning the yellow and stained pages until I came to the first picture.

It looked like a man, except it didn't. It was all wrong. The body was all white, and looked more like oddly shaped sticks and stones stacked together, resembling a demonic marionette. The head frightened and fascinated me all at once, with its hollow eyeholes and its perfect white teeth that seemed to grin a cold smile. I bared my teeth in response, then looked at the odd shapes forming what looked like the hands. I turned more pages and found a bigger sketch of the head, and there were words with lines leading to various pieces of it. There were other sketches after that, these ones harder to figure out, and none of them nearly as interesting at the first, so I flipped back to the man made of sticks.

Then the floor creaked.

And I found my father standing over me. Instinctively, I stood and backed into the shelf. Young as I was, I knew how the next part usually went. I would get three to five, maybe ten, sharp smacks to my rear, depending on the severity of what I'd done, and a harsh scolding before I would be sent to my room for an undetermined length of time.

I knew entering the study was wrong. I knew I would deserve the punishment I got, no matter how harsh. I knew and I waited, closing my eyes and preparing myself for the pain that was sure to come.

Nothing.

I held my breath.

I think what I remember most of that day was the lack of expression in my father's face. No anger, not even the slightest bit of irritation, just this long, thoughtful look as he frowned at me and the book in my hands. Maybe I should've been crying for forgiveness, but I was too afraid to speak. I pressed myself even further into the shelf and, with shaking hands, held his book out. He took it, frowning critically at the pear-juice fingerprints I'd left behind, but he knelt before me. I held my breath, but my father took my hand and held it palm up in his own, which was so much larger in comparison, and spread my fingers like one of the carnival palm readers that often came to Shiganshina. "Feel that?" He asked, gently pinching the parts of my tiny fingers where they bent and curled, and I felt strange firmness under my skin that I'd never noticed before.

I nodded. And then I learned the weird stick man was called a skeleton. It wasn't a demon or a monster but part of me and Mother and Father and Armin and everyone and everything in the world. It's what let me stand and allowed me to move. It supported and protected the life essential organs I would eventually learn.

And I learned a lot that day.

Father showed me the skull and the twenty-two bones it's made of, the bony sutures and where they connect, the tiny orifices that give way to nerves and blood vessels, and how to tell the difference between a male and a female skull. He showed me it was hollow, forming the perfect helmet to protect the brain inside. He was just about to show me how the skull balances on the uppermost vertebra when Mother came to stand in the doorway and, with a shocked expression, told us dinner was ready. The book was closed with a heavy thump and my father lifted me off the floor and carried me into the kitchen.

We had Spätzle for dinner that night, along with a side of fresh-baked bread, pan roasted potatoes, and some chicken. As I sat at the table, I obeyed my mother for once and didn't talk with my mouth full. In fact, I hardly said a word.

How could I when all I could think about was how the mandible attaches to the mandibular fossa?

For once, when I visited Armin later that night, I had something amazing to show him.

-0-0-0-

Snow crunched under our boots as we made our way through Trost's crowded market. "I can't believe this." Jean muttered behind me. "Two days into Dezember, and already we've got ankle-deep snow."

I rolled my eyes and hefted the flour sack higher on my shoulder. I don't mind snow. It just makes me think of home and fireplaces and the cozy common room of the Winged Sister. Then again, I suppose it does bring a sense of homesickness. They say we'll be going back in the spring, when the snow and ice is gone. The Survey Corps never runs expeditions in the winter, something I was surprised to find not many people in Wall Rose knew. It's too dangerous, too cold, and well…not even I want to take my chances on open, snowy ground against a titan. In titan form, though…possibly. Although with the titan body heat, I'd probably leave a slippery, slushy mess wherever I walked.

I looked back at Jean and Armin. "Which way, Horse Face?"

He glared but ignored the jibe. "Take a left on Pfeffer Street, when you get to the tavern up there. We left the supply wagon with Connie in the alley behind the old smithy."

I snorted and led the way around a lumbering merchant's wagon making its way through the street. "Three silver roses he's asleep."

