Marco Bott <of the holy booty> (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sunspotted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
seasonsrpg2023-11-15 04:42 pm
sunspotted) wrote in seasonsrpg2023-11-15 04:42 pm
(closed) if there were two guys on the moon
WHO: Reiner (hometown), Marco (sunspotted) and Galliard (bigporkenergy)
WHAT: The disastrous dinner.
WHEN: Early November
WHERE: Reiner + Gabi's place.
WARNINGS: Violence, inevitable mentions of gore/death/cannibalism and war crimes.
Marco thinks it's sweet of Galliard's friend to get them out of the starter apartments.
Marco has no problem being there - plenty of people he knows are there, after all! - but there's also something nice about having more space. He doesn't mean in where they live, although theirs is a little bigger than the starter area. To know that his friends aren't on the lower floor, as much as he enjoys having them close by. He thinks it's good to give himself some space, to talk to new people. He won't fall back into letting other people handle his problems.
He also thinks it's nice that Galliard suggested he come along. He wouldn't have automatically included himself in any relocation, but he was and it's flattering. Galliard and he haven't really talked about their home worlds much. There's so much to do here that they bond over mutually new experiences without having to talk about the wars they've been in. They don't know they're from the same place. He doesn't know Galliard's a Titan shifter.
He doesn't know Galliard's sweet friend is the same person that murdered him.
No, instead they're standing outside a pleasant looking home as Galliard knocks on the door. Marco's dressed in something he considers nice: black slacks, a white button up shirt and a gray vest. Yes, he's aware who else dresses like this, but he thinks it looks good on anyone!
"You said he has a cousin that lives with him too?"
hometown), Marco (sunspotted) and Galliard (bigporkenergy) WHAT: The disastrous dinner.
WHEN: Early November
WHERE: Reiner + Gabi's place.
WARNINGS: Violence, inevitable mentions of gore/death/cannibalism and war crimes.
Marco thinks it's sweet of Galliard's friend to get them out of the starter apartments.
Marco has no problem being there - plenty of people he knows are there, after all! - but there's also something nice about having more space. He doesn't mean in where they live, although theirs is a little bigger than the starter area. To know that his friends aren't on the lower floor, as much as he enjoys having them close by. He thinks it's good to give himself some space, to talk to new people. He won't fall back into letting other people handle his problems.
He also thinks it's nice that Galliard suggested he come along. He wouldn't have automatically included himself in any relocation, but he was and it's flattering. Galliard and he haven't really talked about their home worlds much. There's so much to do here that they bond over mutually new experiences without having to talk about the wars they've been in. They don't know they're from the same place. He doesn't know Galliard's a Titan shifter.
He doesn't know Galliard's sweet friend is the same person that murdered him.
No, instead they're standing outside a pleasant looking home as Galliard knocks on the door. Marco's dressed in something he considers nice: black slacks, a white button up shirt and a gray vest. Yes, he's aware who else dresses like this, but he thinks it looks good on anyone!
"You said he has a cousin that lives with him too?"
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Which Galliard doesn't know, because he has no clue he and Marco are from the same world. He's been keeping the Jaw titan close to the vest these days; there are other shifters here, and he doesn't have Pieck and her panzer unit to back him up. Seems like it would be inviting trouble to go shifting willy-nilly. He doesn't want to fight anyone, but who knows how the others might feel about seeing the Jaw running around?
Marco is dressed nicer than Galliard today; Galliard went with his usual outfit of a white t-shirt, cargo pants, and his bomber jacket. He's glad the jacket is here, and even more glad that the Eldian armband didn't arrive with it. Being able to just exist without everyone knowing what he is? Pretty damn nice!
"Yeah, her name's Gabi. She's around fifteen or so now?" He lightly elbows Marco in the ribs. "You should talk her up, she'll probably like you."
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When the knock comes at the door, Reiner washes and towel-dries his hands, hangs up his apron, then heads over to open it. His choice of attire falls somewhere between that of his guests: cargo pants and a hunter-green button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He's all smiles when he opens the door, gold eyes warm, happy to see Galliard and meet Galliard's new friend.
