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It’s about when Reiner feels the first Titan start crawling inside his ribcage, using his bones as a ladder, that he realizes he’s utterly fucked. That Bertholdt might not survive out there, but he definitely won’t survive on Reiner’s shoulder. Reiner can’t form words but he can scream out his pain, and it isn’t the first bite at the meat of his heart that hurts him, it’s the way Bertholdt begs and clings and cries when Reiner tucks him into his fist and draws his arm back.
“No, Reiner, please don’t, no nonono –” Berholdt’s voice is abruptly cut off, Bertholdt himself launched away from Reiner with a silent prayer on Reiner’s part that he’ll survive. Then he feels his ankle being eaten through at last, and Reiner closes his eyes as he falls, body being overrun with a mass of chewing Titans.
…
Erwin is walking the slow walk of the damned towards Wall Rose, hoping without much hope to pass by a horse, and thinking about what Levi will think of his death. What Zoe might think, when they wake up.
If they wake up.
There’s a sudden thump dangerously close beside him, and Erwin barks out several curses his mother would have boxed his ears for when he staggers in the opposite direction.
It’s a boy, underneath the blood, Erwin realizes with a slow roll of horror starting under his lungs, it’s the boy, and he’d so hoped he wouldn’t have to try to do this.
“Bertholdt,” he says, and there is a pitiful whine of pain in response. The eyes slit open and focus on him, Bertholdt having landed on his back, and then the whine becomes fearful, and this broken child with his snapped limbs and pulverized ribs and crushed skull tries to struggle away from him.
Erwin is so tired.
The injuries are already steaming – Erwin thinks with nausea how convenient that will be for the torture he will commission when he gets back – and Erwin just stalks him with steady footsteps as Bertholdt wriggles a few feet, collapses, and the begins to heave determinedly again. Erwin supposes they would have chosen the determined children, whatever monsters called on a ten-year-old for genocide. It’s what Erwin would have done.
He waits until it looks like Erwin can drag him with minimal pain, and then Erwin crouches, grasps Bertholdt’s wrist, and begins to walk, back tightening with effort.
Bertholdt begins to moan. Bertholdt begins to cry, and with another punch of grief Erwin realizes it’s a name, Reiner’s name. Erwin looks over his shoulder to see a small mountain of swarming Titans in the distance.
Swallowing back words – he still remembers this child in his people’s uniform, as one of his people – Erwin thinks with some relief that at least Reiner is to be spared what will happen next.
What Erwin will have to make sure happens next. Bertholdt has the potential to know too much to die here, instead of on one of the Survey Legion’s racks. Erwin begins to whistle, and soon he can hear it, a quartered rhythm headed in their direction.
The most beautiful horse Erwin has ever seen comes into view, and not even its blood-soaked saddle seems a problem. Reaching a hand out, he nuzzles the horse and murmurs sweet nothings, scratching behind its ears.
“Get on the horse,” he says, and his voice is blunt. Cold.
Bertholdt sobs in a breath and doesn’t even try to show resistance, struggling to his feet and hunching lopsided on a still-broken ankle. Watching his attempts to follow Erwin’s order sickens him, how Bertholdt grasps snapped, blood-slick fingers around leather and tries to heave his weight up only to land on his ankle with a whine. Finally Erwin grits his teeth, walks up beside the kid and hates how his breath tears wild through his chest when Erwin does, bracing the shoulder with the arm on the kid’s side and pushing him up with his back and thighs.
Yelping, Bertholdt winces as he swings his leg around the saddle, and freezes when Erwin mounts beside him. Erwin places the reigns in Bertholdt’s hands. “Go to Wall Rose. Don’t try anything.”
His voice is dark enough that Bertholdt shakes against him.
…
“You’ll have to torture me.” Bertholdt speaks dazedly, and when Erwin checks his eyes they’re unfocused, already half gone. He is guiding the horse on autopilot.
Like finding his way to the Walls from outside is well-known to him.
