Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is only a moment of silence before Levi knows that he has to be the one to take control of the situation.

A bounty on his head, offered by the Gunners. That's more than caps someone could make with his death: it's a commendatory present for anyone wishing to get on their good side, as well as a trophy for killing someone who has pissed them off enough that they actually acknowledged they want him taken out.

People with that kind of bounty usually don't make it long.

And then there's that hellhole that a synthetic copy was thrown in and Levi came out. The last place he'd ever want to see again, which is exactly why he's made sure to destroy it.

“Have a good travel.”

Levi summons an almost polite nod towards Fahrenheit, keenly aware that she and her pack are watching – and the calmer he appears, the more likely some of those fuckers will wonder whether he might be out of their league.

Fahrenheit nods back, lips slightly curved. Appraising him. “If you make it till a few months, you're welcome to drop by the Old State House.”

If he survives that long, the worst of the Gunner's ire might have died down, enough to even out the risk of protecting someone who's on their shit list, but obviously a tough sucker to kill. He'd still end up in life-long dept full of dirty work, too bad for him.

Hanji is pale and quiet, holding it together well – only that it's not enough, they can't appear surprised, either. Levi roughly grabs their arm and flashes his teeth in Fahrenheit's direction: he has to be a good sportsman about this, act like the situation isn't new to him.

Although it is. Nobody has ever placed a bounty on his head: nobody has known him well enough, neither his face (he should have made sure to kill the Gunner who has seen him) nor his name (he should have known Fahrenheit wasn't asking out of sentimentality).

What's done is done, though.

Hanji follows his pull mechanically, then seems to remember moving their legs. Levi stirs them into the direction of the laboratory again, guessing that they want to tell Moblit somewhere moderately private.

“Is this bad?”

For the first time, Hanji sounds almost timid. Their eyes are wide and dry, reeling from shock and trying to get their thoughts back in order – Levi knows the feeling.

And he knows the Combat Zone from before, as well as the place Fahrenheit has described to Erwin – the place that makes men forget wire stuck in their flesh and murder their family.

“Yeah.”

Hanji exhales sharply and nods jerkily; the judgment of people they deem sensible is usable to them. Levi lets go of their arm, but they grab his in turn, fingers digging into the crook of his elbow.

“Why?” Hanji asks with bewilderment that's nearly comical, and Levi has no idea what they mean – why did Erwin leave on his own, why the Combat Zone, why the bounty-

All of those questions are relatively meaningless. Levi realizes that a part of him is relieved to concentrate on threats he's familiar with: people trying to kill him, things that go missing and need to be found. He can deal with that, and it's a lot more like him than mulling over his origins.

Wordlessly, he shoves Hanji down the stairs and into the lab, where Moblit still waits, the rubber-skin of his face even appears paler than usual – even though that's impossible. “Doctor?”

The careful tone snaps Hanji back into reality, and they let go of Levi to throw their hands up in sudden, flashing anger. “Can you believe that airhead with his blind actionism?! Now this is aimless, and that bounty...” They pause and lower their hands: Moblit doesn't look like he understands, and how could he, but he knows it's serious, his eyes move from Hanji to Levi and back again.

Hanji closes their mouth, teeth clack audibly with force. “I can't use the power armor,” they say, mostly to themselves, “but I can catch up. I don't think Erwin expects anyone to tail him, and with his leg currently strained...”

While Levi isn't the reassuring type, he can't pretend he hasn't heard something obviously wrong; his low scoff makes Hanji glance at him, face tense and hard, challenging him to correct them. So he will.

“Bullshit. He did that behind your back for a reason, and his leg's fine.” Having been around Erwin for a while, even under the influence of fatigue or pain, Levi can read his body language by now.

“He said it bother-...” Hanji briefly closes their eyes, the mumbled curse contains too many vocals to even hear it clearly. “He played act. And I fell for it.”

Not needing to confirm the obvious, Levi takes the Deathclaw dagger from the workbench where Moblit must have refined it; the synth is even too focused on Hanji to notice it. The human part. His eyes zoom in and out as he makes sense of what the doctor tells him, and Levi sees his hands open and close, like he means to take those words or stop Hanji's pacing.

The grip is alright. Levi slips the dagger into his belt, the sheath is a little tight but that will loosen over time.

“Is that a relevant place?” Moblit asks, sounding politely interested though that doesn't necessary mean it's also what he feels.

“It's the only place connected to Levi,” Hanji replies with some irritation. “I don't have a bloody guess what he thinks he'll find there, though. Even I know it's been destroyed, and where they've built the new one...”

“On the ruins of the old one,” Levi is almost surprised at the calm cold in his own voice, then realizes he's indeed sure of this. “It's in the borderlands of at least four different territories, no man's land.”

That, and although Erwin can presumably take supplies without Moblit noticing, a long travel would demand better preparations; and it doesn't seem like those have been done. Levi remembers the other's face yesterday as briefly as he can, but Erwin seemed uncharacteristically... forceful, slightly anxious. Not a man who's already made up his mind.

“How do you know?”

Hanji seems genuinely surprised, though they might be a good actor – Levi isn't willing to assume yet that Erwin really hasn't told anyone details of what's known about Levi's past. And he can't admit that he's been eavesdropping: with Erwin gone, it suddenly seems mandatory to keep the stolen holotapes a secret.

So he fixes Hanji with an icy stare that's been known to shut people up since a while.

“Christ on a Vertibird,” they snort, but Levi senses their agitation that digs deeper into them as their thoughts process; however, it's harder to tell whether it's concern for a friend or a breach of security that's getting to them.

“I'll go get him.”

Hanji wipes their sweaty fingers on their spotty coat, eyes already roving again. “Sorry, Moblit, I'll interrupt the tests – please see to it that the lab is thoroughly cleaned, no traces of Mr. A's DNA. Not like anyone would let us work in peace when Levi is fair game right now.”

Moblit nods mechanically, yet Levi doesn't need to read him closely to see his shock: even without a pulse to see or sweat dotting the skin, it's obvious. Moblit seems to be a terrible liar when it concerns people around him, and Levi makes a mental note on that. “I need to propose that you don't do this, Doctor... Personally, I mean.”

Hanji has already moved to the cupboards, rummaging through an assortment of unlabeled fluids that only they seem to know; they glance at Moblit over their shoulders, their lips hardly move and their expression is hectic, but clear. “I can't send anyone, even if I had the authority. There's no one close enough, nor is there an actual reason – Erwin is a free man.”

And even Fahrenheit has shuddered at what she knew about the New Combat Zone, so it's not even likely anyone will volunteer. Levi considers bringing that up when Moblit's gaze darts to him, glowing orange and bright. Almost pleading, if that expression had been implemented into his damaged face.

Casually, Levi inspects one of the smaller screwdrivers on the workbench. It's always good to have one, even with a new, better dagger.

Moblit wants to ask him. It's not reasonable, but there's no one else capable.

“I can come with you,” the synth offers, voice tinny.

Hanji struggles out of their lab coat and pulls up their sleeves, though his words make them pause. They're too hurried to smile, but their eyes become softer, less like shards of brown glass, more like melting chocolate.

“You need to stay here, Mo. The Junktown can't be defended without you, and we'd lose the base. You know... The haven, Uri says.”

Moblit nods, acknowledging the reason in that argument. Reason is everything. Reason is the reason he can't ask Levi.

“You don't even know where to look, shit-doctor. Can you at least keep up without your fancy armor?”

Levi consciously stares past Moblit's silent plea into Hanji's angry frown, not wanting to drag any emotions in.

At least he'll get to move. He's been cooped up in here way too long, it's been making him weak in all the wrong ways.

“I'm not asking you to stay here, obviously, but you can't come with me – for heaven's sake, you burned that place down. They'll shoot you on sight.” Hanji waves a thin knife before strapping it to their lower arm, fumbling with the clasps until Moblit hurries to help them. His fingers don't tremble, that useless function isn't implemented, of course.

Hope is the worst of all evils.

Levi eyes the doctor dispassionately – he doesn't have to persuade them, since he doesn't need their approval. But in a way that's probably due to too much time alone with his thoughts and Uri's ramblings, he can tell how frail they are. There's always fear beneath the anger, and it can seep into everything. This room reeks of it now, since Erwin has torn away a pillar of stability and hasn't given a damn thought about it, and that's unlike him.

Levi doesn't have to hold it up, but there's no one else around to do it, at least until he has kicked Erwin's ass back into responsibility. Brainless thug who's scared of his own words.

Levi swallows his own anger, sensing other feelings beneath it, and chooses one of the screwdrivers that fits nicely into his palm. “Fluctuation there's big, as you can imagine,” he replies, suppresses the wave of repulsion to even remember. “I can blend in, I know the rules.” He catches Hanji's flitting gaze and holds it, piercing silvery eyes with small irises that people duck away under. “You won't make it anywhere without me, doc.”

Hanji opens their mouth to object – obviously – then closes it quietly. Their lips curl into a strange expression of the exhilarated grin that occasionally shows glimpses of the person behind, the endless enthusiasm, the fascination with life itself. The person Hanji must have been, maybe still is.

“Fine. Levi, get your gun.”

They snicker (hinting that it must have been a joke), a sound that's so unexpected Moblit shoots them a worried glance, perhaps wondering whether they're going hysterical now – then it ends as abruptly as it started, and Hanji's face returns to sobriety so suddenly their facial muscles ought to creak. “I'll get supplies and some extras, I'll meet you here in five minutes.”

They pull their sleeves down again and rush out of the lab, their mind visibly ahead of them: there's no trace of the flash of vulnerable insecurity, which calms Levi. He can't make do with someone who might lose their nerve, and if the New Combat Zone is even worse than the old one, he'll need Hanji to watch their own back. With any luck, his reputation is gone, though that will also mean people won't keep their distance out of experience.

“Mr. Levi?”

Moblit regards him neutrally, motionlessly. His eyes no longer zoom in and out, and despite the fact that he's the one who manages the Junktown and therefore the armory, he hasn't moved yet to get weapons. He appears like he doesn't even remember that this is his job.

“I know I've proposed something else,” the synth starts when he's gotten Levi's attention, “but... I will give you anything you want from my fund if you bring the doctor back here safely.”

His voice hasn't dropped back into tinniness, and still he's never sounded quite so robotic. Moblit thinks he cannot become human, but it's a joke – one that he himself probably doesn't get, or not yet.

What Levi understands, though, is the necessity to agree: Moblit needs to have the impression of being able to do something, even if Levi has been planning to watch over Hanji's ass anyway; it's no promise, that'd be idiotic, but he'll try to make them survive.

At least Moblit keeps his professionalism, despite the personal request. Levi returns his bright stare and tries to overlook the naked hope there, trust that he's powerful enough to do this. “Deal.”

Moblit nods, doesn't exhale in relief. Of course not. “I'll get your... modified shotgun. Since it's not quite finished, I'll take a few minutes to make sure there are no construction errors. I will meet you and the doctor here.”

He disappears into the basement at that, focused on his task to keep the thoughts away: that's more human than anything. Levi runs his hand over the short hair on the back of his head and closes his dry eyes for a moment. The gear Moblit has made for him feels unfamiliar, but it has taken up his body warmth and creaks softly.

“He's not cold-hearted. Please don't think that.”

Levi barely manages not to flinch at the voice, at someone who has simply escaped his notice, and apparently everyone else's, too. For how fucking long has Uri just been there without anyone spotting him?!

“What the hell, old man.”

Uri smiles innocently at him from his seat in the corner, next to a remodeled refrigerator; though that expression quickly fades. “I'm sorry. I only wanted to explain why Moblit hasn't asked you to bring Erwin back as well.”

Levi absolutely isn't in the mood for one of Uri's stupid “guess my intention”-games – he grunts and crosses his arms, regarding the other with an utter lack of patience. “Because he's the whole fucking reason we're moving out, yeah.”

Uri smiles warmly, if a little patronizing, it seems. “Emotions aren't always based on reasons, yes? You're not going to let dear Hanji get hurt anyway, if you can prevent it. But Moblit,” he nods towards the closed door to the basement, where said synth is probably messing with instruments at a speed and precision that's nearly unparalleled, “he always has to fight his subroutines of caution and rationality. They tell him that Erwin is, with too high probability at least, beyond help, and that demanding protection for more than one person will turn you, a Wasteland survivor, uncooperative. So he settles for the achievable. It takes time to override those beliefs built into him, and under so much stress, there's not enough room for that.”

Levi takes a step towards him, studying his wrinkled face, his black, soft eyes.

Reading Moblit is possible, even when not all of his facial sensors work and sometimes get suppressed. But Uri is a mystery, on too many levels to be comfortable, and every time Levi tries to read him, it feels like he's being read instead.

“Why did you sneak in here like this?”

Uri gets up, in his usual, slow way of a man who feels old, whether his body shows it or not. He has stopped smiling, but his face is gentle nonetheless.

“I wanted to ask you for a deal, too.”

Which he has always politely declined, so Levi immediately is on alert, watching him carefully, waiting for Uri's request. It comes, without ceremony or secrecy.

“I want you to bring Erwin back. Unharmed... is too much to ask, I'm afraid. But alive.”

The old fool has done it again – he has taken Levi aback. After this whole sermon, after his subtle suggestions that Levi ought to stay away from Erwin and the whole Project stuff if he can make his choice; it hasn't even seemed that Uri likes Erwin a lot, considers him one of his “children”, or worries for him.

Levi isn't even interested in the trade-off. “Why?”

Uri smiles again. This time, however, it's not as kind or warm. It's almost grim. “I know how people die these days. I know Erwin will die without you. He can't say sorry, but he atones for what he's done by sharing pain. That's why he limps, or why he's out there now. But...”

The smile turns wider, just a little rueful and crooked, the way Uri typically smiles. The depth of his stare unsettles Levi: like it's enveloping him, both chary and overwhelming.

“Maybe I can't... accept that easy way out. I'm sorry my reasons are so selfish, Levi. I wouldn't try to ask if there was anyone else.” He steps closer, meeting Levi halfway: he can move very quietly if he wants to, and although his hand is frail and small, it feels like a heavy impact when he carefully places it on Levi's shoulder.

“People will always rely on you. You are hope.”

He lightly squeezes Levi's shoulder through the armored fiber, then he leaves as silently as he must have come.

Levi means to go back to the steel cabin, fetch what little equipment he might need – but he doesn't move, simply stands there. His mind is strangely tranquil at that, the first moment of true peace in a long, long while.

The worst of all evils.

But they place their hopes in him, and it's heavy, but it's not just a burden.

If Hanji knows what bargains have happened in their absence, they pay no mind to them – they return dressed in a plain leather coat with rough jeans, a sweater and high, rugged boots, matching Levi's common attire of a Wasteland scavenger. It's probably made of Moblit's special fiber, too, but it's unremarkable enough to pass for a civilian's dress.

In the old Combat Zone, someone like that would have been considered merely a paying customer, dropping by to place bets and drink. Levi isn't sure what the usual audience looks like now.

Hanji notices him eyeing them and tugs at a fistful of their brown hair. “Want me to get rid of that?”

The old Combat Zone hasn't made distinctions between male and female spectators, as long as they're paying. Though Levi doesn't know whether things have changed, he's got a gut-feeling that Hanji's usual camouflage won't be enough either way: even under their brisk attitude, they're too young and pretty, and cutting off hair won't do much.

If that part is still the same, jamming a few fingers will take care of that kind of attention, anyway. Levi waves the offer aside and inspects the shotgun Moblit has given him: a normal weapon by the looks of it, which is imperative if you don't want to draw greedy eyes on you. It's still the general, two-barreled thing with a wooden grip and a currently empty holster where a bayonet can be fitted.

“Here,” Moblit's steely fingers snap the barrels back as if to load them, then turns what Levi has expected to be merely a fortification, but instead small iron claws open before the barrel, like the fingers of a crane, “if you run out of ammunition or want to fire something else, shove it into these pincers. They will drag it into the barrel, compress it and use it as a projectile. You can manipulate the power of the shot here on the grip, though... please be careful not to overload, I haven't finished the tests. That's why I can't activate the plasma magazine yet either, the barrels aren't heat-resistant enough. I'm sorry.”

Levi fastens the ammo belt and rolls his eyes at the apology. “I've survived worse.” And with less refined equipment.

Hanji grins as they pull their gloves on, though they're still pale with tension. “There's a reason they called those robots 'Mr. Nanny'. No offense, Moblit.”

“Of course not.” Moblit doesn't seem insulted, but that's only an impression, and Levi turns away before he can go too deeply into thought. He needs to concentrate on what's ahead of him – oddly, Uri's prediction feels true, despite the fact that he can't be psychic. There's always talk of people who see things under the influence of chems, junkies who are convinced they're not simply indulging an addiction and instead do something valuable, but Uri doesn't seem one of them.

I know Erwin will die without you.

And does Erwin know that?

Hanji has spread a small assortment of headwear on the examination table that can disguise Levi's face, both for people who remember him as a cage fighter and those who might be interested in the bounty. Though Levi has already rejected the idea of covering his eyes – goggles and gas masks will always cut off a part of his periphery, and he knows it's crucially important to see in those cramped quarters. His senses are his strength: he can't afford to weaken them.

Hanji picks up a bandana – ironically, adorned with stars and stripes and some dark spots Levi doesn't want to see up close – and fixes him with a pointed stare. “Christ, at least cover your lower face. Some of the stuff I've packed contains irritant gas, and I'd feel a lot better if I knew you can breathe through cloth.”

“That thing is filthy.”

“It's authentic!”

“Whatever. I'm not fucking wearing it.” Having that dirty rag right on his mouth and nose will make him gag with every breath, and he'll have the stench of the arena up his nostrils anyway, so what does it count if it's filtered?

Moblit has begun to methodically search for the cleanest piece while Hanji still stares at Levi in impatient frustration, then presents his choice with a quiet whir of his better eye. “This one might do?”

It's another dark-green bandana, although Moblit has unfolded and smoothed it, so it's just a triangle bit of worn cloth – one with sloppy white lines representing a mouth that's been sewn shut.

Levi won't ask why there is a Gunner accessory in Moblit's fund: for some reason, this one looks very much like it used to belong to one of their pack.

“If the Gunners search for you, posing as one of them might buy you a little time,” the hybrid suggests. “It's clean... Relatively. I can brush the dried mud down.”

While Levi considers allowing that, Hanji seems less satisfied with the proposal. “Don't misunderstand me on this, but that still doesn't cover your eyes, and they're rather... peculiar.”

“So's my height,” he interjects briskly before they even consider making him wear platform-soled shoes – that shit is probably lying around somewhere in this dump, and he's not going to wait until Moblit remembers where. “I can psycho-paint my face, that'll do. Enough raiders come to brag with shit they took from corpses.”

If you smear the black, thick mixture of soot, grease and coal around your eyes and cheeks, you claim to be a murderer for pleasure, something that despite his brutal nature, Levi has never been. But it's a camouflage that might hide his identity so he can focus on the more serious dangers, and then a bit of dirt on his face doesn't matter.

Hanji doesn't look satisfied, but by now, they know the tone of Levi's voice when there's no room for discussion anymore, having prodded that point in the past days over and over. And they're wasting time standing around, time that they won't be able to catch up – Levi is positive he could on his own, but he's with a civilian, and despite his own words, they don't know the exact location of the New Combat Zone.

Huffing in defeat, Hanji shoves their hair under a trilby and readjusts their goggles, which have replaced the glasses again. “How long will we be on the road?”

Levi has already started digging through the bundle they put on the examination table for him, throwing out stuff he deems useless baggage – wound salve, flashbangs, what does he need that for – and calculates how far he can push the doctor. They don't seem above using chems for stamina and vigilance, but everyone else without resistance is prone to addiction, and if they make it out of there alive, it'll bite them in the ass.

“Two days and a half, minimum.”

Assuming that Hanji has sufficient stamina even without a full armor and doesn't slow him down in a fight. It already sounds pesky, so Levi adds pointedly: “You don't have to come.”

“I do.” Hanji's voice is tight, and when he looks at the doctor, they're fixing a point behind him that's nowhere in this room, presumably nowhere in the settlement, either. Levi almost wants to ask where, then shuts the question out: Hanji and he have not spoken about anything personal, not ever, and this is no moment to begin.

Besides, the doctor is well-trained – they don't linger longer than they need to. Their gaze snaps back to reality and to Moblit, who's watching them with that restless expression, like he'd love to be told what to do.

“I noted some things down about the deactivated synth. Left them on your desk, along with my hypothesis. Don't wait for Eld, open the can as soon as you have time.”

Levi has gotten so used to being their main subject of experimentation that he's forgotten about the fallen synth Hanji has dragged back here: the one they think he influenced, in whichever way. He's not happy to be reminded on it, and at the same time oddly glad to be gone when Moblit dissects it.

Moblit nods and straightens his cuffs. Levi knows why he doesn't speak, making sure nobody hears his voice, so he shoulders his bundle and shoves the shotgun into the holster.

“Move it, doc.”

Hanji checks their rucksack one more time, then swings it over their shoulder. Levi snatches the bandana they hold out for him and stuff it into his pocket: putting it on now wouldn't help much, everyone who has their eyes open for bounty has seen his face, and hiding it would signal fear now. Besides, he won't wear that rag before he needs to.

He expects Hanji to tell Moblit goodbye, yet the doctor simply claps the synth on the shoulder, the hard line of their mouth eases slightly. Then they move out.

True to Fahrenheit's word, Levi doesn't sense new, alarming attention for his person outside – the news haven't traveled that fast, but they'll catch up with him soon. He has never wanted people to remember him for anything, a wanderer with no reputation, and he will reconsider his course after this; meaning, after he's set things straight.

Moblit doesn't watch them leave openly, keeps up the pretense that they've merely finished their business here: he has taken back the subway tokens and gone straight to the task Hanji has given him. Or at least he's appeared to. Levi isn't fooled. But assuring Moblit would mean claiming that Hanji will be safe with him, and that is a bare lie.

Only Uri waits at the southern gate, the one Erwin has used hours before, and smiles his idiotic, innocent smile. “Field trip, children?”

Levi rolls his eyes at the attempted lightness, Hanji just nods while trying to stuff a lock of hair under the hat. Uri watches them both, gauges something Levi finds hard to understand, then folds his hands behind his back. His eyes, despite their blackness, look utterly bright for some reason, and appear oddly tranquil, as if he's not worried at all.

“Have a good day, then.”

Levi steps through the gate and feels the lasers leave him, open space again, something he's finally used to. Hanji doesn't follow immediately, but when they do, they look like there's nothing they'd hate doing more.

Traveling with Hanji is different from Erwin.

The doctor's stamina isn't as good, though they doggedly follow Levi's pace, and whenever their breathing grows strained and sweat darkens the hairline, they take a break in complete silence. It's different from Erwin's silence: it's stiff and strained, plagued by unspoken thoughts. It seems that the doctor never stops thinking, their mind is always occupied, and ever since finding out where Erwin has gone, nothing pleasant or fascinating is implied.

The landscape stays the same, biting wind and brown plains everywhere. The ground is churned in random spots, suggesting rad scorpions lurking in the earth. On more than one occasion, Levi has to stop Hanji, urging them to climb onto rocks and stay still until he tells them otherwise – they obey without complains, hinting that the wildlife isn't what makes them so tense.

