There are two types of people in the world: those who have the perseverance to see what they start through to the end, and those who give up and get trampled by their peers. As much as Armin aims to fall into the former, he knows more than well enough that his life is a long series of failed attempts to keep up with those around him.

It's as if something tore through the sky and broke it open that morning, draining its entire reservoir through the crack and releasing it all onto the land. Water comes crashing down all around him and soaks him to the bone, yet the raindrops that his hood fails to intercept and that get sucked in with every gasping breath fail to douse the fire raging through his lungs. He doesn't need to drown and choke and hack like his life depends on it on top of suffocating, but he doesn't have a choice. He needs to press on.

His legs barely have any juice left to pull his boots free from the uneven sludgy terrain at each step, but he keeps going. The rest of the group is nigh invisible under the cover of the heavy rainfall, but he can just about see one or two stragglers far ahead of him, increasing the distance between him and them with every passing minute. They're all packed with heavy ballast and slowed down by the weight of the rain, yet each of them bravely press on like it's nothing, outpaced him with ease at the start of their run and created a gap he never managed to close again despite this being a team exercise where no one should be left behind. Eventually, even the stragglers who stayed around him left him to his own devices to catch up, now only blurs in the dark curtain of rain breaking through the forest.

If he falls behind any further, he will lose sight of them and may get lost in the woods. Failing grade aside, they're in an area so remote that he could easily get lost, suffer from hypothermia, and die before anyone finds him. If their team leader bothers to send anyone to go looking for him, that is. If anyone notices he's gone.

So despite it all, he holds on — panting and wheezing, splashing through the mud without any rhythm to his paces as he sways from side to side with heavy strides, uncertain of where he's getting the energy to keep running. It's going to hurt like hell the next day.

Worst comes to pass and he can no longer discern the form of any of his fellow trainees through the downpour. Going straight ahead is easier said than done when he's wobbling, but it's his only chance at finding the group again. If he stops, he's dead.

By some miracle, after a good fifteen minutes of following his instincts, a group of people comes into sight, and he can tell from their cloaks that it's the rest of the group recovering from their exercise and making arrangements to set up camp. Before he can reach them, his load-bearing knee fails on him and he sinks through, landing face-first into the mud and with barely enough energy to push himself up again.

All he can do is wheeze and gasp for air with no regard for his position, head tilted just enough to hold his mouth above the slimy sludge for what feels like an eternity, and he considers that he may actually drown when he starts to slip. His backpack's pushing him deeper into the soil and it becomes gradually harder to keep his face above water.

Then, against all odds, he feels the weight of his backpack shift peculiarly to his side until he realises that he's been rolled onto his side and he's now looking upon the obscured face of another trainee. They mouth something at him but he can't understand a word through the thundering rainstorm.

They pull him to a sitting position, then drape his arm over their shoulder and pull him up — where they fetch the strength to still be able to do so, Armin doesn't know — and before he knows it, Armin is back on unsteady feet, supported by the waist with one arm while the other holds onto the one draped over that shoulder, both supportive enough that even with his complete lack of effort, Armin won't fall. Catching a glance of his rescuer, he sees that they're hunched over to accommodate for Armin's small height and he sees a hooked nose peek out from that hood and he infers that it's gotta be Bertholdt.

Armin wants to protest and tell him that he can do this on his own and that he doesn't need to be aided to their makeshift camp, but no sound that comes out of his mouth stands a chance against the deafening clattering of the storm around them. He doesn't have a choice, so he lets his taller friend practically carry him back, wiping the mud off of his face and seeing his chance to cough up all the fluid that trickled into his lungs as they walk.

When they arrive, only a duo of tents has already been set up while the other five of the trainees are hard at work setting up their own so that they can finally find shelter and hopefully get their sleeping bags somewhat dry for the oncoming night. The treetops over the location where they've set up camp catch most of the rainwater, but it's still wet and foggy all around. Gods, he's going to have to build his own tent before he can catch his breath, and he's not prepared for something like that in his current condition. He might as well fall over and die, it sounds easier at this point.

Bertholdt doesn't let go of Armin once they arrive. Instead, they come to a halt before one of the already made tents. He opens the flap and Armin can't do much to stop Bertholdt from crouching down and helping him to the ground until he's sitting inside the tent. He clearly only just finished setting it up as it lacks a groundsheet and his sleeping bag and backpack still lie packed up by the far end of the tent behind a lit lantern.

"Are you alright?" Bertholdt asks as he takes place across from Armin, closing the flaps of the tent to avoid water splashing inside before pulling his hood off, unclasping his cloak, and wringing it out. It's the first time in hours that Armin has heard something other than the maddening roar of rain all around him and his ears ring.