“If you want to find anything,” he continues after a pause. “I can’t – I won’t be able to say anything if you don’t.”
Erwin despises the way he phrases this.
“That was the plan,” he returns dryly, and Erwin feels something inside of him find death when Bertholdt nods, neatly.
“Good.”
Those are the only words that are exchanged.
…
Erwin doesn’t allow for a lot of fanfare at his return, just confirms that he is indeed alive, that he has a prisoner, and then sends that prisoner down to Hanji with Moblit like a coward so that he doesn’t have to see their look of betrayal.
Then he trudges into his room, feeling a sense of exhaustion deep down in the roots of his bones that has nothing at all to do with sleep.
He reaches automatically for the doorknob with an arm he doesn’t have anymore, and Erwin takes a moment to breath deep and slow, pushing the grief down far enough it might make itself a grave. Opens the door with a neat flick of the wrist of his other arm.
The door swings shut behind him, and Erwin can only manage a few more steps until he can’t, dropping to his knees and feeling his spine crumple, chin tucking down to his chest.
“I’ve been staying in your room while I waited for you to get your ass here; cleaned it up for you, you bas –” Levi’s voice starts then cuts itself off, his footsteps, which before had been clipped, measured, practical, now slow, gentle like Levi is approaching a hurt, feral animal. “Erwin?”
Erwin feels rather than sees Levi standing in front of him, Erwin’s head around level to where Levi’s ribcage just begins to flare into vulnerable stomach.
“I’m tired, Levi,” Erwin starts, and his voice sounds it, a deadbeat rasp that slurs the syllables together.
“You’re not allowed to say shit like that,” Levi says angrily, edged like it is when Erwin accidentally trips over one of numerous psychological tripwires that compose his Corporal.
“M’sorry,” Erwin says, too tired to try and stand up and make things proper between them, with Erwin the unmovable object to Levi’s unstoppable force. Too tired to do anything but apologize.
He practically hears Levi’s frustration, the grind of his teeth, before Levi is lowering himself carefully to Erwin’s level, injured leg splayed straight out to his side. Cold hands cup Erwin’s jaw. “Hey,” Levi starts, “You don’t need to be.”
The corporal makes use of the stature he despises, bending under Erwin and forcing their eyes to meet.
“You don’t need to be,” he repeats, firm, and Erwin feels himself begin to shake his head.
“He’s a child, Levi; if he was ten at the Fall of Maria, then when was he recruited? When was he told what he needed to do?” Erwin sucks in a breath. His heartbeat is loud, there is cold sweat dotting his brow and Levi looks more worried than Erwin has ever seen him. “They likely never had a chance to see it as a decision. Lifelong conditioning.”
He breaks off with a laugh. “Oh, God, it’s what I’d do.”
“You are not like them,” Levi breaks in, eyes narrowing. “You would never ask a child –”
“I’ve been sending children to their deaths for years. Is fifteen anything more than a child? The recruitment age is twelve, Levi – it used to be sixteen, and the King has the urge to ask why casualties in the military have been increasing –”
“Erwin,” Levi intones, warning, “Erwin, you need to stop talking.”
The King has ears in many places.
Erwin takes a large breath in, and Levi rubs his back as he exhales.
“Have you been looked at?” Levi asks, tone business-like as he nods at Erwin’s arm. There isn’t a blink of surprise, no outward reaction at all, and Erwin is grateful.
“No,” Erwin sighs, and Levi nods again. He fits his arms under Erwin’s shoulders.
“You’re getting your ass in bed, and I’ll get Fuckface to look at –”
“Don’t get Zoe,” Erwin says. Levi frowns at him, and shame boils deep in Erwin’s gut. “I sent Bertholdt to them.”
Another question flickers in Levi’s gaze, but he pushes it away as he fits that information into what he already has, understanding darkening his expression.
“Oh,” he says, and his hands are stiffer as they help Erwin out of his clothes and into bed.
“I’m sorry,” Erwin mumbles again as he starts to pass out.
“You don’t need to be,” Levi replies, and then Erwin is asleep.
