Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spring, again.

On their last morning camped at the top of Wall Maria, Bertolt wakes up with nobody beside him.

He feels a little hurt, drinking his last cup of coffee by the fire, listening to Zeke's pompous and transparently manipulative pseudo-intellectual ramblings while Reiner avoids his gaze. But he understands. Reiner has even more to lose than he does. Zeke has dangled the threat of taking away his armor if this doesn't go to plan, which means death. Reiner needs to prepare himself to win what's going to be a grueling and deathly dangerous fight. It isn't about Bertolt.

They see the trails of colored smoke from flare guns in the distance, and hear the thudding of hundreds of horses, not far off now, coming for them. Time to go. They kick the coffee mugs and camping stove off the edge of Wall Maria where, as a little boy inside a monster, he'd kicked in the wall, let the titans in, and set all the events in motion that had led them in a great big stupid meaningless circle all the way back to the place where it started.

But HIS Reiner had come back to him for just one night. Not the Warrior. Not the Soldier. Just Reiner. Maybe out of love, maybe out of pity, maybe just because one of them might die today and you might as well squeeze some comfort out of your last night alive. They talked about bathtubs, and books, and their ten days suspended in amber, and how Connie had definitely known but nobody listened, and those times that they scammed people out of their pocket change. And Reiner had kissed his wrist, and kissed his neck, and held him, and told him he was beautiful. He'd gone to sleep with Reiner curled around him. How it's supposed to be. How it's always been. And he'd woken up to a cold bed, and a cold Reiner, wondering if he'd dreamt it.

He hadn't been kissed in so long. The last few months have been the loneliest of his life.

***

As it became clear that events were reaching a crisis point, the frequency of Reiner's persona swings had become really dangerous. If he started a sentence, and didn't like how it was going to end, he'd change into someone else halfway through.

He'd retreated further and further into the Soldier, forgetting what Bertolt was to him, and Bertolt had held on with both hands, trying to keep him tethered to reality.

Bertolt had settled into a miserable, but stable, daily routine:

Step 1: Wake up.

Step 2: Figure out who Reiner is today.

Step 3: If Reiner = Warrior: Follow directives re: the mission. Accept that you have been replaced by the mission. Reaffirm commitment to the mission, while not giving a single raw fuck about the mission if completing the mission doesn't give you back Reiner.

Step 4: If Reiner = Soldier: Be the reason that his face falls over and over again as you remind him that everything that makes him happy is a delusion. Be the bringer of bad, forgotten memories. Monitor for signs of insanity. Do all of this in order to turn him back into the Warrior. Return to Step 3. Bonus: Participate in conversation about Krista being pretty.

Step 5: Worry about Annie.

Step 6: Dissociate during dinner with soon-to-be murdered friends.

Step 7: Cry into book.

Step 8: Fall asleep on wet book.

Step 9: Return to Step 1.

***

He saved Reiner by driving a pitchfork into a titan's eye. They promised each other they'd go home together. There was a precious twenty seconds before Reiner retreated into the Soldier again and sat there pie-eyed, simpering over Krista, while Bertolt and Ymir stood next to each other glowering and understanding exactly how the other felt.

He wishes that he and Ymir had found each other sooner. They would have been friends. Two tired misfits with secrets, consumed to the point of debilitation by doomed love for their respective blondes. He wonders if she's dead yet.

Then Reiner had his mental break, exposing them too early and too abruptly, and he'd almost gotten them killed.

Then, waiting in the forest for the right time to escape, he'd asked Reiner who he was, and Reiner said he was a Warrior, and batted Bertolt's hand off of his arm, like he was swatting a fly.

Then Bertolt had his own mental break, and he exposed his weakness to the enemy, and he let Armin bait him about Annie being tortured, and they lost Eren because of it, which is why Ymir had to die instead, so that he and Reiner could live. His fault.

***

They run off down the wall.

"Bertolt."

"Hm?"

"I don't know how many times I've said this already, but...the two of us are going to be in separate positions."

It's okay. They have been before. It's how they work best—Bertolt destroying, Reiner defending.

What comes next is truly incomprehensible. Something from a long-past version of them, from that terrible time when Reiner was furthest away from himself, channeling fear into orders, and Bertolt was barely holding himself together inside a shell of lonely cowardice.

Reiner's tone fills him with the old, familiar dread.

"You're supposed to be the strongest of all, but you always leave the job to others when it matters."

They stop running. Bertolt is stunned. He reaches out his hand, then lets it drop. Reiner's not turning around. He continues to berate him and his words are like needles sliding over old, healed scars. Bertolt feels them reopen, one by one.

"Honestly, you've never done anything to make me think of you as reliable."

Reiner still won't face him.

He knows it's true. Especially lately. All the crying. His lack of commitment to the mission. Showing weakness to the enemy. Holding himself back out of selfish ideology, instead of being brave enough to be the best. Losing Eren. Losing his mind over a plywood dummy. Failing to help Reiner keep the integrity of his mind, because it was easier to let him be a soldier. Drunkenly risking both their lives out of pure spite. Crying more. All while using Reiner as a shield and a crutch.

It’s sickening, thinking back on it. Shame washes over him. He drops his head.

"...I know."

Reiner speaks in the same distant, authoritative voice. "We're going to end this, right? Here and now." He throws a quick glance backwards.

Not the time. Keep it together. Bertolt rallies himself. "That's right. We'll win here and put an end to it," and go home.

Reiner smiles over his shoulder, but it's a strained, bleak smile that Bertolt's never seen before.

He seems to come to a decision, and takes a breath.

"Now keep it up until your loving reunion with Annie."

Bertolt recoils like he's been slapped.

"You know it's not like th—“ He hears that old, feeble, mess hall voice and stops talking.

Is this some braindead tactic? Why? This might be it. Forever. It's possible, likely even, that today one or both of them will die. They're supposed to throw their arms around each other, kiss, say I love you, and stay safe, and I'll see you later, and even if I don't... this thought makes him desperate, if I don't, and he almost reaches out again. Why won't you touch me? He bites back the question. It takes everything in him to lock his arms to his sides.

Reiner holds his gaze for a moment and starts to say something. He stops. He turns his eyes away from Bertolt for the very last time and deals the finishing blow.

"and... Krista..."

Something tears itself loose from the inner walls of Bertolt’s body. It tries to claw its way out of his throat. He doesn't let it. He forces it back down.

Reiner is still saying things. Meaningless things. Vague shapes behind a thick fog that floats by Bertolt's head.

"Yeah..." he says dully, not knowing what he's responding to "No matter what..."

Reiner doesn't look at him. He turns his back.

So Bertolt does the same.

And there's a thud in the center of his back, a fist. He doesn't try to turn around. There's no light between the hard plate armor of Reiner's voice.

"See ya. I'm counting on you, buddy."

Buddy. He feels his face harden. Buddy. Fuck you. How could you. He pounds his fist into Reiner's shoulder behind him. He completes their ritual. He wants to spit the words in his face. "Leave it to me." Not even my name.

They charge away from each other towards opposite edges of the wall. He could still turn around. He could still...why is…but there's no more time.

I spent my whole life next to you.

Numbness seeps out of the chasm inside him like nitrogen gas. It coats his throat, turns his mind and his heart into perfect spheres of ice. He doesn't feel anything. He can't think about feeling anything. He breaks into a sprint and launches himself without looking back as far as he can over the wall's sheer edge. The ground bellows towards him. He lets himself fall much farther than he should before he deploys his hooks and lets them fling him through the air.