Chapter Text
Holly Valley
12 miles
Bertholdt already knows where he is, well before his car passes the sign. He recognized the road a few miles back, when the gentle snow that had been following him from the city finally began to let up. He came around a bend, and suddenly the winding road into the valley appeared before him. It was a lonely sight from the top of the mountain pass— a long, empty road seemingly going nowhere. Through the snowfall, Bertholdt could barely make out the lights of the town. If he didn't know it was there, he would not have seen it at all. It's been so long that he wasn't sure he would recognize it at all. But he could tell: Holly Valley, just twelve more miles. Home, just a few minutes away.
His car radio falters on the drive down the mountainside. The upbeat holiday tunes fizzle out into static. He switches it off instead of trying to tune it back.
The road twists down the mountain, with sharp bends and curves that would be dangerous for inexperienced drivers, especially with a light dusting of snow on the road. Bertholdt manages it without much trouble, and then he finds himself pulling into town, a slow and curious drive through the place he used to know. He can't help but turn his head to glance around as he drives along the main road. For most of Holly Valley, it's just a normal day, and people come and go casually through the small town. They walk with shopping bags loaded onto their arms, or cups of hot chocolate in their hands, strolling down the sidewalk through the snow, hats and scarves keeping them warm.
Not much has changed, he thinks. The people all look the same, and so does the town, for the most part. There are a few new shops along the main street, and some of the old potholes have been fixed. But the Christmas decorations are certainly the same as they've always been. Street lamps are strung with shimmering lights, and each door is adorned with its own green wreath. Poinsettias sit on doorsteps and street corners.
Bertholdt passes the main square on his way through town, and he sees that the town Christmas tree has already been lit. The annual lighting ceremony was always such a fuss around here. He watches the townspeople admire the tree as he waits at a stoplight, and with a pang, he wonders if it was the last Christmas tree his father ever sold.
On the other side of town, things begin to get even more familiar. The main street widens out into a country road, and then Bertholdt is driving through a snowy landscape, dotted with family houses and telephone poles. The farther from town he drives, the closer he gets to the farm, and the more he begins to worry. His grip tightens on the wheel as the car carries on down the straight road. He thought he would be okay, coming back here after so long. He's only here for business, after all.
But soon the long road comes to an end, and as his car pulls towards the gates of the farm, he feels a lump form in his throat. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe he should have insisted on waiting until after the holidays.
A familiar sign greets him at the gate: Welcome to the Hoover Family Christmas Tree Farm. He takes a deep breath and keeps driving.
The snow is still coming down lightly, but that never keeps the people of Holly Valley from coming out to the farm.
He should have known; it was always a popular place, with kids and sleighs, with families and ice skates, and even with people from the other side of the valley, who came every year to sample the local cider and maple syrup. The main parking lot by the gift shop is full of cars, and as he pulls past, he realizes that he recognizes many of their visitors bundled up in hats and coats: longtime visitors to the farm, and some of his father's favorite customers. The tradition still carries on, apparently, even now that his father is gone.
Further down the road sits the old red barn, and past that, the farmhouse where Bertholdt grew up. He pulls into the drive quietly and sits for a moment, overcome by memories as he stares up at the big white house. There are no lights on inside, no smoke coming from the brick chimney. Through the front window into the living room, he thinks he can make out the shape of a Christmas tree, but it's bare, with no lights or ornaments. Curiously, someone has taken the care to hang a green wreath on the front door. That warms for a moment before he thinks it should have been him.
His phone vibrates with a message.
Willy Tybur
Be there on the 26th.
Looking forward to doing business with you.
Bertholdt presses the microphone button. "See you then. Looking forward to it as well."
He leaves his car in the driveway. He's not ready to enter the house, at least not yet. When he thinks about it, he can barely remember the last time he was home. He must have still been in law school, and he was busy with exams and interviews and networking. If only he had known that this is what he'd be coming home to in just a few short years.
He heads towards the barn instead. When his grandparents ran the farm, it was the stable where they kept their horses; but since Bertholdt's been a child, it's been the employee workshop, where they take care of everything from gift wrapping to inventory to crafts and repairs. He spent countless hours of his youth wrapping presents in the barn, and he knows that almost every teenager in Holly Valley did too. Sure enough, when he peers through the sliding doors, there are two teens inside, hard at work in their elf costumes: one of them sits on the counter, mindlessly curling ribbons and chatting, while her coworker stacks an absurd number of gift wrap tubes in his arms.
