I Can See the End
Levi Ackerman x OC (18+)
Post-Apocalypse AU
Master List | Read on AO3 Here
Welcome to the second chapter. If you haven’t yet read the first, the links are above. Please continue to mind the warnings as you read. Things get progressively darker with each chapter. Anyway, please enjoy.
Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), age gap, power imbalance, profanity, unprotected sex, degradation, dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, codependency, obsession, drug use, implied prostitution, violence, mental illness.
Chapter Two ~ Purgatory
I awake disoriented, covered in a layer of sweat from head to toe. My lips are chapped, my throat is dry, and my vision blurs as I slowly open my eyes. I’m greeted with the sight of Ymir’s bunk above me. I turn my head to my right, then the left, and realize that the lights are on and the room is empty.
What time is it?
I sit up reluctantly, my joints popping as I do so. My head feels heavy as if I’d been drinking the night before. I rub my face and sigh.
What the fuck have I done?
Before all this, when things were normal, a petty crime like stealing food would’ve been met with a metaphorical slap on the wrist. Nowadays, a single step out of line is viewed by our military overlords as a grave offense. I understand why it’s that way. If I were a power-hungry military leader who accumulated power by exploiting and oppressing civilians living in a concrete box, I too would be weary of an uprising. They claim the reason they operate things this way is because, according to them, this compound is the last vestige of civilization that they’re aware of. We all know better, though.
Regardless, I know the hounds will come for me. Come to drag me into the pits of hell as punishment for my sins. Whether it be today or tomorrow, they’ll come eventually.
I slowly stand, so as to not make myself lightheaded, and make my way to the clock above the door. My eyesight’s going to shit. I realized at about fifteen years old that I was unable to see as clearly, but what is there to do about it? Basically nothing. The chance that they’ll give me a pair of glasses if I were to apply is slim to none.
Once I get close enough to the clock to read the time, I see that it’s about half an hour past noon. Not as late in the day as I thought it was. I decide that I should shower before I do anything else. I smell fucking rancid.
I walk across the room to the very back where the communal bathrooms are. Slowly, I glance around the corner of the doorway to see that there’s only one person in there; it’s a woman, thank God.
Feeling comfortable enough, I walk inside and make my way over to the bins with clean towels and single-use bars of soap neatly folded and stacked inside. I grab one of each, swiftly enter a shower stall towards the back corner, draw the curtain, and begin to undress.
Once I’m fully naked, I unravel the twin braids I perpetually wear my hair in. My dark curls fall, spiraling down the length of my back. I stand there in the stall for a brief moment, unmoving, staring at the grout in between the off-white tiles. I then take a deep breath and turn the water on. It’s important to be as efficient as possible in the shower, as we’re only technically allowed ten minutes at a time. The hot water hits my sore body, and I let out a groan, not caring if the woman a few stalls down thinks me strange. The water is scorching, exactly how I like it. Showering is probably the only time I ever feel truly warm. Even when I’ve been working for hours on end to the point where sweat is soaking through my work uniform, I’ve never felt warm enough. Only in the short showers I take every day do I ever feel warm enough.
I quickly wash my body before I begin on my hair. Washing and detailing my long, curly hair is what takes me the most time. Over the years I’ve mastered the art of maintaining my somewhat difficult hair texture with the minimal resources I’m given. It’s a miracle that my hair has maintained some of its thickness in the first place, considering my lack of nutrients. It’s definitely lost some of its density, but it’s minimal in comparison to what it could be. I know it would be much easier and way more practical to simply cut it all off and wash my hands of it. However, at some point in my life, I began to develop an emotional attachment to my hair. It’s the only thing I have that connects me to the life I had before.
Before the end, when my mother would style my hair in intricate designs with colorful clips and bows. When my sister would brush through the tangles as I sat and played in the bath. The sweet smell of the styling products they would heedlessly apply throughout my head. Sometimes if I think about it hard enough, I can still smell it.
