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“Reiner! REINER??” Bertolt races through the forest, calling out with his sword drawn, casting his eyes frantically all around him, and searching the trees. Where is he? A thousand possibilities, each more unbearable and morbid than the last, tumble around in his head like coins jangling in a glass jar. Please be okay please be okay please be okay please…
“Oh, thank fucking god, BERTOLT. HERE!”
Bertolt follows the voice and bursts through the foliage ready to fight. He stops dead, his eyes triple in size, and his sword arm drops limply to his side. The sword goes “poink” and quivers, standing upright in the moss.
“Hi,” says Reiner.
Bertolt, frozen and gaping, finds himself confronted by a sight beyond his most unhinged imaginings.
Reiner is a few feet off the ground, boots dangling limply into nothing. His 3DM cables are looped around tree branches high above and the wires are tangled around him, snarled and hooked into his harness. He’s trussed tightly with his arms stuck to his sides and his shirt pulled up, suspended like a dried ham in a butcher shop window. Leaves and twigs, shaken from branches during his violent struggles to free himself, surround him in piles and stick out of his hair.
Bertolt twitches. Reiner looks back at him flatly, resigning himself to what’s about to come.
Bertolt trembles in place and the corners of his mouth quiver as the pressure within him builds. He bursts into hysterical laughter, collapsing on the forest floor beneath Reiner’s feet, kicking his boots in the air and clutching his stomach.
“BAHAHAHAHA!” howls Bertolt, “HOW? WHEN? Oh my God. How long have you been there??”
A long time. A really long time. But Bertolt doesn’t need to know that.
“I dunno, I didn’t mean to come out this far, so I was kind of lost and not paying attention, and I guess I shot too high and I went under the branch instead of over it and it threw me back over it in a loop and it hooked my harness when I dropped, and…uh.” Reiner dips his chin, indicating the wires and his own predicament.
“Heeenghhhhhhh”
“Yes. Haha. It’s all very funny,” snaps Reiner, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. You’re welcome. Shut the fuck up and help me!”
Bertolt stops kicking his feet and flops flat onto his back, gazing meditatively up at Reiner, mouth still wobbling,
“You’re being awfully impolite, for a person who’s dangling helplessly from a tree, and whose survival depends on the charity of a comrade’s heart”
“Bertolt.”
“Reiner, do you ever just sit and think about the meaning of it all?”
“BERTOLT.“
Bertolt raises one of his unnecessarily long legs and pushes lazily against Reiner’s boot with his own, making him swing gently like a punching bag on a chain. “I think about it, sometimes. You know I’ve been reading this book that talks about-”
“I SWEAR TO GOD YOU GIRAFFE-SIZED FUCKIN’ DICKHEAD IF YOU DON’T GET OFF YOUR ASS AND HELP ME-“
Reiner thrashes impotently in his bonds. Bertolt snorts.
“Okay, okay. Don’t get hurt. But you owe me.”
Reiner grunts dismissively, and Bertolt pops up off the ground, reclaiming his sword.
He pauses to evaluate, and an odd expression flits across his face. Reiner sees the barest hint of blooming pink.
“Bertolt. What’re you looking at?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Sorry.
“Shut up. Why’re you making that face?”
Bertolt blushes in earnest. He points his sword at where the wires have dragged Reiner’s shirt up to his harness. A sheen of sweat gilds his chiseled abdominals and chest, all stretched taut and tangled, muscles straining against loops.
“You…uh…” Bertolt scuffs the ground shyly with his boot. “You actually look kinda good like this, Reiner.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?
“Why’re you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Guess I can only blame myself. I took your virtue. I’ve corrupted you. I created a pervert.”
“I’m glad you accept responsibility. It’s the first step.”
“Towards what??”
“I ‘unno,” says Bertolt placidly, searching the tangle for somewhere to cut that won’t result in Reiner plummeting hard to the ground. “Okay, hang on. Heh. Hang.”
“You fuckin—AUGH!”
Bertolt cuts a wire looped behind Reiner’s arm, and Reiner flips like a clothespin. He hangs at an angle sideways with his head down and one leg pointed up into the canopy.
“FUCK!”
“Uh. Oops.”
Bertolt puts his hand to his mouth, trying to conceal a snicker, badly.
“Bertolt,” growls Reiner, his face reddening from a combination of rage and all the blood flowing to his head, “you did that on purpose.”
“Did not! I swear! I’m sorry. Hold on lemme try again.”
Bertolt saws at another section of wire, and then another. Reiner sways like a pendulum, upside down, getting more nauseous by the second. Finally Bertolt cuts through the last wire.
Reiner jolts, and with a screech he plunges towards the ground face first. He lands in a pile of wires and leaves and dirt, and lies for a moment, catching the breath that’s been knocked out of him, groaning and swearing.
“Reiner? Are you ok? Sorr-”
Reiner explodes to his feet with a roar, powering through the numbness in his limbs and letting his titan steam speed his recovery. He tackles Bertolt to the ground and relieves him of his sword. Ignoring his savior’s shocked yelp, he raises it high and thrusts it through the loose fabric of Bertolt’s jacket. Bertolt’s struggle is valiant, but futile. He's pinned to the ground by his own weapon.
“Now… Reiner,” quivers Bertolt, a faltering smile plastered on his face, “Um, I know mistakes were made, but I did just rescue you. Remember that.”
Reiner looms over him with a manic grin and sunlight shining through his golden hair like a halo—a demigod of pure, petty vengeance.
“Oh, Bertolt, emerald-eyed prince of my heart, my other half, my best-ever buddy. Believe me. I’ll remember this ’til the end of your days and mine… and so will you.” He interlaces his fingers and stretches his considerable biceps over his head, flexing out the stiffness and aches. He cracks his knuckles.
Bertolt looks up at him, and gulps.
***
When they arrive late to scout drills with twigs in their hair, their straps askew, and dirt on every part of a uniform that might touch the ground if you had—for some unfathomable reason—recently spent time on all fours on the forest floor, and then perhaps some time on your back, ex-Commander Shadis rolls his eyes at their feeble cover story about a 3DMG mishap, and barks at both of them to get in formation goddammit, you worthless piece of shit pathetic maggots. They scramble into position, both blushing bright red.
Shadis sends everybody off in pairs for combat practice, making sure to split up the two gangling idiot latecomers. He spends the rest of the training session gazing into space over the heads of his recruits, wistfully reminiscing about his own distant and horny youth.