SnK: ONLY HUMAN -C.2- (Erwin x Reader x Levi)

You began fidgeting. Your clammy hands fiddling with the ends of your camel coloured jacket collar, or at some point, with the edges of your sleeves—you couldn't decide whether you should pull them up your elbows or leave them hanging around your wrists annoyingly. Would it be prim and proper to show some skin? Or perhaps you should play the neat and well groomed soldier instead?

You've been repeatedly straightening out random wrinkles at different areas of your clothings—most notably the Trainee Academy badge on the breast pockets. You then wiped the sweats up on your now shiny forehead, tucking away a sticky stray lock of your [h/c] hair behind your ear as you marched your way into the Military Police headquarters.

Sure, this was something you wanted and been working to get.

But you still didn't expect them to hunt you down even before you actually graduated (well, it's officially tomorrow, but you were informed by the Commander of the Trainee Academy that you were elected as the number one cadet of the year). This was a big deal. A very big, effin deal.

“Cadet [l/n]?”

You whipped your anxious head up to the sound of your name in the person's still, commanding and almost husky voice; your [e/c] oculars were met by that of a deep dark—nearly black—eyes of a taller and much scrawny man. He must be around ten or so years older than you, with his dark hair almost receding to the top as though he was much older than he looks. But unfortunately, you immediately recognised him as the same man who personally invited you over to the MP's headquarters yesterday. A man many believed to be the next Commander of the Military Police—Lieutenant Nile Dawk.

“Lieutenant Dawk, sir!” you bellowed, feet shifting against each other as you closed them into a tight fit; your body stiffened up like a plank as you threw a balled fist to your upper chest, near your clavicle, and the other hand folded to the back. You held your chin up, despite your nervousness, and you were glad to see that it was met with an impressed look of him.

“At ease, soldier,” he said smilingly—a smile that you faintly noticed as it was pulled away by an uncomfortable notion not instantly familiar to you (was it guilt perhaps?). He had to wave his hands at you to relax you out of your paralysing salute. He then said, “If you're here, I take it that you accepted the offer of the Military Police?”

“Sir,” you slightly laughed as you looked away in an almost humble manner, scratching your cheeks, “I want to join the Military Police. I came here not to accept any offer or invitation. I'm number one in the Academy not because I wanted an offer or invitation—I want to make sure I had every volition and will to make it here and I am!”

“You're a good soldier, [l/n]. But I still don't know how it is that you like this job.”

You frowned. You almost couldn't make out his mumbling, but since you did, it shocked you. “Your point, sir?” you queried out of curiosity.


The same uncomfortable notion in his Stygian, black-hole of eyes that you saw earlier, that you saw in your mother's—something confused between fear and guilt. Maybe even paternal or brotherly. It was almost telling you to stay away.

“I-It's nothing,” he brushed it off sheepishly; he let out a tried sigh and pointed the way, “The Commander's office is this way.”

“Sir,” you nodded and followed his lead, feeling incredibly curious and yet remorseful of your own actions.


You needed to join the Military Police, so that you could work close to home and still have all the necessary funds to remain home. You had oozed blood, perspired sweats and cried tears during your Training of three consecutive years—all for the sake of landing in the top ten best trainees so you could chose on your will and volition that you'd join the MP, just as you've said to Lieutenant Dawk.


You let out a soft whimper and whipped your head up, your body clenched in a tight, warm and friendly embrace; you whiffed the scent of sweat and odd chemicals through the camel jacket you recognized as Hange's. Returning the gesture, you sighed and reached out for her back, pulling her closer and cuddling in a way that unleashed more tears for you. But Hange was determined to put you into good order—she rubbed your back as she hushed you from crying, hoping it would help. It did, but only little; her words calmed you more than her actions.

“It's okay, Tita! I'm still here!” she whispered into your now burning ears as your eyes began to seep even more tears. “You've got a friend in me,” she added, as if reassuring herself just as well and as much.

Your tight grip on Hange loosened for a while. Yet, as you wept, you couldn't help but hold on to her for dear life; “What have I ever done to you people?” you voiced in despair, “What did I do to deserve her words?”

“N-nothing! They've misunderstood something!”

“Still, why would she say such things?!”

“You don't worry much about it! I'll tell my superior about this and make sure they won't ever make you cry again or do this again!”