By the time I’m finished washing and detangling my mane, the water shuts off. I huff and roll my eyes like a child. I attempt to turn the handle again to turn the shower back on, but this is an idle endeavor. I’d have to wait about half an hour before the shower is usable again. I could just hop into another shower stall, but I remember a couple of years ago when a guy used to do that frequently. Somebody snitched him out one day, for whatever reason. I haven’t seen him since.
Why can’t they give us fifteen minutes instead of ten?
I exit the stall quickly and wrap myself with the towel. I was so lost in my nostalgic reminiscence that I didn’t realize the woman had left, and I was now alone. Truly and utterly alone.
I pace over to the long row of sinks and look at myself in the mirror. I make a point to examine myself once a day. It keeps me sane, even if I don’t particularly like what I see most of the time. My caramel-colored skin is washed out and has a grey undertone to it, most likely due to my lack of sunlight and nutrition. My face is slim, much like the rest of me, which makes my dark brown eyes appear much larger than they actually are. My collarbones unevenly jut outward as more evidence of my malnutrition. I run my long fingers over my face and hold my breath for a few moments. I look extraterrestrial, like an alien that’s snuck its way on earth and disguised itself as a human. I don’t think I look particularly ugly per se; however, I definitely look unsettling.
After I’ve concluded my daily self-judgment ritual, I dry myself off, style my hair back into twin braids, make my way out of the showers, and walk to the corner of the room where the clean uniforms are kept in a large cabinet. The uniform they provide us with is purely for functionality. It’s all the same shade of black, including the wife beater that’s worn underneath the work shirt. There are no clean sets in my size today, so I’m forced to choose a size larger than usual. I sigh in frustration and yank the clothes out of the cabinet, pulling them on my body roughly.
As if my day couldn’t get any worse.
Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but I’ve already started my day off in a foul mood. The small inconvenience almost sends me over the edge.
Once I’m finished dressing in my too-large clothes, I walk over to my shared bunk bed and lie back down. I begin to weigh my options. Do I risk going down to the mess hall to get my ration for the day? It would probably be wiser to remain unseen considering my predicament.
I am really hungry, though.
I typically still eat in the mess hall on off days, so it would only look more suspicious if I had a sudden change in routine.
It does make more sense to stick to the same routine so I don’t draw any unnecessary attention to myself. Plus, the longer I stay in one place, the easier it will be to find me.
I’m so fucking hungry.
I sit up in bed and grab my shoes from underneath. I get out of bed once more and make my way to the wall by the door where the lockers are. I find my locker and enter the combination. There isn’t much in there, just an old blanket that my father gave me, my work ID, and my ration cards. I grab one and shove it in my pocket. I then walk over to the clock on the wall for the second time today. The time reads about half an hour after one o’clock. I curse under my breath. It’s usually busy in the mess hall up until three. I could potentially use the commotion to my advantage and hide myself amongst the crowd. The higher ranks of the military usually don’t eat in the mess hall anyway. In fact, I don’t think I can recall a time when I’ve seen Levi or anybody of importance eat in there. The lower ranks of the Garrison and Survey Corps do, however.
Do I take the risk?
The longer I continue to stand here, the more exposed I become. Somebody could walk through that door any second and drag me to my dissolution. Fuck. The paranoia is clawing at the back of my brain, making me want to scream into the empty air.
I need to hold myself together.
“Fuck it,” I grunt out and slap myself hard in the face before wrenching the door open and stomping out into the desolate hallway. My footsteps echo loudly over the hum of the fluorescent lights as I make my way to the mess hall. It’s not unusual for the hallways to be empty around this time of day. Presumably, everyone’s already there, or drowning their sorrows elsewhere in moonshine, drugs, or sex.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to reach the mess hall. I peek my head through the doorway to examine what I’m about to walk into. There are quite a few people, all loudly shouting as they stuff their faces with beans and wash it down with shitty alcohol. The only military men I spot are Garrison guards. If there are other branches here, then they’re not wearing uniforms. Most importantly, however, Captain Levi Ackerman is nowhere to be found. I didn’t expect him to be eating in the mess hall regardless, but it does give me some peace of mind.