"Hey, you made it jus—"
Then Reiner's words die, choked off as he sees precisely who stands on his doorstep.
It's not real. It can't be. Reiner is hallucinating. Too shaken by news of Marco's arrival, too stressed by his subsequent attempts to avoid a confrontation. That's all it is. Just his mind playing tricks on him. Just his guilt and fear manifesting as a vision of Marco Bott standing beside Porco on his doorstep.
He blinks. The hallucination remains. He blinks again; it still remains.
From Marco's perspective, Reiner will appear older and taller; just as he appears younger, slightly shorter, and considerably more muscular from Galliard's perspective. But only Galliard might recognize the look on Reiner's face as it drains of color, eyes wide, lips parted in mute horror.
This can't be real. It can't be. This is a nightmare.
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He's frozen on the spot, a hand half raised to wave in greeting. His brown eyes go wide, and he's back in Trost - Reiner pinning him down, calling him too clever for his own good. Annie removing his gear. Marco begging them to wait, please, we haven't even had a chance to talk this through -.
Sound comes rushing back in. Galliard might be saying something but it's indistinct to Marco's ears still. Anger comes boiling over again, like it did when Jean told him Reiner was here.
Marco's half raised hand curls into a fist, and he draws back and punches Reiner as hard as he can manage. Then he tries to tackle him to the floor with a screech of rage.
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Then whatever Galliard was thinking about saying--it was something about food, perhaps morphing into are you okay--is lost, because Marco, Marco of all people, is flipping his shit and punching Reiner square in the face. Marco's making a noise like Galliard has never heard him make before, a sound closer to a high-pitched titan shriek than anything from a human throat, and diving at Reiner.
There's the reason the Galliard brothers got the Jaw titan: even in his human form, Galliard has fast reflexes. He doesn't manage to completely save Reiner--Marco is pissed, and powered by some kind of incandescent rage, so he lands that punch fair and square--but he does manage to get halfway between them when Marco makes that dive. It really only succeeds in shoving him up against Reiner, but at least they don't all go to the floor.
"Marco! What the fuck!"
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That's the thought that drifts through Reiner's mind as Marco's fist collides with his face. As he makes absolutely no attempt to dodge or defend himself. As he takes the blow and staggers back, only keeping his balance because an Autumn power means he can't lose it anymore.
It's ridiculous. He should be off balance. His legs should wobble as much as his mind, body collapsing as his carefully reconstructed sense of self and sanity shatters.
Then Marco tries to tackle him—and again, Reiner does nothing to defend himself. He's nearly six-foot-two and built like a barn, yet he just stands there, barely aware of the pain in his face. Barely aware of anything as his mind reels between past and present, unable to cope with either.
Reiner tackled Marco to a rooftop. Pinned him down. Twisted his arms behind his back. Clapped a hand over his mouth to silence Marco's screams. Reiner did what a Warrior should do, ignoring Bertholdt's panic, shouting at Annie until she set her feelings aside and complied. Reiner did what he had to do. He had to do it. There was no other choice.
Was there?
No, Reiner was a soldier. He didn't understand why Marco was being eaten. He avenged Marco, cutting down the Titan that killed his friend. He couldn't save Marco. He was too slow to react. He tried, though. He tried.
Didn't he?
Porco is between them suddenly, moving so quickly that Reiner doesn't realize it until Porco is shoved up against him. Again, Reiner doesn't fall. He should. He should be flat on his back, Jean above him, fists hitting his face over and over. No one should defend him. Not after what he did. Not after what he failed to do.
"Let him," Reiner says, barely recognizing his own voice. Does he always sound so pathetic? So pained? He has no right to it. He deserves whatever Marco does to him.
rock power activate
He tries to climb over Galliard, somehow, using an arm to claw higher up using his shoulder. His other hand is clenched into a fist. And then, without realizing it, it's clenched around a rock.