They should be. But scolding them will do no good.

When it gets dark and thus too dangerous to walk on, there is nothing to climb on; sleeping on the ground would be equally deadly, so Levi finds the wreck of an ancient car and decides it'll have to do. He could go on alone, his senses can detect the scorpions in time, but there's Hanji to watch out for, as well as the venom of those beasts.

Hanji doesn't protest when he orders them to stop, but the lines around their mouth tighten even more. “He crossed the plains in daylight, didn't he,” they say without quite needing Levi's confirmation.

Erwin hasn't been forced to rest here, he's probably continued his way towards the town: he's officially uncatchable.

Seeing no reason to state the obvious, Levi climbs into the creaking wreck and settles on the skeleton of the driver seat. Uncomfortable, yet relatively safe to sleep on, as the sonar of the rad scorpions won't detect their living bodies above the ground. So it's bearable that the roof has rusted open and the wind howls through the wreck.

To think that those things once moved in huge numbers... Must have been nice.

Hanji stiffly folds themselves into the other seat and hugs their bag to their chest, huffs out a little puff of warm breath. “You know, Uri said he only survived the bombs because of traffic jam... Hundreds of these things stuck on a highway.”

Either they have guessed Levi's thoughts, or they mean to say at least something as they rummage through their stuff. He doesn't feel like talking, but the doctor doesn't seem to mind – they have a habit of monologizing as they work, and apparently when they want to keep the silence at bay.

“He got a phone call – that used to be something like radio comm – from his niece and ended up leaving his home too late to catch his plane. And he survived... Till this day, we don't quite know how ghoulification triggers, and who gets to keep their sane mind instead of... turning into a mutated beast.”

They find a ration bar and tear it open to listlessly chew on the mostly tasteless mass, and Levi is about to close his eyes just for the sake of ending any conversation when the doctor speaks up with their mouth full: “Say, Levi... You ever think humans deserve this? You're a synth, it's possible you won't ever age. If you don't die for some other reason, you'll get to see the whole filthy end.”

“You're full of shit,” is what Levi says, eyes stubbornly closed. The thought that he won't age has never crossed his mind, and he can't find out anyway; he'll know in a few years, and then he'll worry if need be.

“So you don't think so. That's refreshing to hear! I might have questioned your motives for this hike otherwise.” Hanji's tone is light, slightly muffled through them munching on compressed nutrients – Levi actually wonders whether he's misunderstood them at first.

“You're the one who shouldn't be here, sawbones.”

“Oh, I do.” At least Hanji swallows before replying. “You might need a doctor. Well, not you, but Erwin probably will.”

Levi opens his eyes eventually, the starry sky is pin-sharp and looms before them; he averts his gaze to look at Hanji, only to see them staring up as well.

“You hate him.”

“I don't.” Hanji is too hard-boiled to be baited so easily, yet their grin is brisk, bares too many teeth. “And someone like you knows damn well it's not that simple.”

Levi rolls his eyes: playing games is the last thing he's up for now. Folding his arms close to his chest to keep his fingers warm, he pulls one of his knees close and leans against the creaking seat. “Can I rely on you or not, fucker? If you let me down in there, you'll be sorry.”

It's a sober threat, the simple truth – Hanji doesn't know how bad that place is, Levi himself can guess, but he can't afford not knowing someone's priorities.

Hanji doesn't answer immediately this time. The starlight in their glasses reflects, turning their eyes into shining flat disks with no expression and no warmth.

“We did a lot to find you,” they say eventually, “and perhaps even too much. If I have any chance to keep you alive and free, I will.” There is no effort to persuade Levi in that voice, and no pleading softness as they turn their head towards him. Now their eyes are dark pools. “I've got something to ask of you, though. In case I die.”

The thought doesn't seem to scare them, and Levi wonders what someone of such vivid energy and ambitious dreams must have been through to feel that way. He finds he can't turn them down.

“If it's possible, bury me somewhere. Doesn't have to be that deep, just somewhat properly.”

Levi nods before he's quite thought it through; something about Hanji demands it, and the way they relax into their seat and take up eating again tells him that this has been important.

Rotting in the earth... Well. If he dies, Levi knows he won't have that luxury, but unlike Hanji, he doesn't want to plan his deathbed already. And he's never assumed that anyone would be there after his death to fulfill his last wishes.

Odd. He wonders what Uri would make of that. The mere inclination that he'd want to hear his opinion annoys Levi, and he begins to dig around for his own dinner. If they're stuck in this wreck till daylight, he can at least time his energy budget for a fight, avoiding both weakness and digestion slowing him down.

Hanji suddenly smacks his back, straight and clean teeth gleam in the sparse moonlight as they broadly grin, an abrupt swing of mood that has Levi wondering whether the doctor does their share of chems, too.

“That's my man, eating after talk of death! You're unflappable, aren't yee?”

There's no irony as far as Levi can detect it, and he has to admit that Hanji's demeanor is both pesky and disarming. He doesn't get them, but he might like them, and that makes him wary.

“Why's that a surprise?” Levi grumbles instead, holding onto his annoyance for now. “After all, you know me.”

At least they know recordings of Ackerman, and that seems to suffice.

Hanji leans into the skeleton of the seat with a grunt of discomfort and shrugs, snuffling noisily when the cold wind picks up again. “I'm a scientist – what I know is that tests made under laboratory conditions can be fundamentally different from field experience. If I hadn't been aware of that already, Erwin would be the prime example, and I can't see another explanation of Moblit coping with the change of body.”

Levi knows he shouldn't ask. It's none of his business, it's of no help now, and he feels clearly awkward even talking about someone who might be... dead.

And yet there are things about Erwin that never did make any sense, and Levi sees no way to figure them out himself – he doesn't know where to start.

“Why's that?”

Levi forces the words out, so he makes them short. Which bears the obvious risk of Hanji misunderstanding him.

“Well, you see, even though Moblit used to be a household robot, his sensory information isn't meant to be understood, just recognized, and the circumstances of his evolution still baffle me-”

“I meant Erwin.”

Hanji closes their mouth, as if wondering how a human can be more interesting than an evolving robot hybrid. Levi keeps the stubborn silence, wanting to change the topic and then... not, this is idiotic.

“When he tricks himself, he essentially does the same thing as Moblit – at least I think so. It's not my subject, and we agreed to leave it at that.”

Levi waits. And after a long silence, realizes that Hanji waits, too. This is increasingly weird, and Levi considers leaving it at that again; but it might be important, possibly even for his strategy at the Combat Zone.

“I don't have a fucking idea what you're talking about, sawbones. Out with it.”

Hanji lets out a reluctant snort, as if they're internally squirming: something that doesn't make sense for someone so unconcerned about personal space and their own identity. Their silence stretches, up to the point where Levi thinks they won't answer at all.

“I wouldn't speak about this if the risk that Erwin never gets around to doing it himself wasn't quite so high. But I suppose we can't expect you to be honest while keeping secrets... and the details shouldn't matter.” Hanji sighs, again that weary sound of someone who feels an age they don't actually have yet. It should feel condescending when they say this, but Levi has seen and heard this expression in the doctor multiple times now; often enough for him to think that whatever they keep secret, they aren't making the decision an easy one for themselves.

Besides, he can always get angry afterwards.

Hanji rubs their cold fingers together, too slow to actually create a little warmth, as if they can't spare the energy.

“Humans aren't very different from machines,” they start, “and they can be conditioned to behave in certain ways, along with mental barricades that block their mind. You can 'teach' someone loyalty without breaking them, unlike the Gunners do, and you can... implement bans for behavior that you deem undesirable. Imagine the perfect soldier – skilled in every kind of combat, educated, hardened against pain, but it's not useful if they come up with ideals that oppose yours.” Hanji lightly taps their temple, for once the feat of science doesn't awake admiration within them. Their voice is almost bleak, like they purposefully cut themselves off from emotions while they talk. “However, if you shape someone to renounce alcohol and common drugs, to avoid sexual relationships and forbid to speak about internal affairs, your risk that your soldiers will form revolts is minimized.”

It sounds... ridiculous, impossible to perform, and Levi doesn't want to believe it. Although this could explain a few things about Erwin that otherwise remained a mystery, and underneath it all, Levi is convinced Erwin couldn't have tricked him so thoroughly.

He has the appearance of someone not born and raised under the sun, and while the vaults from before the Great War are said to have been destroyed long ago, it's not necessarily true; and they have been technically advanced, after all. Erwin's whole built is strangely perfect, his training outrivals that of a ranked Gunner.

Erwin does drink alcohol, but he's always mixed it with something to cover the flavor. The same doesn't work for chems, so it's imaginable why he's never joined Levi for a trip.

And then there have been those moments when he truly seemed to be unable to speak. When he struggled physically to find words despite his usual eloquence, and it always concerned something personal, as if he has been fighting to dig it out.

What is there above all else?!

Levi isn't willing to accept it yet, but there is the possibility that Erwin actually could not tell him. It doesn't change anything, of course – none of it does.

“Fucking's not his damn problem.”

“Well,” Hanji huffs stiffly, “nobody goes rubbing that into people's face – been thinking for a long time that he just doesn't have a thing for-”

“I know,” Levi cuts them off flatly, too irritated to honor discretion for once.

Hanji closes their mouth with a click of their teeth, and Levi quietly wonders whether they might actually be blushing. At least there's a few long seconds of flustered silence until the doctor clears their throat.

“Sure explains you guys' bad atmosphere,” they eventually say. “Jeesh... Still, don't think Erwin would've gone through the humiliation of telling me his exact conditions if he wasn't sure himself.”

It almost tempts Levi to laugh how sex is the one thing that Hanji's explanation excludes, but before amusement comes, it gives him pause that Erwin hasn't told them about his tryst with Levi, even when every piece of information would have helped the doctor's work. If just to avoid awkward situations once they would have questioned Levi whether he's even attracted to humans.

Even so, Hanji would have noticed if Erwin at least attempted to tell them, so he must have meant to keep quiet.

It's hard to wrap his head around this – Uri might make sense of this, Levi can't. And as much as he just might have grown fond of the old ghoul, sex and its possible side-effects are not something he'd like to... discuss with him.

And speaking of uncomfortable topics, even Hanji seems more than content to leave it at that. Levi knows that since he has promised to watch over them, he has a right to question them further: for example about what Fahrenheit said about them raising the dead, or about the old grudge towards Erwin, possibly their relationship with Moblit. No doubt all of those would make Hanji uneasy, even corner them. And it might be the last chance to talk to them about it, because tomorrow, they could either die or be separated.

Why would they even deserve his consideration, after all?

Levi moves so one of the rusty springs stops poking him even through the improved protection of his new gear. “Just so you know, not gonna dig a hole around here. Too bloody wet earth.”

Hanji snorts quietly, but it sounds like it could have been a chuckle, too. “I'll try not to die around here, then.”

They set off as soon as the light conditions are acceptable for Hanji's eyes, grim silence once again settling in. It's less tense than before, though: more like the doctor steels themselves for the strenuous travel. It means they pay less attention to the wildlife, but between pushing them on and staying on his guard, what he'd do anyway, Levi finds this the easier alternative. He can tell Hanji is exhausted, and still they cut the breaks to make up for lost time, only stopping when Hanji's feet get caught all too often in the coils of hard grass and old wire.

Around noon, they take the first long break in an abandoned shed, and Levi considers letting the doctor sleep for half an hour. They sit next to him, back against the wall beside the door. The autumn chill has gotten stronger and the sky is gray, wind snatches warmth from between layers of clothing.

It's been easier to ignore this when Hanji was mostly wearing power armor and their face was smeared with oil, but now Levi is forced to realize it once more: how frail normal humans are. No matter how strong Hanji's brilliant mind is, their body still shivers, grows stiff with fatigue, their vigilance eventually tires as well. Compared to him, their senses are dull and slow.

Protecting someone so weak is difficult – far more challenging than surviving on his own, and a dozen times harder than simple killing. Detaching himself would be easy.

“Let's burn the midnight oil.” Hanji brushes crumbs from their leg and tugs their hands into the pits of their arms to warm them.

And Levi's thought he's been thorough with checking their luggage – flammable liquids might do more harm than good in a cramped space. “Where the fuck did you hide that?”

“Oh.” Hanji blinks in surprise. “That's just a saying if you go all night.”

Levi huffs and runs his fingers over the grip of his shotgun, a bit irked by the lack of scratches and nicks. “Big talk for someone who can't keep up.”

It's a fact, not an insult, and Hanji is reasonable enough to not take it as the latter: it doesn't mean they agree, though. “I'll tough it out, laddie. Thing is...” They stretch their calf with half a grimace and begin to knead the muscle mercilessly with their knuckles. “Been a while since I've been to an arena, but I distinctly remember that the fights usually start at sundown. You know, so you have enough time to rob travelers and earn caps to lose 'em later. If we keep up to the tempo you predicted and reach the Combat Zone sometime around noon, it doesn't do us a whole lot of good.” What they mean is: We'll be too late then. Levi is silent.

“Since you're the one who has to do the fighting, I'd ask you whether you can handle it, but it's either that or we can turn around right now.” Hanji switches to their other calf and pushes their glasses up with the back of an arm.

The doctor is right, and Levi knows it. He also knows that if it weren't for Hanji's insistence to come along, he'd be way ahead.

The new Combat Zone will probably require him to give everything he's got, especially because he has to do more than 'just win' now. If he pushes close to his limits again, what will Ackerman give him to remember?

Little moon.

Levi briefly closes his eyes and then rises smoothly. He feels like he could run, if it weren't for the human and weak muscles. Helping Hanji up, feeling their frail bones and weary limbs, reminds him that no matter what they'll encounter, he'll be stronger. They just have to beat time.

There's always a mistake in all too easy plans.

Staying the course means being merciless. Although Hanji is the one who has suggested setting the pace up and the breaks down, they seem to resent Levi for enforcing it – but they don't complain, so he lets them brood.

What Hanji doesn't do, to Levi's surprise, is take chems to nullify fatigue and strengthen vigilance. He doesn't understand: being a doctor, they can create drugs themselves and see that they get the dose right, and they will need that energy. If that part about the Combat Zone hasn't changed (and Fahrenheit didn't make it sound like it had), everyone is high there.

When they take their last small break before entering the border territory in sparse firelight, Hanji dabs sweat from their face and takes their glasses off to rub their reddened eyes. Even in the small, dirty shelter they've found under a large collapsed advertisement sign, Levi can smell them, make out the new, sharp lines of fatigue. And he can tell they look miserable.

“Wanna get high?” It's the only comfort he can think of.

The grim gleam in Hanji's brown eyes tells him that his suggestion makes them angry; yet instead of snapping, they rummage through their bag and produce a small jar of black paint.

Ah, that. How Levi has waited to smear dirt onto his face.

“Not everyone can start and quit like you do,” Hanji gruffly replies and motions for him to come over so they can apply the paint in what little light they have. Levi is pretty sure the doctor just doesn't want to move, but he grants them the last bit of rest and crouches before them. Hanji touches his chin with a clammy hand to tilt his head in the right angle, then dips their fingers into the viscous creme.

It takes surprisingly much not to slap those fingers away the instant they touch his brow, and Levi realizes it has little to do with the greasy dirt sticking to them: the closer they get to the only place he can actually remember, the more he tenses, and every touch seems hostile now. He closes his eyes to conceal his flitting gaze and lets Hanji do their work.

“I knew someone like you once,” the doctor remarks as their fingers brush the soft skin of Levi's eyelid with astonishingly steady precision. “Someone who didn't know where he belonged and sort of... drifted along.”

That's no way Levi would have described himself, but he barely listens; being temporarily blind, he pays more attention to the sounds around them.

Hanji makes a few wide, messy lines that run down Levi's cheek, finishing that side of his face. The area around his eye is black now, the color extends up to his brow and fans even to his temple and over his cheek. The paint sometimes covers even more, but the bandana will hide that anyway.

Hanji turns Levi's head with dirty fingers and dips them into the creme again to repeat the procedure.

“He had the guts to change,” they say quietly. “Good man. Died, eventually. He chose so.”

Levi's skin under the paint feels unpleasantly warm, like the thick layer retains the heat. When he blinks, he can feel the smeared soot on his lids. Hanji isn't quite finished, yet they don't protest against his open eyes, his cold stare. If anything, their lips twist in grim amusement.

“What I'm getting at – you can't do right. Tell someone he's special and he dies, you'll forever wonder whether you coulda prevented it by keeping your gob shut. So...”

Under Levi's piercing glare, Hanji casually scoops the rest of paint from the jar and, without a warning, presses their fingers into his hair to rub it in. Strands immediately clump together in lank strings, glued to his scalp by greasy color and fat.

Levi has to physically resist backhanding the doctor. Even more so when they grin at him and tug at a revoltingly dirty strand of hair, brushing it back into an even more ridiculous hairdo than the one Erwin keeps.

“Imagine me dying without doing this,” Hanji chirps and hands Levi the bandana.

“I'll toss you into a dumpster full of piss, shit-doctor,” he bites back while moving his jaw as little as possible, as if actually restricting himself from that.

“Picturesque, I'll give you that.” Hanji begins to bury the remains of fire under the usual mass of trash, casually checking whether they've covered hair and body enough. “Alright, my most-wanted companion, help me up – we've earned ourselves some entertainment.”

The night is cold and damp, too clouded for moonlight, but Levi recognizes everything: the structure of these ruins, the skeletons of trees and ancient city life, car wrecks and broken asphalt. The feelings of paint on his face and the cloth of the bandana (it smells like chamomile, like Moblit indeed tried to clean it last minute) do help, though: they remind him that this is different, and that he's no longer a caged rat. That, and Hanji's steps beside him, much too loud yet somewhat calming. The doctor may not be much of a fighter, but he can trust them as far as their shared interests.

Finding the Combat Zone, eventually, is pathetically easy.

Levi spots other passers-by: they don't even try to be quiet, and their loud voices are simple to follow. They head to the old theater, a structure that even Levi's eyes struggle to make out against the black, starless sky.

When he sees where the voices lead, his breath catches.

“Something up?” Hanji's heard it, and Levi realizes that they must have listened to him rather than their surroundings.

“It's the same,” he says, doesn't like the hesitant tone of his own voice. He doesn't doubt, he's just... unbelieving. “It looks the same.”

Building houses in the wastelands is something you don't do. Sheds are manageable, everything else needs intact machines and certain materials and some sort of specific knowledge, not to mention a number of workers. Moving to other ruins that are relatively usable is the only option, so reconstructing something as big as a theater is... simply not doable.

“Fishy,” Hanji agrees. “Let's see about the inside. Can't think of anyone organized enough who'd have an interest in re-building a fight club lodging.”

Levi can't, either, and he's less interested in the Who instead of the Why.

As they approach, the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach settles a little: although some of the brick foundations survived the fire, the walls are more rusty metal sheets reinforced with chipboard and covered with plastic tarp. Still impressive work, something that's cost effort, but not beyond possibility.

What surprises Levi is that it's... quiet. There's nobody outside, no roar of the audience, more like a faint humming that Levi believes are many voices. They just seem far away for these thin walls-

He senses movement and immediately draws his shotgun while shoving Hanji away, nearly sending them to the ground. His eyes don't need long to fixate the silhouette leaning against an old lamppost: their arms are crossed and seem empty, at least.

An oil lantern is turned up, and a ghoul in spike armor gives them a fragmentary grin. Levi doesn't remember him, but then again, ghouls are difficult to recognize.

“Easy now, stragglers.” He's stretching the syllables in a way that seems exaggerated, ironic even – like he's drunk and sober at the same time, as his pronunciation is sharp. For a guard, he doesn't seem attentive at all, which is idiotic in a place where riots occur more often than not.

Hanji has recovered their balance and eyes him warily. “So what's the fee?”

The ghoul simply shrugs, and Levi can't even detect the measuring note of someone who's trying to squeeze out a few extra caps. “Nothing, sugar. Go right ahead.”

He points towards a beaten door that appears to have no further security, scrap wood that you could break open with a kick. That thing couldn't keep out a cold draft, not to mention violent guests.

Hanji glances at Levi, probably to see whether this is normal – whether it makes sense for it to be this easy. Deciding he might as well speak, Levi lowers the shotgun a little, just to show good will.

“We're looking for someone.”

If you inquire after someone while holding a gun and don't reveal your face, it's safe to assume that you mean to cause him or her harm – it's a common understanding. The old Combat Zone had strict rules for fights outside the cages, punishing such behavior with penalties of varying pain and humiliation. No use in keeping arenas if people brawl outside the amusement area, after all.

The ghoul doesn't even look at the shotgun, and Levi can't sense any tension in his posture; it's not something he generally gets.

“Good luck lookin' then.” There's that grin again, that blurry expression that has Levi wondering what this man sees before his very eyes. “You go in, you're reborn.”

It makes a chill run down Levi's spine for no other reason than the feeling that he's been reborn already, and the ominous babble of a stoned idiot reaches into that core. Even when Hanji touches his arm to tug him towards the door, Levi's focus is on the ghoul, expects him to turn on them any second.

He doesn't. He simply lowers the flame of his lantern again and stares into the ruins with an intensely empty expression that makes Levi want to fire a shot into the back of his head.

Then he goes to hell.

The Combat Zone is the place of ugly memories and fear, and Levi has been prepared for his subconsciousness to experience it as more threatening than it actually is because of that.

But there's none of that. It's just hell. A seething, stinking pit. Literally.

It's unbearably loud and everything chokes with thick smoke, so when pandemonium unfolds before him, Levi stumbles and feels biting heat engulf him, crawl over him, mark him.

Before them, the ground opens into a hole, as large as the former floor of the theater, and leads deeply into the earth, as if a giant impact has simply torn out the fundament until it reached the sewerage. Levi can't see far enough to make out the bottom yet, but he can spot spiderwebs of chain bridges through his watering eyes.

But that isn't what makes this place monstrous – it's the people. It's their madness.

They are a mass that surges back and forth around the pit, and wherever Levi looks while he tries to blink the smoke out of his eyes, he doesn't see a sane soul, only rabid expressions of hunger, anger, excitement or... nothing at all, merely a sick lightness. Although the light conditions draw grimaces on every face, there's something more at work; Levi perceives it like a veil covering the place.

A woman with a bleeding wound on her shoulder stumbles by; she scratches thoughtfully at it, completely unaware of pain, her eyes follow shadows – then she suddenly reaches out what Levi senses to be the wish of burying her dripping fingers in Hanji's eye-sockets. He rams her arm out of the way as the doctor flinches, but the woman's eyes already move further and she hurries on.

The crowd is full of them, all kinds of fellows, mostly humans of all ages. Their laughter is shrill, almost everyone keeps making noise; Levi can't find his orientation here, his senses scream for him to run.

He can't, though, and they're too far in the open here. The uneven ground consists of hard dirt and carries the echo of a slow beat through tiny vibrations. Levi recognizes that beat and drags Hanji deeper into the mass without warning; if they struggle, they're no match for him, and everything surrounding them is more dangerous anyway.

He spots a niche where the ticket counter used to be and pushes Hanji inside. They're not alone here, there are at least two people intensely engaged in passionate activities that sound like fighting animals, but at least they're less likely to attack anyone else. Levi lifts a hand to tug the bandana down; the cloth nearly suffocates him in the already stifling heat caused by the burning barrels. They seem to be the only source of light, create smoke and have Levi breaking out in sweat already.