I enter the lion’s den with haste, successfully maneuvering throughout the clusters of people. I make my way to the line in order to get what I actually came here for, some food. I keep my head down and pull some strands of hair loose by my face, hoping it will disguise me slightly. Waiting in line feels like it’s taking way longer than normal. The anticipation of potentially being recognized is all-consuming. I try to slow my heart rate and relax my shoulders.
If they were to find me here, they would definitely make a scene of it.
They’d make an example out of me.
The thought of being roughly dragged out of the mess hall by a bunch of large men sends a chill through my body. Rough hands manhandling me through the compound. Deep voices spewing vitriolic insults as I kick and scream, pleading for them to let me go.
The unwelcome thoughts cause bile to rise in the back of my throat. I really shouldn’t be thinking these things. Unfortunately, I can’t help but mentally prepare for the worst-case scenario. I grow increasingly frustrated with myself, and my eyes begin to water.
God, how could I be so fucking stupid?
In the midst of my groveling, I notice that, at last, I’ve reached the front of the line. I walk forward and pull my ration card out of my pocket, handing it to the tall, blond man behind the line. He glances at it, reading the small list of food that is to be served on my plate. As far as I’m aware, all the workers in the Green receive the same ration cards, except for the fact that men are given double the amount, so it’s not hard to guess what occupation I hold just by looking at it.
“You work in the Green, huh?” He observes.
“Yeah, I do.”
“My girlfriend’s brother works in the Green too. His name is Connie. You know him?” He asks. So this is Niccolo. I’ve never seen him work the line before, so I had no idea what he looked like. He’s actually quite handsome.
“Yeah, I know him,” I reply dryly.
“You don’t sound like you like him that much,” he chuckles.
“I don’t really; he’s funny, though. I’ll give him that.”
“Yeah, I can’t say that I blame you. He’s a shit-starting smartass who doesn’t know when to shut his mouth,” he says with a smirk on his face. “He really cares about my girlfriend, though. I know that I can always trust him to have her back if I’m not around, so there’s that.” I don’t even realize that he’s finished plating my food as he hands me my tray.
“That’s good then,” I say, promptly turning around and finishing the conversation.
I scour the mess hall looking for an optimal place to sit. Preferably a spot where I can see the entrance so I can make a quick getaway if need be. There are a lot of people in here, and I don’t know the majority of them. I make a point to not befriend the other citizens of this shitbox for a couple of reasons. The main one being that nine times out of ten, if a person is attempting to befriend you, it’s purely for personal gain. Sex, drugs, extra rations, and a possible chance to climb the social ladder are all most people seem to be after these days. Once again, I understand why this is. I simply want no part in it. I’ll remain silent and unseen to the general public, preferably till the day I die.
Continuing my search for the perfect place to sit, I recognize a familiar face. Actually, scratch that; two familiar faces, Ymir and Krista. I stand there in slight disbelief. I haven’t seen Krista since the day she left for the Quarter. Usually women from the Quarter eat there and not in the mess hall, but I guess Krista really wanted to talk with Ymir.
I walk over to their table and plop my tray down, making my presence known. They both turn to look at me in slight disbelief.
“Holy shit, Sweetheart, you scared me,” Ymir reprimands me.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “How are things with you, Krista?” I ask, immediately turning my attention to her.
She’s still looking at me with a look of surprise on her face. “Oh! Things are going super well, actually,” she says quietly. “I know it’s only been about a week, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Hmm… yeah, it does feel like that, huh? You really like it down at the Quarter, though?
“Yeah, actually, it’s nice not having to do physical labor all day, so… yeah. The food is also a plus; I finally don’t feel like my body’s giving up on me, y’know?” She laughs slightly.
“Yeah, that must be nice.”
“Honestly, I think you’d like it down there too.”
I give her a questioning look. “What makes you say that?” Ymir looks like she wants to sink into the floor.
“Well, y’know, I just think you deserve nice things. You can have nice things down at the Quarter.” She says. “I’m sure you’d get accepted if you applied! There aren’t really any girls in there who look like you, so I’m sure—“
“What do I look like exactly?”