…
A week later Zoe storms into his office absolutely silently, pacing back and forth viciously. Erwin, from where he was doing paperwork, watches them patiently. Zoe stops, looks at him.
Erwin looks back.
“Around day two he started prayer to Reiner,” they spit. “And then just kept praying to him.”
They pauses, shoulders moving as they breath in a half laugh. “I – I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Has he said anything?” Erwin asks, and Zoe walks forward, swipes the work from Erwin’s desk.
“Then you do it! It’s easy, Erwin, you just pick up the knife and cut,” they snarl. “He’ll heal no matter what you do to him.”
Erwin winces, and Zoe’s eyes latch onto that as they laugh. “Or is your stomach too weak?” they sneer. Erwin is reminded that where he found Zoe was not that much better than where he found Levi.
“Zoe,” Levi says, very soft from the doorway that bridges where Erwin sleeps to where Erwin works. “Please step back.”
Zoe seems to realize that their hands are braced on Erwin’s desk, their face pushed close to his. Huffing in a breath, then two, they stumble backward. Levi is at their side, clasping an arm around their forearm and guiding them to a chair.
“Have you slept recently? Ate?” Levi’s tone is deadpan, and Zoe shakes their head no to both questions. “Fuckin’ fantastic, Hanji, well done.”
“You try eating after doing what I’ve done,” Zoe snaps, and Levi presses his lips together. “You try sleeping when all you can hear is a fucking child praying to their dead best friend to kill them, Levi!”
And then they burst into tears.
…
Bertholdt wakes up, and he is whole, and he hurts. He doesn’t have the energy to clamber, but he rolls his body weight so that his face is near to the edge of the cot and vomits.
Most of it is thick, ropey coagulations of his own blood, swallowed when Squad Leader Hanji had ripped his tongue out, after they were done with his teeth.
The guards don’t react obviously when he does, though one shudders at the sound.
“Why’m here?” Bertholdt rasps, and speaking sparks fire along his throat, forcing him to cough and escalate the pain. He isn’t often in the cell, usually only to string himself back together enough for there to be something to cut into again.
“Everybody needs to sleep,” a guard replies. Clipped.
Bertholdt falls asleep, like that was a suggestion.
…
“What kind of meat did you feed us?”
Bertholdt wakes up seizing at Jean’s voice, air scrambling wild in his chest and wheezing from between his teeth. His body works on automatic, tucking itself into a ball as his hands curve to cup the nape of his neck. A low whine rattles under his tongue, and Bertholdt didn’t even understand the words.
He freezes, hunched and feral – no better than the animal Hanji told him he was, and Bertholdt flinches – to see Jean staring at him through prison bars.
His squadmate’s eyes are unreadable and black in the light.
“When we all got caught outside. What kind of meat did you feed us.” Now there is the slightest pitch of hysteria in Jean’s otherwise flat tone.
Bertholdt breaks.
The smell of Reiner’s blood is sick in the air as Reiner saws off Bertholdt’s leg, and Bertholdt hurts, and Bertholdt loves –
And Reiner is dead, and Bertholdt loves the people that lead what took him to him, and that’s what makes this so hard, is that Bertholdt can’t even hate them –
There is a buzz in his throat he realizes is his own screams, his own babbled words, and they blur in and out of tune in Bertholdt’s ears. “—sorry, so sorry, but you were so hungry you were going to die and we – and we – we couldn’t watch we should have I’m sorry I’m so sorry we aren’t warriors anymore we tried please believe us please don’t kill us we tried we –”
Bertholdt can’t breath. There isn’t air in the room or in his lungs or his lungs won’t work or – he’s choking, bending down over the edge of the cot to vomit again and he starts shaking as he sees Jean with his blade at one of the guards throats, yelling into his ear.
“—you think I won’t, shithead? Open the fucking door, or I’ll slice your fucking throat open instead, God.”