“B-but why? Doesn't she know that I am just afraid as you all are?”

“Aw, [f/n]! Y-you don't have to be afraid! I-I'm not afraid of you—along with a bunch of other guys! People are always afraid of something they do not know or is not familiar of!”

“I-I'm only human! It hurts, Hange! It's like I'm made of paper and it shreds me to pieces!”

“I know you are human! You're very human to me like that!”

You were both interrupted once more by a knock on the door and the call of Hange's full name; there was a row of commotion from outside, but judging from the pitches, it sounded like the nurses. You assumed that the nurse from before may have retaliated by complaining to the others and Hange was going to pay for your rude mistake—perhaps you shouldn't have grabbed onto the nurse who was afraid of you like that, considering you actually could read her fear. Hange pulled away from her hug, only to stare into your [e/c] eyes for a while, and then responded to this intrusion.

“U-um,” she sheepishly scratched her back as she slowly headed for the door, “This will be brief!”

You nodded as she opened the door; you knew when she widened her chestnut orbs and then cringing at them standing before her that you were right—it was those nurses after all.

They argued for a bit, something about visiting hours, the Recon Corps' involvement, the Military Police interference, someone called Generalissimo Zacklay and that you were a monster from outside the walls. They even said something like Hange and the rest of her gang were up to no good to humanity by accepting you. But Hange defended you all the time, parrying her words for you like a knight in shining armour. She urged that she will leave soon (and apparently needed to do so to debrief you), that the Recon Corps had reached an agreement with this Generalissimo Zacklay and thereby the MP can't say anything about her visiting you and that everything she had researched by far showed nothing but that you are human.

“You saw those vials! You took her blood sample!” you heard Hange hissed lowly, as if afraid your might overhear. “She's human! It's nothing to worry! You have to stop calling her that!”

The nurses scoffed and mumbled something, then left; Hange was tempted to slam the door, but the loud thump was enough to show that she was angry. You could even see her trembling in rage!

“Stupid nurses, pulling my arms like a-a-a—ugh! Bei ihr ist eine Schraube los!” she let out a growl as she placed both her hands on her hip. As she shook her head, she walked towards you with a pitiful look and bellowed once more, “Was man wünscht, glaubt man gern!”

You laughed, recognizing those phrases and its meaning.

“What?” Hange blushed, but it disappeared off her face as if it was never even there. “Hey, you understood that!”

You shrugged, “I-I guess...”

“If that's so, then you may even be—”

A loud bell suddenly began to rang through the hallway and building. It rang for several seconds, but as soon as it was a whole minute, it was gone.

Hange had been keeping her eyes out of the windows, which you had been following and gazing out to as well; you noticed that the blue sky was now peeled away by pink and orange hues—clouds that hanged and drifted above the now evening sun was changing colour just as well. It was beautiful, safe for the stark contrast of the grey wall that you saw earlier—something about it just reminded you of a distant, familiar thing—a place you once belonged to.

“Well, that's my cue!” Hange cleared her throat as she approached your bedside; you turned to her and smiled weakly, as she handed you a handkerchief. You quickly used it to wipe your tears and blow your nose.

“T-thanks, Hange!”

“Oh, Tita. I wish I could stay with you, but duty calls. Here,” Hange handed another item to you; it was a journal—when you flipped it open, she chuckled, “It's empty, silly! I just thought it might help you remember pieces of what happened... or when boredom gets to you!”

“T-thanks,” You smiled again as you accepted this; but your creased eyebrows made Hange bawl over her decision to leave. “Well, Hange, thank you so much for your kind words!” you finally said with another smile, “I really appreciate this! I-I hope I get to see you again, since I don't really have a-anyone...”

“What? Of course, you will! I'll be back tomorrow, don't you worry about that!” Hange patted your head lovingly, then folded her chair close, and walked off soon afterwards with a kind wave of her hand; she gazed at you for a while as she opened the door, “Rest, [f/n], alright? I'll see you tomorrow morning, kay?”

Then she left, just like that.

You stared back at the item in your lap now—the soft velvet feel of the journal cover tempted you into a fixation of writing and drawing. You noted the black ink bottle near your food tray and a fountain pen beside it; you didn't want to eat just yet. You grabbed the ink bottle and began to work your way into words, spreading letters onto the papers as it came naturally to you.