Armin manages to stop coughing for a moment to answer. "I need to set up my tent."

"Breathe first," Bertholdt objects, wrapping his arms around his knees. "You just fainted. Take it easy. I can help with your tent later."

No. He can't be a burden to his fellow trainees. "I'm fine," Armin says, but contrary to his objections, he starts unbuckling his backpack straps to drop it on the space beside him, shedding the weight pulling on his torso to more easily catch his breath. He also lowers his hood and removes his cloak, not bothering to wring out the wet fabric. It's pointless anyway, nothing's gonna get dry in this weather.

Then, Bertholdt's words sink in. "Wait, I fainted?"

"Um," Bertholdt hums, looking down at the space in front of his boots. "I saw you lying in the mud when I left my tent and you weren't moving. Everyone seemed busy with their own task so I jogged over and I had to shake you awake to get any reaction out of you."

He can't exactly tell if any of the signs are there. He's feeling lightheaded and his vision blacks out half of the time, but he's felt like that for the past half hour, so who's to tell the difference between exhaustion and fainting? With how cold his soaked body feels, he can barely decipher anything he feels anymore. Had Bertholdt not seen him, this could've ended badly.

Armin covers his face with his hands. "Ugh, that's pathetic…"

"Huh?"

"I can barely keep up with everyone else, and on top of that I almost drowned in a puddle of water just when I made it. If you hadn't fished me out of there…" He coughs a few times, then turns around to untie his waterskin from his backpack and takes a large swig from it. "I'm really not cut out for this. After all this training, I'm still lagging behind? Gods, how useless…"

Bertholdt looks at him with compassionate pity. He can't understand how difficult this all is, with his stellar physique and his can-do attitude, but at least he's trying to help in a way that's familiar to him, which tends to be emotionally distant and only physical in nature. Armin appreciates it for what it is.

"You want to go into the Survey Corps next year, right?" comes unexpectedly.

"If I make it to graduation, yes," Armin replies, wringing out his hair.

Bertholdt nods. "At this point, isn't that guaranteed?"

"Uh… Not exactly, no?" Armin shoots him a confused look, to which Bertholdt only pulls his legs closer to his chest.

They're both so obviously a little out of their depth here, caught in a situation familiar to neither. They rarely talk outside of the library, and when they do, it's to discuss something they're both reading. Armin understands if Bertholdt doesn't know what to do when Armin starts to pour his feelings all down onto him. Armin wouldn't know what to do if Bertholdt did it either.

"I mean, I don't know. I'm not grading you. But Shadis hasn't sent you home yet and you have made it this far. He must see the merit in intelligence over physique. The Survey Corps needs strategists too. Maybe that can be your specialisation once you graduate?"

"Ah… Maybe. But I want to be able to keep up with everyone else. What good is my brain if I'm left behind by everyone else during a mission because I got tired? I just wish I was… stronger, I guess." He balls his fist around his cloak draped over his lap, frowning.

"You do pretty good in horseback riding and 3D maneuver gear, right? Those are more important to the Survey Corps than running."

"I don't know… Even then, I keep training and exercising, but my body refuses to adapt to this life. I still finish dead last in every physical test. It's like the past two years didn't even happen and I'm still a weak little child. I'm a burden."

That elicits a concerned look in Bertholdt's eyes. As much as Armin wants to believe that it's born from genuine concern, there seems to be something patronising in there as well.

"You're not a burden, Armin."

"You had to carry me inside and you're now wasting precious time while I recover. I'm a burden. I'm sorry."

Leaning his arms on his crossed legs, Armin buries his face in his hands. It all comes crashing down on him as his body settles and he's now cooling significantly in the absence of his muscles compensating for the cold. He can't be a waste of space, he can't be useless. He needs to get up and pull his own weight before nightfall.

He tries to get up to exit the tent, but Bertholdt's hand steadily lands onto his shoulder and guides him down again. He's far stronger than Armin, Armin's not winning this one.

Armin looks at him a little dazed, and Bertholdt closes his eyes for a moment. "You're not a burden," he repeats, opening them again and looking at him seriously. "We are working as a team. We owe it to you to help you when you're struggling, especially when you're doing something that's not your forte. When you're out in the field on a mission, it won't be every man for himself. Your comrades will help you if you need it, just like you will be able to help them when they need you."

