Someone Find Me
Then
No one would've thought they'd become friends. Jean Kirschtein, a brash boy who always spoke his mind, and Marco Bott, kind-hearted and always paying attention to others, were an unusual pair for sure.
Just like Bertolt and Reiner.
"You two grew up together, didn't you?" Marco asked one night. His freckles stood out under the lantern's light in the barracks. He'd been making it his mission to get to know another training corp member each night. Tonight, his victim was Bertolt.
"Yes," Bertolt said. He and Reiner had rehearsed their story many times, enough that Bertolt almost believed it himself.
"Must be nice to have a childhood friend," Marco said.
Nearby, Jean snorted and stretched out on the bottom bunk. "What are friends but people you want something from?"
Marco looked appalled. "That's not true. Friends are more than people you just use!"
As Jean and Marco started debating, Bertolt wanted to retreat. Go back to his bunk with Reiner.
But then he'd be reminded of how he and Reiner were not really friends. Companions, maybe. Allies, definitely. But friends? If Marco was to be believed, then he and Reiner were not friends. Perhaps they only stuck with each other because it was easier; easier when you knew your fellow liar, knew their strengths, and knew their fears.
Now
"Wait! We haven't even had a chance to talk about this yet!"
It isn't Marco's last expression—shock, terror, betrayal—that shakes Bertolt most. It is those words. That, even with a titan's teeth inches from his neck, Marco thinks they might be rational enough to talk it through.
Reiner's split persona, Annie's aloofness, Bertolt's silence. All of them have developed ways to cope, ways to hide the brokenness inside. And yet Marco still has faith in them. His comrades, his friends.
But were they really ever friends? Or did Bertolt just use Marco and the others in a game of pretend, easing away his guilt by pretending to be a soldier? If he really cared for them, he wouldn't have let Marco be eaten right before him and do nothing.
Later, Jean clutches a crumbling bone, his body bending, tears leaking from his eyes, and Bertolt turns away.
Then
Sasha and Connie were like twins—open, energetic, a little thick at times—and were some of Reiner's biggest admirers. Bertolt understood why. Reiner was nothing like the boy he'd first met. Here, he was full of confidence and charisma, a natural leader.
But Bertolt felt the same as ever.
Sasha and Connie's dynamics amused him, but they also made him uncomfortable. Which was why, when they started observing his sleeping positions, he didn't know how to react.
"Bertolt," Connie said, "you should've seen yourself today. You were like this"—he held his arms out dramatically—"and your head was twisted like this—and your leg was thrown over the side of the bed!"
"Rain!" Sasha cried. "It means rain!"
"No, definitely not," Connie said. "It has to be rain and hail."
Bertolt gave a hesitant smile. What he wouldn't give to be as carefree as these two. What would the 104th have been like without them? He didn't want to imagine it.
Now
Reiner's titan hand covers Bertolt, blocking out the sun. Eren's weight presses against Bertolt's back, a physical reminder of his burden.
"Hey . . . you're kidding, right? Bertolt? Reiner?" It's Connie. His voice pierces right through Bertolt's ears. "This whole time . . . you kept quiet and deceived us?"
"You guys!" Sasha now, disbelieving, desperate. "Please, tell us it was all a lie!"
Jean takes over now, and Bertolt tries drowning his words out, but it's no use. "To think that you, the invader, could sleep like a log . . . right next to your victims."
Bertolt imagines Jean's disgusted face. If only he knew . . . that Bertolt has never slept peacefully since that day. He would dream—of hanged men, of towering, tiny walls, of a smiling titan—and his body would shift itself through the night, trying to escape.
"Was everything just a lie?" Connie demanded. "Tell me! What were you thinking this whole time?"
He wants to believe the time they spent together was true—he thinks some of it is—and part of him almost grovels for their forgiveness; admits that they should die to atone for what they've done.
Except Bertolt doesn't want to die. He knows, in the cycle of things, their actions are ultimately pointless. If it wasn't them, it would've been someone else. And more than anything, he realizes, he just wants someone to acknowledge that.
Acknowledge that, perhaps, none of this is his fault.
Then
Krista Lenz was another spot of sunshine within the cadets, a peacekeeper like Marco. It must've been this nature of theirs that caused them to seek out those who most needed them; for Marco, it was Jean. And for Krista, it was Ymir.
And yet, Ymir was more often the one doing the seeking. Wherever Krista was, Ymir would pop up, throwing her arms around the shorter girl.
Bertolt didn't quite know why, but something about them also felt . . . different. Sometimes, while others were laughing at one of Sasha and Connie's antics, Krista's smile would waver. Ymir would notice and inch closer to her, whispering something in her ear.
