Fic: Silver Underground - Tumblr Posts
SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 04.
levi's pov #2. :: a deleted scene from flashback two. this is levi's pov of recruiting james to the gang.
happy silver underground friday! thank you for your patience as i write up ch20. i know many of you requested more levi pov content, so i give to you the initial recruitment (levi's version). this is unedited. 3.5k words / mentions of violence, angst, language, pining. :: please remember: this is additional deleted content, not tied to the current canon of the story.
Three years pass and she still won’t leave his goddamn brain.
The girl with the stale bread.
The girl with the kindness that’ll get her killed down here.
Maybe you're not even that kind — he’s seen how ferociously you take down kids double your size when he’s passing by with Furlan, keeping tabs that you’re still breathing week to week.
Not long after the one and only fight he’s had with you, Kenny disappeared. The son of bitch gave some shitty excuse — something about teaching him all he could — leaving Levi Ackerman in a deathly quiet room for the second time in his life.
Just happened to be alone this time, that’s all.
He almost came to you then, but thought better of it. Getting mixed up in that bitch’s affairs, the one you call Mother, wouldn’t do him any favors.
Maybe she’d up and ditch you the way Kenny ditched him.
Maybe fate would have it—
No.
Dreaming’s a waste of time.
He should keep his distance.
He should never try to speak to you—
“Hello?”
Furlan waves a hand in front of his face, waking Levi from a dissociative state. His steel gray eyes flicker up to the other boy, expressionless.
“I’m listening,” he curtly replies.
“No you weren’t,” Furlan mumbles, before flopping down into a rickety wooden chair.
This house isn’t much, but it’s home. Better than living on the streets, that’s for damn sure. Somehow him and this kid made enough money to get by and then some — but that’s probably because they’ve found the literal Underground City jackpot.
Two idiot MPs from the surface.
Two sets of Omni-directional Mobility Gear.
(The steal would be much easier than others think. Making the story sound impossible meant other thugs in the area wouldn’t ever try their hand at it.)
Crime’s a hell of a lot easier when you can fly.
Only problem now is that the jobs — and subsequently the money — are harder to come by. Furlan’s insistent on expanding. Levi has no interest in banking on trust beyond Furlan.
Until that idea hit him like a static shock—
All when he realized you were still fighting.
Still, after all these years.
“If you’re still trying to convince me,” Levi boredly starts, “then I might have a name to throw in the ring.”
Furlan perks in his chair, scooting closer. “Well, damn, you coulda said it earlier.”
“I just think you won’t like who I suggest.”
“Huh? Why? One of our guys—”
“No,” Levi cuts off. “Not one of the shitheads we split scraps with. I’m talking about a third.”
“A third… in command?” Furlan slowly inquires. Levi nods once. “So who is it?”
“A girl I knew once,” the dark-haired boy suggests, arms crossed over her chest. When Furlan squints, he continues. “She’s in the fighting rings. Goes by James.”
“She’s a kid?”
“No. Knew her when she was, but now she’s in the adult circuits.”
“So how old is she?”
“Maybe fifteen? Fourteen?” Levi supplies. “Our age.”
“Huh.” Furlan pauses. “And you… think she’d be good? Like how good?’
“Probably the best option we have.”
“Levi Ackerman talking highly about someone else… now that doesn’t happen every day.”
Levi squints in annoyance.
“Are you cool with me asking her, or not?”
Furlan makes a face. “Well— here’s the thing. If we just add her, chances are the guys we kinda fumble the numbers with will get jealous. We’d probably need to initiate her.”
Levi doesn’t mean to, but he glares right back. Furlan must realize right away that his partner is a fan of the idea — a reaction he’s never offered.
“Five people aren’t jumping her, Furlan,” Levi insists in a bite.
“I— three?”
Three.
He’s seen you take down people double your size and weight. He’s watched you put popular contenders on their backs in seconds. The kids they hire are just that — kids.
As much as he doesn’t want to agree to it, there has to be a compromise.
You can handle five.
You can certainly handle three.
“Fine,” Levi murmurs. “Three. She has a fight tomorrow.”
“Damn, you’ve been scouting this one?”
Something like that.
.
.
.
.
.
And just as he suspected, you knock them square on their asses.
Truth be told, it’s an unfair fight.
Levi stakes his claim at the corner, in the shadows, and watches the beat down in real time. All goons looking to show off like they know what the hell they’re up against.
They don’t.
Levi does.