Bertholdt heaves the sliding doors open and steps inside, shaking the snow from his hair.
"Hi," he says shortly at the two teens staring at him. "Uh, I'm—"
"Hi!" the boy says brightly. He seems to consider dropping the wrapping paper bundles in his arms, but instead he fidgets uncomfortably, contorting his head to address Bertholdt with a smile. "How can we help you?"
"Well—"
"Customers aren't allowed in the barn," the girl says from where she sits on the counter. She hardly glances up from the ribbons that she curls violently by whipping them across scissor blades. "You'll have to go around to the gift shop. First building on the road."
"You can sample the maple syrup for free," the boy exclaims.
Bertholdt dusts snow from his shoulders. "Right, thank you, but I'm not a customer. This farm belonged to my father, and I've just come to—"
"Mr. Hoover?" the boy exclaims, with a look somehow both joyous and crestfallen. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say it like that."
"It's okay," Bertholdt says with a slight grimace.
"We really, really liked working for your dad," he continues, nearly shouting over the rolls of gift wrap in his arms. "Everyone here did! I'm really sorry for your loss, sir. But I'm really glad you're here now to take care of the farm! Everyone's been expecting you."
"Oh," Bertholdt says. He shifts. "Well..."
The girl suddenly stops curling ribbons.
"Wait," she says, glancing up. "You're Mr. Hoover's son? You're Bertholdt Hoover?"
He hesitates. "Yes."
She stares at him. "Interesting."
"I know you haven't been around for a while," the boy continues, apparently not minding the interruption. "But your dad loved this place and even though I know business hasn't been what it used to be, he still took really good care of the farm and all of us who work here! You are taking it over, right?"
"Oh, well, we'll see," Bertholdt says shortly. He pauses. "Is there someone who's in charge around here? Maybe someone a little older than you two?"
The girl drops her scissors onto the table. "I've got the perfect guy for you. Hold on!"
She's out the door before Bertholdt can ask who she means, the bells on her elf slippers jingling all the way. The boy finally drops the masses of gift wrap in his arms; he aims to set them on the counter, but most of them cascade onto the floor, and he groans, a comical sight while he's wearing felt elf ears. Bertholdt smiles kindly and moves to help him pick them up. He knows his father must have had someone to help him manage the farm, but he can't remember any specific names coming up. He certainly hopes the farm hasn't been under the thumb of high school students this whole time.
The girl is back within a minute. She darts through the door, tugging someone behind her, who protests and begs to know what the rush is— someone who, when Bertholdt glances up, he finds that he recognizes immediately. He stumbles to a halt behind the counter, a dusting of snow in his blond hair, and he doesn't bother to shake it out when his eyes meet Bertholdt's from across the room.
Bertholdt's heart clenches.
Not Reiner Braun, not here. This is the last thing he needs right now: his childhood best friend, the one he was secretly in love with for so long, the one he hasn't spoken to since they drifted apart in their early twenties. He remembers now that Reiner had stayed on at the farm after they'd finished as a high school, working as a handyman and salesman, always promising that he'd find himself someday. He thought for sure Reiner would have done that by now. He would have gotten out of this town, like Bertholdt did, like they always talked about doing when they were teenagers. Truth be told, Bertholdt had spent his first few lonely years in the city thinking it was only a matter of time before Reiner joined him there. What is he still doing here after all these years?
"Hi," Bertholdt says, a little breathlessly.
From behind the counter, Reiner smiles back. "Hi there! And uh, Gabi, this is—"
"Bertholdt Hoover," Gabi exclaims, her arms crossed as she leans in to loudly whisper to Reiner. "He's here because he owns this place now."
Reiner's eyes grow wide.
"Oh," he exclaims. He drops his clipboard onto the counter and grins. "Oh my god, Bertholdt, I didn't even recognize you!"
Bertholdt gives his best smile. "It's okay. It's been a while."
"No, it's just because—" Reiner cuts himself off, coming around the counter to glance up and down at him. "I mean, you look so professional! Who wears a suit to a Christmas tree farm?"
He looks down at his outfit. "Oh. I just got in from the city, so..."
"I'm just teasing you," Reiner exclaims. He laughs as he bounds forward, taking the hand that Bertholdt awkwardly holds out to pull him into a bear hug. "I can't believe you're really here!"