He can't get over Galliard, so instead he leans back and hurls the rock he's formed at Reiner, aiming for his face. It's not very coordinated, though, and they're close together enough the he could miss.
He doesn't realize he's yelling the entire time. Screaming, actually.
"You killed me! You killed me!"
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He’s not terribly worried about Reiner getting hurt. He can use his Titan powers to heal, and Marco is only human. They both need to be careful with Marco, since he’s considerably more frail than either of them. But the fact that Reiner is just standing there, isn’t defending himself, isn’t even trying to get away? That’s concerning. Almost as concerning as the fact that Marco has turned into a spitting, shrieking wildcat that flings rocks.
Galliard gets one arm behind himself and braces his forearm on Reiner’s chest. If he’s going to stand there like a big dumb wall, Galliard is going to use him as such. He gets his other arm around Marco’s waist, grimly accepting that he’s going to get pummeled in this fracas.
“Marco! Marco, calm down! What the hell!” And to Reiner, said over his shoulder, “You’re not helping! Stop encouraging him!”
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This isn't a nightmare, though. It isn't, right? It's reality, isn't it?
Nightmare turned reality? That seems fitting.
Marco's screams and accusations mix with Reiner's memories, melding with pleading, begging, and that final cry of terror and pain. He barely hears Galliard's words. He certainly doesn't process them.
Galliard. Porco. Porco, standing between them, trying to protect Reiner from Marco's wrath.
Instinct breaks through the fog. Reiner grabs Porco's shoulder, grip firm, sparing no strength as he starts trying to pull Porco out of the way. His intent may be evident by the direction of the tug; he means to yank Porco behind him. Protect his comrade, as it should be.
And then a fucking rock hits Reiner square above his left eye.
Could he have dodged it? Maybe. Would he have tried even if he saw it coming? Of course not.
One second, Reiner is a veritable wall. The next, he's flat on his back, breath knocked from his lungs, stars swimming above his eyes. Blood starts running from a cut on his forehead, with no sign of steam to stop it.
Still, he makes no attempt to defend himself.
trystan said to london towers this shit
Marco's elbows hit the ground, and he has the presence of mind to curl his arms up so his head doesn't get hurt. But in the next moment, he's trying to squirm out of Galliard's hold, even going so far as to hit his shoulder with a (thankfully rock-free) hand.
"Let me go!"
His rage is starting to burn out, not that it's very obvious. His gaze hasn't left Reiner, even as he tries to knee Galliard in the chest.
"Why? Why did you do it?!"
I am nothing if not always in it for the most hilarious option
But then Reiner topples over backwards, and Galliard goes down with him, dragging Marco to the floor too. Marco hits the floor fighting, Reiner hits the floor like a goddamn felled tree, and woe to both of them, because this? This right here? This is where Galliard shines. Grappling with a bigger, heavier opponent on the ground? Raise your hand if you grew up as the little brother and did this shit all. The damn. TIME.
He lands on his back, with Marco crashing down on top of him, but Galliard is twisting as soon as he touches the ground. He gets a leg up against Marco's side and shoves him off, rolling off Reiner after him (and sorry not sorry for any elbows that get slammed into Reiner's chest in the process). With Marco rolled and on his back, Galliard follows the motion of his leg to slam down across Marco's midsection, straddling him.
"ENOUGH!"
This is fucking ridiculous. He didn't come here to get sandwiched in a brawl! He's caught enough of what they've yelled at each other to realise they know each other, and apparently weren't friends. But they're both acting like enormous assholes right now, and Galliard has had enough of it. He's had so much of it, in fact, that he doesn't even notice that his hair has burst into flames.
"MARCO! SETTLE DOWN!"
He grips Marco's shirt collar with both hands and lifts him a few inches off the floor before slamming him back down.
"You can't hurt him! He'll just heal!"
He keeps Marco's shirt fisted in one hand, but then reaches over him to aim a punch at Reiner. Reiner is too far away for Galliard to reach his jaw, but his stomach is still in play, and Galliard socks him one in the gut.