It seemed that tiredness now overwhelmed your aching fingers; you had been scribbling words, sketching out nearly worthless frames of random characters (one of them being your supposed saviour), and now drowse was slowly inducing itself into your spongy body. Staring at the watch on the wall, you noticed it was already half-past midnight and the cold air warranted you to shut the forgotten opened windows.

After a struggle through numb limbs, you managed to arrive at the window sill. You reached out for the windows and shut them tight. But before you sheered the curtains, you gazed out the windows; it was dark outside, with a few a lights flickering ahead and you thought you saw a silhouette down below the fence of the building as you turned in the fabrics over the glasses.

Sighing, you headed back to your bed.

You gave one last look at the sketch of your saviour and then decided to scribble the following words beside him, “Thank you...”


You had spent your early dawn snacking on your cold, almost concrete hard stew dinner bit by bit; you were far too hungry to acknowledge its state. Even your dreams were consumed by your memories of the forest and it forced you to repeatedly write them down—just to make sure you actually didn't miss anything. You didn't know if you had that artistic talent, but it came so naturally to you.

You probably had about six or seven hours of sleep judging by the stale clock on the wall and yet it felt enough. You removed the curtains (and this time, walking was easier), watching as the sun rose from the horizons and removed—no, dispersed—the dark clouds away; the stars faded out into the brightness, waiting for another night to shine as a new day begins. It was beautiful, even for a glimpse.

It's fifteen minutes past seven in the morning now, you noted the time before returning back to the journal on your bed and you laid down comfortably; the journal had been scribbled and drawn with almost quarter of its pages now.

A sudden creak startled you and a large, blond man peeked his head through the small crack of the door. His piercing azure gaze widened at the sight of you already awake. He cleared his throat as he widened the door, revealing the same uniform Hange was wearing and a tray of food in his hand. He walked into the room silently, shutting the door behind him, and headed straight for the bedside table.

You simply watched every move he made; you were in awe at how tall he was, or how prim and proper he looked with his left parted fringe swept to the right side of his face (and his busy eyebrows distracted you into a frenzy of laughter, which you stifled by biting your tongue). But it wasn't just how he looked—you seemed to recognised him as the man who saved you.

“Y-You!” your voice was shaky; you flipped open your journal and checked the sketches—no doubt about it! It was the same man! “Y-you're the man w-who saved me!”

You took him off his guard apparently; “P-pardon?” a slight blush flashed on his cheeks and he feigned an airy cough, “I believe I don't know what you're talking about...”

“I-I remember you taking me out of a-a tree hole.”

“R-really now? I didn't expect you to—at least, not yet,” he replied curtly, coming forward and closer to you and the bedside table, where he removed the old tray with one hand replaced it with the new one he was carrying.


At this close range, you could see that he wore a white shirt underneath and a strange necktie of a string and emerald medallion. His voice was commanding, rasp and deep—it was trying to be friendly, or rather friendlier. “So... Anyway, you're already awake!”

You nodded almost absent mindedly, still appalled by how factory fitted he looked; Hange was a bad example of this Recon Corps military body or whatever it was called!

“My name is Erwin Smith,” he introduced himself calmly, “I understand from Hange that you're called Titania... But, um, you preferred to be called [f/n], yes?”

“Y-yes,” your voice came out croaking; you gasped and quickly covered your mouth, earning a soft chuckle from him.

He immediately poured a glass of water from the tray he brought in and smiled, “You've exhausted your supplies, I see.”

“Yes,” you nearly choked your words on that one; just as you finished your much needed drink, your returned his smile with one of your own, “I was expecting breakfast sooner than this.”

“I'm sorry about that! The nurses are very strict with their patient schedules and protocols.”

“And I bet they were joyous when you offered to send my meal—I may've scared one of them to death yesterday! They must've talked about it! Who knew human beings could be so afraid of each other...”

“I'm sorry about that as well,” he propped a folded chair open and sat down as he went on, “Hange's told me about what happened. It must be confusing to you.”

“I suppose there are worst things,” you huffed out in irritation as you shrugged your shoulders; you felt quaint and comfortable speaking to him, even as you had only just met.

“But clearly, for one who's wounded so much, it's not what you deserved,” Erwin then smiled at you once more; it was another attractive thing about him. He had an air of charm as he walked into the room and you just couldn't help but notice.