Hanji stops him before he has the shitty rag down – they have regained composure, though their voice is still too quiet – Levi can't make out the words, and his eyes sting too badly to read their lips.

“... air. Keep the bandana on,” Hanji leans in and instructs more firmly, their lips brush Levi's ear as they speak. “Can't stay long. Some sort of drug... Vile.” They shake their head in what Levi only hopes is disgust and horror, not beginning symptoms.

From what Fahrenheit said, the madness of her men lasted longer than the exposure to this – it seemed to have them in its grip until death's door. But Levi decides against letting Hanji in on that bit of information now.

The doctor's forehead is deeply lined with tension as they glance around and cough into their sleeve. “How can this be?”

Indeed – how could the ruin they've seen from afar contain so much smoke and people and conceal it all? The only possibility Levi can think of is some sort of ventilation system and paths from the sewers, but in any case, it demands specific knowledge. Not to mention that whatever is in the air here is... almost turning people into rabid animals.

Levi leaves that for Hanji to figure out; he's simply here to make sure they stay here as little as possible. “The cages are gone.” No, that's not correct, he's almost positive they're not gone . “Gotta go down there.”

Hanji seems to struggle with the mere idea; it's a sensible reaction, and as soon as Levi has found a spot that's easy to defend, he'll leave the doctor there and dig out Erwin. He can't protect Hanji from gas, and looking at this madhouse, he knows they'll need medical service more than ever.

“The concentration of whatever drug must be even worse down there,” Hanji tells Levi before he can turn away. Sweat gleams on their face, too, but the sickly color of their face does nothing to cloud their clear gaze. “Unless we're sure, you can't go.”

The lines between worrying for Levi and worrying for their own safety are blurred, yet Hanji seems sure of their words. They breathe slowly through their sleeve covering mouth and nose, and for a moment, Levi can't help wishing they'd have allowed Moblit to come along – drugged air would be irrelevant for a robot.

Levi pins them with a stare of his own, because even if he acknowledges their concern for him, he can't allow uncertainties to remain.

“The Zone master is down there,” where the blood is shed and payment in different currencies is exchanged, “Erwin must've been there. Still is, possibly. 'Sides, chems don't fuck me up.” Not that Levi can be sure with a substance he doesn't know, but now's not the time to be accurate: there's no alternative anyway.

A wave of cheers and howls erupts around the pit and trails off into the clang of metal on metal from multiple sources. It's how the end of a fight used to be announced, honored with curses if the contestant managed to leave the cage by themselves. Levi doesn't hear those; he has little doubt that fights end with death now.

So where do the bodies go? It only now occurs to Levi that they might have to search for Erwin among the corpses, that he'll need to find characteristics that identify him. His mind supplies him with blond hair, clotted with blackened blood, empty blue eyes and a jagged scar on his leg. It's vivid, the confrontation is necessary, and yet it stirs something inside of Levi.

“'Kay.” Thankfully, Hanji chases it away with their voice – it must have seemed like Levi was waiting for their approval, and while that's not true at all, it's better than explaining his reaction to himself. He nods curtly and leaves the niche, the doctor following closely.

Now that Levi's eyes have accommodated to the biting smoke, he can see that not everyone here is helplessly high or reacts in the same way: some still watch their surroundings carefully, picking pockets or collecting information, others seem to come down from their fits of madness. It eases the tight coil in Levi's stomach a little, but not much; now he has to consider being recognized after all, even with this camouflage. The bandana sticks to the sweat quickly forming in the stifling warmth and itches on his skin, and he physically does not want to go down there.

No way to avoid it, though. He can't possibly send Hanji alone, and he can't get scared of a fucking hole either.

The crowd is thick around the pit, people leaning over a guard rail of taut metal chains that rattle loudly; it's bound to be deafening once the people get exited, and Levi is half relieved they're not. He elbows his way to the rim, one hand on his dagger, one fisted into Hanji's coat. It's not a reassuring touch, just leverage if someone decides to push him.

Plank bridges span over the pit, made from the same metal chains and scrap as the guard rail. The pit does look like something has caved in, but it's been reinforced in some ways Levi can't identify. The path spirals downward, more people cram the close space and make it difficult to make out the direct route.

He's never seen so many people in one spot before. The Wastelands don't have gatherings in general, only specific groups that may meet on occasion, and settlements never take in more people than they can feed. Still, this is... a mass. Spotting Erwin among them will be harder than it already seemed.

And there are the cages.

Levi has always wondered whether the heat of a fire consuming an old theater is enough to melt them into a puddle: he's been confident, but now he's forced to realize how naive that was. The three monstrosities are still there, perhaps fixed in places but never beyond repair.

As usual, the people surround them, reach into them or stick something in, hit the metal with something hard. Only one is being used right now, going by the cluster of the audience, and it's probably the best to go down there now, while fewer people try to watch from above.

There has to be an announcer, someone who riles the audience up, even if that's no longer needed, but Levi has spotted some simple speakers around. Having those has always been a great benefit of the Combat Zone: how they ever got a replacement, Levi can't guess. He's trying not to think about it, only to stay on his guard and extend his vigilance to Hanji while hurrying over the plank bridge. It trembles under too many steps and weight bouncing on it – the doctor yelps when the bridge rocks and stumbles, Levi yanks them back to him and takes a large step to carry them to the spiral path in the pit's wall.

The air grows thicker and aches in Levi's throat. At first it seems like his heart is thumping in his chest, but that's not all: the deeper they go, the clearer he feels the beat of something deep, like drums. Uninterrupted, mechanical. The spectators have picked it up, some merely tap their feet, others hammer bare fists against the walls. Or howl along. Their voices also seem deeper, like they are trying to convey a message.

Levi shakes his head with vigor to get rid of the useless fantasy. At least he has spotted the wooden podium that seems to fulfill the same function as the announcer's stage, probably serving as the bookmaker as well. At least it used to be that way, and Levi finds himself gauged by a man with a shaven skull and strangely still eyes.

“Hey.” Levi adopts the behavior of the raider whose paint he wears, clicks his fingers in front of the slowly blinking eyes. “You seen a vault dweller around? Tall, blond, 'casional limp?”

The bookmaker stares at him, neither intimidated nor bored, and Levi wonders whether he's even understood him. Vault dwellers are usually people who try to retain the pre-War lifestyle, when the vaults were filled with optimistic civilians, but they are no less scum than the rest of the living population these days. The description might not be of much use if Erwin has changed his appearance as well.

The bookmaker still gazes at Levi with an odd, empty expression. “Yes.”

Hanji lets out a deep sigh that ends with a cough. “Thank God . Where?”

The bookmaker doesn't seem to have heard them, nor does his stare move from Levi. Perhaps everyone reacts differently to the chemicals and the smoke, but Levi is glad for the bandana covering parts of his face from that stare. “How much?”

Since silence is usually a demand for a bribe.

“Bet what you can spare.” Just like the guard outside, the bookmaker doesn't seem to care about the stake, just remotely fulfills requirements for an appearance. Sweat trickles down Levi's back at the thought.

“We're not here to bet-”, he means to go on, but the bookmaker adverts his eyes at that, abruptly losing interest if they're not hear for business, and Levi runs out of patience. His hand shoots up to grapple the pale throat and drag the choking man down to his eye-level.

In the old Combat Zone, someone would strike you down from behind for attacking the staff. Here, nobody seems to be aware. Or to mind.

“Where?” he repeats, squeezing the voice box for good measure before loosening his grip again. His thumb and index finger dig into the branches of the jugular vein.

The bookmaker isn't fazed.

Of course, he shows the physical symptoms of strained breathing and stress, but despite his widening pupils and twisting facial muscles, the stillness somehow doesn't leave his eyes – it's unsettling to look at, and Levi feels some cruel desire within himself to tighten his grip until the eyeballs bulge from their sockets.

It might speed up his answers in the long run. But he won't.

The bookmaker stares at him; he doesn't look at Hanji, which is unusual for someone who would instinctively seek help from the more patient member of the pair, and his eyes are watery blue with a few burst blood vessels and thin lashes.

“At the bottom.” The voice is almost dazed, although Levi is sure he hasn't choked the man harder. “The only place... where questions are answered. Soon.”

The last word grazes something in Levi's mind and makes him shiver. “What's soon?” He feels like he knows.

“The next fight.”

Hanji hisses a curse that clicks in their throat and pushes close, past Levi so their face looms in front of the bookmaker's. “Why would he?!”

Again, it seems like he can only return a blank stare. Levi loosens his hold, but the man is frozen, obviously not as sober as he once seemed and at the same time eerily concentrated on him. “I do not know,” he breathes, nearly pained even as Levi lets him go completely. “I do not...”

Something about this man reminds Levi on Erwin in those moments when he genuinely seemed to struggle for words: wanting to, but somehow unable to and growing more stressed the longer it took.

And Erwin has gone down the pit. A drugged bookmaker is the least of their worries.

Levi whirls around and grabs Hanji's forearm to drag them further down, towards the drums and the frenzy. The doctor almost frantically pats his shoulder and back, trying to get the attention he really can't spare.

“Did you see that?!” Hanji's voice cracks a little over the last word. “He did... You did...”

“I did nothing,” Levi snaps, his heart seems to stutter the closer he gets to those damned cages. People here are swaying to the beat of the drums, the smell of blood is overwhelming: there must have been a lot of fights already, Levi smells the death, a mixture of piss and sharp decay. The spotlights are aimed at the bottom, bits of metal gleam dangerously everywhere.

“They listen,” Hanji mumbles, and Levi curses them for saying it between two drum beats so he actually hears them. “If you try hard enough, they obey you...”

Levi stops and turns, and he has half a mind to punch their lights out just to stop them. This is not the place, this is not the fucking truth either, nobody does shit because he demands it, only when he follows through with a threat.

Even if the bookmaker is a synth, he can't have answered simply because it was Levi who asked, who wanted answers badly enough to even... No.

The drums fall silent so suddenly that their echo vibrates in the walls. Levi knows what it means when the drums stop. And he knows it even before he has turned back towards the cages in the pit, now still about ten solid yards away from them.

He knows it's Erwin, and he knows Uri has been right: there is no way to survive for him.

Erwin is down to pants, bare chest and feet have often been a requirement for the illusion of fair fights. He seems himself, but Levi can't guess from this distance whether he has been exposed to the smoke for long enough. A part of him is traitorously relieved to see the dumb bastard, shamefully openly so, and that part trembles under the realization that Erwin did go so far for what Uri called atonement. That might also be true.

The other, far larger part is instantly angry.

The crowd roars, delighted with a fighter that promises excitement – they hammer against the cages, the spotlights cast sharp and flickering shadows all around. Erwin is clearly unused to the clamor and the brightness; he keeps turning his head, a sign of weakness because it betrays his inexperience with cage brawls, Levi wants to smack him for it.

The thought vanishes when a round hole in the opposite corner of Erwin's cage opens, probably a former gully, and the audience erupts into frenetic screams. It's deafening, but Levi knows it's not the reason he momentarily sways on his feet. This time Hanji grabs his arm to steady him, and he doesn't have the presence of mind to shove them off.

Because what emerges from the hole is not a human, not even a ghoul or a battle robot. It's a supermutant.

The people howl when the creature, easily twice as tall and four times as heavy as a man, pulls itself free and rises. Its dark green, hairless skin stretches over thick ropes of muscle, the crude, still human face shows simple amusement and naked greed. It only wears a loincloth, yet that makes no difference. The chin is shiny with drool as the small eyes roam the pit and take in what the creature sees: so much living meat, fresh blood and bones.

“I'll be damned,” Hanji hisses. “How could he beat that monster?”

“Nobody can,” Levi hears himself say, rather neutrally. For a split second, he wonders whether he himself could, if he were armed. Possibly. But Erwin, for all his training and grit, he can't. He's merely there to give the audience a show because he might survive a while, and then his death will be slow and agonizing. Supermutants are brutal and have simple, barbaric natures, but they like suffering. All of them feel some basic form of hate towards the race that they sense is their origin, and that makes them hate humanity even more.

Kill. Snap. Eat. Repeat.

“Okay.” Hanji drags their hands over their sweaty face and over their mouth, tries to keep composure. “Gotta be a way out. Open the cage and-”

“No.”

The clarity is overwhelming. Levi sees it all: the gate of the cage has been melted in the heat of the fire that he once himself set, so now the opponents emerge through gullies in the ground, and those appear to be locked from below until the fight is over; until at least someone is dead. And he spots the gleam of Tommy guns, aimed at the cages. If anyone tries to flee or even wants to get in, they will be torn apart by bullets.

Erwin will die in there.

Even as Hanji talks, tries to convince Levi and mostly themselves that there is an escape route without having to win against that monster, Levi watches the supermutant charge. It's nearly comical: it's quick and powerful, and although Erwin is even quicker, it means nothing because even a good blow does nothing more than stun it for a tiny bit. The skin is thick and leathery, fists seem to just bounce off, and then one green arm simply swipes through Erwin's defense and throws him through the cage as if he's only an empty barrel.

Levi sees him crash. The dirty bars leave smears on Erwin's pale skin, he won't live long enough for the bruises to form. Blood flows from small wounds as he heaves and tries to breathe. Death will come by blunt force, not mercifully by a snap of the neck.

Erwin rolls away before the super mutant can kick him and break his ribs, possibly even his spine. Maybe he's fighting for his life, or he's fighting on principle. Levi feels like he owes him to watch, and at the same time, it's... unbearable. He's numb, unmoved, he does not want Erwin to die and there is nothing he can do. Again.

Hanji grabs his arm tighter. Levi can't comfort them, some part of him reminds him that he's supposed to protect them; that he can do, and at the same time, he has to witness how the supermutant laughs at a strike to the kidney. It's a small gift that Erwin's expression is too far away even for Levi to see. Has dogged determination already crumbled to despair?

“He will die,” Hanji croaks. “Do you swear that he will die?”

It's an odd thing to swear on. Levi stares at the pink foam that Erwin coughs up after crashing against the bars again. The supermutant seems to like throwing him. It grabs his head and blond hair disappears under fat green fingers. And then they pull him up like a rag doll.

“Yeah,” Levi responds, calm and cold. He expects the burst skull any second. “Soon.”

“Swear.”

He can't hear Erwin scream over the roar of the audience. If Erwin screams. He has screamed last time.

“I swear.”

Hanji exhales and loops an arm around Levi. He doesn't move, every muscle is stiff and unwelcoming to the doctor's embrace while he continues to stare into the cage.

Erwin somehow struggles free and rolls away. His arm has taken damage. He reaches up to righten his jaw, possibly broken or twisted. The supermutant is slowly losing interest in playing with its meal, and he can only try to run. He has probably been expecting an opponent he actually had a chance against, and it used to be that way. Not anymore, though. Now it's butchery.

Hanji's lips touch his ear again, as if they could force their words directly into his brain by doing that. “You have to go there,” they whisper. “You have to tell him something.”

Levi will risk his life if he tries to get to the cage when everyone is howling mad, but at the same time, it seems like a relief to share some of the risk Erwin has taken and failed. It makes sense, in a way – atonement, even when it's so very useless.

“Only he must hear,” Hanji grinds out, seemingly oblivious to what they demand; Levi would have to yell over the chaos around him, how could he make sure Erwin exclusively hears that? And while fighting for his life.

Hanji clutches him tighter, and it has never been an embrace. No, they make sure only Levi hears. “Only he,” they repeat. “Please.”

For the first time, Levi averts his gaze from the cage to look at Hanji instead of Erwin's vain struggle.

The doctor's face is tear-streaked. Not sorrowful, fearful tears. Levi sees and recognizes someone who has made a decision and suffers deeply from it, but deems it necessary. The tears are merely an outlet, they do not change a thing.

Hanji leans forward, and this time, Levi lowers his head to fit his ear against their mouth.

“75-13,” they murmur, the wetness of their tears smudges the paint on Levi's cheek. “Bring glory to the Uptopland.”

That's all. Wordlessly, Levi takes off the coat Moblit has made for him: it's a fine thing, but in the raging crowd, something easily seizable will be a major disadvantage. He gives it to Hanji and checks his pockets. Dagger. Screwdriver. That'll work. Quick and subtle.

“Find the tunnel. Wait there.” The moment he says it, Levi isn't sure whether Hanji has even spotted the gully cover in the cage; their human eyes seem irritated by the smoke and dull compared to his. But the doctor is clever at least, they will come to their own conclusion, and more importantly, they will leave the worst turmoil. It's not the minimization of risk that Moblit has traded, yet Levi can't spare the time to escort Hanji himself – Erwin might hold out until then, but he won't be in any condition to run.

Supermutants enjoy crushing legs. They like helpless prey.

Hanji doesn't protest and rolls up the coat. Their movements are jerky, their face alarmingly colorless, and a part of Levi is actually hesitant to leave them alone. He hasn't considered himself fond of the lunatic, for all their shrewdness, and still something within him wonders about sticking to the achievable.

It doesn't take more than a second, however, and Hanji has already turned on their heel and ducks between the people.

The numbness suddenly vanishes under a burst of sickening tension, as if Levi has just now realized he's not a spectator anymore. Unlike the last time this happened, and something else is different. Nothing to dwell on now.

The bottom of the pit is clouded with smoke, figures sway and jerk, every weapon is concealed by these circumstances. As much as Levi just wants to run, he knows the risk is too high, and the area around the cage is so tightly packed with people that he can't simply push through. He approaches slowly, the smoke bites at his eyes and dries them up. He has to time blinks with the sweeps of his gaze.

An arm shoots out to grab him, something on him, and Levi yanks the spectator forward like a ram. People crashing to the ground leaves an opening elsewhere, lets him get closer to the cage. He's within the perimeter where people brush him every second, and he has to control his instincts not to lash about.

Being so short is an advantage while moving, but not for seeing. Erwin is out of his sight, though as long as the supermutant roars, he must still be moving. Levi doesn't allow himself fear, he only casts a glance at the guards with their guns and whether they watch him.

They don't. Everyone seems drawn to the bloodshed in a manner that's no longer normal even for this audience. Levi grits his teeth and pushes with more force, but the closer he gets, the clearer it becomes that he can't elbow his way to the front. There are no gaps to squeeze through, and he can't protect himself from attacks: Fahrenheit's mention of 'fancy wire' stuck in one of her men is still clear in his mind.

If he can't reach the cage from the side or the underground, he'll have to do it from above.

Levi turns around, back to the spiral path at the wall of the pit and runs. It's not nearly as inconspicuous as he'd like with a bounty on his head, but there's no alternative either, not when there's so little time. Besides, he can take the risk.

He'd take any risk. That realization comes almost casual, as if things become clear in his head once he's distracted. Levi dashes up the path, shoving aside those in his way, then steps onto the closest plank bridge. People have gathered there, too, seemingly oblivious to the danger of overloading the bridge with their combined weight. But the thin rails don't offer the stability of a standing crowd, it's easy to push spectators to the ground and haul himself off the bridge before he can gauge the distance.

It's higher than expected. Levi lands on the solid cage with a strained hiss, doesn't dare to roll off his shoulder, so he feels the impact in his knees and ankles. The sharp pain is vicious and paralyzes him for a precious second.

The supermutant looks up at him. It's so huge that even standing in a large cage, there's merely about a cubit between its head and the top bars. Small, hungry eyes stare at him, audacious and lively prey that dares to mock him by coming so close.

Then it grins, broad yellow teeth appear between thin lips and a fresh gush of saliva dribbles down between them. “Little raven,” it growls. “Come in. Play.”

It's a rather intelligent remark for a supermutant; then again, this one has been insightful enough to realize the boon of coming here and allowing humans to gather around it instead of attacking at once.

Levi's eyes dart to Erwin the moment he slams into his opponent – he still hasn't given up, and the supermutant nearly shrugs him off, hammering him yet again into the cage bars. Its knuckles are dark with blood that it licks off in a sloppy motion.

Erwin hasn't gotten up so far. His hands move uncoordinated, like he means to brace them and can't figure out how to do it. Something very cold and calm settles inside of Levi at the sight, something that despite his realistically low chances, wants to join the cage brawl.

“You no fun,” the supermutant hollers, and the audience screeches. Levi scrambles to the side of the cage where Erwin is, knowing that he has to get down soon or he'll be shot. The only reason nobody has done that so far is probably simple neglect, but he can't push it.

Erwin manages to rise on his knees and hands. His head is bleeding profusely from somewhere, and Levi is no longer sure he can even hear Hanji's message – however, this is his best and likely last chance while the supermutant is briefly distracted by the temptation of the audience.

He climbs down the bars, brings his heel down on any head or hand in his way, then sticks his arm through them as far as he can, until his shoulder is pressed against the dirty iron. He manages to touch Erwin's shoulder, wet with sweat and hot with exhaustion.

At that moment, Levi isn't even concerned that someone behind him will try to stab him. Something inside of him desperately wants to drag Erwin against the bars, wash away the blood and the pain and keep him there until he's well enough to get yelled at. And maybe for a while longer than that.

Erwin doesn't react to the touch. Of course not, people are always grabbing at the fighters through the bars. And usually to spur them on with pain. With Levi's camouflage and with his vision probably spinning, Erwin might not recognize him even if he looks.

Levis grits his teeth when he sees the supermutant turn, hunger back in its eyes, then squeezes his shoulder into the cage until he can grab Erwin's shoulder and pull at him. The other man struggles, then something seems to twist, a broken bone perhaps; his eyes are hazy with pain as he glances at Levi. He's close enough to see that much.

And it even hurts enough that Levi has to bite down on something that he can't waste on this boiling hell. Instead he leans closer, bandana not quite slipping from his mouth, but it's loose now, and he can speak.

““75-13,” he repeats. “Bring glory to the Uptopland.”

At that, Levi has to let go and retract his arm and shoulder, otherwise the swipe of the supermutant's kick would have shattered his bones. He keeps holding onto the bars, now aware of the people surging against him, pinned to watch.

Erwin rises from the corner he has landed in.

It's surreal to see at first because it's a smooth movement, not crippled by pain and exhaustion. It's like he no longer feels that, and his breathing has gone slower, like the agony does not reach into his brain and therefore doesn't alarm his body.

His eyes quickly scan the place, then fix on the supermutant. As if he'd forgotten his opponent.

Then he lowers into a crouch, and as soon as the supermutant charges at him, he jumps, fucking jumps , to grab the top bars of the cage and swings his knees to crash into the mutant's face. It stumbles back, not seriously wounded but... startled.

Levi doesn't hear the roar of the crowd. He only stares, trying to comprehend.

Erwin can't jump that high. Presumably couldn't even do that without his bad leg, and with the scarred muscle being as it is... And yet he did. It's like he's at the top of his form suddenly.

The supermutant recovers, then rams its knuckles against each other. “Little human!” it thunders before reaching out to simply pluck Erwin from the bars, and that's something he can't evade. The supermutant envelops him in a crushing hold, grins as it begins to break ribs with its sheer strength. Hoisted up above the ground as he is, Erwin can't hope to escape.

As it turns out, he does not intend to.

Levi grasps it the fraction of a second before Erwin lowers his head, opens his mouth wide and digs his teeth into the bulging throat of the supermutant.