"AND YOU! Get your head in the game! I NEED YOUR HELP HERE AND YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"
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Not that Reiner does so. He just lays there, arms limp at his sides, blood dripping from his forehead. He lays there, lips mouthing words that he's still too dazed and breathless to say.
Just let him hit me. Let him go. Let him hit me. Just let him.
Reiner deserves so much worse.
Then Porco (Galliard? Porco?) starts shouting from where he's pinned Marco. Pinning him to the floor. Pinned to the rooftop, Reiner's hands so much stronger, so much broader, so bloodstained by war. He didn't hesitate. Didn't stop. He pushed forward, just as he always had.
"Why? Why did you do it?!"
He kept moving forward; what else was he supposed to do?
Galliard's fist hits his gut. Whatever breath Reiner had regained leaves him in a whoosh, his body instinctively curling inward to protect itself from another hit.
"I NEED YOUR HELP HERE AND YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"
How is he supposed to help? What the fuck is he supposed to do?! Pin Marco down again? Remove his gear?
He feels sick. Lost. Pathetic. Useless.
Half-curled on his side now, he drags his eyes from Marco's furious face to Porco's, searching for answers. And then…
"… Your head," he croaks out. "Your hair's on fire."
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It's like now that he's restrained, all the anger has evaporated out of him. They're just lucky after a few weeks of food, he's not fainting after all the blood rushing to his head. He's not looking at Reiner, but he hears him speak, and he looks up at Galliard. Oh, yeah, his hair is on fire. Marco squirms again.
"Let me go." Adding, petulantly, "I'm not gonna hit him again, but he owes me a reason."
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wrasslingwrestling around on the floor, but that's a very different pain from fire damage. He'd be shrieking and running towards a sink if his hair was on fire.Which it still is. But the flames are starting to die away as things calm down.
He turns his attention to Marco.
"You're going to stay cool? No more throwing rocks?" With Marco noticeably calmer, Galliard climbs off him, then helps him sit up. He makes a point to move between the two of them, ready to intervene again if he has to. Once Marco is sitting up, he moves to help Reiner.
"You're getting blood everywhere," he tells Reiner, as he fishes around and finds a handkerchief in his jacket pocket, which he presses into Reiner's hand. "Here, clean up and heal that."
All right. Everyone is sitting up and not yelling or throwing punches. Good. Galliard crouches between the two of them, and the flames in his hair flicker out.
"All right. What the fuck was that all about?"
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Marco says he won't hit again. It makes sense since it's Marco and they're friends; it makes no sense since Reiner is Marco's murderer.
He shuts his left eye as blood reaches it. Takes the handkerchief from Galliard without protest or question, though the gesture does nothing to help with Reiner's fragile grip on the present. Since when does Porco care if Reiner is bleeding after a fistfight?
(Maybe he'll be touched later. Or maybe he'll think he imagined it, only the bloody cloth proving it was real.)
Reiner presses the handkerchief to his cut nonetheless, staunching the blood flow. Heal that, he's told, and he obeys. A weak stream of steam rises from beneath the cloth—one that would be unsurprising from the Cart but is far too weak for the Armored, looking utterly out of place.
Funny how not wanting to heal interferes with healing.
Reiner finds himself seated cross-legged on the floor with Galliard crouched nearby, hair finally returning to normal. Marco is in his peripheral vision. Reiner doesn't look at either of them. He stares at his ankles instead, nothing but white cotton socks covering his feet.
No boots today. Stupid.
"It's like he said," Reiner answers, that pained, pathetic tone exchanged for something hollow. "You heard him."
He can't bring himself to say the words, I killed him. It's true; no matter which version of events is real, Reiner knows that he alone is responsible.
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He watches with a cautious expression as Galliard talks to Reiner - he must be from Marley as well. The place Armin had explained Reiner was from, along with Bertholdt and Annie, that had sent them to attack the walls. He doesn't have it in him to get mad at Galliard, though.