But onto more important things. “So...” you cooed in curiosity, “Are you Hange's superior?”

“And what makes you say that?”

“She said she'll tell her superior about what happened yesterday.”

“Hange and I are both Squad Leaders from the Recon Corps; I was present when she reported to our superior about what happened yesterday.”

“Well, are you privy to the details of my medical condition?”

Erwin furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“Hange couldn't tell me yesterday because she's not authorised to. So are you?”

“You're very inquisitive this early in the morning, aren't you?”

You sheepishly nodded; “Ah, I-I'm sorry about that,” you clenched your fists on the blanket—something you thought Erwin saw—and you prodded on, “But it's just I've been questioning things since last night so I had prepared so many questions.”

“It's alright, [f/n],” he reached out his large hand and patted you on the shoulder—you startled at the contact, but eased as you looked up to him. His smile was different this time—it was somehow more sincere than ones before as he said, “It's your right to be questioning these things! And I apologise that Hange hadn't explained much on that! She can be a little too sentimental with people she's attached to...”

You paused to wonder what he meant with Hange's sentimentality—of course, she was friendly to you, but what could be so sentimental to Hange that could affect her so much when it comes down to you?

You gulped down a quiet though; “I-I see... So what exactly is my medical condition? I mean, is everything okay?”

Before he could reply, the door was flung opened and speak of the Devil!

Hange entered giddily with another blond man—he was taller than Erwin and his hair was paler (but also swept and parted in the middle). This man also had a stubble growing out as a moustache, a beard and sideburns. He quietly locked the door as Hange walked towards the bed just as well; she brought a basket of fruits with her. Neither you nor Erwin was quick enough to react to Hange's ever rapid mood.

“Good morning!” she cheered as she took a bite off an apple, “Here, have some fruit, will you? It's really good!”

You reached out for the apple, but it was taken away by Erwin's big hands; he then quipped, “She's still weak, Hange. You must peel it for her.”

“Aw, Erwin! You're such a sweetheart, you know that?”

Erwin ignored her comment with a quiet hum and proceeded to peel the apple; he did it swiftly, before he cut them into slices and handed it to you, “Here. Have some.”

“T-thank you,” you took a curious bite of it. It was very sweet to your taste buds, waking its previously catatonic senses (thanks to that stew).

“Spring apples are the best!” Hange exclaimed as per normal as she opened the windows, allowing fragrant breezes of roses and daffodils to flow into the room.

“Mike,” Erwin called the other man forward, “Have some as well. There are plenty to go around!”

“Sure, thanks!” said the man; his voice was more like a growl. He took up an apple, chewing on it eagerly, before leaning himself against one of the walls of the room, right under the clock. He barely gaze upon you, but he didn't show any signs of hostility—maybe this was what the nurses meant by Hange's gang?

“So Tita,” Hange broke the ice as she plopped herself on the bed, “Have you remembered anything else?”

You (and apparently Erwin) giggled at that nickname, but nodded nonetheless, “Well, bits and pieces! I've already used up half of the journal you gave me!”

“Whoa, what? Didn't you sleep at all last night?” She gasped, skimming through the said journal that you've handed to her.

“I had six or so hours,” you scratched the back of your neck sheepishly, “It's enough—don't worry about it! I've had this feeling that I had been asleep all this while...”

“Th-this is amazing!” Hange's voices startled the three of you; she pointed repeatedly at the journal as she explained, “The details of these pictures and these descriptions and—wow! It's amazingly thorough! Look at't, Erwin! This guy even looks like you! It's uncanny!”

Erwin gazed into the journal in Hange's hand, before eventually grabbing it and flipping through the pages. The look of amazement slowly enveloped his expression as he nodded in agreement with another slight blush (which you assumed came from seeing your sketched of him) but his words were stern; “Judging from these descriptions, it appears our last expedition exterminated mostly Deviant titans.”

“So we were right!” Hange exclaimed, jumping on her toes to grab onto the taller man's hands—one Erwin called Mike—and swayed it in hers, “Did you hear that, Mike? Deviant titans actually work together!”

The man responded with a mere grunt.