The door opens with a screech and Bertholdt cringes, scrambles back into the corner, because Jean’s going to kill him, he’s going to die he’s not ready to die he doesn’t want to –
“—hey, man, c’mon, you gotta breath with me, okay? You’ve been doing it for years, you know this shit.” Jean’s hands are on his shoulders, squeezing, and Bertholdt’s hands are around Jean’s wrists why isn’t he hitting Bertholdt or cutting him why doesn’t the touch hurt why – “C’mon, in, two three, out, two three, just pay attention to my voice, man. You’re gonna be good now, I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Listen to that. I’m gonna take care of you, so you gotta breath for me, c’mon.”
Bertholdt breathes in. He shakes. The breath tears at his throat. He is rewarded with slow circles on his back.
“Now out, buddy, gotta let it out.” Jean coaches him through it, soothing, and soon Bertholdt’s veins are singing, filled with breath his body had been denying itself. “Good, you’re doing so good, man. In, two three, out, two three, there you go.”
He can’t stop the slow slump into Jean’s arms, and Bertholdt freezes with a whine, wondering if Jean will hurt him now. But Jean just sort of pushes Bertholdt until he’s fitting proper into Jean’s hold, and Jean leans against the wall, legs splayed in the cot with Bertholdt crumpled between them, head on Jean’s chest and Jean’s arms light around his stomach.
“Can you sleep for me, man?” Jean asks him, breath ruffling his hair. “I’ll stay, no fucking worries there.”
He sounds furious. Bertholdt stiffens.
“M’not mad at you, promise. M’not gonna hurt you.” Jean is soft when he brushes the sweat-blood matted hair out of Bertholdt’s face. “…M’not gonna hurt you, Bertl.”
Bertholdt starts shaking when he hears that nickname, cringing into Jean’s heartbeat as tears burn then overflow.
He falls asleep to Jean’s quiet murmurs.
…
“…you’re going to cause us difficulties, aren’t you?” the Commander’s voice drawls, and Jean grins toothily at him, adjusts his hold on Bertholdt’s sleeping form. Bertholdt is still crying in his sleep, and Jean can feel his fingers itch with the urge to kill something.
Something preferably blond.
“Damn fuckin’ straight I am.” He meets the Commander’s blue eyes between the bars, the Corporal’s black ones, the brown ones Jean wants to rip out of their sockets blinking behind those fucking ugly glasses. “I thought the Titans were the monsters, not us.”
The evil one flinches at that, and Jean watches with satisfaction.
“And what he did, that doesn’t make him a monster?” Erwin meets Jean’s eyes like he’s honestly posing the question. Jean swallows, caught for a moment.
He scratches his nails through Bertholdt’s grimy hair, imagining what Bertholdt would look like covered in the blood of thousands, trying to mesh his friend with one of the perpetrators of the Fall of Maria.
He thinks that no ten year old is fucked up enough to do sick shit like that because it’s their own idea.
“No,” he answers after a few minutes of silence. “No, I don’t. I think he’s my friend.”
That fed me his own goddamn flesh so I wouldn’t starve to death, Jean doesn’t say, because the Commander doesn’t need to know.
Yet, anyway.
The Commander nods at Jean before he leaves, and Jean keeps their eyes met and does not nod back.
…
Reiner wakes up at a large crack, and he gasps as a chunk of crystal, split above his head, falls, freeing his upper body. Choking, Reiner hacks for a few minutes, head swimming and eyes burning in the light of the sun.
He is right where he was, but now there aren’t any Titans with him.
“Fuck,” Reiner whimpers, and then he spits bile, coughing again and letting his body hang. He tests his limbs against what encases them, feels the give and knows he could fight he way out.
There is a cloud of grogginess in his head, one that keeps his thoughts unclear until single one pierces through the fog. Bertholdt.
Reiner heaves, struggling against what encloses him, and in several more cracks it falls apart, dropping him to the ground. He nearly blacks out, spends a few minutes breathing in and out slowly, trying to get enough energy to get to who he needs to get to.
Then he pulls in a breath, rolling onto his back to look at the beautiful, beautiful sky.