He watches Reiner heal, expression still stormy. When Reiner won't say exactly what he did, he takes over, glaring at him and not looking at Galliard at all.
"You pinned me down, made Annie take my gear off, and then left me for dead! A Titan ate me!" He hisses it out, sibilant and furious, wrapping his arms around his legs and clenching his fists.
"We never even got a chance to talk it out!"
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And now it's on him to piece together what's going on and what happened between the two of them. At least no one is going on the offensive at the moment.
"Okay, okay." Galliard holds up his hands, one facing each of them. "So we're all from the same world, but Marco, you're from Paradis and we're from Marley. You and Reiner knew each other on Paradis?"
That all seems fairly straightforward. It's what happened next that isn't coming together.
"There was a titan attack, and Reiner, you took his gear? Why?" Kind of impressive that Reiner and Annie managed to get that shit off Marco quickly enough to avoid a titan attack himself, but Galliard keeps that tidbit to himself.
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The words are automatic, Reiner's need to protect his comrade once again cutting through the fog. Annie isn't to blame. Bertholdt isn't to blame. Only him. Reiner is responsible for everything that went wrong on that shitty mission; he won't hear otherwise.
He pulls the handkerchief away from his forehead, momentarily revealing the still-steaming cut. After wiping away the blood clinging to his eyelashes and eyebrow, he presses the cloth to his forehead again. Then he takes a breath, his hand half-hiding his face. Trying to maintain his foothold. Trying to cling to now instead of letting Marco's other words sweep him away.
They never got a chance to talk it out.
Talking couldn't have changed anything.
Galliard's question is the same as Marco's, asking why, wanting an explanation. Yet, it proves easier to answer. Galliard knows why they were on that island; he'll understand the stakes. He must.
"It wasn't a random Titan attack," he starts, voice still hollow. "We'd launched an offensive on Wall Rose through Trost District. The town was starting to swarm when Eren finally transformed into his Titan. We'd been searching for him for five years; it changed everything.
"Bertholdt was worried about the mission. We were talking up on a rooftop during the battle. We thought we were alone."
Hey… You two…
Reiner shuts his eyes. "We weren't. Marco overheard us talking about our Titans, and…"
R-Reiner… What are you…?!
Unconsciously, his free hand bunches in the fabric of his trousers. "There was no way to hide it. Marco was… He's…" Reiner pauses, squeezing tighter. As if by clinging physically, he might stop slipping. "Too damn sharp. He'd heard too much. It was too easy to piece together.
"I made Annie help. She didn't want to. None of us wanted to," he admits, knowing the danger in such words but unable to keep them in. "Marco was… You were…"
He stumbles again. The hand on his forehead slides down, covering his eyes. The soiled handkerchief falls to his lap, the last traces of steam fading from blood-smeared but perfectly smooth skin.
"… There wasn't any other choice."
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"You told me it was a joke, what you two were talking about... I didn't believe you, but I tried to get away by pretending to."
His tone is hurt and regretful, because even if he'd figured it out after talking to Armin he understood why: he'd simply been foolish enough to overhear and then announce himself in disbelief. He drops his head, burying his face in his knees.
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He reaches out to Marco first, touching his shoulder. "Yeah. That sucks, Marco. Sounds like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." And dumb enough to announce what he'd heard, but Galliard will get to that in a minute. "That happens sometimes in combat, and there's nothing we can do about it."
Then he turns to Reiner, and his brows furrow. "Reiner, you do realise that Bertolt was being dumb as hell when he wanted to talk about the mission in the middle of the battlefield, right?"
Like, seriously. Galliard liked Bertolt well enough, but that was dumb.
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Thankfully, Galliard speaks before Reiner's thoughts spiral any further. And Galliard's words make Reiner raise his head, looking at Galliard with a spark in his eyes that vanished the moment he set eyes on Marco. A willingness to stand his ground and fight for something.
Predictably, that "something" is his best friend.