He wraps his arms around Bertholdt's shoulders and squeezes him tightly. For a moment, Bertholdt freezes; he can't remember the last time he was hugged like this. But it all comes back to him then, the warmth of having someone hold him in their arms, and he hugs Reiner back gingerly, taking in his scent. He smells like home, in the way that Bertholdt didn't know he missed until now: pine and snow and maple syrup. But also like sugar, like wood shavings, and Bertholdt almost doesn't want to let go.
Finally, Reiner pulls away, but he doesn't step back. He stands just before Bertholdt, smiling up at him, hands lingering on his shoulders.
"Hi, Bertholdt," he says with a laugh.
Bertholdt smiles back hesitantly. "Hi, Reiner. So, are you—"
"So you two know each other," Gabi exclaims from the other side of the room.
Reiner drops his hands and glances over his shoulder. "Yeah, you remember Bertholdt, right? We went to high school together. Well, all twelve years of school, actually. How does a small town boy like you survive in the big city?"
"Aw," Gabi says. She plasters on a smile. "Cute."
He gives her a look. "Okay, enough, Gabi. Bertholdt, what brings you back here? I mean—"
Reiner cuts himself off, a serious looking coming across his face. "I'm so sorry. That was careless."
Bertholdt shakes his head. "It's fine."
"I'm really sorry about your dad," Reiner says softer, leaning in so the kids can't hear. "It must have been hard for you."
"I'm fine," Bertholdt says after a moment. He purses his lips, trying not to meet Reiner's kind eyes. "It's fine. He was sick for a long time, so..."
He trails off, and Reiner nods, dropping his gaze. The two teens sitting behind the counter make poor attempts to hide their eavesdropping, and Bertholdt glances away to look for another topic of conversation. Through the sliding glass doors of the barn, he watches families pull into the parking lot and head into the gift shop to sample the local maple syrup. It's only a few days from Christmas; they must have sold almost all of their trees by now, but still the farm is packed with visitors.
Bertholdt turns back to Reiner. "So, I came to settle some of my dad's business. Are you the manager here now?"
Reiner shrugs. "I guess so. Mr. Hoover— I mean, your dad, you know, he liked to do everything himself. He was really hands-on with the farm. The whole season had already been planned when— when he passed. We sold most of our trees the week after Thanksgiving, but we still had all of our regular events planned. I figured it just made more sense to carry on through the end of the season."
He smiles at Bertholdt. "But not anymore, I guess! You're taking over the farm like he wanted, right?"
Bertholdt tries to return the nonchalant smile. "Well, he didn't really want that."
"Oh," Reiner says, his face falling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"It's fine," he says shortly. He shakes his head. "I couldn't do it anyways. I don't have time to take care of this place. I'm selling it."
Gabi slams her scissors onto the counter. "You're doing what?"
"He's doing what?" Falco cries.
"Hey," Reiner barks, turning back to them, and they both simmer down. "Bertholdt is technically our employer now, so let's show him some respect, okay?"
He turns back to Bertholdt. "You're doing what?"
Bertholdt feels himself flush. "Well, I can't run this place. I've got a job, and a life back in the city. One of the partners in firm has been looking to buy land in the valley for years. I'm selling it to him."
Reiner stares at him. "But this is one of the last locally owned tree farms in the state. If you sell—"
"Mr. Tybur is local," Bertholdt insists. "He grew up across the river. Look, is my dad's office still in the house? I need to take care of some paperwork."
Reiner seems to hesitate, staring into Bertholdt with a determination that brings back memories of all the times Reiner was able to convince him to break the rules when they were kids. Gabi and Falco, too, sit slack-jawed at the counter. But the barn is not the right place for business, and Reiner seems to sense it. That, or can he still read Bertholdt like a book after all these years, and he can tell that Bertholdt doesn't want to discuss business at all. He swallows whatever argument he was about to spew, and instead he digs into his pocket to produce a ring of keys.
"The house has been locked up," he says, starting for the door. "I'll let you in."
Bertholdt nods. But his stomach is sinking as he follows Reiner back out the sliding door. Somehow, he feels like he's disappointed his friend, and within just a few minutes of their reunion. Just a few minutes ago, when he saw Reiner for the first time in years, something lit up inside of him, something soft and warm that he hasn't felt in a long time. He wonders how things would have been different if he had just been honest with Reiner, all those years ago.
The night of their school graduation, they had swiped a bottle of hard apple cider and walked through the rows of young evergreens. Reiner had asked him— he can't remember the exact words now, but Reiner had asked him if he really wanted to leave Holly Valley for college. He had asked Bertholdt if he thought he'd have any regrets about leaving his home behind, and Bertholdt, feeling insecure, unrequited, and a little tipsy, had told Reiner he was certain: there was nothing left for him in Holly Valley. He had to leave.