Once, Ymir caught Bertolt watching and snarled at him. "What are you looking at?"
"It's okay, Ymir," Krista said, then glanced over at him, her large eyes curious. "It's just Bertolt."
Bertolt's heart sank, though he couldn't say why. What would they do if they knew what he really was? A murderer, a liar, a traitor? The most powerful titan of all?
For a moment, he'd thought they might have something in common, something to hide. But now he knew he was wrong.
Now
They've failed. Eren and Krista have both escaped.
Five years they've been here and have nothing to show for it. Bertolt wants nothing more than to go home, see his mother, and sleep in his bed.
"If you all hadn't come to break the wall," Ymir says, stretching out after Reiner asks why she's here, "I never would've woken up from that nightmare. . . . All I'm doing is returning what I borrowed back then."
Ymir, who was always looking forward, who never cared about what other people thought of her. Because she insisted they take Krista with them, they'd been unable to escape sooner. Yet it seems like even she can feel regret, for both that and a long-ago action that wasn't her fault.
"I'm probably the only one who understands the situation you're in," she says.
Bertolt has never known Ymir's story, and he probably never will. Has she, too, killed thousands? Has she followed orders simply because she was too helpless to fight them? That doesn't seem like her.
But he hadn't ever thought she'd come to save them either. So he says, "Thank you, Ymir. . . . I'm sorry . . ."
She is strong, stronger than he'll ever be, and she is the only reason Bertolt and Reiner might be able to live a while longer.
They're finally going home.
Then
Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert. Three trainees who had witnessed the destruction of Shiganshina District. This alone was unsettled Bertolt. But it wasn't only their past; it was the way the three of them advanced toward the future.
Right after Bertolt had transformed into the Colossal Titan and kicked in the wall of Shiganshina, he'd emerged within the smoke, ready to infiltrate the city when—the first titan appeared, as if it had been waiting. He'd frozen, yet the titan paid him no mind. Its blond hair framed a hideous, smiling face that.
Before, the only titans Bertolt knew were the shifters. He only knew the heady rush of power that came when he transformed into the Colossal, the elite technique of the Female Titan, the speed of the Jaw, the strength of the Armored.
But . . . the titan that had eaten Marcel. The titans that had chased them all the way to the wall. Bertolt finally understood why people were scared of them. Why they were revolted by them. Why the blood running through their veins was so vile. And Bertolt's legs shook.
When Eren and Armin approached Bertolt and Reiner for advice on the three-dimensional gear and he heard their story, he envied them. He couldn't understand why the two of them would ever choose to fight the titans. And yet somehow they'd been able to overcome their fears.
Bertolt found himself not only telling the hanged man's story that he'd stolen, but also some of the truest words he'd ever spoken:
"I don't have a will of my own."
"Valuing your life is nothing to be ashamed of," Armin said quickly, but Bertolt wasn't sure he believed him. Soldiers were expected to offer their lives; warriors were threatened into ending them. Were Bertolt's actions merely selfish, placing his own life above others, or were they natural? Was his "will" a desire for life, or was it simply a manifestation of his weakness?
If only he'd seen what these three would become. Eren, leading the other two with his unwavering determination. Mikasa, whose prowess in battle earned her the undisputed top spot. And Armin . . .
He was similar to Bertolt, quiet and unassuming, overshadowed by his companions. Yet he still managed to do more than Bertolt had ever accomplished. He was able to transform his weak will for the sake of his friends. He was able to became Bertolt's downfall because if there was one person who could take down the Colossal—it was him.
But Bertolt knew none of this at the time. None of them did. When Eren laughed at Reiner's humiliation, and Annie agreed to spar with Mikasa, Bertolt watched them all fondly. He watched as Armin's eyes followed Annie's movements before they flickered, once, to Bertolt.
Now
Mikasa had always been a master of her expression. Yet as she whirled toward Bertolt, her blades extended, he saw just a hint of hesitation.
That hesitation saved his life.
It might've been better if she'd been able to kill him. If he'd died then, the others might have regretted it, maybe still believing he and Reiner could've been absolved. Now, though, none of their past comrades will mourn them.
"You're the one who's supposed to have the greatest ability," Reiner says as they jog along the wall, the Scouts only minutes away, "yet you leave it to others when it matters."
Bertolt's never learned why he'd been given this power. He's a good shot, but he's always been one to doubt. He doubted when Reiner declared they should continue their mission. He doubted Reiner's decision to reveal themselves to Eren. He's doubted if their country is really doing the right thing.
Because he knows that their plan has always hinged on his power. If he'd said no, just once, then they might not be here now.
This, some part of him secretly knows, is exactly why he was chosen to inherit the Colossal Titan. Because the Marleyan officials knew he'd be too weak to ever use the power against them.