“Well, y’know you—“
“Krista, maybe we should have this conversation elsewhere, at a different time, hm?” Ymir jumps in, cutting her off. She gives me a subtle, apologetic look.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry; I just thought it’d be something you’d want to consider. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m really sorry. I swear,” she rushes out.
“It’s fine, Krista, but I’m really not interested,” I say with a serious look.
“So… are you gonna tell me what’s got you so on edge? Don’t try to deny it either. You still have that look on your face,” Ymir asks, changing the topic of discussion.
“Ymir, like I said yesterday, I made a stupid mistake. That’s all,” I spit.
“There’s no way you’re gonna lie to me, Sweetheart. I’ve never seen you so tense before, plus you keep looking at the doorway like the devil himself could walk in here at any moment. So, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I stare blankly at the table, not saying a word.
Do I cave and tell her everything? Would she or Krista tell anyone else? If they do, that would come back to bite me in the ass quick. Fuck. No, I have to maintain my lie.
“I got into it with a guard yesterday, okay? I said some things I probably shouldn’t have, and they cut my rations for next week, so yeah.” I ramble on and roll my eyes slightly.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that yesterday?”
“Yeah, y’know, I could give you some of my ration cards. I really don’t mind.” Krista interjects.
“Krista, you don’t have to do that. I just didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”
“Mm… right, okay then. You really need to be more careful, Sweetheart. I don’t know you that well, but I wouldn’t particularly enjoy it if something bad happened to you.” Ymir says with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
“Yeah, I know,” I whisper as I pick up my fork to begin eating my food. I almost forgot about it. It’s probably cold by now.
Krista and Ymir continue making conversation as I eat. I don’t pay much attention as I’m lost in my own thoughts. The food tastes bland on my tongue, even more so than usual. The texture is that of clay in my mouth, but I continue to eat it, knowing I’ll regret it later if I don’t.
I scan the room every once in a while. Continuing to check if any scouts or MPs have decided to make an appearance. I spot no military men; however, I do see one face I recognize, Eren Jeager. The youngest son of the compound’s chief of medical staff, Grisha Jeager. Zeke Jeager, the man who runs the Quarter, is Eren’s older half brother. Their family has a lot of influence, so they tend to not mingle with the masses. However, I see that Eren is conversing with Floch fucking Forster of all people.
When did he show up? What the fuck is he even doing in the mess hall to begin with? And talking to Floch no less. Maybe something is happening in the Quarter? Would Krista know if there was? I wasn’t aware that anyone of Eren’s social standing would even look in the direction of a laborer.
I turn to look back at Krista and notice that she’s, very obviously, looking directly at Eren with an unreadable expression. Also very interesting.
I decide I need to finish eating as quickly as possible. Eren’s presence is putting me on edge. Not because I’m afraid he knows of my crime, but because his girlfriend definitely does. Mikasa Ackerman, Eren’s girlfriend, is a high-ranking soldier in the Survey Corps. She also happens to be Captain Levi Ackerman’s niece. If he’s here, dicking around with Floch in the mess hall, she won’t be far behind.
God fucking damn it.
“Hey, I’m gonna head back to the Green.” I tell Ymir and grab my tray.
“Oh, okay, are you good?”
“Yeah, I’m good, just tired like always, so I’m gonna take a nap.” I say, rushing to leave as quickly as possible.
“Hmm, okay, I’ll see you later then.” She replies dryly, eyeing me with a suspicious look.
“Yeah, sleep well! I’ll see you later, okay?” Krista says.
“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”
Fuck me.
I rush to place my tray with the other dirty dishes in the corner of the mess hall. I know trying to lie to Ymir is useless, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I’m scared. Like, really scared. A kind of fear I’ve never felt before. Haunting and never relenting.
I quicken my pace to the doorway and look over my shoulder one last time to make sure nobody is watching me. But just as I walk through the doorway, I’m nearly bowled over by a muscular figure. I take a step backward and begin to apologize, but the words die in my mouth as soon as I realize who I’ve just run into. Mikasa Ackerman, of course, because why would it be anyone else?