In one of their sermons, Levi remembers Hanji saying that the muscles of the jaw are the strongest in the human body: even strong enough to break the teeth out of their roots, should the full potential ever be unleashed. Which does not happen, usually, because humans don't have access to that power. It's not needed, normally.

Nearly dazed, Levi witnesses how Erwin bites down and tears out the supermutant's throat in a burst of blood. The spray hits him in the face, bubbles up from the deep wound and the torn artery, and even as he grip around him weakens, Erwin just breathes in and bites down again, filling his mouth with living flesh and agonized cries.

Levi feels the people rage, but he still can't hear them. He can see Erwin's eyes dart around, pupils tiny, alert.

It's the same expression that the supermutant had when it looked around: the unveiled intention to kill everything here. And not even out of greed or hunger or at least cruelty. There is absolutely nothing.

It's horrible.

Like the supermutant, Erwin – or whatever that thing is – arrives at the conclusion that those people are out of his reach. Even as the giant gargles and falls, he hovers over it. Elegant like a predator waiting patiently to strike again. Covered in blood, his face the mask of brutality.

So when the gully opens to let him out, he doesn't hesitate, just disappears.

Levi feels the shock in his bones, the disgust, the horror, but he wills it back down, focuses on getting away from the cage and deeper into the underground; meet with Hanji and... do whatever they'll do next. It's getting easier to move now that people aren't pressing themselves towards the cage anymore, and their drug-induced madness still seems harmless compared to what Erwin turned into.

Those words. Hanji cried saying them. Levi begins to understand why.

His side aches dully, and Levi is glad for Moblit's improvements of his gear – whatever someone tried to stick into him doesn't seem to have pierced skin. His sweat is oily on his skin, mixed with the paint and getting all over him, but it's not the reason he feels sick.

This part of the Combat Zone is new, so his knowledge of the place doesn't help him. As soon as he can grasp a clear thought, however, he turns to the one person he can be sure about both location and information – that bookmaker.

Levi doesn't want to face him again, to possibly test Hanji's theory of obedience, but if he can utilize that man, he will. The fighters' lounge hasn't been accessible for the audience in the old days and definitely isn't now, not with the brawls ending in death, so he needs someone to take him there on the quickest way.

Despite everything he's seen. Levi knows he wants to go down there, and not just to get Hanji. He has been doubtful about their reasoning for Erwin's behavior, still is, but what happened in the cage can't be explained by simple strict upbringing or a fault in character.

Now that the fight is over, some people crowd the wooden podium to exchange their winnings; the few sane visitors Levi would like to avoid, and he tugs the bandana firmly over the bridge of his nose. Slow, deep breaths.

The bookmaker counts down caps, but the moment he sees Levi heading for him, he puts everything down and... waits.

It's not the slack-jawed immobility that would have made it easy to say that something is wrong. Instead he acts like he's facing a person of authority, someone whose orders matter.

“I need to get underneath the arena.” Levi briefly glares at the visitors who have turned to glare at him themselves: they take in the paint and the emblem on the bandana, and most of them avert their eyes first. Good for them. Levi is in no mood to deal with shit.

The bookmaker nods and steps from the podium without a word.

Perhaps it's just a trap and he has somehow recognized Levi as someone wanted – though even in that case, it would have been wiser to put up a bit of a struggle, keep his face and all that. It makes Levi feel more strongly that this Combat Zone isn't meant to be a permanent installment, whoever rebuilt it has some purpose, but it's not financial. Everything except the basic fabric is temporary, bound to blow up any night.

But why? If he is willing to assume for a second that someone consciously placed a synth here to watch this and keep things ticking over, what are they expecting to happen?

The bookmaker leads Levi to a sloppy, but through the sheer mass of it solid junk wall and unlocks a small iron door. Despite the simple looks of it, Levi senses another system of security: there is the burnt smell of something intensely hot, both coppery and sharp, benzol maybe. If laser tripwires had a smell, Levi would describe it like that.

The bookmaker lets him in and closes the door behind them. The air is fresher here, the noise from the pit duller, and there's barely enough light to see the ladder leading deeper into the ground. The old red bricks and rusty pipes suggest that this is indeed a part of the sewers, no longer the theater itself – they are standing on one of the ducts, and the ladder leads into the canal. Probably dry by now, but always a breeding ground for nasty creatures.

Levi draws his shotgun and climbs down before he can have second thoughts – then realizes he hasn't heard the door open and close a second time.

“Levi?”

Hanji's voice, barely above a whisper when Levi is on the last third of the ladder. They sound unharmed, although it's hard to tell when their throat is raw from breathing the smoke. At least Levi doesn't smell blood on them as he grunts in affirmation, his feet touch the worn stone ground. His eyes adjust to an even deeper darkness, the only light source being a few patches of the thin, glowing mushrooms that the radiation has created. Even he can't see far, but it's enough to make out a few barrels, sealed chests and Hanji's silhouette close to the ladder.

“Found him?”

Erwin climbed down, so he must be here, as well as his equipment – he couldn't have left without it.

“Yes,” Hanji replies flatly and quietly. “But I had to wait for you.”

They hand his coat back to him, then dig around in their backpack for something Levi can't see. He must have a lighter on him somewhere, even he needs a bit to shoot properly-

“No light,” Hanji adds, as if they have guessed his intention. Wasn't that hard, albeit. “Keep quiet. Leave it to me.”

“We need to get the fuck away from here,” Levi hisses back. “Now.”

“Yeah,” Hanji sounds nearly dismissive, as if they've barely listened at all. “Wait here.” Then, more to themselves than to Levi: “Might work, it's dark and quiet, though with the open tunnels...”

Levi forces his restless irritation away, assuming for once that Hanji has a reason to act like a scatterbrain once again; they knew what was going to happen, so they must be familiar with what comes after. As much as he wants to, snapping will do no good.

Shit, it's exhausting to actually work together with people instead of splitting tasks, like he did with Erwin.

Erwin, who seems to have a death switch in a truer sense of the word than Levi.

“Doctor,” he stresses the word carefully. “What's next?”

“Snap him out of it,” Hanji replies. Going by their distraught tone, they're still internally fumbling with their thoughts, but at least they react coherently. “Don't know how much you've seen, but it can't have been pretty. This... trigger hasn't been perfected, as you might have guessed by the relatively simple code, though I can't claim I've had a lot of experience reverting it. So.” They set down their backpack and square their shoulders, a show of bravado they can't actually feel. “Gonna go now. Stay here. If I'm not back within half an hour, take what you need from my stuff and run.”

Hanji doesn't need to spell out what they expect to happen to themselves by then. Levi tugs down the bandana and snorts, putting on a show of disinterest he doesn't feel, either. “What about your body, sawbones?”

“Pretty buried down here, don't worry, laddie.” He can hear their strained grin in their voice.

“Not gonna let you die.” Not after all he's done to assure the doctor survives. Which hasn't been that much, yet he himself does not want them to die. Easy way out and all that.

“Much appreciated.” Hanji's voice is actually tinged a little warmer beneath the sober tone. “And I honestly don't know who'd win if you fought a vault soldier at full blast. But at least one of you would die. Not worth it.”

They clumsily pat Levi's shoulder in the dark, then march into the duct with as much grace as someone can who sees nearly nothing and therefore can't watch out for tripping hazards.

It's not like Levi to place the judgment of others above his own, not even when they're as bright as Hanji. However, since they have an advantage in experience here, he might give them time... Five minutes. Maximum of ten. He cleans his face and hair the best he can with the bandana as a rag and waits.

It proves an impossibly long while if you are trying not to think about the things Hanji said. What they mean. Levi gives up after two minutes and sneaks closer into the direction Hanji has gone. Just... to listen, he's skilled enough to hide himself.

Because underneath the fear and the worry, Levi feels the morbid curiosity that must drive those around him as well for the first time. You are sick, but others are, too.

Hanji's low murmur slowly drifts into his ears, and Levi pauses to hear it. He can't make out words yet, only that it's quiet, monotonous. Hypnotizing. The doctor has tried that with Levi as well, quickly given it up again, but explained that it heightens the susceptibility to outside influence.

There is no reply from Erwin. No sound at all.

“... safe. The darkness is safe. You remember that. You remember the drills. If you close your eyes, you will see it. Close them. Answer me if you closed them.”

No answer. The duct twists, and Levi presses his back against the stone wall to look while giving away as little of his outline as possible.

He can see Erwin, although he as to strain his eyes. It's a relief at first: the body that crouches on a crate, the highest position possible, seems alright so far.

But it's not. Levi senses it, the way he would instinctively know that the motionless, bumpy shape among scattered trash is a feral ghoul and will leap up to attack if something living comes close. That thing is not actually listening to Hanji, it's trying to locate them by their voice. The body has taken damage in the fight, the hearing is probably still off, and it's careful. Not a wild beast. A cunning monster.

“You are Erwin Smith,” Hanji continues with admirable calm. “I know that. I have been by your side when you told me. You did not die. You did not want to die.” They exhale deeply. “Come on, Erwin. Mike is here.”

Levi has heard that name before, although now that he thinks about it, Uri and rarely Moblit are the only ones who mentioned him. The soles of his boot lightly scrapes across a pebble as he moves forward.

Erwin turns his head. If he hadn't processed Hanji's words, he might not have, because he'd stay focused on the close prey. But Hanji has said someone is here, and he has heard someone, so-

Erwin's breathing picks up. Hanji takes another deep breath. “I know,” they say. “I know it hurts. It always will, but we can't close our minds. You will miss so much if you do.” They seem to force themselves to exhale again. There is a slight hitch, nothing more. “Come on,” they repeat.

Whatever intention has been behind that order, Erwin's body coils up tighter as he vomits – it hits the brick floor with a wet sound, following by painfully strong retching.

It's a pleasantly normal reaction if your mouth has remains of blood and tissue in it, not to mention the memory how it got there, and it renders you unable to attack. Levi has never been so glad to see anyone puke out their guts.

Hanji fumbles some sort of electronic pit light out of their backpack and turns it on, the sudden greenish brightness trembles with the hand holding it. Levi blinks, his eyes struggle for a moment before adapting – everyone else needs more time, but he sees that Hanji hasn't been holding a weapon. About three yards away from Erwin, it would have been easy for him to kill them. They must have known.

Hanji doesn't look up when Levi comes closer, and judging by their jerky movements as they dig through their backpack, they need to compose themselves first – fine by him, Levi has had enough crying for a year. Longer than that. A fucking lifetime.

Goddamn, his knees are squishy as fuck. This is shitty timing for the shock to ease.

Erwin doesn't immediately lift his head when Levi approaches him, mostly because he's still busy coughing and spitting in convulsive, painful hacks. His entire front is more or less covered in dried blood, bruises are forming everywhere beneath that, and the smoke has coated him in something gray and greasy.

Levi has never been happier to see him so disgustingly filthy.

Erwin glances at him: his eyes are wide and dull, reeling with shock. Levi can't tell whether it stems from the memory of his barbaric killing or the vault soldier mode, and really, it doesn't matter. Not the filth, not the past hour. It doesn't even matter if Erwin might throw up again once Levi moves into his spitting range.

He does avoid stepping into the mess on the ground, though.

Levi reaches out, laying his hands against the sides of Erwin's head; he means to pretend checking for injuries, because the blond hair is mottled with blood, but his fingers never reach there as Erwin slowly lets his forehead sink against his sternum.

It could be a wave of dizziness or fatigue – or a cautious way of asking. Levi doesn't put it past the clever bastard.

Not like he needs to know. Not like he cares.

He lets Erwin rest there, moves a foot back to broaden his stance as more weight leans onto him. It's only when Hanji's busy rustling quiets down that he gently pushes him back, reminding himself that they can't linger.

“I'll treat what I can, then get your stuff while you recover. Pretty sure I know where it is. Then we're off.” Hanji steps closer and curtly motions for Erwin to remain on the crate, but move into a sitting position. Judging by the quiet hiss that accompanies the change of posture, it hurts plenty, and Levi glances at the ribcage. There is an assortment of strange bumps under the layer of curdled blood, possibly fractures.

Hanji hasn't asked Levi to leave and keep watch, although he should do the latter – still, there is a strange unwillingness to go. He shuffles an awkward step backwards to give Hanji room and feels Erwin's eyes focus on him immediately.

They are haunted.

“Do you want to know?” Erwin's voice is all gravel with a bit of acid. He must have taken a blow to the throat during a fight, and Hanji touches his neck with a frown before drawing some liquid from their set into a syringe.

Erwin's voice has that strained note that isn't just his exhaustion, hinting quite clearly that he means his past. And although he doesn't sound like his usual self, it's not as halting and obviously difficult as mentioning that part of his life usually is.

Levi is tempted to say yes. He deserves those answers, and more importantly, they concern him to a degree. Especially if situations like these are to be avoided in the future. And why should he be the only one so transparent?

However, he has never seen Erwin quite so... fragile. As if there is a hair crack running through all of him. Opening himself might not tear it further, and even so, he's agreed to it, he even wants it, that pain is like making up for what he causes others.

Levi considers that an unhealthy cycle. He wants to know, but he doesn't want more pain. Not until there's a breather to be had.

“Save your breath, your wheezing's gonna give us away.”

“It might not be possible later,” Erwin warns him as Hanji pierces the syringe into the artery behind his clavicle, yet it's a weak protest. Levi can practically feel the relief as he shrugs. “Then try hard, blondie.”

The corners of Erwin's mouth twitch slightly before he redirects his energy at remaining mostly still during Hanji's treatment. The doctor does what they can, cleaning the blood off and disinfecting open wounds, injecting fluids that probably ease the healing, but even they can't mend broken bones on the spot or scan for internal injuries. Eventually, they step back and push up their glasses.

“That'll have to do for now. I'll get your stuff.”

They lift their backpack and venture back towards the ladder, taking their pit light with them. It leaves Levi and Erwin in darkness, and although Levi's eyes adapt to the shred of light from the mushrooms, he doesn't squint to see.

“I'll fucking kill you once you're healed up.”

Erwin answers with a drowsy hum, likely from the painkillers Hanji has given him before bandaging his ribcage. “So you'll be around then.”

Levi huffs. “Didn't say so.”

“Please.”

Strange how Erwin finds it easier to say those simple things in the dark. Then again, not being seen has that effect on many people – only that Levi sees , and everyone keeps forgetting. He leaves the illusion intact.

“Gonna cost you more than some sweet talk.”

“I wasn't trying to lower your guerdon.”

“And what the hell is that even?”

Erwin chuckles quietly, though it must hurt. “You were really there, weren't you? In the pit. I thought I had imagined you.”

It's an odd feeling to have someone tell him that they have thought of him in the face of death, that reality and fantasy have become hard to separate. It says... a lot. Levi feels like he should be saying something as well, but this is not the time... And he has time, damn it. He doesn't have to hit and run.

They sit in silence, exhausted and immersed. Eventually, the glow of Hanji's pit light returns, and they drag a bundle of equipment along. They even smile as they help Erwin into his clothing, remarking that they are burning up their bedside manner for the next ten years, give or take.

Levi smells the fresh blood on them the second they come closer.

He says nothing as Erwin dresses and Hanji checks him over once more. It may seem like politeness when he stares into the dark duct the moment Hanji carefully embraces Erwin, stiff but gentle. The way a friend does it. Erwin returns it in kind, like it lifts a weight off him.

Levi doesn't need to ask whether Hanji has killed the bookmaker. He doesn't even need to ask why. There must be no traces from the influenced synth, no way to check the synth component. Another grim task that explains why Hanji has taken their backpack with them.

“This is no good place to talk, but we should split up again.” The doctor sounds somber and calm when they propose this. Erwin doesn't even pause as he digs out toothpaste and a brush to get rid of remains in his mouth. Another very sensible thing to do, he must be coming back to his senses.

It also prevents him from speaking, and Hanji doesn't wait for him to finish cleaning. “I'll go back into the city and take a detour around Ticonderoga, and you'll...”, they shrug, “do the usual routine, I guess? You need to rest up.”

Erwin spits out a grimy clump that mercifully disappears in the darkness behind the crate, then nods – to Levi's surprise, who's more reluctant to leave Hanji. They're just human, after all, and not on top of their form.

“Moblit wants you dragged back,” Levi grumbles, the most considerate way he can offer his protection; he might as well, although it means parting ways with Erwin again.

Hanji simply shakes their head. “I'll go alone. It's a precaution, but I can't be seen with you... You were right, someone might have sold us out.”

While Levi did say that a while ago, it was more a barb than an actual suspicion, meant to strike their high-and-mighty attitude – he's surprised that Hanji brings it up again, and even more so when Erwin spits out again and nods grimly. “Recently, I think.”

How someone can be so casually accepting of that, Levi doesn't know, but the world doesn't teach trust anymore. It seems wiser to concentrate on the immediate problems, and there are enough. “Not like it's a blast to be seen with me nowadays.”

“Right,” Hanji snorts and adds at Erwin's questioning glance: “The Gunners put one hell of a bounty on short stuff's head, so you both gotta lay low. That a problem?”

Perhaps it's the fucked-out haze between painkillers and being alive when you really shouldn't be, but Erwin barely seems to mind the news – although they will make life a lot more complicated for the next months, possibly even longer. “No.”

Hanji shows the shadow of a grin, then steps up to Levi to give him a comradely pat on the shoulder. “If I never see you again, I'll find comfort in the memory of messing up your hair and face.”

And he has just managed to forget about that greasy filth for a moment. “Lemme break your legs for that next time.” He gives them a gruff once-over. “Sure you'll be okay on your own?”

Hanji scratches their scalp, either giving it some sort or merely pretending. “Lived in Goodneighbor for a while, sweetness. But I'll admit that it's the sewers that make the travel a whole lot easier for me.” Still slow by Levi's standards, yet quick by those of a human, they pull him into a brief, one-armed hug and offer him a cheeky grin. “Have a nice honeymoon,” they whisper while they're close. “Trust me, doesn't get better.”

There has to be some joke again that he doesn't get, and Levi is mostly preoccupied with enduring physical contact with the doctor. It's not as disgusting as he'd expect, but it feels strange nonetheless. People who leave you are lost, neither dead or alive. With Hanji, he's mostly convinced they'll stay alive, which is odd because he doesn't ensure it himself. He has begun trusting them and can't find a reason.

“What sort of chems do you swallow for the moon to turn into that goo,” he mutters instead, concealing discomfort under a moderately dumb remark.

Hanji snorts and shoulders their backpack. “I wonder,” they mumble and wave a short goodbye. Their demeanor has changed since they decided to give Levi the code, as if crossing that line has made everything easier. Fatalistically so. He's not sure whether it's a good thing and looks at Erwin for a second opinion from someone who knows the doctor better.

“Is that guy gonna be okay?”

Erwin seems to wonder about that himself, but eventually shrugs carefully. “The problem is that Hanji's right,” he says with a slight hitch in his voice, likely because a too deep breath has strained the bandages.

Admittedly, and it seems like the doctor has their own agenda. Levi grudgingly presumes that it doesn't follow the same goal of creating superhumans like Project Leviathan, but he'd be an idiot to think that Hanji doesn't want to solve the enigma of that mysterious individual Ackerman. Or that nobody will be harmed in the process.

Though that's how the wheel spins in the wastelands. Levi himself is no different. He glances at Erwin and watches him get up with a critical eye. “Need a shoulder?”

They both have their pride, but they also really need to get moving by now. Levi is not surprised either when Erwin shakes his head and slings the hunting rifle he has apparently taken to arouse no suspicion from Moblit over his back.

“Just need a few breaks on the way.”

Where to, Levi doesn't ask.

What he really wants to ask is: Why?

Why run out here and risk so much, even considering that Erwin has probably underestimated the danger in the New Combat Zone? There is no gain. Because yes, what Fahrenheit reported about her men does sound worrying, but those mysteries aren't solved in an arena.

Eventually, Levi doesn't ask. Not because he doesn't want to know, but because he feels like he's missing something and he could figure it out, and he's just so tired of having things explained to him.

So he settles for something else, seemingly easier.

“Who's Mike?”

The sewers drag on. Erwin seems to know where they're going, and they haven't run into trouble so far. His limp is worse, and he's obviously in pain, but at least that's familiar. Aches and strains are something Levi can understand, although he wonders how long Erwin will take to heal. Being a human and all.

Erwin reacts little to the name that seemed to play a significant part in snapping him out of it , as Hanji referred to it. He seems focused on setting his feet right and keeping his orientation, but he doesn't ignore the question.

“A former Gunner. A... good man.” There is a tiny pause for breath or perhaps for thoughts. “A good friend,” he adds quietly. “He's dead.”

Being friends with a Gunner, even a former one, sounds contradicting in itself, but stranger things have happened, and Levi isn't going to judge a dead man. It doesn't take great skill either to deduce that Mike is probably the man Hanji spoke of before going into the New Combat Zone, and that he left a lingering impression on the doctor, too.

If Erwin is responsible for the death of their sweetheart of some sorts, it's not surprising they hold a grudge. Levi doesn't press, mindful that Mike is occasionally mentioned and therefore remembered by everyone except those two.

“We traveled,” Erwin continues slowly, like he's phrasing a very old, nearly forgotten memory. Between exertion, painkillers and old scars, an actual lack of memory is the least likely explanation.

“I told him what I could. It took work, but Mike was convinced the barriers could be... worn down. Since they weren't complete in the first place.” Erwin glances at Levi at that, cynical amusement in his blue eyes. “The code is rather simple, you've noticed.”

Levi shrugs, unsure what he could say to that; he's decided to give Erwin some time until they bring that up, and he intends to keep it that way.

The next intercept in the sewers gives an opportunity for a break in moldy air and unpleasant, putrid warmth. Erwin looks pale in the weak glow from his flashlight and swallows dryly. He doesn't stray from his route, however, at least as far as Levi can tell, so he's as adamant as ever.

“We drew the wrong kind of attention,” Erwin eventually goes on, “Mike's old squadron, I think, but it doesn't matter. Got trapped in an ambush because we weren't careful enough.” He briefly closes his eyes. His voice is clear, the slight tremble comes from his physical state. Levi merely senses the pain somewhere, and he refrains from reaching out. He can't offer comfort until he has an idea of what's happened, because it would be empty otherwise.

“There were nine of them. We were outnumbered, but with the code... If Mike had used it, we might have escaped. Or he might, at least, in the turmoil. On the other hand, if I hadn't succeeded in killing all of them, the code would have been leaked. I would not have been free until my death.”

So Mike has bitten the bullet, quite literally. Maybe the Gunners would have killed a traitor anyway, make an example out of him, yet maybe they wouldn't . Especially not with a living compensation present. Mike could have saved his neck, and he had chosen not to, and that apparently with a sort of nonchalance that did nothing to ease the guilt. Erwin had not been crushed by it, but it clearly dragged at him.

With every step.

“You injured your leg back then.” Levi carefully measures his voice, neutral and low. He has never been good with putting feelings into his vocal chords. There has never been a need to.

Erwin nods curtly. “Two days afterwards. The Gunners sometimes take prisoners, as you know. Escaping was possible, but the fortifications... I had a tracker on me, so Hanji found me on time. Just me.”

The last part holds a bit of an old sting, and for a moment Levi can imagine it: the rush, the fear, and eventually having to realize that the rescue will only be possible for one person. And that it is not the person you have deep down been hoping for.