"To be honest," Reiner continues, "I never thought you were reliable. Up until now."
Bertolt almost stumbles at those words. What has changed? He doesn't get the chance to ask before the two part ways, but Reiner's voice echoes inside him.
At Reiner's roar, Zeke throws the barrel with Bertolt inside, and as he flies through the air, he feels something loosening within his chest. He's made mistakes, but so has everyone. Now, though, he'll do his job. He'll prove to Reiner that he can do this and blow everyone apart. He lifts his hand—
He sees Reiner. Exposed.
Eren and the others are still close enough that he'd be able to take them out—but he'd also be sacrificing Reiner.
"Try thinking on your own for once."
Bertolt makes his decision.
Then
All their lives, the threat of the Eldians had hung over them. Eldians were evil and disgusting and worthless. But they could atone. They could atone if they, too, turned into monsters.
It seemed so simple back then. If they enlisted as warrior candidates and were chosen to inherit a titan, they'd become honorary Marleyans. And nothing was more desirable. It was his parents' suggestion to enlist, and like a dutiful son, he agreed.
Bertolt's first impression of Reiner Braun was one of camaraderie. Reiner seemed small in comparison to the other candidates, a little unimpressive. When Porco shoved him to the ground, there was something about Reiner lying there, gasping for breath and sweaty-faced, that stirred Bertolt. He thought that maybe Reiner was like him.
But then Reiner changed.
Marcel was eaten, and Reiner took on the role of leadership. Reiner the Warrior became Reiner the Soldier, and he started running, faster than Bertolt could keep up.
Their differences were apparent whenever Reiner threw an arm around Connie or flirted with Krista. And yet, they were always together. Bertolt knew Reiner didn't really view him as a friend, but his attention made Bertolt feel special. He was the only one who knew both of Reiner's sides and knew of the agony within. Their shared secret comforted Bertolt at night, knowing that despite everything, he'd always be Reiner's closest companion.
Bertolt's first impression of Annie Leonhart was of intimidation. She was cold and lethal, unattainable. But once they joined the training corps, something about her softened. Was it the irresistible charm of Marco and Krista? The comedic eagerness of Sasha and Connie? Jean and Ymir's candidness?
Most of all, Bertolt thought it was Eren's admiration, Mikasa's challenge, and Armin's trust.
Bertolt wasn't exactly sure why he liked Annie, but he knew his crush would always be unrequited. Because why would anyone see anything in him?
It was dark outside, shadows converging over Bertolt and Reiner as they snuck away from the Survey Corps to meet with Annie. It'd only been a few weeks since she joined the Military Police, but it seemed like longer; Bertolt had missed the way she held one arm close to her body, a shield she could quickly turn into a weapon.
"His location?" she asked, not bothering with greetings.
In a few days, they'd embark past Wall Rose, and it would be up to Annie to regain the Founding Titan. And Annie alone would face the consequences if caught.
They didn't know then that it would be the last time the three of them were ever together, but they knew that was a chance. And if Annie failed, they wouldn't try to save her. There was too much at stake, things much bigger than a fragile alliance and a boy's crush.
If Annie did not make it, then Reiner and Bertolt would carry on the mission. They had sworn a warrior's oath to each other, and they would follow through to the end.
Now
As Bertolt looks up at the gaping maw of the titan reaching for him—he knows it's Armin. Knows that somehow, Armin whom he'd burned to a crisp, is taking his revenge.
Moments ago, he'd made peace with his actions. He'd made his decision. But he doesn't want this—he doesn't want the Colossal taken from him—he wants to live longer than the thirteen years prescribed to him—who could want this—please—
He screams for his lost comrades.
He hopes they're already dead, so they can't face this torture.
He hopes they're alive, so they might come save him.
There is pain, and then there is Bertolt. And perhaps Bertolt eclipses even the feelings of having skin rent apart, blood soaking molars, and muscles chewed on like candy.
Bertolt is all pain, but he is also more. He is sorrow. Shame. Envy. He is purpose lost, childhood stolen, honor never given.
He is there in the present one moment, and then he is gone. Lifted to a plane he can no longer operate. Viewing the world from a distance, he hears thoughts not his own, sees blond hair swinging in the edges of his vision, and tastes blood on his tongue.
He has no body, no face, no eyes, but he cries all the same.
A/N: I originally wrote this for the Reluctant Heroes zine. I've always been drawn to Bertolt for some reason. I know a lot of people hate him and Reiner, and I definitely understand that, but with this story, I've tried to look a bit deeper into his character and come up with reasons for his actions. By the way, the title comes from his and Reiner's character song.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
~ J. Dominique