I’ve never seen her up close, only from a distance in large crowds. She’s truly mesmerizing as she is terrifying. We’re similar in height, so I’m looking directly into her dark eyes as I lift my gaze. She has an annoyed expression on her face for a moment before her eyes widen slightly.
“I’m really sorry!” I blurt and quickly skirt around her into the hallway before she can reply, running as fast as my legs will allow me. I don’t look back. Doing that would only give her the opportunity to examine me closer.
Maybe she didn’t realize it was me. There’s also the possibility that the captain never reported anything. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Yeah, okay.
My body feels cold, as if I’d been standing outside naked for ten minutes. I can’t stop shaking. My eyes begin to burn, and my lips tremble slightly. I look up at the ceiling, bright lights shining directly in my eyes, in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.
Once I finally reach the sleeping quarters, I run to my bed, pull my shoes off, and bury myself beneath the blanket. I shove my face into the pillow and scream as loud as I can. Cursing myself and deeply regretting my decision to eat in the mess hall.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
I didn’t even check to see if anyone else was in here, not that I care about that right now regardless. Nonetheless, after I’m finished with my temper tantrum, I raise my head and look around the room. There are, in fact, people in here with me. Two people, both of them men, and I make eye contact with them. The men in question: Jean and Marco, naked, underneath their blanket. Of fucking course.
“What the fuck are you two nasty freaks looking at?” I snarl. They just look at me, jaws slack, speechless. “Well?” I press further.
“Well, we—“ Marco begins before I cut him off.
“Just so you’re both aware, which I’m sure you already are, everyone in here can hear you fucking, like literally everyone. So, if you’re going to continue doing that shit, you need to turn down the volume. I don’t get enough sleep as it is,” I rant.
“Y—yeah, sure thing,” Jean stammers.
I lay my head back on my pillow and let out a huff of annoyance. Will I ever know a moment of peace? I hear their sheets rustling, and I begin to ponder, shamelessly letting my perverse thoughts run wild. Who tops and who bottoms? Why do I even care? My intrusive thoughts get the better of me this time.
“So,” I begin. “Who’s the top and who’s the bottom?” I ask out loud.
“What the— what the hell kinda question is that?!” Jean hollers.
“I don’t know, call me curious, I guess. Don’t take offense. You don’t have to answer.”
“Well—“
“We switch,” Marco interrupts.
“Hmm, yeah, that makes sense,” I deadpan.
Jean sighs as he pulls his pants back on, then looks at me.
“What was with the meltdown just now?” He inquires. Normally, I’d ignore him or tell him to mind his business. This time, though, I humor him.
“Ran into someone I’m not very fond of, let’s just say that.”
“Well, you’re not very fond of anyone, so there has to be something more to it than that.”
“Maybe she doesn’t wanna talk about it, Jean,” Marco tries to reason.
“It doesn’t matter. I fucked up. Like, royally fucked up,” I groan. I definitely won’t be going into any details about what I did with these morons. However, it’s nice to talk about it with someone, even vaguely. I highly doubt that they’ll even remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. They’re both high as shit. I can see it in the way their pupils constrict.
“What the hell did you do? Like, seriously. Because if you did something bad enough to catch the attention of the MPs, you need to stay the hell away from me,” Jean rants.
“Jean! That was so fucking rude!” Marco yells.
“It doesn’t matter, Marco! I don’t need any of this shit falling back on us. You know—“
Jean’s outburst is cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps. They’re almost too heavy. Like the sound of death, marching down the hall. Echoing off of the concrete foundation of the building. I know what awaits outside of the doorway without needing to see it with my eyes. A cold feeling sweeps through me, as if somebody had thrown me into the pits of hell.
The notion that hell is a hot, fiery pit of eternal chaos is false. Hell is cold; I’m sure of it. I’ve lived enough years on this earth, in this never-ending winter, to know true suffering. Hell is complete separation from God, and I know now that he has abandoned us all. My prayers will forever go unanswered, and everything else living on this earth has been condemned to suffering.
We all stay still, ceasing all movements and sounds. Waiting for what feels like an eternity. Waiting to behold whatever judgment awaits us beyond the other side of the door.