As they head back to the farmhouse, Bertholdt trails a step behind Reiner, trying to remember why he'd said that. He can't remember if it was true then, and though he's content with his life in the city, he's not sure if it's still true now.
The snowfall has let up, and their shoes leave faint footprints in the dusted white grass as they trail back to the farmhouse, the keys jingling in Reiner's hands. Bertholdt has never known him to be so quiet or to give up on an argument so easily, and sure enough, when they reach the red front door of the house, Reiner turns to talk to him as he searches for the right key.
"I don't know what the state of the paperwork is," he tells Bertholdt without looking up from the keys. "I don't think he got the chance to write up any sort of longterm plan for the farm before he went into the hospital. And you know he didn't like to use computers, so there's a lot of files. It might take a while to go through."
He hesitates, plucking one key from the rest. "You don't have to tell me anything, but— I don't really know what happened. He'd only been gone for a few days when we heard the news."
Bertholdt says nothing at first, waiting as Reiner unlocks the front door. How strange, to be let into his own childhood home, a house that he now owns. It's quiet inside when the door opens, and then suddenly Bertholdt finds he does not want to go in alone. He pauses on the doorstep, slowly wiping the snow off his shoes.
"I'll just leave you to it," Reiner says quietly, but Bertholdt glances up.
"Oh, no," he says. He swallows the lump in his throat. "You're welcome to come in."
He trails off, but he doesn't have to say anything else. Reiner simply nods, following after Bertholdt as he steps into the entrance to the house. It's cold inside after being left alone for the first few weeks of winter; and it's strange, when Bertholdt flicks the lights on, to feel such a pervasive silence stir throughout the house. There's dust on the stairs, and with a quick glance into the living room, he sees that everything is exactly as his dad left it: his knitting needles still laced with wool, the bare Christmas tree with a box of ornaments laid at its base. It's quiet, but he's reminded, when Reiner softly closes the front door behind them, that no matter how lonely the house may feel, he's not alone.
"He was really sick," Bertholdt says suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at Reiner, who quietly meets his eyes. "He'd been okay for a long time, but he took a turn right after Thanksgiving and— even at the best hospital in the city, there wasn't a lot they could do for him."
Reiner gives him a sad smile. "At least you got to see him, right?"
He runs his hand on the bannister of the stair railing. He doesn't want to think about it anymore than he already has over the last few weeks. He spent so many years pretending he was too busy to come home, just so he wouldn't have to face his fears and memories. He doesn't want to think about those last days his father spent in the hospital, and the gentle way he talked to Bertholdt.
He clears his throat. "Yeah, at least I was with him. I just wish the hospital here had been able to do his treatments. I think he would have preferred to be at home."
Reiner nods, then glances down the side hall. "Well, the office is— you know. This is your house. Sorry."
He follows Bertholdt down the hallway to the office, where its condition leaves Bertholdt dismayed. He knew his father was never very organized with the paperwork, but it's much worse than the last time he saw it. The office is strewn with files, stacked on the desk and the floor and the windowsill. Receipts are pinned to a cork board on the wall, and the ancient computer that his father hated to use lies dusty on a sideboard in the back of the room. Reiner was right: it will be a lot of work to sort through all the files, but if Bertholdt wants to get rid of this farm, then it's something he has to do.
Reiner lingers in the doorway as Bertholdt traipses into the room, his long coat brushing over stacks of folders on the floor. He reaches the center of the room and sighs; he just has to find the important papers for the sale, and then the rest of it can be dumped. He reaches for a file on the desk and brushes dust off its cover.
"I don't want to intrude," Reiner says suddenly from the doorway. He fidgets with the keys. "Anymore than I already have."
Bertholdt glances back at him. "If you're going to ask if I'm serious about selling the farm—"
"Yes, exactly."
"Yes," Bertholdt says. "I'm serious."
Reiner crosses his arms, his flannel shirt pulling across his chest. "Bertholdt— I know we haven't talked in a while, and I know you're some kind of big city lawyer now—"
Even as he continues to dust off his father's desk, Bertholdt can't help but smile at that.
"But this place is important you," Reiner continues. He pauses. "I know it is. And it's important to the town. A lot of people would really miss the farm if it wasn't here anymore. Where will we get our Christmas trees?"