Levi says nothing. He finds that he can't offer consolation, and he hates to spew empty words. Perhaps they will come to him later; perhaps they won't. He has... quite a bit to say, later on.

But again, not in a stinking sewer. He has all the fucking time in the world.

It feels like the sewer pipes lead on forever through ankle-deep water and soggy moss, until Levi think he tastes the thick mold on his tongue and he silently thanks Moblit for upgrading his boots: at least his feet are relatively dry. He's chilled and weariness begins to settle in, but Erwin seems to know exactly where he's going, his lips move with the turns of the sewer labyrinth, and Levi knows better than to disturb his concentration.

Then, finally, there is a whiff of fresh air and the gurgle of flowing water, both begin to replace the smell of must and the monotonous thumping of boots on old steel, and it relaxes Levi in a nearly physical way when the blue sky opens above him again. Straightening up eventually does a lot to support that impression.

The sewer pipe opens into a valley plain, the dirty rivulet has been carefully sealed off from flowing into the stream, which seems relatively clean and gurgles cheerfully over smooth pebbles. Mutated fern covers the outlet as a herbal disguise, giving off the typical soapy scent as Levi lands in it by jumping out from the pipe. He immediately glances around, his eyes revel in the broad sight of the clear afternoon after the narrow pipe.

There is a single house in the valley plain, red bricks in the sun with laundry flapping on a clothesline, surrounded by neat crop fields and a wide meadow with cattle. It's a peaceful sight, like a little sanctuary in an idyll.

Naturally, Levi doesn't trust it. Casting a dubious look in Erwin's direction, he sees that the other man has climbed from the pipe as well and has pressed a hand again his side, as if breathing hurts him. Having cracked his ribs before, Levi knows it does, but neither of them usually displays pain. He huffs, furrowing his brows at the holdup.

“You look like you're gonna spill your guts any minute.”

That moment, something left of Levi rustles – he yanks his shotgun out and points at the spot in the fern, briefly finds a glimpse of a wide, bright eye before it vanishes again, followed by the swishing of leaves: Levi can follow the course with his eyes, yet he doesn't see the person, they hide too well among the fern.

Erwin has raised his hand to push the shotgun down, appearing unconcerned, calmer than before. Which would explain why the pain has kicked in now, after the adrenaline has worn off.

“That scared her.”

Levi frowns and lowers the weapon, but doesn't put it back into the holster; his eyes still watch the valley, even though the steps have disappeared – they're in the open, he doesn't like that. “Was that even a person?”

If so, Levi is just a tad bit impressed at someone maneuvering so quickly and mostly quietly through the underbrush. He still could have shot them, probably, but Erwin doesn't seem wary, and if this is the place to crash for a while, it would be bad manners to shoot the watchdog first.

“A child, actually.” Erwin continues his path into the valley at an unhurried pace, setting his feet carefully as to not slip on loose rubble or wet earth. Levi follows eventually, still eyeing the all too peaceful house with distrust.

“Who's down there?”

When he asks, Levi doesn't quite expect an answer because Erwin is notoriously stingy with those, so it's a moderate surprise to hear him reply: “Former brother. Some just scattered and settled down.”

He calls them brothers like it's something that can change over time, and Levi wonders whether that means anything: the concept of siblings is alien to him, and he feels foolish to ask.

A man has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, probably through expert use of dips in the landscape, and jogs uphill towards them at an even speed; physical fitness, smooth movements, the same level of skill. Erwin stops to wait for him (or to take a break, subtly) and as soon as the man gets closer, Levi recognizes the similarities between them even stronger: the tall built, the perfect proportions without skin abnormalities, the bright, pale eyes. This man's hair is black, a thin beard covers his chin and upper lip, a broad smile unveils white and symmetric teeth.

“Just when I thought you were dead this time!” he exclaims and crosses the last bit of way with quick steps to clamp Erwin into an one-armed, brisk embrace. His body-language speaks of stress, though, and his mien is too terse to say whether this is unnormal.

Erwin returns the gesture of affection stiffly, and again, there's no telling whether he's simply in pain or bridles against being touched. Levi looks away for no special reason. Maybe he doesn't want to analyze that relationship, it's somewhat uncomfortable to witness that.

Erwin isn't like him – he has a few someones, somewhere. Levi has been completely on his own for years, and his lack of close human contact hasn't been a problem; only since he's realized that everyone else can't stand being so isolated, he's been forced to acknowledge how different he is from them.

For a moment, he finds himself missing Uri's gentle voice. The old asshole has been able to soothe the sting a little.

Looking the other way, Levi catches a movement in the fern again, and flips it off out of sheer obstinacy.

Eyes that are light brown and sharp move to Levi as if guessing his thoughts, and he finds he's been appraised in the same way by the man who's long let Erwin go and now frowns at Levi. He's got a gun holstered and a wooden whistle around his neck, probably to call a trained dog.

“So who's he?”

Irritatingly enough, he doesn't address Levi – he glances at Erwin for the answer. Who, in turn, looks at Levi first before replying evenly: “Friend of mine.”

He doesn't give a name, and considering there's a bounty connected to that name, Levi is quite okay with that. He returns the man's doubtful stare with an arrogant twitch of his brows. “Don't mind me.”

He senses some sort of irritation in the way the man strokes his beard, seemingly a habitual move of calming his nerves. “Fine. I'm Nile.”

He doesn't offer a handshake, and Levi doesn't want one. Instead, Nile seems to intend taking Levi up on the offer of ignoring him and turns to Erwin again, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you sick or something? Where's your doctor?”

Erwin smiles an elusive little smile, one that Levi has occasionally seen him put on for nosy caravan traders or guards. It's a polite nothing, a gentle, yet somewhat dismissive rejection. “How is the family?”

Nile's own smile is a little tight, but he pats his side and sighs as the fern rustles again. “Good. Harriet, what kind of observation point is that? Come say hello.”

A scrawny brat emerges from the fern, twigs in her nearly felted braids and dirt on her scraped knees. Levi recognizes the shape and color of her eyes: she has been circling them, no doubt she would have acted differently if Nile hadn't given the all-clear, and there have probably been some signal words in his statement that declare everything to be indeed alright.

Sanctuaries like this one come with a price of caution.

The girl watches them with a dead serious expression – Levi doesn't know shit about kids, but he judges her to be around seven or eight years old. As far as he can see, she is armed with a long, sheathed knife and carries herself with the same sleek vigilance as Nile, which is moderately impressive for someone her age.

Not surprising that Nile would teach his child to survive.

Erwin eyes Harriet with a hint of doubt, as if he's wondering whether this is the same kid as before; Levi doesn't ask how long it's been since his last visit here, but she must have been smaller then. That, and Erwin has never appeared to be too fond of children.

Levi isn't, either, though this one at least isn't leaking from some orifice of her body, which brats always seem to do. He gives her a nod and sees her practically grow a few inches before she wordlessly darts into the valley. Presumably to announce their arrival.

Levi has no idea what awaits them, and he's not overly curious about Nile's home – there might be hot water to be had, though, and that is an allure even Nile's stare is powerless against.

He's also probably entering the dream of many wasteland survivors.

The house looks rather sturdy: no leaky roof, neat garden and more fields around it. Proper water pumps. A rattling generator just far enough not to annoy every inhabitant. A trained watchdog with a little shed. For some reason, Levi feels like there should be a white picket fence, although he has no clue what that could be useful for.

And of course, there is the missus, dividing her attention between a messy toddler and a pot of chopped potatoes. She waves at them as they get closer, and without a close look, her strong arms and shoulders can be ignored as easily as the white, gnarled scars along her collar.

The same posture again: a former soldier, tall and pretty and bright-eyed as if created from an open mold. The only thing that gives her away are the scars, along with the fact that although she greets the guests, no sound comes from her mouth.

She sits the squirming toddler against her hip to offer a handshake – Levi isn't rude enough to ignore it, even when her fingers are sticky from potato juice and... something toddler-produced, possibly. Her palm is hardened by callouses, more farm work than shooting, and she has a healthy tan.

“This is Marie,” Nile says, although Levi still feels like he addresses the air above his head when introducing her. “She doesn't speak, but you'll understand when she talks to you.”

Marie gives a toothy grin and then proceeds to hug Erwin, who seems almost comically concerned about the toddler getting crushed or at least maimed in the process.

For someone who suddenly turns up injured at his brother's home and has apparently been gone for a while, there seems to be... oddly little need to talk. Nile has tried, but accepted Erwin's refusal to elaborate, and now they act like they are simple house guests. To Levi, that accepting, tense silence it feels even weirder than the Junktown with all its restlessness.

Marie readjusts the unreasonable toddler, then gestures at the roof of the house and raises her eyebrows.

“The spare room?” Erwin's voice is flat and calm; Levi hears his forced patience and guesses that he must be really tired. “You converted it?”

Marie shakes her head and looks questioningly at Levi, then briefly rotates her wrist as if to encourage him to speak.

Contrary to what Nile has claimed, he doesn't understand her. And Nile doesn't seem keen on helping out.

“Don't mind me,” he eventually repeats, feeling awkward for the whole ordeal. Hospitality is new and strange, at least the Junktown hasn't pretended that he's a guest. And there haven't been any children, just adults and... well, robots.

Marie grins and waves, the toddler grows interested and tries to grab her fingers in the process.

Erwin glances at Levi. “Do you mind one room? The attic now contains...” “Additional storeroom,” Nile supplies.

Well. He's certainly not used to that kind of extravagant problem. Just because he senses that it pisses Nile off, Levi shrugs and replies with a hint of smugness: “Okay.” And while he's at it, he's dying to wash himself. “Got any clean water?”

Marie nods and gestures for him to follow while Nile opens the door to lead Erwin inside. Harriet has appeared out of nowhere to take the toddler – her sibling, probably – and sits down to finish Marie's work. Her eyes are wide with careful curiosity, and Levi wonders whether she gets to see many strangers.

Doesn't seem like it. This place is secluded, like it wants nothing to do with the world.

The house has a rather nice bathroom for a world where supplies of running water and proper sewers have long been destroyed. There seems to be some system of running water, though: if Nile and Marie have the same education as Erwin, they might be able to built and maintain it.

Marie lets clear water flow into an old ceramic tub, then eyes Levi calmly before pointing at the shotgun Moblit modified for him and mimics removing the shells.

“Empty,” Levi answers, but hands her the shotgun. He doesn't explain that the gun can take other kinds of ammunition, though, and Marie briefly examines it, then gives it back with a satisfied nod – only to point at his dagger.

Trust doesn't pay off, and she has children to take care of; foolish little things that hurt themselves even without malicious intent. Levi gets that much. However, he's reluctant to give the knife away when he has...

No, he has nobody to take care of. Levi passes the sheathed dagger to Marie, who gives a wheezy little whistle as she recognizes the material and winks at him. Levi isn't quite sure what she makes of that, but she leaves him with a soap bar and a coarse scrubbing brush before turning the water off. She takes the dagger with her, probably to place it somewhere safe; this doesn't look like a home that desperately needs sharp objects.

It needs... oddly little. It must have taken years to collect, trade and build furniture and gadgets. As nice as having running water is, Levi finds it hard to imagine being satisfied with that.

Then again, so is the whole idea of settling down with someone and raising kids; Levi has never been a kid.

Washing the black grease from his head and throat takes annoyingly long (he'll have to punch Hanji for that after all), and when Levi is still busy rubbing it out his scalp, the smell of soot and sweat gives way to something soapy and earthy that doesn't come from the soap bar. The smell of mutated fern.

And she has been so quiet... Little shit probably knows exactly which floorboard creaks and where blind spots cover, only to forget about every other sense. Levi grunts impatiently and drags a hand through his hair again. “Get lost.”

A tiny wooden squeak, the scent shifts, but doesn't disappear. Levi waits for a few seconds while pushing his wet hair back and glaring around before settling his eyes onto a far corner of the bathroom.

“What?”

At her age, Harriet probably isn't interested in men, and his scars can't be that fascinating either – her mother's throat has been seared with hot steam or acid or both, and they all wear weapons, so she must know violence exists.

The scent silently retreats without a form of reply. Levi scoffs and finishes washing – he doesn't understand brats, he's also pretty sure he never will. For now, he's glad to be rid of the arena's stench.

Although as soon as he puts his clothes back on and allows himself a moment of relaxation, the madness, the screaming and the drums are right back inside his head, waiting patiently for him. All of it, the bookmaker, the pit, the code, all of it is complicated and twisted and... fearsome. Levi isn't easily scared, but he knows that this feeling exists for a reason and has never vanished by simply ignoring it.

So yes, what has happened since leaving the Junktown scares him.

He drapes his coat over his arm to air it out and leaves the bathroom after rinsing the remains of black paint from the tub. He hears Marie rummage around somewhere in the house and follows the noise without looking sideways more than he deems necessary to memorize the outline. Somehow, the Junktown with its beeping, mysterious machines has been more comfortable because it's not actually living space , and here it's like constantly stomping through someone's privacy. The valley is a good hideout while their trail cools, but Levi will be glad when they leave.

Marie pokes her head into the hallway and takes the wet, dirty towel from him. Harriet is nowhere in sight, and Levi makes a mental note of checking corners for her before climbing up the ladder to the attic. Smalltalk has never appealed to him, and the less these people know about him, the better for their peaceful lives.

The attic is... nice. Open enough not to feel caged and smelling of something sweetish like dry silage, probably for the cattle. There is no glass, only open windows that can be covered with rusty iron panels, although the weather is balmy and the draft welcome. More stored goods are piled up or hang from the pitch of the roof, an old mattress has been placed in one corner, a bedroll in the other. Polite distance for two strangers.

Erwin is sitting on the mattress with his back leaning against the ramp, he opens his eyes as soon as Levi climbs up and closes the hatch again; judging by the immediate reaction, he hasn't been sleeping, even when he must be tired. Levi raises an eyebrow at him and proceeds to hang up his coat.

“Can't sleep?”

He doesn't feel like he could, either.

“Not yet.” Erwin makes a vague, circular motion towards his temple. “It... resets when I sleep.”

Levi grunts and inspects a crate that contains dried corncobs and is irrelevant as fuck to him, but he doesn't intend to look at the other man when he remarks: “Sure felt like that for me, too.”

The dreams, the illusion – or was it real? - of Ackerman talking to him, the whole impression of being someone else as well, it has been strong with exhaustion. That doesn't mean it can't be true, the voice and all that, only that it seemed... necessary to be weary to hear it.

Sighing, Levi sits down on the crate, letting his feet dangle from it as he eyes Erwin expectantly. The afternoon glow paints the attic bright and warm, the breeze carries the smell of earth and faint smoke.

Peaceful. Time to bring up memories of war, then.

“Sawbones said you're from a vault,” he says, wondering whether this makes anything easier or instead harder for Erwin. Anyway, it's already out. “Some soldier program with barriers in your head to keep you from thinking shit.”

“That part actually came later,” Erwin sounds unperturbed, but he is the more diplomatic one. Not that it's hard with Levi as competition. “Before that, it was just growing up to become soldiers.” He briefly gestures downward, to the other rooms. “You've probably guessed that Nile and Marie are from the same vault. Vault 75.”

I AM 75.

Levi bangs a heel against the crate. “They really your siblings?”

Any distraction is alright, and at least the grimness around Erwin's mouth lifts for a moment. “I don't think so. I can't prove it, though. We were born in the same year and raised together, without parents. We had instructors to care for us. Train us. Harden us.”

He opens and closes his fist, then adds casually: “Bones that are broken at critical points grow together sturdier than before. Sicknesses are less grave once you have survived them at a young age.”

Something in his words makes the sunny attic feel cold and stifling. Levi ensures that his voice is neutral when he raises it. “Did that a lot, didn't they?”

“Yes.” Erwin's lips twitch into something humorless and dry. “It was for a purpose, you see. It was...” He frowns, concentrating as if he is translating the words from a very different, complicated language. “... For Uptopland. The surface world that we had never seen, but were told about. That it was a terrible place full of monsters and cannibals where the dwindling human population is hiding in fear. When the vault finally opened, we would go there. Save them. Bring... glory to them.”

“You mean conquer,” Levi supplies, more acidly than he means to; if you feed that bullshit to kids, of course they believe it. Especially when they've never seen that proclaimed hell.

“Indeed.” Erwin carefully shifts his weight and grimaces when several of his injuries disagree with the movement. “We were trained to endure and to fight, make up for our lack of experience with sheer power and determination. And because we never got to see the entire vault, we didn't wonder why there were no grown women, just the girls and the male instructors. The Overseer didn't allow questions, either. Days consisted of drill and education.”

Erwin is staring into something only he can see, and it feels like he's doing it on purpose: concentrating on speaking, but also avoiding looking at Levi and his reaction.

“One day, Nile and I snuck into an old storeroom. If we had been caught... It does not matter. We found a radio there, it must have belonged to one of the instructors. Strictly forbidden, of course, and not working. But Nile managed to repair it. We searched everywhere for a place where we'd have at least a bit reception and wouldn't be found, and we were lucky.” Erwin clears his throat, maybe from talking for so long. Maybe not. “There was a radio program. Which made no sense to us, when all we expected to hear were desperate distress signals – instead there was music.”

He says it so blandly that it doesn't capture the utter wonder he must have felt, and Levi can't imagine it, either; none of it, actually. The place Erwin comes from is alien and cold. He describes something terrible with the soberness of someone who hasn't known anything else.

“There was even a host on the radio. Passing warnings for certain roads and radiation storms, but also... general news. Gossip. Stories. The life that Uptopland was not supposed to have, nor the technical equipment or even the spirit. We realized that something didn't make sense... And it was unlikely that the lies came from something we were never supposed to have.”

It's the first time Erwin falls quiet for minutes. Levi lets him, although he grows restless when it seems like Erwin won't continue at all. As if he's gingerly reaching out for a bandage that covers a festering wound, shying away from pulling it away.

“Nile didn't believe it. I couldn't let it go. So I turned to one of the instructors.” His eyes close, thin blue veins and violet shadows beneath them all too clearly in his abused face. “They were all brutally strict. Some sadistically so. Instructor Smith was the only one I trusted enough. He was... a bit more patient. His beating weren't as hard.” He says it like beatings are a natural occurrence between adult and child, when even Levi, who has never been a child, knows it's not. Nile doesn't seem to automatically beat his children out of habit.

“He asked me whether I wanted to become the next Overseer; because apparently I was promising for the highest position in the vault. I would have to forget the radio and continue if I did. I couldn't.” When Erwin's eyes open, they are more pained than Levi has ever seen him. Perhaps more than anyone. It dries up his throat and twists his insides, yet he remains where he is. He doesn't come closer; he doesn't offer comfort. Again, not before he even understands.

“When I told him so, he cried.” The tremor in Erwin's voice is there, slight and chipped. “Then he began to train me for the world as it really was. He was wise... Unveiling the whole structure of the vault immediately would have rendered me unable to keep up my facade during the normal daily routine. Instead he taught me what he knew and let me draw my conclusions. Like that the girls were not trained as soldiers... Their sole purpose was to prove they had valuable qualities to pass on, then receive a number of matching candidates, then produce. Afterwards, they were executed. They called it the 'harvest'. Death to those who failed their tests or grew too old to be of use. The system had been in action since the Great War.”

Even Levi feels sick – most of what Erwin tells him is beyond his imagination, and he's glad for it, but even the bit he can relate to is... abhorrent. He closes himself off from it; it's the first instinct everyone learns here, forces himself to listen to the rest of it like it's a horror story. Like those tales of synths roaming the land and replacing people, for example.

He realizes that Erwin has taken up his 'story' again.

“... don't know whether he wanted to repent. I still think he was a good man, somewhere. He wanted it to stop. If I had become Overseer, we could have put an end to it, possibly before the next 'harvest'. But they noticed something.” Erwin makes a derisive sound that doesn't suit him, who's always composed, quiet. “Ironically, another instructor thought Smith and I were just too close. He reported it to the Overseer. That man was not as easily fooled. He called me to his office and told me I would be sent to Uptopland – which frightened me, although I wasn't supposed to know it meant either death or an end to the plan. So I ran to the single person that could tell me what to make of it.”

He doesn't need to go on, not at this point. Levi can guess the outcome quite vividly, but Erwin is adamant about his confession. Not one to go back on his word, that much has already been clear.

“I betrayed him with that mindless flash of panic. Smith claimed it had been his idea, that he had merely chosen the best candidate to unwittingly carry it out, but it was not nearly enough to convince the Overseer. Something had to be done to make it seem at least plausible. So I took an instructor's bone hammer and smashed Smith's skull with it the moment he finished speaking.”

A fit of rage, ending in a bloody mess. Not a clean shot that might have been impersonal, instead an act of brutality. Levi sees the logic. Sees the need to react quickly in a situation of mortal danger.

Yet he understands why Erwin carries that man's name like a reminder.

“It was impressive,” the blond man continues, slowly and methodically, as if speaking hurts and he must be mindful to cause himself the minimum of damage doing it. “Not sufficient, but impressive. And the vault was pressed for time. If I disappeared, it would cause a stir. Cadets would ask questions, no matter how hard they beat them, and the whispers would not die down. And I was... a valuable recruit. They wanted my qualities passed on, and if possible, keep me as something usable. I think they were... proud of their creation.”

He glances at Levi, then makes a soft huffing sound at whatever he sees in his face. “As I said, the program had been in operation since the Great War. The ideals of that time were rather... grotesque. Appearance mattered. So they put the barricades in my head. Too early, I assume, the process was usually done after the 'harvest' and the beginning of puberty, and time was running, so there were probably some mistakes made. Or it never worked perfectly from the start, seeing as Smith...”

“Cut to the chase, old shitstain,” Levi snaps, his voice rougher than he'd like. His pulse is beating beneath his ribs, he's cold from not moving anything.

Erwin tilts his head slightly.

“The other male recruits received them, too, but it raised to mortality rate again, so the process was cut short. Mine was carried farther, I think. I don't remember much except the agony.” Again, he says it flatly, like it's a negligible detail. The amount of pain necessary to rewire some parts of the brain in short time must be...

“As soon as I was free, I was able to convince some recruits to revolt. Mostly those who were bright enough to understand what the radio broadcast meant, or those who felt sympathy or more towards the girls. We were younger, stronger, larger in number. But it took victims until the adults were dead and the vault was opened.”

It's hard to judge whether it's Levi's demand or open cynicism that allows Erwin to sound lapidary; like actual freedom doesn't mean much, not like the freedom of mind, the grief.

“There is no disciplined force working on putting the Commonwealth back together, so you can guess that as soon as my brothers and sisters realized that they were superior to most people, they chose to make use of it. Some, like Nile and Marie, withdrew from it all. Some didn't. They became Gunners or worse. Some were crushed by the reality outside the vault and lost their mind. But all of them betrayed the purpose... To bring order to this world.” A soft, weary sigh, like Erwin is neither relieved nor sad, just tired from the memory, the disillusion. “I can't say that I don't understand how they think they deserve it. It is not right, though, we don't deserve it. Smith died just to enable it, and it was wasted.”

Perfect soldiers, immediately falling out of formation once they are confronted with a huge world outside, so much bigger than their small, safe hell underground. It's close to comical. This probably happened before Levi was created or at least coherent, and still, the fucking irony of it all... 200 years of torture and that's the result? If it was anyone else's story, Levi would laugh.