"We were both talking about it," he says, his voice growing firmer with each word. Steadier now that he has a solid objective. "The situation was changing rapidly. The town was in chaos; there shouldn't have been anyone nearby. We thought we were alone. I'm the one who specifically mentioned my Titan. If I hadn't done that, we might've been able to salvage the situation."
And Marco might have lived to reach the safety of the interior. Reiner's mind might have remained in one piece.
So many things might have been different if Reiner had just chosen his words more carefully.
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Then Reiner speaks, that familiar defensiveness in his tone. Any time someone had a bad word to say about Bertholdt, that's how he'd get. The familiarity after everything that just happened?
Marco starts to cry.
Not loud, but tears start streaming down his face. Then he laughs a little, bitterly.
"You always do this," He tells Reiner, unable to help himself. "You take responsibility to keep people out of trouble. You covered for me when my gear broke in training and said you were the one who helped me put it on. You let Connie cheat off your maths until he understood it himself. It's why I didn't believe what I was hearing. How could someone who put himself out for everyone be a bad guy?"
Marco sniffs a little, trying to stem the tears.
"It wasn't - it wasn't just you, Reiner, it's not only your fault this time. Bertholdt messed up too. So did Annie... so did I. We were on opposite sides even if I didn't know it."
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He has another retort ready, but then Marco manages to steal the show by crying. Galliard looks at him, both horrified and horribly resigned. Yeah, that’s just the capstone on this whole shitty day, isn’t it? Of course he’s crying over all this, and Galliard can’t even blame him. He keeps his hand on Marco’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, but it’s Reiner he’s looking at, Reiner he’s talking to.
“He’s right, you know. Sounds like everyone screwed up that day. Not just you, not just Annie or Bertholdt or Marco… everyone.” Galliard sighs; Marco’s tears and Reiner actually sounding like himself for a moment has taken all the indignant, righteous wind out of his sails. “The real fuck-ups are the ones who started Marley and Paradis fighting in the first place. We were all just too young to see it then.”
He offers his other hand to Reiner. For what, he’s not sure; he’s going to be shocked if Reiner takes it. But it’s been offered. What Reiner chooses to do with that is up to him.
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It only lasts for a moment. Then Marco's words pull Reiner to the present; he sees the tears staining Marco's cheeks and has to look away, gaze resting in the vague vicinity of Galliard's shoulder.
Marco cried before he died, too. Reiner never wanted to see Marco cry again.
His throat tightens, the first sign that he, too, might start crying. He swallows, trying to hold it back. Trying not to think of the friends he made and betrayed. Trying not to remember all the times he helped them even when he shouldn't have. Trying not to let Marco's words strike too hard, bad guy drenched in the blood of over two hundred and fifty thousand corpses.
It makes sense for Reiner to take responsibility for Bertholdt and Annie. Reiner stepped up to lead; he became Marcel for them. Therefore, his fellow Warriors are his responsibility. But the rest… He knows he shouldn't care about anyone from the 104th. He knows he can't stop even when he tries. And he knows he hurled threats at Annie like the biggest fucking hypocrite in the world, forcing her to be complicit in Marco's murder.
It wasn't Annie's fault, he's about to say, the words hot on this tongue. Ready to argue the point until he's blue in the face. He spent so many months believing Annie was being tortured, watching Bertholdt believe that Annie was being tortured; how could he not feel overly protective of her?
Then Galliard lays the blame elsewhere. Lays it at the feet of those high, high above them. The argument dies on Reiner's tongue, his words stolen, and once again, he just stares. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, looking like he can't quite trust his own ears. Because that's not something Galliard—no, not something any Warrior, any Eldian should just say. Not if they want to keep their lives. Not if they want their families to remain safe.
And why does Porco think it's okay to say it in front of Reiner, whose only worth as a Warrior lies in his loyalty? How does he know what Reiner and Bertholdt realized on that island?
We were just kids… We didn't know anything.