Armin senses that he means what he's saying and he isn't just lying to make Armin feel better about himself. He gives in and sits back down, sighing deeply. It's easy for Bertholdt to say, with how physically fit he is, but he does sound like he cares. It helps, even if it's misguided and misses the point.

He still clearly remembers when they first met. Bertholdt was practically a skinny pole with a cracking voice that was in the process of deepening out, but meeting with him in the library every Sunday to read together has given Armin the chance to see him evolve into a tall, physically capable man with the deepest, calmest voice he's ever heard, all the while Armin has stayed small, thin, and high-pitched. It just had to be his luck.

"You're always good at everything that's asked of you. You never struggle with what they tell you to do and you have so much strength and stamina. How do you do it?" Armin looks up at him curiously.

Bertholdt simply shrugs. "I enjoy listening to people. I find it interesting to observe the finer details of everything they do, especially when they're demonstrating how to do something I can use later in life. I think that's why I pick things up more easily. It's hard to explain, but it just comes to me naturally to obey orders."

"I see." Natural talent he doesn't possess. Not the best advice he can give.

"Like how academic subjects come naturally to you. It interests you and you're more predisposed towards it." Bertholdt gives Armin a tentatively warm smile.

"Oh," Armin replies. "I mean, that's a subject I'm just naturally interested in. It makes sense."

"That doesn't discredit it."

"I suppose so."

At the end of the day, his interest is just that: interest. He still has to study, but it's just easier for him than it is for most others. He wouldn't exactly call it fair.

Armin considers getting up and leaving to get ready for the evening, but Bertholdt beats him to it and Armin decides to stay. When he returns, he's got two packaged bars of field rations in hand. He gives one to Armin, and Armin figures that he's going to eat anyway. Being handed this doesn't count as being carried.

They sit in silence for a while, eating their rations to the sound of the rain increasingly intensely pouring down on the tent's roof and the occasional water droplet dripping off of either's body. Armin takes the time to fully recover and let his heart settle down, pressing his hands over his clothes to get the worst of the water out. It's starting to get frigid now that the sun is setting and he's no longer moving around. If he's unlucky, he can still get hypothermia or succumb to pneumonia. Yet another thing he's gotta persevere through.

"Hey," Bertholdt breaks the comfortable silence after a good ten minutes after they're both done eating. "I hope you didn't bring any books with you on this trip?"

"Oh, no," Armin laughs. "No extra weight on endurance exercises. Anything I can leave out of my bag, I leave out. It's not like I have the energy to read when I pass out as soon as we're allowed to during these. Besides, it's been pretty bad pretty recently, I didn't want to risk it."

"That's lucky. I've looked through my bag and half of the things I brought got wet."

"Did you bring anything, then?"

"No."

"No materials we can produce can block out all water. It looks like we'll be sleeping in wet sleeping bags and wet clothes tonight."

"Should I leave to give you some privacy to change into something a little drier?" Bertholdt asks, already shifting to sit on his knees instead.

"Oh, no. I still have my tent to set up in the rain outside, they'll get soaked anyway. I'll change when that's done."

Bertholdt is silent for a moment, then crawls to the back to reach for his stuff. "Take my tent. I don't mind having to set up another one."

"No!" Armin instantly retorts.

Bertholdt stops and looks back at him with inquisitive interest. "It's no issue, really. I can do it–"

"I want to do this myself," Armin explains. He's already clasping his cloak back over his collarbones. "After all, I'll have to be capable of doing this should I ever be stranded out on my own, no?"

At that, he gives Bertholdt a confident smile. Bertholdt returns a milder version of it, sitting back again and yielding. "Okay. Good luck."

Armin nods at him, then grabs his backpack and opens the tent flap. Before he leaves, he looks back. "Thank you for saving me out there. And for the talk."

"Yeah, of course, Armin. It's no problem."

They part ways and Armin faces the tempest that has been brewing out there, reinvigorated to prove his worth to the group and pull his own weight.

When they depart, early in the morning of the next day, it goes about the same as always. They pack up their tents and head out, and not even ten minutes in, Armin falls behind. The weather has by now degraded into being just nasty rain, but that doesn't change much about Armin's physical condition.

But there is one small difference. Far in the distance, someone always hovers behind the rest of the group, never leaving Armin's sight no matter how far the others get. The soldier throws an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder every once in a while, when he thinks that Armin doesn't see, but Armin's eyes are keen. He knows.

He usually runs at the head of the group, so it's a clear deliberate choice to keep an eye on Armin, in his own distant, noncommittal way. It's so obvious, but something about the effort makes it endearing more than it makes him feel patronised.

At least, Armin knows that he's got someone to look out for him every now and again.