However, it's Erwin's story, even when he has apparently accepted this end; the loss of faith that in the gentlest form turned out like this, the house in the valley with the children and the dog and a whole lot of empty land.

In Erwin's eyes, Nile and Marie are not actual traitors of the purpose, but they have neglected their duty and wasted their training. The tension, Erwin's reticence, another form of bitterness make sense. It all does, in a way, and Levi doesn't want to consider how their 'upbringing' makes Erwin and him alike, even if it's just a little.

“Do you believe me?”

Erwin's question startles him, Levi looks up from the dusty floorboards. Sometime during the dark confession, the sun has neared the horizon, and someone must have taken up cooking, because it smells like roasting corn and garlic. And above it all the attic, closed off from this homely comfort... or what most people would call it.

Again, Erwin acts like Levi might doubt him – which he hasn't done, not even in times when by all means, he should fucking have .

“Yeah.” Levi shrugs, albeit stiffly. “Fancy story, nobody would make that shit up.”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what exactly?” It comes out sharper than intended. Erwin's lips quirk weakly.

“The trouble I've caused you... I guess.”

“You guess.” Levi slams his heels against the crate with a wooden bang, but his voice and face are calm, neutral. “Then why did you do it? I'm curious now.”

Erwin can presumably detect the simmering anger behind his voice, if not in his words and the lack of insults. He takes his time, though, his teeth thoughtfully graze his lower lip and he winces when they bite into split skin. And he shifts, like he means to move and get up, but then he doesn't. His stern blue eyes roam the attic like it's suddenly of interest, and this time it's not a tactic to fool the barriers in his head.

“I thought... It was the only place connected to you, and when Fahrenheit hinted that it had been rebuilt for some purpose, it might have something to do with you. And then I thought.” His blond brows furrow, a closed expression of something coiled and twisted that he's struggling to unfurl. “I hoped, to be honest. If it had something to do with you, if I could bring it back to you, then you would consider... you would at least be willing to work with me for a while, possibly.”

It's all so tentative, so careful. It's burdened with 'ifs' and 'woulds' and phrased so overcautiously, the way Erwin doesn't talk, not even while planning. It makes it abundantly clear that it hasn't been simply about continued work, and that the effort it cost him has seemed worth it, if only...

“I hoped you might reconsider our personal relationship.”

It's still overblown like nothing good, but for something Erwin said, it's surprisingly to the point.

Levi eyes him dispassionately. “I ran across a fucking continent to that shitpool.”

“You could have done it for Hanji.”

“I didn't.” He might have, if it had been someone else the doctor pursued. This time, he did not need additional encouragement.

“I see.”

There is a second of motionlessness, then it becomes clear that this is as far as Levi goes. Because honestly, he deserves it.

Erwin is slow and careful as he rises, pain makes his movements stiff. Everything takes longer: until he has straightened, left the mattress, crossed the attic, stopped in front of the crate. Levi is gracious enough to lift his head and look at him, only mildly interested if he can pull it off. Sitting on the crate makes him even shorter than Erwin, which forces said man to bow even lower despite his cracked ribs. Vengeful little shit that he is.

When Erwin kisses him, it's just as slow and gentle as the movements before. Levi feels the scab of the split lip against his, tastes the hint of bitter peppermint that lingers since the bouts of brushing teeth. Apart from that, Erwin still smells of chemicals from the treatment and the foul water from the sewer pipes.

However, Levi is grateful they even get to kiss. It occurs to him that they didn't use to kiss like this; even after their relationship has intensified, kisses were only exchanged directly connected to sex. In-between, it would have been... strange, Levi can't remember wanting to, either. It hasn't been that kind of thing with them, the kind where kisses are something else than stimulation for fun, among other things.

They won't fuck now, though, and still Levi feels like he really wants this. His stomach does an odd flip when he reaches up to touch the messy blond hair at Erwin's temples, runs the backs of his fingers over the strong jaw. He grazes more than one bruise, but Erwin doesn't flinch. He remains leaned over in an awkward angle, head slightly tilted, hands lingering over Levi's shoulders without transferring any weight.

It's not very graceful. Not like they kiss for the first time, even. It's... warm. Soft, actually. Soft all over.

Until Erwin's bruised body decides it has had enough and there is an angry toddler outside, yelling on top of its small lungs. Levi feels the hitch in Erwin's breath as some injury produces more pain than before and huffs quietly against his lips.

“Get some rest, old bastard,” he clips, “'m still gonna be around later.”

“Sure?” Erwin carefully straightens again, though this time, his question is casual, not dead serious.

Levi gets up from the crate as well, lightly pushing Erwin away to gain room to stand. “Yeah,” he huffs. “Given that you don't die in your sleep, so try not to. Shitty way to go.”

“The best, some say.” Erwin shoots him a dry look, but stalks back to the mattress and struggles out of his boots and coat. Levi makes another quizzical sound at that. “How? Boring as fuck.”

Erwin has managed to arrange his aching limbs on the mattress, for once lying on his back because his ribs probably won't tolerate another position anyway. He seems indefinitely more relaxed, detached even, and Levi knows for a fact that he hasn't taken any more chems to achieve that.

“Right you are.”

He probably shouldn't be surprised that for all his calm, Erwin is not a peaceful man. Levi's lips twitch despite himself, not quite pulling into a smile until Erwin has closed his eyes.

“Want a blanket?” Levi asks, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He could scout the area or at least offer his help in the house, but he means to keep his word. And, selfishly, stick around.

He doesn't know what Erwin's reply says. It could be “you” as well as a sleepy mumble or nothing at all. Levi takes the wool blanket from the bedroll – a little scratchy and torn, but quite alright. There are colorful patches on some tears that someone has sewed on with more good will than skill. It's... personal, and again, Levi feels invasive taking it.

He drapes the blanket over Erwin (making an effort of not doing it too carefully, it's not even cold) and sits down beside the mattress. Not too close. Not too far, either.

This... worry will cease, he knows. He does trust Erwin's abilities and to some point his judgment, and he's annoyed with himself to be so fussy. He should give some thought to what Erwin has revealed to him, dark as it may be, and instead he finds himself staring into space, listening to quiet breaths and the almost inaudible creaking of wood getting closer.

The hatch lifts a little, and Harriet's wide, curious eyes scan the attic. No more than her head appears, then she looks at Levi until she seems sure she has his attention.

“Do you want... dinner?” Her voice is hoarse and thin, not sickly, merely like she doesn't use it much. It's the first time Levi hears her speak, too. It's strange to pinpoint – not quite shyness, more like reluctance.

He nods, wondering how Erwin usually does this.

Harriet seems to fidget a little on the ladder, then adds: “Up here?”

Oh, would he have been invited to the family table otherwise, or is that polite guidance? Levi feels reminded on Uri and his friendly insistence to eat with someone else, then shrugs – he doesn't care either way, and if he's honest, he's more comfortable staying here. Marie seems alright, Nile's got a stick up his ass, but now he knows things about their past that makes it plain weird to sit with them and have dinner like everything's sunny.

So... “Yeah,” he replies, considering using one of Erwin's more elaborate phrases but deciding against it, “thanks.”

Harriet flushes a little and disappears without a word, and Levi idly wonders what her parents will do with her once she grows older. This world isn't kind to girls, and even raising and training someone well won't guarantee an unspectacular death around the next corner: polluted water, stray bullets, radiation sickness, wild animals or raiders, an ill-timed infection. Bad luck can get you anything. Death is always present, and the more you try to exclude it from your life, the more you fear.

You build a sanctuary based on your own childhood horrors and discover that your children will still want to see the ugly world outside. Levi calls that irony.

Harriet climbs back up in record time, this time carrying a heavy basket with a dish rag draped over it that she pushes onto the wooden planks. She stares intensely, and Levi guesses she has asked her parents about their 'house guests' and has received evasive answers, yet is old enough to make own observations. There is no threat, no blackmail, and it's questionable whether anyone has ever successfully threatened this place as well. But the silent acceptance must be as confusing to Harriet as it is to Levi.

Eventually, she dives back into the house without speaking again.

Levi examines the content of the basket ('dinner' mostly consists of roasted vegetables and mystery meat thrown together and some sort of flat, tough bread in an unappealing shade of light gray), picks out what he knows and considers safe to eat, then drags the bedroll to a spot where he can keep an eye on the direction of the sewer pipes.

The house goes quiet a while after the sun has set; hard to tell whether that's always the case or just because of the invaders. The radio is turned off eventually, the voices retreat to a more distant place. The cellar, if Levi had to guess – sleeping underground seems a hard habit to break if you've been born and raised there. Erwin is the same, although he has adapted to the reality outside, where camping in any sort of dark hole can easily get you trapped.

Not that this is something to worry about here. The roof doesn't leak, the floor is solid, and the familiar restlessness that comes from things being too 'comfortable' immediately sets in.

Levi dozes in a sitting position and is awake the moment Erwin stirs. It's dark then, although the moonlight from the open windows makes it bright enough for him to see. Levi carefully maintains his posture while the other sits up slowly and pulls his shirt up to inject another Stimpak, then cautiously tests his mobility.

Neither of them is good at admitting weakness or having it witnessed. Levi waits until Erwin seems done, then shifts to make himself felt. “Feelin' better?”

Erwin tilts his head to localize him by the direction of his voice (apparently it's quite dark for a human), then huffs quietly. “Depends on the definition.” He sounds raspy from sleep and little water. Levi rises to walk over and hand him the basket, then digs around until he finds his lighter and brightens the attic a little. The small flame shouldn't be a problem, impossible to see it from outside.

Erwin doesn't look better with the bruises and healing cuts, even when Hanji has done what they could to speed his regeneration. With a pang of something akin to embarrassment, Levi now realizes that he could have left over the kinds of food that aren't as tough to chew on (not that there were many), considering the injured jaw.

Upon looking at Erwin's tight face and blank stare, however, he knows pain is not the main reason for his lack of appetite. Whether he explicitly remembers killing the supermutant doesn't make much of a difference – his body does.

In an effort to distract him before the memory makes him sick, Levi settles for a comparably nasty topic. “You said you have a traitor,” he begins, “but what if it's some sort of leak?”

One of the things that have been going on inside his head, over and over.

Erwin looks up from pouring cold tea into a tin cup. “Moblit manages the flow of information alone. Unless he's involved, it's impossible to omit him.”

And doubting Moblit is... hard, Levi admits that as well. They haven't discussed everything that happened in the New Combat Zone in detail, so he describes the bookmaker to Erwin now, taking care to exclude possible implications. The other man listens quietly, picking at his food with little enthusiasm, though at least without the queasy pallor.

“I doubt anyone but you possesses that ability of influencing synths,” he says eventually. “The more human a Gen-3-synth becomes, the more flaws in character are possible, although this form of manipulation becomes less likely at the same time.” He chews thoughtfully on a bit of corn, leaving the mystery meat at one side of the plate. “You mentioned to Hanji that your injuries have occasionally been treated with... unorthodox substances like carbolic acid. Some of those are known to trigger mutation.”

He raises his thick brows a little, somehow managing to appear only mildly curious about the origin, just enough to not rouse Levi's annoyance. “Ackerman sometimes displayed a sort of power over others. He seemed to suppress it, knowing it would lead to further investigation, and I'm not even sure it wasn't just his presence. However, if he did possess something like it and you inherited it, then the synthetic part inside of you might have reacted to mutation. And I'm,” it's unusual for Erwin to speak a little quicker, he always chooses his words carefully and avoids flooding Levi with them, “inappropriately thankful for it, since you saved my life because of that.”

“Didn't do it because I could.” This time, the anger Levi feels is cool and sparkling, like freezing rain on his skin. Something that grazes you and leaves you cold in tiny bits.

Erwin's expression softens in a way that doesn't disappear under the bruises. “No. I'm sorry.” He reaches out, seemingly forgetting that he's still holding the tin cup, and brushes the back of his hand against Levi's shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

They never apologized to you, right?

Levi scoffs quietly. Not even harsh. “Stop apologizing already, you're pissing me off.”

“Yes. You.” Erwin finishes his tea and touches a frayed edge on his shirt, something that's so typical for him it makes Levi's throat tighten. “Not the man I made assumptions about.”

Levi exhales and resists the urge to fidget like a teenager. This makes him uncomfortable, and he knows he's being a dick about it, but after putting things off until the time was 'right', he now feels tongue-tied and awkward.

“You know I already forgave you, right?”

Erwin, fuck him sideways, has that idiotically soft expression that Levi somehow senses nobody has seen in a long, long time. He just looks at Levi with all that serenity beneath his banged-up face, and it's a relief that it doesn't need words. It can take some, but it doesn't have to.

“I'll still ask you to repeat that for me in the morning,” Erwin replies gently. Levi's cheeks sting hotly at that tone, though not unpleasantly so, and he does the only right thing in that situation: he removes his thumb from the lighter and lets the attic fall back into darkness. “Go back to sleep.”

Erwin makes a low sound that suspiciously resembles the beginning of a chuckle, but complies and arranges himself on the mattress again. After a moment of consideration that he doesn't actually need, aside from making a point, Levi joins him. The mattress is narrow, but it works if Levi rolls onto his side. Close enough to feel the other's presence and his warmth, far enough to not cause pain by transferring weight onto a limb.

There's something else he's been thinking about, and although he should let Erwin sleep, he might as well get it over with. “Hey.”

Erwin offers him a bit of blanket, which Levi takes; not because he's cold, simply for the luxury of it. This place is probably sufficiently safe to cover yourself with a blanket, since you won't have to jump up in the middle of the night and risk getting tangled in it.

“If Mike was right and that trigger inside your head can be worn off,” Levi begins and practically feels Erwin withdraw into himself at the mention, yet he doesn't stop, “we can try that. If you're up for it. After all, you only need enough time to snap out of it, right?”

“No.” Erwin's voice is flat and sure. “You don't see. I'm not myself then.”

“You came back.”

“Conditions were met. I was worn out. I-”

“You wanna get rid of it, yeah?”

Erwin exhales deeply against the bandages and some inner weight that Levi can hear in the strain of his breathing. “Yes.”

“Fine. Only need to keep you on your toes until you get back.” Levi tries for an airy tone, not sure whether he succeeds. “And I'll give you that you're not too shitty in a match, but you can't beat me. Not after a hundred times.”

And it might take that number, perhaps even more. Levi has thought about it, taking up a fight against someone who's not himself, giving everything he's got, and someone he doesn't want to hurt; the last part is new. It will be difficult, he has no illusions about that, though he's also sure he can tough it out. And Hanji has the medical knowledge to observe changes, so it seems like it's worth a try.

Erwin is worth a try.

Said man doesn't respond. Levi doesn't take it personally. Instead he gently touches the side he's close to, his hand creeps over the center of the chest. There are thick bandages and armored cloth, a few cracked ribs and the sternum, and beneath it, a thundering heartbeat. It practically vibrates in Levi's palm, even when Erwin appears calm and close to sleep. But he's not. His heart is drumming like the fucking timbals in the old Combat Zone, heavy and bone-shaking.

“You know, it's okay if you don't answer now, but ask me whether I'm 'sure' and I'll fucking elbow you.”

Which is a dear habit of his, and in Erwin's current condition, it's promising to be very painful.

Erwin moves a hand over his, warm and rough and a little damp from the shock his heart betrays. It says everything necessary.

The rest, Levi is dying to emphasize again.

Morning is still sunny with thick white clouds littering the sky. Good weather to travel in. For a moment, Levi allows himself to mourn that he can't.

The puffy clouds lazily trail along the surface of the water basin he's using to wash. There is some sort of filter to clean the stream water, which he's grateful for – the cold is a small price for skipping the procedure of purifying water enough to let it touch skin and scratches without the slight sting of unnamed chemicals.

And even the penetrative stare is acceptable in turn, though it does get annoying.

“What,” Levi lowers the razor blade he has used to crop his hair, “are you even gawking at, brat?”

Because that's all this girl seems to do when she sees him. Levi has never been self-conscious and he won't change now, but isn't there something children do when they aren't forced to struggle for survival?

Harriet stares at him. Her braids are slightly neater than yesterday and she's wearing an apron dress Levi has only seen on faded advertisements from the Old World – which isn't a surprise when you consider that her parents grew up in an environment that enshrined parts of that time. She doesn't look the part, though, and she has that odd, dead serious expression brats tend to have.

“Are you a synth?” she asks, just as Levi pulls his shirt over his head again. When he reappears, Harriet has moved closer to him along the beds of tatos, a mutated form of tomatoes that replaced the original vegetable.

“Yeah,” he answers casually. He's surprised at how easy it is; how little it actually matters.

Harriet's face scrunches up – then she sticks out her tongue at him and vanishes, muttering something along the lines of “stupid little man”.

She doesn't believe him. Not for a second. Levi makes a snorting sound of amusement and pats bits of hair from his pants, shaking his head to himself. People always ask that question, yet when it's answered in all honesty, it's brushed off. Weird.

He returns to the house: it's sort of fair to offer his help, although Levi is painfully aware that he knows absolutely nothing about farm work, has never tried it. If Ackerman grew up with it, he hasn't left Levi any memories of how to treat Brahmins, the two-headed cows that are as dumb as they are huge, or how to maintain a field.

It doesn't help that Nile doesn't seem to trust him, especially after Erwin has flat out refused to elaborate, and Levi isn't about to change that. It's better this way, for Nile and his family and the whole valley.

Although Levi now catches a glimpse of the bitter feeling of being excluded – after growing up together so closely that you have trusted someone with your life, it probably... matters if that person now keeps secrets from you. Even for your own good.

It takes more time for consideration to wonder whether Nile is by any chance jealous.

It occurs to Levi when he assists Harriet in digging out a trench (he really does merely assist, because apparently there are some factors playing their part and only Harriet understands them) and she brings herself to ask whether the knife she saw on the top shelf is his. She lets him dig some more until she has constructed a question about how he acquired it. Then what a Deathclaw looks like up close. Conversation eventually goes smoother the more curious she grows, and Levi feels Nile watch.

Strangers, violent ones, crashing here, putting ideas into his daughter's head. Rousing admiration where there should be none. Tales of the world outside, terrible as it may be, replacing shyness and disinterest for lively curiosity.

Levi can see why it would bother someone. But he doesn't support shutting oneself off from reality, so he eventually ignores the increasingly dark glare.

They return to the house in the late afternoon, after the stupid cows are back inside their barn (in the end, the dog had to motivate them) and the wind turns cold and wet with the promise of rain. Levi can't deny being a little smug about Nile's sour mood, though he makes sure his face is blank when they enter the house. The warmth inside is welcome after the biting wind, and Marie greets them with a smile and a wave of four fingers – she's in the main room with Erwin, dividing her attention between cooking and repairing some mysterious kind of farm tool while he fixes clothing. The toddler is on the ground, playing with wooden toys, and Erwin has incidentally piled up clothes on his lap, like you might do if you politely want to keep a child from climbing up there.

Marie puts her work down and comes over to ruffle Harriet's messy hair and lean up to kiss Nile – the scene is so domestic Levi immediately dodges it, feeling like he's witnessing something rather private.

Erwin catches his eye and beckons him over with a slight twitch of his mouth, and Levi follows it just to get out of that awkward moment of family harmony; so it catches him off guard when Erwin casually reaches up to run his fingers down his arm. Naked, scarred skin, no fabric to stitch, just where Levi has stripped down to his undershirt to cool off. And the touch is slow, almost languid, not pretending to be functional.

“What's gotten into you?” Levi mumbles as he still checks his arm. Doesn't feel like sunburn so far, yet the skin tingles now.

To be honest, Levi isn't sure what to think – he has never entertained the idea of letting anyone touch him in public, knowing that it's merely a show of dominance, and he's nobody's bitch. Erwin isn't one to stake a claim, however, and it's unlikely that he feels the need to discourage competition, seeing as neither Nile nor Marie seem even interested.

What's it for, then?

“Just the mood,” Erwin says lightly. “Quite ironic.”

Levi huffs and sits down on the cushioned bench beside him. “Cut that shit, keeping your feet still for one day doesn't make you a housewife.”

The corners of Erwin's eyes crinkle slightly at what might be a compliment, if a clumsy one. And only with plenty of good will. “Glad to hear it.”

“Great. Now stop doing shitty cooking for the sake of whatever domestic-qualities-bullshit you have.”

“It's not bad,” Erwin replies with dignity. “You do have rather high standards.”

Levi somehow restrains himself from making an innuendo, even if it's only because of that squealing toddler a few feet away that ruins the opportunity. Being a traveler and a synth, he has never been around such small children – they make him wary, though not as uncomfortable as Erwin seems to be around them.

“The fuck I do.” Swearing doesn't affect children, Levi decides. “You just like to poison people, even sawbones says so,” and speaking of Hanji and food, “and what's honeymoon? Some shit you call cooking?”

“No,” Erwin answers, a bit slower than before. “It has nothing to do with cooking.”

“Anything domestic?”

“Yes.” Erwin tucks the needle back in the kit and fastens the end of the thread at the spool. “If two people go to different places together and sleep there for a few nights.”

“Huh.” Hanji wants him to enjoy that? Well, the house is nicely clean and dry. Levi's had a lot worse places to sleep. “We do that all the time. Why two people?”

“Maybe it's about splitting the watch. Half a moon's cycle.” Erwin makes a vague gesture at the ceiling.

“So we're doing the honeymoon-thing ever since, then,” Levi concludes.

“I guess so.”

“Fancy word for something every bunch of drifters does.”

“Our ancestors were strange. Then again, there was no need to stay on the move in those times.”

“True.” Levi scratches the stubborn spikes of his freshly cropped hair on the back of his head. He's still thinking about public displays of affection, then arrives at the conclusion that they are acceptable, as long as they don't get out of hand. Literally. Though for Erwin, who doesn't even share the history of whom he's slept with... Did he want to mirror Marie's actions of greeting her husband?

It gets weirder as he thinks about it. Levi is almost glad when Nile announces they'll be eating now. Judging by the way he still looks over Levi's head when speaking to him, his relationship to Erwin doesn't matter. Or at least it makes nothing better.

Which is entirely fine, because Levi can well live without Nile's approval.

Dinner is a relatively lively affair, considering that one adult cannot speak and one child is too small to do so. Although Eleanor, as the toddler is named, provokes a lot of dialogue, mostly consisting of “No” and “Don't throw that” until Levi begins to wonder whether they just built a name around the word 'no' for that brat.

Eleanor also greatly appreciates Erwin and is unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm; she mostly seems to like his fair hair anyway, seeing that everyone around her has dark hair. Nile takes personal offense in Erwin's refusal to let her touch it, and Marie laughs silently.

It's not bad. Levi feels like he could sit here and watch it flow, the normal life, the familiarity. Nobody here talks of modifying guns and armored fiber, or how Silver Shroud is the best machine-gun-using detective ever created. So in short, it's nothing Levi could take part in, but he doesn't mind. He's even a bit satisfied he gets to witness this, because even when living so peacefully has little appeal for him, it's what a lot of people fight for. Ackerman probably knew he couldn't have it. He may have been responsible enough to not have children, either.

Did Hanji want this, with Mike or a woman of choice? Does Moblit, in his roboter-ways of serving and caring? It seems hard to believe that everyone strives for this kind of happiness.