When you scramble down the alleyway to get to safety, he takes off into a casual stroll. Taps an unconscious moron or two in the head to make sure they’re seriously out.
(They’re out, alright. Like a snuffed light.)
And when Levi finally catches up to you, you’re swallowed whole by shadow. Your hands are assessing each part of your torso — smart — while your breath exits in a controlled wheeze.
He’s sorry.
He really is, for once.
“You look like shit,” he comments, watching you rip your gaze from your scratched hands towards his voice.
Like a feral, scared animal you watch him.
Blinking once.
Blinking twice, three times, as if you’re trying to figure out who the hell he is.
Levi knows it’s not from the injuries. You were smart and protected your head as much as possible. He was banking on quick precision from your technique.
“Mind your fucking business,” you snap back at him, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from smiling ear to ear.
(So that’s what you sound like.)
“How bad did they get you?” he casually asks, stepping forward with a boot.
You blink several times once again.
Yeah, you recognize him.
Just like he recognizes you.
“Why do you care?” you hiss, pushing away from the brick wall.
Levi stops moving to give you space. “I don’t.”
(But, fuck, he does. He really does.)
Breathe through the pain all you want, he catches the way you wrap your arm around your abdomen as if he’s going to try and take you on at your weakest.
Maybe those bastards did get a good hit or two in.
“I guess the answer is bad enough.”
“Fuck off.”
“Sure.”
Except he doesn’t want to.
If you let him, then he’ll stay.
“You can leave, you know,” you tell him, and he draws in a slow inhale. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, you’ll be fine so long as those shitheads don’t get up.”
Your head whips behind you to see the alley as if Levi’s spotted anyone.
No, they’re not actually coming.
In fact, you knocked them out so thoroughly that it’s a little bit funny.
Then you turn, and his stomach clenches. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
“I get that a—”
“Whoa.”
His heart seizes when you stumble. Immediately he shoots to the other end of the wall, ignoring the hand that shoots out to stop him.
“Hold on. What the hell are you doing?” Your nostrils flare. “I said I’m fine.”
Damn it, James. Don’t be proud right now.
“Yeah, and I”m six-foot fucking three.”
And he steps closer.
Closer.
Until the expanse of his chest hovers right at your palm.
Well — you aren’t trying to beat the shit out of him. That’s a plus.
You really do remember me, that sad sack of shit you were nice to.
“Roxy’s is close,” Levi slowly states, hoping you’ll connect what he’s thinking about. That you’ll get to where he’s trying to go with this before he has to spell it out.
“I know.”
“They have back rooms with supplies.”
“I know.”
“So why not go?” he grunts, very much over the bravado he’s very much guilty of himself. “C’mon, dumbass.”
You squeak, but it’s too late — Levi breaks that illusion of distance with a smack of your outstretched hand so he can get to the part he’s been agonizing over all day.
Helping you.
Because he sure as hell isn’t going to let you go through this alone.
(Not when he’s practiced this pitch for a week straight.)
You don’t push him away when he touches you. Hell, you just stare — Levi’s worried he has something in his goddamn teeth.
Then you ask. “Why?”
Surely you know.
Surely by now, you must know the why of this.
Because I owe you.
Because you have left my fucking brain since the day you asked my name.
Levi answers. “Because.”
Cautious with every step, Levi lets you call the pace. You’re surprisingly mobile all things considered, and he just acts as your anchor as you make your way through the winding rounds of the Underground City.
“You have a key?”
He has to force himself not to snort. “No.”
The staff at Roxy’s will forgive him.
Or not — he doesn’t give a shit.
Gingerly placing you against the wall, he musters up the energy to use the strength of his short but mighty legs. Levi kicks the wooden door with gusto, waiting a moment for the noise to dissipate, before grabbing you again to continue on.
Eventually he places you on a nearby chair and brushes off his hands, coated with sweat.
What the hell, Ackerman? Get your shit together. Now’s not the time to get nervous.
Especially over you.
God, not when he’s almost got you.
You’re too busy staring at the disjointed door to notice his expression soften when he’s staring at your face.
It’s so… pretty.
Why is it—
Wait.
“Oi.”
He snaps, and you blink and turn your chin back to him. All the air whooshes clear from his lungs.
You’re worried. He can tell.
“Eyes on me. They aren’t coming.”
“What makes you so sure?”
(God, he’s such an asshole.)