"What the hell, you're on." I heard a yawn behind me, then a tired, "What's that you got there, Armin? Doing your Christmas shopping a little early?"

I thought I'd noticed my friend carrying something other than his share of the supplies. A small, rectangular package wrapped up in brown, water resistant paper. He must've replaced on of his books. Although he never said it out loud, Mikasa and I could always tell losing his grandfather's collection, legal or otherwise, had devastated him just as much as losing the old man himself. Every time we come across one that he recognizes—again, legal or otherwise—he snatches it up quicker the starving man with bread.

"Which one did you buy this time? Did you finally track down Inner Wall Lineages: Complete Analysis?" I asked, pushing past a trio of Wallist priestesses asking for donations. Seeing it was a charity for a local orphanage, I handed a few spare coins over to them.

"Rose bless you." The young woman murmured with a humble bow.

Armin nodded and handed over a coin himself before scurrying after me. "And with that cheap price, I'm not entirely sure that shopkeeper really understood what it was." He frowned. "Or if he could even read at all. A complete listing of all the lords and ladies of the Inner Wall is hard to come by."

"Well, it could be an outdated copy. When was that published again? 764?" I grinned, and looked back at Jean. "Pfeffer Street, right?"

"Yeah, take a left here." Jean answered, flustered as he searched his pockets for any coin. The priestess had a hand covering her mouth and she was giggling at his antics before she shook her head, murmured a 'Rose bless', and sent him after us.

Much as I hate to admit it, Trost is a maze and without Jean, I think we might've gotten lost. I tried to keep track through all the twists and turns we made, but all I accomplished was a mother of a headache. As I followed his direction and turned when I got to the tavern, Captain Levi materialized out of the crowd and fell into step with us, carrying a sack of what I assumed was dried herbs and a package of lye. He'd been running low on soap, so he had to make more soon.

"Find everything you needed?" I asked.

"Ano." He muttered.

I smiled and shifted my load. The flour bag was full of mostly new clothing we'd bought for ourselves. Our own was becoming a little stained and worn out. We'd also bought some luxury foods to share with the others when we made it back. Cheese, some dried fruit, a few pastries, tea, and a type of candy Armin called chocolate. He says it's made from some kind of bean—cacao, I think he called it—that comes from across the sea. Foreign goods don't grow well here, so we have our doubts about this treat's authenticity. But the shopkeeper assured us it was genuine, and she even showed us a handful of this so-called cacao. Armin claimed it looked exactly like pictures he'd seen and asked where she'd found it, but…well, shopkeeper's secret, she'd said with a coy smile.

There were some early Christmas shopping, too. It's not often we have a day off. We couldn't be too sure of the next time we'd be in town. I'd missed this. These carefree moments that reminded me of the memories I thought I'd left behind. Walking through Shiganshina's snowy streets, hand in hand with my mother or father, wearing a coat that was way too big and my red scarf trailing in the snow behind me. As I skirted a man holding and teasing a baby while his wife haggled with a man selling fish, I began to wonder if we would live long enough for that. If we would ever marry and start our own families. I tried to picture any one of us walking down this street and holding a small child's hand one day. I tried picturing any of us loving a woman enough to marry her. Even after this was all over, after all we'd been through…well, I like to think we can maybe have those peaceful days back.

I heard a set of footsteps behind me come to a halt, then Jean's voice ask, "Hey, you all right?"

Armin and I turned around to find our captain with his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He neither confirmed nor denied Jean's question, though he glanced around at all three of us. Now and then, he closed his eyes as though concentrating, and I relaxed. I'd seen that face before. Never on Levi, of course, but I supposed even the captain drinks too much on occasion and suffers the inevitable aftermath. We could only smile sympathetically as he attempted to get a handle on himself, leveling his breath, grimacing, trying to keep it down with everything he had. We've all been there, after all.

Eventually, he just shook his head and continued forward….only to double over and vomit two steps later. Except it wasn't the familiar brown bile we all remembered but a deep crimson with a thicker consistency. Jean and Armin recoiled as though he'd drawn a weapon and was moving to attack them. I watched in horror as Levi staggered and fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach with one arm and vomiting again into his other hand. Nearby, a woman screamed and the street erupted into a panic, backing away from the commotion as quickly as they could. I saw Levi's eyes grow wide with what I can only describe as sheer panic, a face that was so alien on him, all three of us just stared for what felt like eternity but was probably only a second before I ran forward.