“Besides that, [f/n]'s notes also show that there is a specificity of actions that are new to titans,” Erwin noted seriously this time; he ran his fingers to the drawings as he stared in awe, “They... bowed at one of the smaller titans, seemingly an authoritative one...”

“B-bowed? Like dictatorship? Idolization? Worshipping, maybe?”

“Presumably all of the above, but it is odd. [f/n], your details in these pictures are very real... Is this what you remembered while you were in that tree?"

You nodded silently; a grim look overtook your once cheerful face, “Yes, it came to me in a dream and I had the urge to draw them out... It was rather frightening to relive...”

“I'm sorry you had recall such things!”

“You need to stop apologizing, Erwin!” You chuckled, “It's okay if it helps my situation! Plus, the thought of you saving me relieved me from those fears and from that living nightmare after all—the presence of humans... That was hope for me!”

You startled to noticed that the three soldiers stared at you strangely; Erwin was blushing once more—perhaps heavily this time—while Hange hang her mouth agape (also with a blush) and Mike had an odd smirk on his face. He let out a whistle, breaking the hard ice, and you suddenly feel heat on your cheeks as well.

“Well, lookie here!” you heard Mike cooed, “Erwin's blushing!”

Hange turned to the said man (still) in disbelief; but cleared his throat, Erwin changed the subject, “And you have a talent for drawing.”

“T-thank you,” you nodded as you gazed away from him, “It seems to come naturally. It's strange, but I can't seemed to remember anything past the incident in the forest...”

Erwin shut the journal and was about to put it aside when Hange suddenly took it from his hands and busied herself with showing it to Mike instead—running her own conversation; he proceeded to address the pictures of Erwin that you drew or that strange titan, “About that... I feel obliged to inform you that I may not be authorised to tell you the full details of your medical condition, but I can tell you part of it.”

Hange suddenly glanced over as she jumped in, “Are you sure, Erwin?”

“Don't you trust him?” the man named Mike asked; he stole the journal from her hands and began browsing for himself, “You know he knows his way around this. Commander Shadis listens to him!”

“I-I know that! B-But—”

The two watched in silence as Erwin suddenly took up your hands without any resonance of his once embarrassed self; his sky-blue eyes bored deep into yours as he went on, “[f/n], the thing is that... you have been in a coma for a little over three months now.”

You gasped at this; your hands began trembling, but Erwin's warm and large hands held yours steadily and tenderly. His gaze remained on you as his words slowly sunk into the depths of your mind.


“W-what about my injuries?” you managed to word it out, stammering a little. “M-Maybe that w-would explain w-why... I-I had.. b-been asleep... t-hat long...”

Erwin let out a dreary sigh; “Do you really want to know?”

“Y-yes!” you urged with despondency, “I have to know! I need to know!”

“Hange,” he called as he whipped his head to the said woman, “Tell her.”

You watched as Hange approached the bed—her feet dragging her heavy body; she gulped nervously before sitting herself at the edge. She shoved her glasses forward as she explained, “You had some problems with your back. Your vertebraes weren't badly fractured enough to cause nerve damage or paralysis, but you had a few slipped disks—in any case, you were very lucky! While you were unconscious, you were equipped with braces!

Anyways, your arms however had several twisted joints; when they found you, you had dislocated both your shoulders and wrists. Considering you may had to go through this pain for a while, the nerves seemed to be slightly damaged—I say slightly because it appears that you've slowly gotten better there!

You've managed to heal most of your injuries during your three months coma. It seems to have assisted with the repairing of most of your injuries—most notably in your legs. You had apparently strained some muscles there—your knee and ankle primarily—and this had some suspected nerve damages. Though I hope for the best that you don't have any.

“But besides that,” Hange paused. She turned to Erwin for an affirmation to her next line of words and he gave a positive gesture of nodding; his hands clenched your fingers tightly, still gentle. “You had also suffered some head trauma and hypoxia; it was winter when we found you and you were left in the exposed cold weather for a while to induce that. We believed it's what cause your coma—the lack of oxygen through suffering of lack of temperature.

What bothers me most is that you had scrapes and scratches—bruises and scars—on your bodies that was almost weeks old... They were signs of torture and we were hoping that you'd explain to us what happened.”


“I-I can't remember,” you mumbled, feeling your fingers wrapping itself around Erwin's, which earned a startled look from him; you began trembling, “I-I can't remember anything else!!!”