Porco offers Reiner a hand. The world shifts again, the hand replaced by Bertholdt's, by Eren's, by his own reaching out as he begs for the world to just wait. Porco has never extended a hand to Reiner like this before. Reiner's expression twists, brows pinching together as something flashes across his face. (Grief? Guilt? Regret? Longing?) Yet Reiner doesn't hesitate as he reaches out, clasping Porco's hand in his own, Titan-hot skin to skin.
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They were too young to see it. Marco's begun to realize how uncommon kids joining the military so young is, here. He actually agrees with what he says.
He watches Galliard offer a hand. When Reiner takes it he breathes a sigh of relief to himself he didn't realize he was holding onto.
"I'm sorry I hit you without trying to talk," he says after a moment, looking at Reiner guiltily. "I don't know if I can forgive you for what you did to me, if I'm honest."
"But," he continues on, sitting up straight, looking at Reiner with a determined expression. "I don't want to be angry and fight about it, either. You were one of my best friends... You, Bertholdt, and even Annie."
He mirrors Porco by raising his arm and offering a hand to Reiner. He gives him a small, sad smile.
"Do you want to try again with me?"
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He nods at what Marco says, and smiles faintly at him. That’s a level of grace and dignity that is close to awe-inspiring, and Galliard knows he’d have difficulty doing the same, especially so fast. Hell, it took him almost dying and then actually dying to get his head straight, and he’s older than Marco.
“You got the punching out of your system? Good. No more throwing rocks, either.” Then he turns back to Reiner, and as he does, Galliard lowers his knees out of a his crouch, settling more solidly onto the floor. Are they going to hug this out? If they are, he’s ready.
“You’re not going to get a better offer than this, Reiner.” He squeezes his hand. “I think you should take it.”
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Reiner murdered Marco instead of trying to talk. And Marco is apologizing just for punching him…? Just for hitting him with a rock, a wound that has already healed?
Reiner wishes he was still bleeding. He wishes Galliard would let Marco continue hitting him.
They were kids who didn't know anything. Right? No, Reiner knew it was wrong. Didn't he? Isn't that why he broke? Isn't that why his mind is filled with shards of glass, every wrong/right move slicing him in different ways?
They were children sent to wage an ancient war, murdering hundreds of thousands of their own people. He was a kid taught from infancy to hate devils. Maybe what happened on that island isn't their— isn't Reiner's fault. Maybe the responsibility really does lie with those high above.
But Reiner can still feel Marco struggling beneath him. He still recalls the sensation of clapping his palm over Marco's mouth, silencing Marco's screams. He still shouted at Annie, threatening her and her father until she helped him kill a "devil."
Marco smiles at him, extending a hand, offering to try being friends again. Porco squeezes Reiner's hand, encouraging him to accept Marco's offer.
The sob that rips its way out of Reiner is nothing like the quiet tears streaming down Marco's face, nor is it like the stray tears Reiner was unable to suppress when Porco told him about Marcel's memories. It is raw. Ugly. Something that causes him to crumple inward as if he's trying to curl up like a child, his hand instinctively tightening its grip on Porco's.
In all of Reiner's nightmares, Marco never did this. He never smiled so sadly. He never offered to try to be friends again.
It's too much. It can't be real. It just can't be.
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The sob breaks his heart in two.
He doesn't even think about his next actions, calling Reiner's name before he sweeps forward across the floor. His gaze catches with Galliard and he uses the hand he'd extended to grab Galliard's other hand, and he drags both of them - Reiner and Galliard - into a hug.
He can't quite get his arms around both of them, but it's enough. He pushes Galliard to Reiner's front - he's sure Reiner needs someone from his home right now - and presses himself to both their sides.
"I've got you, Reiner," Marco tells him, shushing and cooing softly, pressing his cheek to the top of Reiner's head since he's curled inwards and shorter than Marco for the moment. He doesn't lie and say it's okay because it isn't. "I'm not going anywhere."
He'll hold Reiner as long as he needs.