Bertholdt sighs. "Look, my dad's not here anymore. There's no one to run it, so it has to go."
"But couldn't you run it?"
He glances across the room at Reiner, his brow furrowed. "It's a Christmas tree farm. I'm a lawyer."
"But you grew up here," Reiner insists, unfolding his arms. He steps into the room. "You know more about the business than anyone else here."
"Willy Tybur knows more about business than me," Bertholdt says. He turns back to Reiner, shaking his head as he wipes his dusty fingers off on his coat. "He'll be here the day after Christmas to sign the paperwork, and then I have to get back to my job."
Reiner wrinkles his nose. "Who does business over Christmas?"
Bertholdt frowns. "Reiner, I appreciate what you're saying, but the sale is as good as final. It would look bad if I backed out now, even if I wanted to. It's over."
"Right," Reiner says with a sigh, turning back to the door. "Okay, sorry. I know it's not my business. I just wish— never mind."
The keys jingle as he heads out. For a moment after he disappears down the hall, Bertholdt feels a pang in his chest, wishing he'd asked Reiner to stay and help him, or at least let Reiner say his piece in full. It's true, after all, that the farm is important to the people of Holly Valley. They've all worked there at one point or another, and generations of families have grown up buying their Christmas trees at the farm.
Bertholdt glances at the shelf above his father's desk at the collection of family photos, sitting there and collecting dust. His great-grandparents, selling their first Christmas tree; his grandparents' wedding in the old barn; and his own parents, with their young son, sledding down the big hill at the back of the lot. Something tight wells up in his chest when he looks at the smiles on his parents' faces.
A sudden pair of footsteps clammer down the hall, and Bertholdt glances up just in time to see Reiner skid back through the doorway, the keys loudly clanging in his hand.
"We're having a party tonight," he exclaims, staring at Bertholdt. "It's an engagement party and Christmas party, two in one. It's going to be a good time. You should come!"
Bertholdt feels his heart clench. "Oh. Are you—?"
"Oh, no," Reiner laughs. "Not me, sorry. I'm as single as ever. It's for my mom. She's getting married. And I know she'd be happy to see you. Will you come?"
"Uh, well— tell her I said congratulations, but I don't really know if—"
"Annie will be there," he continues, leaning on the doorframe. "And everyone else from school. It'd be nice if you said hi to them. Annie's, uh, I mean, her dad is marrying my mom, so we're gonna be step-siblings. It'd be nice if you stopped by. It might make things less weird."
Bertholdt blinks. "Your mom... is marrying—"
"Mr. Leonhart," he confirms with a half-hearted smile. He shrugs. "I know, I know, but this town's kind of one big family anyways. Everyone would be really happy to see you, I'm sure."
"I just don't know," Bertholdt says, his voice breaking into something softer. He clears his throat. "It's been a while since I've been back to Holly Valley. I don't want to impose on anyone."
"You wouldn't be," he exclaims, breaking into a nervous smile. "Honestly, they've love to see you! It's been so long."
Bertholdt pauses. "Well..."
"You can tell everyone it's a pity date," Reiner laughs, then freezes. "I mean, that you would be pity dating me, because— you don't have to pretend it's a date, if that's weird. Just forget that I said that."
He can't help but smile. "Why do I get the feeling that your mom is begging you to bring someone home?"
Reiner flushes. "She thinks all I do is work. Will you come, please? I don't want to think about you locked in this house by yourself."
Bertholdt stares at him, standing there in the doorway with that adorable smile on his face; even though it's been so many years, and so many things have changed, Reiner's smile still manages to pierce him exactly the same. It sends shockwaves through Bertholdt, who can feel himself breaking down under the warmth of that smile. He's never been one for holiday parties, or parties of any kind, really, but this may be the last time he's ever in Holly Valley. He might as well say goodbye to everyone.
"Alright," he says finally with a sigh. He shakes his head. "I'll come, but just for a bit. I have a lot of paperwork to get through."
Reiner beams. "Oh, thank you! My mom would never forgive me if she found out you were in town and she didn't get to compare your life choices to mine! I'll pick you up, you don't want to park your nice car out at my house, not with the way the snow is falling. It'll all be mud by tonight. See you later!"
The front door slams on his way out, and he leaves Bertholdt alone in the office with a stack of his father's dusty files in his hand. Bertholdt blinks, trying to make sense of everything that's happened since he arrived.
He has a feeling that Holly Valley isn't finished with him yet.