The children are sent to bed, and Levi considers that a good opportunity to take his leave as well; not because he's tired (farm work is hard, but simple and pretty dull) but because he's had enough company. Marie has communicated with him via Harriet as her translator, and with the girl gone, he's not going to rely on Nile; and he feels like he has been plenty courteous already. For an unwanted guest that has been to Goodneighbor and heard the singer live who's sometimes on the radio. Harriet likes Mikasa a lot, and she's glaringly eager to see her in person, too.

To Levi's surprise, Erwin joins him when he curtly excuses himself. He doesn't look too tired either, and this is the first opportunity to catch up with his 'siblings' in peace. Nile, at least, seems startled. Marie, not so much, but she's had plenty of time to converse with Erwin anyway.

What about, Levi doesn't want to know.

“You coulda stayed,” he reminds Erwin as he pulls the ladder to the attic down.

Erwin merely shrugs. “I didn't want to.”

Levi huffs and looks over his shoulder at the other. “So.”

Erwin looks back, serious and neutral with his arms loosely crossed. “Did I offend you?”

“You do nothing fucking else, don't act all innocent.” Levi turns to him, the most arrogant expression until Erwin yanks him forward and kisses him, unapologetic and deep, and Levi can't spare longer than a few heartbeats to reproach him. It feels illicit, as if they are breaking a law of hospitality – the one Levi hasn't already broken by cursing or telling battle tales, or Erwin by refusing to entertain children or even saying who he's brought and why. Rather ungrateful guests they are. Levi buries his fingers in wiry blond hair and tries to hold onto that thought, presses himself against Erwin and is pleased when there isn't immediately a pained flinch in response.

Humans take so fucking long to heal, he should be glad he's not one of them. Though that mindset may be just as unhealthy.

“Hey,” he murmurs against Erwin's lips, even though he doesn't mean to, means to maintain his normal voice. It's fun, though, pretending for a second that causing an embarrassing situation with your hosts is the worst thing that can happen. “When are you gonna be good to go?”

It's mostly dark in the hallway, but he feels the little twitch along the corners of Erwin's mouth, the ever so tiny shudder.

Maybe he plays the game as well, because it's not like Erwin to ever prefer sex to duty – not even in jest. This is detached from the world they know, and what lies ahead will be grim. In a new, more vulnerable way Levi isn't dying to explore, but he will.

“On the road,” he huffs with an exasperation he doesn't feel. “Idiot.”

“Because we haven't discussed where we're going to head,” Erwin answers, perfectly calm and collected aside from the small quirk in his lips that somehow lingers. His hands linger where he has cradled Levi's back, firmly, nearly possessively.

“That's 'cause we didn't discuss shit,” Levi uses inspecting a dark bruise at the lower jaw as an excuse to touch, “and you just decided.” After all, it's less idiotic to stand in front of a ladder and make out if you keep talking all the while. Probably.

“I consider changing that,” Erwin informs him once his fingers have tugged the hem of Levi's shirt up a little. “I need to fill you in on quite a lot of background information that influences the search, though.”

That is the part that has always been so easy to leave to others; the scientific shit, the infrastructure, the logistics, the planning of actions against someone powerful. Levi catches himself thinking of avoiding that, he simply needs to know where to stab or shoot, that's all... Only that it's not. He has never tried to systematically learn something, survival being his teacher, but from the occasions Uri has tried to pass knowledge onto him with great patience, Levi has gathered that he's not very good at memorizing dry facts. He has good instincts, albeit those won't always help when he has to reach a decision based on sober assessments.

“Well, fuck me.” Levi lets his hands fall away and takes a step backwards to stretch. “S'ppose you'll have to.”

He's reluctant to end the game, and judging by Erwin's puzzled silence, it's easy to get caught up in it – that, or Levi's studiousness just hasn't been expected. To be honest, he doesn't feel any more motivated when he climbs up the ladder, but keeping up the half-assed effort of someone merely following orders would annoy him even more.

He waits on the attic as Erwin climbs up as well, slower due to his injuries. Something tingles along his spine as that blond head appears above the floorboards, powerful shoulders bowed, hands grasping carefully for the steps.

The memory of something vicious, acrid isn't gone from Levi's mind: he can still see it clearly, remember the blank face, the naked determination to kill. However, he does not see it when he looks at Erwin, as if there is no similarity between him and that... thing, number 13.

That is rather clear to him, but it occurs to Levi that Erwin might not know – that he sees himself as the same as that tool and expects everyone who has witnessed him turn into it to do so as well.

“You know, I broke into your place in the Junktown,” Levi tells him seemingly out of nowhere. It sure gets him Erwin's attention, the other man raising his head to look up at the dark silhouette standing in front of the hatch. It's not unpleasant to have that tall bastard do that.

“I do now,” Erwin replies, playfulness gone, tone flat. “Why?”

Levi crosses his arms, actually feeling smug – it's rare for them to change roles like that, it's usually Erwin who drops things on him and lets him grumble. Petty, yet Levi finds it a good distraction.

He has broken in for the holotapes, wanting to find out more about Ackerman without having to ask for it, because it angered him to do that. Instead of that, Levi finds himself answering: “Get to know shit 'bout you.”

He's standing so close to the hatch that climbing from the ladder onto the floor is difficult, he blocks the way. Erwin has the choice to either remain and wait for him to move or to manage his path sideways. While he's normally one to do the latter, he stops now, hands resting on the blunt stringers of the ladder. Levi can't tell whether he's angry, just silent for the sake of controlling himself, but even that would be alright.

“I am 75,” Levi quotes. “What was that about?”

“The yearbook.” Erwin sounds weary, although not uncomfortable. “I shouldn't have kept it. When we left the vault, the school building was still mostly intact. We realized that our ancestors had been pupils from the classes of a middle school. We... wondered which of those we were related to. Useless effort.”

In terms of effectiveness, probably. But it was likely necessary to stay sane in a world that was nothing like the one they had expected, and after being created in an environment that was as clinical as it could get without major use of advanced technology. Erwin isn't a synth, yet the vault has clearly tried to replicate that – clean human slates of maximum physical capacity.

“And then you decided to save the world on your own.” Something inside of Levi shies away from asking why Ackerman became a part of that, how Erwin has even discovered him. No matter what their relationship will turn into, Ackerman has always been there before Levi, the first imprint of 'him'. And it angers him to be weak, so he leaves no room for it. “Following Ackerman.”

This time, Erwin takes longer to answer, though he deigns to treat it as a question – he can be rather unresponsive to indirect ones. But he seems to think he owes Levi, and if that's the case, he's not about to pass up on that opportunity.

“It was not the first thing I did,” the other murmurs. “I was pushing my luck, I suppose. I had expected my brothers and sisters to act differently outside the vault, and I was growing frustrated with how little I could do. I wasn't prepared for defeat. Smith warned me of it, but I couldn't imagine not being able to change the world.”

Crazy bastards that those assholes were, of course their soldiers would think they were gods. Levi snorts and steps away from the hatch, leaving enough space for Erwin to climb up the rest of the way, yet the other man doesn't move.

“I felt like I was disappointing him,” he adds somberly. “Again.”

Erwin is intelligent, Levi knows as much, but he can be rather stupid in his own way. Ignoring the treacherous relief of not speaking of Ackerman anymore, he cocks his head and lets the stiff muscles of his neck stretch. “If you haven't left anything major out, you did everything he wanted.”

“I killed him,” Erwin rebuts calmly. Sticking to something like that, exactly stupid.

“You're not dumb. How many of your 'harvests' did that guy perform? How many broken bones or beatings to harden some brats? Don't fool yourself. He wanted to die.” Why else wouldn't he have prepared Erwin for the possibility of someone uncovering their plot? Cruel, but ultimately necessary. Levi knows a lot about killing, has seen enough of it, and he especially knows that outside of immediate fights for survival, murder is something highly emotional. Killing someone methodically takes guts and deep sentiment.

He has every reason to believe that Smith knew Erwin loved him. Probably loved the boy, too. There is no other reason to sacrifice your life otherwise. And no other reason to go through with a messy killing.

The circumstances, Levi doesn't want to understand.

“I have a recording of the trial.” Erwin sounds nearly absent-minded. “I hid it in the Junktown. When I get distracted, it reminds me.”

Levi remembers finding a blue holotape that was different from the usual orange ones, but hasn't thought anything of it. Though considering it now: blue is the color of the vaults. A very specific shade of blue that is recognizable even on worn plastic.

“Distracted,” Levi repeats, rougher than he actually means to. Erwin makes a dry, unamused sound and proceeds to climb up the rest of the way. “Selfish,” he clarifies, like it isn't human to slacken the reigns every now and then.

Levi distinctively knows he doesn't want to talk about logistics any more. He steps forward again, pushes a boot against Erwin's shoulder just as the other braces a hand on the floorboards. “Hey,” he hums, mouth dry and dusty, “wanna learn something?”

Erwin doesn't move, but Levi can tell he's a second away from brushing the foot off his shoulder and coming up here; the only thing stopping him is probably the effort it takes to get the better of Levi's determination.

“About what.”

“Me.”

That, at least, gives Erwin pause.

“You said you don't really know me,” Levi continues, watching the other's expression closely while knowing that his own is hidden by the darkness. “And you don't. So?”

Erwin doesn't immediately answer, perhaps he's wondering whether this is even a question. Always thinking – it's frustrating, even if thinking before replying saves a lot of hassle, but it also tends to give Levi the impression that Erwin is measuring something. He's a smooth liar.

Maybe this is wrong. Levi is aware that he's acting on a whim and might regret that later, because he has given Erwin something that he should have kept before.

You can't do it right, Hanji's cynical amusement reminds him. And he half listens for Ackerman's view on that, only to be met with silence.

“Yes.”

Erwin looks up at him, head slightly tilted in expectation. Then he proceeds to climb up and settle somewhere, possibly get some light, and that's where Levi evades him, moves away to the open window of the attic.

He glances at it before slipping outside without a word.

The roof is covered by shingles and metal, sturdy enough, it only creaks a little when Levi steps on it. The night is cool and windy, tugging at his hair and his bare arms, but the valley ahead is gray and inviting. So damn far.

The ground is close in comparison. Levi easily balances to the slated edge, unperturbed by the wind, and jumps down. It's quite a fall, but he rolls over his shoulder, transferring most of the impact onto the soft soil at the back of the house. The watchdog merely shoots him a look as he darts off, through the beds of vegetables and into the valley.

Levi realizes he could run away.

The equipment can be replaced. Not like he deserves the fancy stuff anyway, not like he needs it, and the freedom that comes with it is overwhelming. Like the first night beneath the open sky after he ran from the Combat Zone, and now there's the same star-filled void above him. Levi spins around without stopping as he runs into the dark fern so that the stars blur, remembers Uri saying that he firmly believes there's life out there. So far away and not giving a fuck about the Earth, but it's there .

Levi instinctively crouches in the fern when he detects movement, knowing that with the cover of darkness and the swaying of the fronds in the wind, he's impossible to see.

Yet Erwin tries.

He hasn't made any light, just leaves the house and looks around – it's so unlike him to stumble into a situation without any hope of success. It's not how he operates, Erwin would bring some form of lantern and call out and wake the family to search. That is the highest chance of finding someone out here, after all.

This is no longer the game of the rude guests. Levi can't tell whether it still is a game, though.

He rises, lets himself be seen for a brief moment. Then he vanishes again, sneaking through the fern, slipping through the landscape without leaving his path open. Unless he chooses so, purposefully tramples on a tuft of moss or splashes through a puddle.

Erwin still doesn't call him. He follows, sometimes too slowly, but he makes up for it with his tactical mind, somehow finding a way to guess where Levi moves. He doesn't carry a gun, which is plain stupid at night, even in a place like this. And they are straying far from the house, too far for an injured man to run back on time if something does happen. Judging by the way Erwin glances around him or stays to listen, he has by no means forgotten the risk, he's not caught up in something. He simply tolerates it for the sake of – what?

He's a liar, but he has always played Levi's game. The game where Levi sets up the rules, where he decides where it ends.

The fern rustles when Levi drags his lower arm over it. Erwin turns into his direction and takes a step – then flinches as a pebble hits his shoulder.

He holds up his empty hands in a pacifying gesture. Levi sees the targeted shoulders drop a little in relief, though.

Another pebble flies up towards the sky, then succumbs to gravity and rains down on his skull.

Without lowering his hands, Erwin obediently raises his head to look up.

Levi crashes into him with a force that would hurt a lesser man without any injuries, and Levi silences a pained groan by clamping a hand over Erwin's mouth as he presses him down into the fern. It raises a wave of that soapy herbal scent and the moisture of dew, the cold air is full of it, makes him almost giddy.

“Look up.”

He assumes Erwin does that because he has little choice otherwise. Levi can feel his rapid heartbeat, the breath sucking against his palm.

“Look up,” he repeats huskily. “Look at that fucking huge sky. Remember seeing it for the first time.”

The breath hitches. It could merely be pain, but Levi chooses not to think so.

One way or another, both of them have only seen the sky once they were adults. Even being a man of reality, it has mesmerized Levi, and he doesn't know whether Erwin has felt the same or was scared of the nothingness above.

He leans in closer, kneeling beside Erwin, still pushing him into the ground. Not because it's a fight, he wants to. “When I was alone for the first time, out in the nowhere of the Wastelands,” he whispers, “I was so fucking happy.”

Erwin's breath hasn't slowed down. Nor has his heart. He hasn't moved, looks up into the starry night. He sticks to the rules. The cold creeps all over Levi's bare arms now, not unpleasant or hostile, just the outside world making itself known to him, demanding room for its presence.

“I'm with you now.”

At that, Levi removes his hand. He doesn't know if Erwin understands what he has said, what it means , but even if not, the other probably senses it's something. Something deep.

But he doesn't regret revealing it, he finds. The urge to run is still there, but it turns out to be just that: run, not run away.

Erwin utters breathless chuckle. It vibrates in his chest and trembles in his arms, makes his knees bounce a little, and then he's sitting up. There is a sparkle of wetness on one cheek, although that might well be a drop of dew, likely is. It makes no difference for what Levi senses rolling off of him in waves.

It creates such a solemn atmosphere that Levi feels pressed to violate it. “Are we gonna freeze if we fuck out here?”

We experimentally rolls his hips down against Erwin's hip, a spark of that infectious chuckle leaps over to him and tickles in his belly.

“Or get attacked.” Erwin's hand skids over his thigh to leave a trail of warmth that fades all too quickly.

“Storm's gonna get here soon,” Levi adds as Erwin sits up far enough to let him press an open-mouthed kiss to his galloping pulse. “Could die there.”

“Nile goes on patrols at night if he's worried,” Erwin drags him onto his lap, a cold, dirty hand trails up his spine. “Shoots if something suspicious moves.”

Levi smirks at that one and tugs at the bandages covering Erwin's chest, annoyed that they keep him from touching skin. “Or you'll split your gut before,” he teases, licking a wet stripe over Erwin's temple that quickly cools. “Should probably stop.”

Erwin's fingers dig into his ass to bodily pull him flush against the other. “No,” he all but growls, his teeth graze Levi's collarbone, the tender scar above his heart.

“Didn't bring shit, either,” Levi replies hoarsely, not so much to reason against Erwin, only to hear his voice, the need, the vulnerability, the unmasked desire for closeness of any kind, as long as it's Levi.

“But I want you.” Erwin exhales against his moist skin, then raises both hands to frame Levi's face and pull him down. “Please don't deny me,” he adds before pressing a kiss to his lips, his chin, the corners of his mouth, the slight curve above the upper lip. He's not begging and not demanding either, not expressing himself as subtly as he usually does. His kisses speak of urgency, and Levi basks in it, selfishly stalls for time to explore that odd feeling of being... worshipped, not for his skill in battle, but for something that can't be taken, only given. Sealed as he is, he has always loved the tribute. This is different, this is better, and he wants it.

He will want it tomorrow, too. And the day after tomorrow. It's not wise to think further ahead, yet he'll probably still want it even later.

“Come apart,” he murmurs against Erwin's lips, because he doesn't know how to achieve it any other way; he's not a versed manipulator, all he has is a distinct feeling that he wants to unravel Erwin the same way the other man has done to him. Without risking to cause damage, because he knows more about Erwin now, yet what hurts him can be easy to miss.

He will hurt him; he's hurting him now , though Erwin is accepting of it. He will pry the old scars open if he has to.

“Can't,” Erwin hisses back, his teeth graze the hollow of Levi's throat. Levi grinds down on him in response, not bothering to be considerate as he slips his cold hand under Erwin's belt and tangles icy fingertips in coarse hair.

“You fucking can,” Levi growls as the other gasps, shock and pleasure mixing. Erwin then replies with that quiet chuckle again and kisses him.

In the open, thick fern around them in a cold night, and Levi demands that he lets go . It's not wise, especially if half your brain is ruled by a behavior protocol.

Yet they're here, and Levi is adamant. He's not to be placated by kisses, instead he nips Erwin's already bruised lip harshly in reproach and drags a hand through his hair to pull his head back – so he can see the starry sky. The thing that is nothing like the vault, nothing like the room in Goodneighbor either: this isn't his territory, and Levi reminds him, grounds him the best he can.

“Look up,” he instructs and drapes his cool limbs over Erwin, pulls him against his own body so that he doesn't have to hold himself up all alone despite cracked ribs. His other hand has worked open the belt buckle, his palm warms at least a little on the heated skin above the hip before sliding over his clothed cock.

Erwin's blue eyes are wide open, although he blinks and shudders. The stars, the visual proof that they're outside and not under a cleverly decorated ceiling, reflect in those eyes – it's quite beautiful, Levi realizes with a start. He's not someone who ever wonders about beauty, this world doesn't teach you to stop and stare, but now that he's seen it, he's struggling to appreciate it.

They clumsily rock against another for a short while, exploring the feeling of being both unreasonable and wanton. When he feels like Erwin's eyes move slower instead of darting around, Levi slips his fingers beneath the underwear and wraps them around his cock. It earns him a grunt; even his warmed hand is still cold on the sensitive flesh, and Levi's palm is always callous.

But none of them stops. Levi's grip on Erwin's hair loosens, and the other drops his head to bury it in the curve of his neck. His sharp pants warm and moisten the skin in small patches – is he taking refuge from the nothingness above? Perhaps. His hands roam Levi's body almost feverishly, his lips feel twisted from lust or discomfort or both.

This isn't quite sex for pleasure, although Levi has every intention of having that later. This is something to work another something out of their systems, the start of something. Maybe even something soft. Levi sharply thrusts his hips against Erwin's abdomen, searching for an angle that grants him some friction. It must hurt, rubbing the blunt traumata the wrong way, but even when Erwin tenses, he doesn't disentangle himself from Levi; instead presses closer until there is hardly room to move. The cold seems more prickling in comparison to the heat between their bodies, Levi's breath creates a small puff of fog as he exhales and then drags Erwin up for a kiss. It's graceless and rough as the rest, he can't seem to figure out how to make it gentler: everything about him feels pulled taut and so tense it makes him ache.

The growl he emits sounds alien to his own ears, feral and fierce. “Bet you'd look nice,” he twists his wrist around to slide the slightly smoother hollow of his palm over the tip of Erwin's cock, “on your back on the earth. Could fuck you-... till there's your shape 'n the dirt.”

They haven't explored switching their roles yet; it wasn't an issue the first time because of Levi's tangled clothes, and when he brought it up later, Erwin has conveniently distracted him. Now he feels Erwin tense up and can't tell whether it's his words or his hand that caused it.

“I'm not... much of a fight now.” The slow, deep drawl fuels the heat pooling between Levi's legs; he admits that he adores this voice, especially like this.

“Don't have to fight me,” he mumbles and pushes his open belt aside to ease the pressure on his groin. The cold night air is a shock, he hisses before Erwin runs his perfect teeth over his beating pulse. “Yes I do,” he hums breathlessly, and Levi finds that he can't disagree. Fighting over everything.

He feels like an isolated furnace, hot on the inside and cold on the outside. Erwin trembles beneath him, and it doesn't seem like he's only shivering from the temperatures. The tension makes his shoulders and neck rigid, and Levi drags him closer to transfer more weight, mold himself against the other despite his own lack of soft planes. His hand wraps around both of their cocks, awkwardly due to the lack of space and lubrication, although the moisture of precome eases it a little. Levi growls at the contrast of hard, smooth flesh against his own too rough fingers, the very image of his conflict.

He desperately wants to chase his own fulfillment, the relief of the tautness he feels all over his body, but he struggles to remind himself that this is not what he does this for.

Putting someone before him is alien. Erwin tells him that he does it all the time, but Levi doesn't believe him; if he did, this wouldn't feel so strange, would it?

“Hey.”

His voice is more of a wheeze than he'd like, he tastes salty sweat on his upper lip as he runs his free hand over the nape of Erwin's neck, accidentally grazing a stitched cut in the process.

Erwin makes a short noise that is probably meant to signal he's listening. Which he's not. He feels coiled up and tense in a way that's not just lust, despite of what his body tells. His breathing, although fast and sometimes hitching, is chopped and carries a note of strain.

Levi doesn't know what to say. How to reach into him. How he... even achieved the power over someone else to do that.

He cradles the blond head with his arm and feels Erwin's breath hit the side of his neck, the curve of the clenching muscles in his jaw. The cold seems to seep into every limb faster despite quickly pumping blood.

“Look up,” Levi whispers hoarsely, his throat tight. “It's yours.”

There's wetness spreading along the crook of his neck. Levi doesn't mind. There's only them out here, it's between them.

And it will heal eventually.

The next days are easier.

Levi still disagrees with being in one place for so long, but he can see the progress, and that's what makes it easier to endure.

He learns the basic signs Marie uses for communication, enough that once he gets the routine of life in the valley, he understands her fairly well. Not that they make much of it; he's not a talker, and she probably feels the same as Nile about tales from the outside world.

When there's monotonous work around the house to be done, she sometimes has Harriet read something aloud. Books from before the Great War mostly. Levi doesn't get half of what's in those, but it gives him an impression of the truth behind Uri's remark of people asking him to tell stories: the allure of something peaceful, luxurious.

In such a good, proper world, there would be no place for someone like him.

Erwin gets better. His bruises change color, stitches close, and when Marie redresses his ribs, she doesn't wrap them up as tightly and thickly as before. She doesn't seem to notice the crescent-shaped scratches in his skin.

Or they are normal for people like them.

Levi mostly spends the days apart from Erwin and the nights with him. For the first time, he experiences the other as a troubled sleeper, unlike before. He doesn't toss and turn or talk, but constricts until his muscles tremble with the effort. Levi has to literally pry him open, like he said he would, break his grip and press his arms against the mattress until they stop twisting themselves around his body.

But it gets better. Easier to snap him out of it. The dreams grow shorter. And with it, Erwin seems to begin to believe him that Levi is able to beat even the vault soldier in him.

Sometimes he notices Erwin watching him. It's not a dopey stare (he only seems to get that when he's under heavy medication) – it's pondering, serious like everything he does. The expression has made Levi uncomfortable in the past, especially from Hanji or Moblit; it seemed like they try to see Ackerman in him, the fucking Leviathan and not the... wrapping.

And he can't read people well enough to say whether Erwin's expression is different now. It probably isn't, his own validation is what counts, and yet it doesn't feel as offensive as before.