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He makes a startled little noise when Marco sweeps forward, and for a half-starved kid from the island, Marco can be strong when he wants to. Galliard finds himself man-handled into position, in front of Reiner and lifting him up off the floor, onto his shoulder. When he thinks back on it later, Galliard will tell himself that it was all Marco's doing, that he hadn't been turning in that direction anyway, that he hadn't been reaching for Reiner and Marco just helped move him along. He doesn't consider himself a particularly emotionally sensitive or mature person, but goddamn, he's better off than these two.
"Yeah, we've got you." Shit, Reiner is against his chest already, might as well wrap his arms around him and let him cry. "We've got you."
A moment later, as an afterthought: "Don't get snot on my jacket."
Another moment: "Please."
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It isn't real. None of it is real. It's a new, exceptionally cruel brand of nightmare.
He's clinging, anyway. One hand remains tight in Porco's, body curled into his comrade's (rival's, better's) embrace. His other hand somehow ends up clutching Marco's shirt at the small of the other boy's back, returning Marco's hug even through the chaos clouding his mind.
Reiner cries until he runs out of strength. Until his head aches and his chest burns, and all that remains are shuddering gasps. The pain settles behind a fog, numbing his mind to the worst of it. Finally allowing him to speak if he chooses.
But he still doesn't have words. None save for futile pleading with his mind, but even that is quiet for now, the fog making everything feel more distant.
Another inhale, another exhale. Then two words finally escape unbidden:
"I'm sorry."
Unforgivably presumptuous. Reiner doesn't deserve to apologize.
He bites his lip to prevent anything else from slipping out.
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The apology surprises him, somehow. Even though Reiner is clearly sorry and grieving, and he understands, better, the strange and unkind situation he was placed in.
His grace does only go so far, but it's not as if a lack of it will make him mad.
"I know," He tells Reiner, daring to turn his head and press a kiss to the top of his skull. He can't forgive him, like he said, and he can't offer an absolution he doesn't want to give. He can do this, at least, extend the understanding.
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He doubts it. He doesn't have the well of internal grace that Marco apparently does.
But he does have enough to not chide Reiner for all the tears and snot he's managed to smear all over Galliard's jacket. He'll just quietly bear up under it, and use the washing machine when they get home. At least tears and snot washes away. It's more than he can say for the blood on Marco's shirt.
He squeezes Reiner's hand, and pats his back a few times. "Reiner. You are really, really heavy. Can we move this off the floor if you want more hugs?"
He's willing to keep this going! But they need to go to the couch before Galliard's back gives out.
"And don't apologise for being heavy. It is what it is."
apologies for the wait!
It's not something Marco should do. It's not something Reiner deserves.
But as much as Reiner wants to dismiss it as a dream, Porco (Galliard, he wants to be called Galliard) points out how heavy Reiner is. It clashes with the rest of the delusion, startling Reiner back to the present, the fog in his mind clearing very slightly.
He releases his hold immediately, as if that might help him pull it together. Straightens up and stands on his own two feet, as if that might help him feel steadier. As if it might wash away the shame rising to burn his cheeks, the disgust that turns ever-inward.
What a joke that he can't lose his balance. What a fucking lie.
"Sorry," he immediately mutters, blatantly ignoring Galliard's last words. He can't seem to look at either of them, staring at nothing, gold eyes unfocused.
Does he look as disoriented as he feels? Maybe. Or maybe he just looks like he sobbed his heart out, eyes red and cheeks blotchy, appearing less a soldier/Warrior/half-assed piece of shit and more like a little boy who used to cry in the dirt, always dead-last.
But then his eyes happen to fall upon Galliard's jacket. His expression immediately shifts, looking like he accidentally kicked over Gabi's favorite toy. "Your jacket…"
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"The jacket will live," he tells Reiner with a shake of his head. He knows enough to not ask if Reiner's okay. He clearly isn't, and he probably won't be for a while. Marco shifts from one foot to another, unsure what he should do next. Should they offer to stay for dinner? Should he offer to leave and let Galliard and Reiner figure it out?
He glances at Reiner's profile and then at Galliard, unsure of himself.