"Move!" I shouted as he fell, landing hard on his side and heaving up a third load of a bloody mess. Armin and Jean darted out of my way and I dropped everything and knelt beside the captain.

"You know what to do."

I knew what to do. First, keep his head turned to the side to prevent choking. No coughing, so I knew the blood was digestive in origin, not respiratory. That was good and bad news to me. Good, because it bought us time. He wouldn't suffocate on blood filling his lungs. Bad, because it opened up a whole slew of potentially worse problems. If it have been irritation in the trachea or an infection of some kind, he would've been fine with the right medicine. Not that hemoptysis is to be taken lightly either, but hematemesis has more alarming possibilities. Ruptures in the esophagus or stomach. Ulcers or benign tumors in the stomach. Poison. Cardiovascular abnormalities. Gastric or esophageal inflammation. Gastric or esophageal ruptures. Pancreatic inflammation. Internal hemorrhaging. The list went on and on.

"Medic, now! Hurry!" I yelled at Jean. And he was gone, pelting out down the street faster than I had ever seen a man run before. Frightened men and women dove out of his way. Armin stayed rooted to the spot, looking helplessly back and forth between the three of us before taking off after Jean in the direction of the hospital.

I tied my scarf tightly over my nose and mouth and leaned over Levi, resting my fingers over his neck, carefully feeling for irregularities. Nothing. No unusual swelling. No bruising. No masses in the skin. No response to pressure, so no pain. Levi had stopped throwing up by now and was reduced to violent shaking. Slowly, I turned his head forward again and sniffed at his lips. Just blood. No unusual odors. His breathing was unsteady from the shock of suddenly vomiting but relatively unhindered. No dermal irritation around the mouth and lips nor did he seem at all drowsy. No poison.

"You know what to do."

Then my heart dropped in my chest. What if the shallow breaths were due to blood loss? How much blood was in the snow, splattered like a grotesque work of art? How much of it was blood compared to stomach acid? Was he bleeding internally? But from what? We hadn't been in a fight for weeks now, titan or otherwise. Carefully, I ran my hand across his middle. Again, no unusual swelling, no bruising, no masses in the skin. When I checked for a response to pressure, Levi made a sound in the back of his throat and reflexively pulled his knees in. Pain in the abdomen due to pressure, but otherwise— "Do you feel any pain when I pull my hand away?" He shook his head, out of breath. Otherwise no pain.

"Eren…"

"It's going to be okay." I tried to smile, hopefully covering up how scared I was. A pair of Garrison men approached, and I yelled at them to stay back. At everyone to stay back. For all we knew, whatever afflicted the captain was extremely contagious, and we had to take every precaution in stifling an epidemic. I said nothing of this, not wanting to cause a panic among the already uneasy shoppers. Instead, I instructed them to cordon off the area and bury the blood-stained snow under gravel until it could be cleared away.

"You know what to do."

Levi clutched at my coat, coughing and staring up at me. "It's going to be okay." I repeated. "Just stay with me. The medics are coming, just stay with me. Stay with me, captain. Don't worry. You'll be fine. It's going to be okay."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, hello, long time, no see, and I'm back with a bang, apparently. So this is part one of the story behind Levi's illness from the venture, Mortal. It was going to be longer and have a different ending, but in the end, I decided on a cliffhanger. Hope you enjoyed, be sure to favorite and follow and/or leave a review if you're new to Tavern Ventures. If you're a regular, welcome back!

The story behind this one...there's actually a part two coming up; this chapter got to be a little long and a second part seemed the best course of action. Other than that, I like the idea of Eren having at least some medical knowledge, whether rudimentary or advanced. It makes sense, his father being a doctor and all, but the only thing Eren has going for him in the canon is the titan ability. Granted, something like this may fall under Armin's jurisdiction of book smart, but it's an interested angle for Eren's character.

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