Choosing to ignore the question, Levi keeps himself busy by searching the cabinets in the room for the med packs he knows they keep here. Way too many wayward souls pass through. They always got some—
Ah.
There.
Turning on a heel, he eagerly brings the med kit and unfurls it, holding it to you.
You stare back, not moving.
(You don’t have a concussion, do you?!)
“What do you want me to—”
“Hold it, idiot,” he snips in his own minor panic. “I can’t do everything.”
Please let me fix my own mistakes, James.
Your hands uncurl like a clam, waiting for the med kit. Levi carefully places it in your hands and takes what he needs.
“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “Why are you doing this?”
Taking a cloth, he douses it with antiseptic and presses it ever so gently on your skin.
You don’t even flinch.
“Levi.”
Time freezes.
His gray eyes meet yours, and suddenly he forgets to breathe.
You remember.
He never told you, but —
He’s pretty sure Kenny may have said it back at this godforsaken fucking bar.
Should he tell you he remembers you, too?
(You never told him your name. He’ll show all of his cards in one fell swoop.)
“Does it matter?” he gruffly responds, pressing the cloth to your cheek.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s harder to help than to ignore.”
“Kind of like giving bread to a strange kid, right?”
Shit.
Levi blurts before he can take it back.
This wasn’t how he thought this would go.
Banter here and there, maybe, but—
“I don’t know,” you finally answer. “I’m not a saint for giving you food.”
Of course you’re not.
Saint James, the patron deity that hasn’t left his mind since.
Levi’s nostrils flare as he dips lower, too afraid to touch your torso. “I could have killed you — broken?”
“Bruised,” you reply. “I’ve felt broken before.”
“Positive?”
“Yes. And I was trying to kill you back then, too. It wasn’t our fault.”
Were you?
Trying to kill him?
Makes sense, with how hard you went at him. It was the only match he felt nervous in.
“I wasn’t trying to,” Levi woefully answers.
“But you could have.”
His fingers pause for a fraction of a second. “Yeah,” he laments. “I could have.”
Just like tonight.
And just like every night after this, if you tell him yes to his bullshit plans.
“I thought maybe something happened to you,” you begin. “I never saw you on the circuit again, so I thought—”
“That was the first and only time I fought in that nasty shit.”
He pushes back his own fears and tips your chin upward. You easily obey.
“...so you weren't sold into it?”
Shit, was she? Too preoccupied by the feeling of how soft your skin is, Levi shakes his head.
“I was your only fight?”
“Technically,” he says.
“So then why were you—”
“Practice, in case I ever met someone who needed to kill me for quick cash.”
“That's a morbid reason. You were just a kid.”
“So were you, but for some reason you’re still in it.”
Gritting his teeth, he knows his temper is getting the best of him. It’s better to stay neutral in these types of talks but you… you’re so nonchalant about something so dire.
You could die.
Hell, he’s spent week after week hoping to hear your name so he’d hear you’re still alive.
Choosing to let that go, he drops his hands away from your face and flexes his fingers.
“Good news: you look like shit, but you’re not in deep shit. I can’t do anything about your ribs, but your face should be fine. You have a bad habit of leaning into your hits.”
It’s true. It’s like she likes getting hurt, as if it fuels her own rage.
A strategy, sure, but a shit one at that.
“Excuse me?” you growl. “What do you mean, I have a bad habit?”
Levi can’t help but give you a look. “Did those shitheads make you hard of hearing, too?”
“No, shithead," you mock right back and it’s actually… impressive. You keep up. It does something weird and unenjoyable to his stomach. “I don't lean into them."
“Yes, you do.”
“What, so you’ve watched my fights?”
Ah, shit.
Found out, yet again.
(Great job, Ackerman.)
“I watch fights. Not just yours,” Levi quickly retorts. “You're not special, so get your head out of your ass.”
“Oh fuck you, man.”
Damn, you really do speak his language.
Don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t—
And you don’t give up, either. “Leaning into them makes an opponent feel like they have the upper hand. Let them hit, then you strike.”
“It’s a shit strategy.”
“I’m smaller than a lot of my opponents.”
“So?"
“So? Coming out to a fight like you own the place puts a target on your back.”
Right.
Self-preservation, a tactic often used by the pimps who bring these poor kids to the rings. It’s a loophole to make sure your fighters don’t know their own worth so they can’t wail on you.
Kenny told him that.
Levi wishes he could have told her, too.
“Did your Mom teach you that?” he flatly responds.
