Walking Among Spirits (Levi x Reader) [REWRITE]

[ Prologue ]

Content Warnings:

•Season 2/3/4 Spoilers
•Mentions of Death
•Narcissism
•Ghosts
•Guns

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"Y/n?" An unfamiliar voice suddenly woke you from your deep slumber. When your eyelids fluttered open and met the wall, the voice chimed in again. "Y/n?" You hesitated before even moving an inch of your little body, trying to register whose voice was calling out to you in the middle of the night. Your father was asleep in his room at the end of the hall and there was no way either of your older brothers would prank you at that time of night. They would have a death wish if they even tried doing that, already knowing how skittish you were in the dark.

Eventually, the voice had stopped calling your name and you drifted back to sleep in your single bed. You pulled your knees to your chest, peacefully curled under a (color) quilt that once belonged to your grandmother. Crickets chirped outside and stray cats meowed or got into little fights, all of it a white noise. After an hour of silence, the voice had returned. "Y/n?" It called out yet again. This time, you sat up, fists clenched onto the quilt as you scanned across the dark bedroom for the source. No one was in there.

As your (color) eyes rolled across your closet, they flickered back, and spotted a light fog that morphed into a full grown man as he stepped out and into the middle of your bedroom. The man was transparent, you could see straight through him but still capture all the details. His face was old and he had a bald head with a beard. He was certainly unfamiliar to you. Before he could even speak another word, you already let out a loud scream, and dashed towards the door, out into the hall. Your father had jumped out of bed and raced towards you, then crouched down. "What the hell was that?!" He asked as he held your shoulders. "There's an old man in my room!" You explained to your father, fear striking your innocent face. Your father escorted you away from your bedroom and grabbed one of his shotguns before entering your room to investigate.

After ten long minutes, he came back out and sighed. "There's no one in there, (nickname). How about you sleep in your brothers' room tonight?" Your father offered. Glancing towards your door, you could still see the figure in there, staring back at you with dark eyes. With a raised arm, you pointed at the old man but your father never saw him. It was that exact moment when you realized there were things others could not see.

Inside of your brothers' bedroom, you tapped on the eldest's shoulder, to which he rolled over. "What?" The ten-year-old mumbled then rubbed his eyes. "Can I sleep in here?" You asked as you gripped the material of your sleeping gown. "...I guess so." Tristan mumbled and rolled back over to go back to sleep. You glanced up at the top bunk where your other brother, Quincy, slept. You two got along most of the time but he was always the one who ended up making you cry for whatever reason. Tristan was the protector between the two of them, always sticking up for you. You could always trust him. As you climbed onto Tristan's bunk, you eventually fell asleep on the edge of the firm bed, mind still wondering who that old man was.
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The old man did not bother you again after that day, his appearance had completely vanished and you never brought it up again. Your father had been extra cautious on door locking and checking the home's perimeter each night since the "old man sighting," afraid someone might have been after you. As the final product of his wife's flesh and blood, he didn't dare to lose you to the hands of someone with evil intentions.

After only a year of meeting the mysterious old man, he returned one night in the same manner. This time, when you woke up, he sat down, holding his hands out with his palms visible. He showed that he was unarmed and meant no harm. Something felt different. You didn't feel as scared as the first time. He was just as cautious as you. You stared into his dull eyes, there was no life behind them at all. In fact, he was lifeless. Crawling out of bed, you approached him slowly to sit on your knees in front of him, still keeping a slight distance. You mirrored his actions, holding your hands out and showing him your palms. You too, were unarmed and harmless. The room felt calm, all nerves washed away. You somehow felt... comfort from this old man. He suddenly felt familiar. A different type of familiar.