The radio plays something slow and vocal when Levi senses the eyes on him again. It's evening, Marie is bringing the girls to bed (it's amazing how a mute woman argues with a petulant toddler) and Nile is feeding the dog, so they are alone in the living area. Levi listlessly scrapes a knife over a piece of wood, wondering why anyone has the patience to carve it into a shape. Marie enjoys doing it and has shown him some of her works, mostly toys, and Levi acknowledges the effort of finding something for him to do if he doesn't want to talk or read or craft. But that's about it.

Erwin has closed his book without Levi noticing, his trigger finger traces circular patterns on the worn cover. When Levi lifts his head to return his gaze, he wets his lips, his hand stops moving. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Levi shrugs, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “Why not.” It comes out sufficiently casual.

Erwin gets to his feet, a lot less stiff by now, even though he's not fully back to form. “For a multitude of reasons?”

Levi throws him a haughty sneer. “What reasons?”

The plan was to go to the stream, or at least the general direction. They don't make it past the barn.

Many things about Erwin still remain a mystery, but of the things he likes to do, screwing standing up against a wall is pretty high on the list.

“Fuck you.” Even the hiss lacks venom as Levi peels his lips back from his teeth. “This is... less than... ideal.”

The rail above his head that he's currently holding onto gives a pitiful squeak as if to agree. Since Erwin is quite a bit taller than him, Levi either needs to stand on something or hold himself up – he has opted for the latter for the sake of his pride, even if it tires his muscles.

Erwin looks up, a devilish glint in the darkened blue of his eyes and tousled hair sticking to his forehead that makes it damn difficult to pretend to be mad. “Well,” he starts and rolls his hips up, earning a snarling groan from Levi and an impatient thrust back at him, “if you don't come...” He stops to take a breath and correct the stutter of his hips; partially holding himself up with his arms automatically makes Levi's muscles easily tighten, which is something to consider during preparation, but also an appeal, it seems. “... I could make it up to you?”

Levi grins wolfishly and closes his legs with more force where they are wrapped around his middle. Oh yes, please.

Though what he says is: “Don't think... I'll let ya off th' hook.”

It loses emphasis due to the gasp when Erwin strikes something within him that seems exceptionally receptive, and for a moment, he feels Erwin reflexively move his hands under his thighs to support him in case he lets go of the rail.

Out of sheer provocation, Levi removes one hand, leaving the other and Erwin's own muscle power hold up his weight. It begins to tear at the hand gripping the rail and burns in his biceps, but he refuses to care. He's on fire, he's fucking euphoric , and now he's sort of fixated on not coming to make Erwin eat his words.

None of them removed any clothes, even when the sun hasn't entirely set and the evening is acceptably mild. Since they don’t wear their full equipment around the house, nothing gets caught on a sharp edge, yet it does get in the way of touching. Now that Levi has a free hand, it’s annoying to have his trembling fingers bump into cloth. He figures he needs a distraction: even though this is as basic as it gets, fucking against the outside wall of a barn and exchanging comfort or rest for privacy and a taste of what it will be like in the future, it does it for him. Maybe it’s just the dry spell and the appeal will wear down after the first few times of holding a gun in one hand while you fuck, keeping an eye out for the environment instead of what’s fun. Really, he’s trying to put his expectations into perspective.

But goddamn.

A bit of dust trickles from the rusty suspension above their heads at a particularly hard thrust, Levi feels the coarse wood scrape over the back of his shirt, possibly gather a few splinters. It mixes with the burn in his muscles and the fiery tingle speeding along his veins, a cacophony of heat and rush. He curses against the feeling of tightness building in his groin, too soon, too quickly to burn. It makes him light-headed, and having Erwin’s face in front of him, not obscured by darkness now, doesn’t help. He’s… a sight, even with healing bruises and a rosy flush that accents the paleness of the skin even more. And fuck him, there’s that smug glint in his eye that Levi won’t leave unchallenged.

Not bothering to consider whether this is even an acceptable idea, he hooks his free arm around Erwin’s neck to pull himself closer, shifts his legs for a wider cradle that will drive the other man’s cock deeper if he keeps up his thrusts with force. He feels Erwin shiver in response, breath leaving him in a low hum that scratches at his vocal chords. His shoulders relax a little despite the strain of pressing Levi against the wall, he tilts his head almost lazily to kiss him.

Levi slightly draws his head back before it happens, lips barely touching as he whispers: “Tell me… the color of the walls. In…your vault.”

He doesn’t need to feel the sudden tautness of Erwin’s body and the stutter of his hips to sense that the question catches him completely off guard.

It might not even be something his barriers forbid him to say, but it’s certainly not something he likes to remember. Despite that, Levi probes it – the memories, the things that hurt. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, but he does it the only way he knows; play it by ear and see what happens.

And although it appears willful, he doesn’t want to screw up. But he has to start somewhere, as long as the memory of the pit is still fresh.

It takes an effort to act unfazed, give a tantalizing little roll of his hips to goad Erwin on, as if this really is a casual question, as if he doesn’t see the shutters threaten to lower behind those bliss-blown eyes.

The muscles of Erwin’s jaw shift under his skin as he grits his teeth. His hands that hold Levi’s thighs up tighten their grip as well, perhaps leaving imprints on the scarred skin, and the near-stop slowdown of his thrusts forces Levi to suppress a snarl. Wasn’t a tough question, why the hell would he stop , it’s not fair…

“White,” Erwin nearly bites the syllable off, he furrows his brow as if concentrating hard. “They were white.”

Levi refrains from saying something excessively stupid, like ‘See, that wasn’t difficult’, but pretending that this hasn’t been a test also keeps him from uttering praise. And he thinks, gambles even, that Erwin wouldn’t like to be praised when this is still… too raw.

So instead he impatiently rocks his hips and pulls himself a little higher on the rail, both an attempt to entice Erwin back into moving and… he refuses to be self-conscious just now.

“That,” Erwin obviously pretends he doesn’t get the hint, judging by the shallow, barely satisfying ‘twitch’ he answers Levi’s demand with, “was a filthy trick.”

Levi grins, a spark of relief flitting through him as he lets the deep, rumbly baritone wash over him. “Worked.”

Shit, his hand is starting to sweat, he might lose his grip if he’s not careful. And if Erwin doesn’t get his ass in gear sometime soon.

“C’mon, hurry… the fuck up.”

Erwin still eyes him with that speculative gaze that tells Levi all too clearly that he might not question his methods, but he’s not above petty revenge. “Thought… you could stop swearing at me.”

Levi has been swearing at him from day one. It has never been a fucking problem. It isn’t now, aside from the fact that Erwin damn well knows Levi couldn't simply drop the habit even if he tried. With a dull growl that speaks of patience thoroughly used up, he grinds down, not minding the ache in his arm as long as he gets to draw Erwin closer, shifting his pelvis just so and sees the other's eyes glaze over. They meet for a messy kiss, one that Levi can't help moaning into as Erwin finally gives into his enticement, ramming his cock upward until Levi thinks he can pursue his compensation another time if he only keeps hitting there-

“Lord Almighty!”

Out of sheer instinct, Levi yanks the carving knife he has thoughtlessly taken with him from his belt and aims to throw it – he barely stops himself before the weapon leaves his hand.

Erwin forces a sharp exhale through his grit teeth. “Nile, what .”

Said man is staring at them with a nearly comical expression of disbelief. He's holding a hunting rifle with both hands, prepared to aim himself, though his hands (and his jaw) have momentarily gone slack.

It occurs to Levi that despite him considering their state of things fairly obvious, Nile did not surmise anything between them; judging by his blank face, he finds it hard to believe even now.

“You went out,” he stutters, probably the first time in a long row of years that he does it again, “without a weapon. I thought...”

The two of them getting attacked by a mutated bear or something is apparently more likely for Nile than quietly sneaking away to fuck – shit, they were even trying to be considerate ! Levi rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother hiding his smugness.

“It's quite alright,” Erwin says evenly, although his voice is deep and sensual and hearing it sends a full-body shiver down Levi's spine. Like he doesn't have his dick up someone's ass right now. Like he didn't feel Levi shiver through that connection.

“I... see.” Nile appears well and truly shocked; he recovers some of his control when he catches Levi smirk at him and lifts the barrel of the rifle. “Well then.”

He withdraws from the barn, Levi hears his stiff steps head back to the house – and then doesn't try to keep in the short snicker that abruptly wells up. Erwin makes a half-hearted attempt to give him a stern glare, but it melts away when Levi spins the carving knife between his fingers and then rams it into the wooden planks of the barn wall.

“You're a monster,” he murmurs, strangely affectionately.

“Slow human,” Levi snaps back and runs his hand through blond hair to drag him into a kiss.

They don't hurry to return to the house, but when they do, Levi doesn't actually feel guilty. The wastelands are sparsely populated due to the struggle for survival itself, so once you find a partner, the gender tends to be a secondary issue; unless you can have your pick.

Though if you grew up by the standards of a rigid fantasy world, your opinion might differ. Levi hasn't considered that, and yet he finds he still doesn't care. The only person who might be bothered is Erwin, and as far as Levi can tell, it's not the case. He, too, probably thought Nile had gotten the hint.

Things go a little awkward after that, not in an unfriendly manner, more like an uncomfortable loss for words. Silence is nothing that pressures Erwin into talking, so when Levi is set up with Harriet again, he assumes it's a form of getting both of them out of the way.

Feels like he's witnessing the beginning of a trial or something... However, when Erwin promises to join him around noon later and lightly runs his hand down his arm again, it doesn't seem like it needs to worry him.

Levi is unfamiliar with the concept of social compulsion. He just senses that there's something, and if there wasn't already a rift between Erwin and his former 'siblings', it might become problematic. Seems rather petty after rescuing someone from a cage fight in a drug pit, when-

“Are you one of us?”

Harriet is staring up at him, her newly braided hair already a felted mess again. She is checking the fences and alarm triggers today, an 'adult duty' by the spring in her step.

“What?”

Unless there are also child-synths, Levi can clearly deny that already.

“A soldier,” Harriet clarifies bleakly. “Like Dad.”

Well... Judging by very basic features, Nile and he share a few traits: the black hair, the light gray eyes, the pale skin, perhaps scars. Still, it's a question only someone who hasn't seen a whole lot of different people in their life can ask. Levi snorts at the mere thought. “Fuck, no.”

Also, no, he hasn't tried to cut down on the swearing. The brat is old enough.

Harriet scrutinizes him with that openly measuring expression that children seem to wear whenever they feel like it; she probably thinks he's shitting her again. The truth is hard to sell.

“You are small.”

Yes, she really doesn't get to see a whole lot of 'other people'. Levi is admittedly short, but most people in the wastelands aren't much taller – especially not as tall as Nile or Erwin, and stressing that fact only creates the impression of inferiority. Levi isn't fazed by insults like these, only Harriet's naivete rubs him the wrong way.

“You keep saying shit like that, get ready to defend your ass.”

Harriet throws him an earnest glare. “Dad says I have to run.”

A smart decision when you're a child, but it leads to you being fucked if you don't escape. Levi scoffs and frowns at the spring trap that Harriet inspects. Erwin likely knows they're here, he's not in the valley for the first time after all... However, it makes Levi wonder whether it cost Erwin an effort to run after him in the middle of the night with that information in the back of his mind. His lower leg has been crushed by one of these things before.

Yeah, it wasn't easy, presumably. He did it, though. It's a heavy, foreign feeling.

“Won't always be an option,” he mumbles offhandedly, mostly trying to wrap his head around that realization.

Harriet looks up at him, curiosity and and doubt mixing in her small face. The authority of her father clearly looms over her head, and yet she rises from her crouch to gaze at Levi with that speculating leer. “And then?”

Well, there are ways of saving your hide, even if you can't flee... But Levi has usually opted for one. “Fight. Kill if you need to.”

“Dad says I'm too young,” Harriet insists, although she's too old (and probably too intelligent) to unquestioningly accept what her father dictates. She just doesn't seem sure whether a passing guest is the right choice to incur Nile's wrath... and sensitize him to possible filial disobedience.

Smart move, that.

“Your old man don't see much of what's out there,” Levi huffs and eyes Harriet in turn, sees her straighten under the weight of his gaze. “You planning on staying here? Or do you at least want the option of getting out?”

Shit, that sounds like something Erwin would say... And it's supposedly irresponsible as hell to suggest it to someone her age, so young and easy to influence.

However, Levi does not believe in a safe haven out from the world. Harriet's chances for survival will be greater the sooner she learns, when her mind and body are flexible. No matter what times used to be like – this is reality now.

Harriet chews on her bottom lip, and Levi can practically see her consider his example, his short built and his scars, the things they tell her. The costs that she can't possibly estimate, the information she lacks about the world outside the valley.

Before the child reaches a decision, there are steps approaching. Even steps, so it's not Erwin, and due to some understanding of gender roles Levi doesn't quite get, Marie mostly stays around the house and Eleanor, so it's not her, either.

Maybe Nile grew restless with Levi around his influenceable daughter – he'd be right. He still wears that constipated expression, but he's not holding a hunting rifle right now (it's slung over his shoulder at least) and manages a glance at Levi's face; that has been difficult from the start.

Harriet thus finds it a good opportunity to inquire her father's opinion – as if she doesn't know , but apparently, little girls are plucky that way.

“Can we train with weapons?”

Judging by the hint of grimace on Nile's face, it's not the first time she asks. His wave is distracted, though, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Not now, honey. Fetch a new wire spool, will you?”

Dissatisfied, yet seemingly used to her request being shot down like this, Harriet takes off, not even subtly leaving her father alone with Levi.

Nile puts his hands to his hips, visibly uncomfortable while Levi crosses his arms in front of his chest; it doesn't matter what this is about, he won't take anything back; even though this is Nile's and Marie's home and they have been hospitable and friendly enough, 'Uptopland' does not exist. There will be no peace anytime soon.

“So... About you and Erwin.”

Who would have thought that this is the more pressing issue. Levi shifts his weight and continues to stare, face blank. Nile sighs and rubs the back of his neck, and some part of Levi feels instantly insulted that Harriet has compared the two of them.

“None of my business, but... you might want to be careful.”

It feels like an eternity has passed since the last time anyone has ever warned him about Erwin. Levi has the strangest déjà-vu, and he can't help being a little curious why Nile would warn him. Does he intend to hint at the mental barriers? He did see them fuck, so he must know they're not complete, and about the other stuff...

“Just...” Nile makes an irritated noise and furrows his thin brows. “He can be odd.”

“Wow.” Levi snorts – he can't help it, there is this desire to act bratty around Nile. Not very mature, but he so rarely gets the opportunity of being at least consciously stupid. “I'll keep that in mind.” For entertainment purposes.

“See, you don't get it.” Nile makes a vague, annoyed gesture. “He's always had this... penchant for maximum capability. Irrational expectations and so on. Like he's striving for someone, not like a normal partner, more like – a superhuman.”

That does get Levi's attention, although his barred expression remains the same. “Superhuman,” he echoes tersely.

Erwin's and Nile's relationship isn't as close as it probably once was, and Erwin has made a point of not telling his former brother anything that could endanger his family. However, Nile does know him, they have grown up together: what if he somehow guessed it?

“Yeah.” Nile's gaze measures him, the short height, the muscle mass that's not impressive on sight, the pale, narrow face-

Oh.

“He doesn't mean ill, it's just his... thing.” Nile drags a hand through his hair, seemingly genuinely torn between relativizing what Levi might hope for and what Erwin is willing to give, in a way of damage limitation. As a friend who knows how complicated Erwin is.

Keeping a straight face suddenly proves to be very hard.

“I see.”

His voice is stable, which surprised him a little. Nile drops his hand from his hair, possibly relieved – he's still hard to read, the whole situation is too absurd for Levi to have experienced anything remotely comparable.

Nile shrugs and scowls. “He said you guys were leaving in the next days, so... speak out on that or something.” He flushes, unwillingly remembering the last time he has thought they 'talked', and that adds the last bit of weirdness. “He's around the razorgrain field somewhere,” he suggests when Harriet comes back into sight, too far to hear them yet, but likely in for a deep father-daughter-conversation. Not something Levi wants to participate in, either.

He nods; at this point, his face feels frozen, he no longer worries that his mouth might twitch in odd ways.

He leaves Nile to his business and goes on about his own. Disbelief tingles strangely inside his skull as he makes his way through the valley, the ground goes softer with moisture the closer he gets to the stream.

Erwin has lowered onto one knee and carefully weeds a bed of seedlings, his face distant while he's probably absorbed in deep thought. He has willowed his sleeves, dark earth sticks to his whole hand and there are some tiny cuts from the razorgrain on his lower arms.

He raises his head as Levi approaches, and he brightens slightly; nothing as obvious as a smile, but seeing him makes a difference, Levi can objectively claim that. How does anyone not notice?

“Done already?” Erwin offers him a hand that, smeared with dirt as it is, Levi naturally doesn't take. He crosses his arms again and leans against a moss-covered rock to regard the other from there. “No. But your 'brother' called me out.”

Erwin plucks out a cluster of twisting weed, brows slightly raised. Asking why this is worth mentioning.

“Apparently,” at that point, Levi is quite impressed with himself to retain a neutral tone, “fucking around with you is a shit idea, because I'm, whatcha call it, mediocre.”

Erwin stares at him. There is that bubbling feeling that threatens to break out, and before that happens, Levi clarifies: “You're into weirdass superhuman bullshit, and I'm not up to that standard.”

Erwin wipes his face with the back of his arm, his blue eyes ignite slowly, but contain their mirth. “I suppose 'dumping' Mikasa in Goodneighbor had him worried,” he muses and clears his throat. “Nile thought that there was more to it.”

If being left alone in a gangster settlement is the punishment for losing Erwin's interest, a warning might be in order... And yet it's so wrong and so off the mark from how things are handled outside the valley that Levi can't help barking a short laugh.

“Goddammit,” he growls and smacks his forehead. “I've just been fucking told that I'm too weak for your tastes, you bastard.”

“Well,” he hears Erwin reply blithely, “your height is actually beyond mediocrity. I'll have to find somewhere nice and quiet to dump you, lest you die.”

Levi kicks dirt at him for that.

“You son of a bitch, humans should keep their trap shut.”

Erwin answers with him a quiet little laugh that settles even the mere pretense of annoyance well. Levi marvels at the natural misconception some more: to everyone looking at him, he's nothing special. He has always known that people tend to underestimate his skills because he's short and scrawny, but finding out who created him has messed it up. He's getting over it, though. Nile's misplaced good will does help. Maybe Levi will even swear a little less around the children to honor that.

“I've been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Erwin tosses a tuft of weed away and carefully rises, favoring his scarred leg after kneeling for a while. The first few steps are always stiff and seem to ache, and Erwin looks down at the damaged limb with pursed lips.

“I will ask Moblit to install a cybernetic actuator in my ankle,” he states and then walks past Levi to wash his hands in the stream.

It seems brisk, not like he actually wants his input on this at all, but Levi knows him a little by now; and he can tell that fixing his leg is a difficult decision for him. Uri said it's because he considers it deserved punishment for Mike's death, and upon hearing how he has been brought up, the idea of optimizing his 'perfect' structure of a body might feel perverse.

When Erwin returns, shaking water from his mostly clean hands, Levi bestows on him the same measuring gaze Harriet has given him. “At least you'll get to keep up with me then. Being, y'know, human and all.”

Levi has never been asked for his opinion on something so grave, so he doesn't know how to handle that situation. Equal treatment is a lot more tricky than he thought.

“I'll try.” Erwin sighs as he leans against the rock as well. His arm brushes Levi's, not intrusively so, only a tactile reminder of being there. Levi doesn't tell him that he doesn't need it to acutely sense his presence. That it means something to him.

“Try your best, old man.”

“Surgery will tie me up for a while again. We will lose time.”

Offering a loophole as well as finding one for himself, as usual. Levi scoffs and bumps his shoulder against Erwin's arm. “Don't care. Means you're less likely to die.”

Levi knows that eventually, Erwin will bring up his own expendability again, because the synth of subject Ackerman can do a whole lot more for this world than even a good soldier. And then they will argue over it. It will be annoying as hell. Probably hurt like a bitch, too.

But not now. He can feel the gentle press of lips against the parting of his hair and keep that feeling to himself. He might need it when he digs out Ackerman's memories inside his head, to remind himself that this is his .

“There's something I need to do anyway.”

Levi almost says it so himself, both hears and feels Erwin hum in admission. The blue eyes are already gazing beyond the valley, but his wet fingers grasp Levi's and envelop them.

After a moment of hesitation, Levi squeezes back.

He will have to hold onto the anchor without shattering it. He can do as much, though – whether he wants it or not, he is Levi Ackerman.

He is hovering on the verge of sleep. The blanket covers him, only the heel of his left foot sticks out: the air is cold, he wants to tug himself under the blanket.

He's just barely aware that he can't. He can't move.

His mind is too sluggish to comprehend, he drifts off, stirs a little. Everything is slow. The feeling of comfort hasn't lifted, so the blanket must be too short. He has grown, after all.

But it's dark. He cracks his eye open and is met with darkness.

Strange. It's never completely dark for his eyes.

“I've changed my mind,” a voice says, clear, defiant. It's Home. “You can't take him.”

“Rather kill it?” It's the Rat. It hasn't been here for a long time. He remembers, though.

“Him.”

“Go right a'ead, do it,” the Rat taunts.

“You didn't listen,” Home says, cold and angry. “He won't die.” There's silence, and Home speaks up again, although less sure, suddenly almost meek. “He won't die. He's my little moon.”

More silence. Home breathes faster, thicker. He smells fear and despair, coloring the darkness around him. Despite his closed eyes, he can see the room, feels it, the living creatures with their tireless sets of organs, pumping and twitching. Three of them. Home, Rat and a third one he doesn't know.

“Hey.” Rat is growing irritated, which is never good. Manageable, though. Home isn't scared of Rat.

However, the new one... He wants that one to go.

But it doesn't work.

“I know,” the third one says, impossibly gently, like he feels nothing around him. And he should, everyone feels it if he wants that. “And I know he is. But...” The voice trails off, softly. Home inhales painfully.

“It could work. 'Tis a good place to hide. We can find others,” Home offers with bright, white hope.

Rat snorts, though it's not a sign of choking. “Like hell.”

“But,” the third voice continues, as if it had never left off. He calls it the Sun. “This is not a child. This is a monstrosity.”

Home makes a strangled sound, but doesn't argue. It sounds so weak when it stutters, “I could, someone could, find others for him, I swear he has light...”

The world shifts around him. The darkness is the blanket, it scratches on his cheek as his body is moved. Wrapped up. His feet both feel cold now as they dangle in the air. A hand, icy and moist, touches one as if to hold onto it, yet there is no strength. “Please,” Home rasps.

“Please,” Sun repeats. “I did not choose this. But I see now.”

Home should protest. Home is not weak and frail. Home has seen the moon and promised to say nothing.

And yet Home lets go of him. There is nothing left that feels like home now.

“You have been under his influence for too long,” Sun says. “I'm sorry.”

There is no response. The darkness is beginning to lift, slowly but surely. Rat notices, that's a problem. “Gotta run, Uri.”

“It might be too late already,” the Sun states calmly, as if he sees as well. “It rises.”

So he does.