Your nostrils flare. “Maybe she did, but your Dad sure as hell forgot to teach you manners.”
He snaps faster than he means to. “He wasn’t my father.”
A beat passes, and his shoulders slump.
“And you’re a better fighter than that,” he softens, exasperated. “Making yourself look weak is a shitty strategy for someone who can't land a punch, let alone someone who can. You take the punches because you damn well know you're better than every opponent they match you with. If you didn’t play the theatrics, then those idiots would all be dead in minutes.”
When you don’t spit in his face, he gently takes a step forward. Then another.
“I met you three years ago. I thought by now you would've found a way out."
But you need help.
This is his return payment. This is all he can offer in this shitstain of a city.
“Do you want out?” Your eyes widen, like he’s told you he’s secretly the king of the Walls. His tongue gently darts between his dried lips. “...if I had a way to get you out, would you take it?”
“...I don’t have a way out.”
“You do.”
“I don’t,” you croak, and it breaks his heart. “I’ve tried. You know people in the circuits—”
“You have a way out."
“Levi—”
“James.”
In defeat, he calls to you — your name, that name everyone else calls you.
All of his cards are on the table.
He can’t take this back.
“This isn’t a charity hand out. We need a fighter.”
“Who the hell is we?”
“Furlan Church and myself.”
“Furlan fucking Church? That’s where you ended up after all this time, with that idiot?”
Levi blinks.
(Wait, what’s wrong with Furlan?)
Nevermind — he’ll ask later. He has a mission here.
“If you stay in the circuits, then you will die,” Levi finally states. “That bitch has been trying to put you in the ground for years. Do you really want her to win?”
Please say no.
Please listen to me.
Except you stagger backwards, and he’s terrified that somehow he’s botched this pitch. That somehow you wouldn’t be interested in a team—
“Wait — did you send those guys after me?”
Oh.
Shit.
“The three in the alleyway,” you continue. “They attacked me after the fight. It was really convenient of you to find me in the nick of time. So was that one of his initiation stunts?”
He wants to swear he was going to tell you, but that would sound like a cheap lie.
He wants to promise this wasn’t what he wanted, but that would sound like a patronizing lie.
“Dirty trick,” you growl and turn away, and worries seizes his heart.
“We need muscle for our next heist,” he quickly states, firming up his voice. “You would get a cut. You would have a permanent place to sleep. You would have routine meals, day and night."
You don’t turn to him. “I’d be selling myself for one contract to another.”
Levi shakes his head wildly, but you don’t see it. “You're free to leave whenever you want. If this doesn't work out in a week? Fine, then you can go. But if you do this, then you would never have to see that woman’s face again.”
“She’d find me.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he swears.
No, he wants to say. I’ll burn this city to the ground if she so much as tries it. I owe you.
“You would be protected with me.”
But it isn’t just him.
You had a visceral reaction about Furlan. He has to be honest.
"With us."
Finally you turn back to him, and he’s woefully hopeful once more.
“Levi…”
The way you say his name…
Shit, he could hear you say his name like that every hour of every goddamn day if you’d just say yes to this deal he’s offering.
"You'll be paid,” he adds.
"I don't give a shit about pay,” you retort. “I have no money to my name as it is. Your... proposition just sounds too good to be true, that's all."
He needs more incentive.
He needs you to say yes.
"What do you need to be convinced?” he pleads, but it comes out monotone. “We sent our three best brawn and you cleared them in minutes. You can see why we'd want you."
"And if I say no?"
Fear seizes every cell of his body. You stare at him like he’s the enemy.
“Are you two going to keep sending people after me?”
(Would he finally stop searching for you?)
Swallowing, Levi knows he cannot keep you.
He barely knows you.
He just has a feeling he needs to.
“No,” he promises. “I'd let you live your life. This isn't an intimidation tactic. You would never hear from me again.”
And he means it.
He’ll give you anything for nothing.
It’s some kind of sickness he hasn’t quite recovered from since he was small.
Something about you has just infected his veins faster than the plague.
You turn your gaze to the door, and his face falls.
What can he do?
How can he convince you?
Your name exits his mouth in a fractured plea. “James—”
“I’m in.”
Wait.
Did he hear that right?
You turn back to him with determination, chin lifted and shoulders squared.
He can’t help but stare at you with a mixture of relief and admiration.
Levi wonders if you notice. If you know, just how much you’ve been on his mind.
“I’m in,” you repeat. “I’ll go where you go.”
(And we'll never look back.)