Bertl and Annie are so much easier to write than Reiner. O.o

Disclaimer: I don't own SnK.

Notes: I need to write my essays, dammit! Oh: and JeanMarco = asdfgh OTP = *sobbing forever*

Three Warriors

xxx. rain .xxx

He found himself curled up by Connie's bunk, a beam of moonlight illuminating his top half. The sun had yet to rise, and most of his fellow trainees tucked away in various positions, while his own mattress was empty, the blanket stripped halfway between his toes and where Reiner bunked below him. No longer was this a predicament for him; he had found himself in far stranger places, stranger times, with bewildered faces before him. (Jean, for one, had not appreciated the one time he found the gentle giant sprawled across his chest, though Marco found it endearing.)

Speaking of Marco, said freckled boy was currently poised above Bertholdt, a spare blanket in hand.

"You looked cold," whispered the other dark-haired trainee, offering a wan smile. There were dark circles under Marco's eyes; he'd had a tough day of training, and being knocked into the dirt by a hastily flying Jaeger had given him quite the bruising. (Jean had, rather indignantly, demanded to know where the impressively large purple spot on Marco's cheek had come from; Marco refused to divulge the name of the unlucky soul that had knocked him squarely during fist-to-fist combat.)

"Thanks," Bertholdt replied, accepting the blanket. He really should've returned to his bunk, but there were some nights were he felt more comfortable leaning against the wall or sitting cross-legged beneath the window, bathing in the moonlight. He sometimes found a silent companion in the ill-tempered, arrogant Jean, who contemplated whether the stars he saw were the same his family saw at home. Bertholdt found it intriguing; the fact that Jean attempted to tiptoe past Marco, and that Marco always kept an eye on the other boy despite pretending to be asleep.

"Will it rain?" asked Marco softly.

Befuddled, Bertholdt expressionlessly glanced at his classmate. He was rewarded with a tired smile and a brief chuckle before Marco padded back to his bunk and promptly fell asleep.

Will it rain? What do you think, Bertholdt? Will tomorrow be a good day to set out?

Suddenly the floor was cold and the moonlight harsh on his skin. The eerie lunar glow failed to comfort him, and he quickly heaved himself to his feet.

Jean wasn't outside on the porch tonight, so Bertholdt found himself occupying the usually taken spot just through the cabin's threshold. A nervous sweat began to soak his shirt, but he ignored it; cold shivers ran down his spine.

So, when someone quietly stepped onto the porch stairs, tugging at her sweater as the wooden boards creaked beneath her feet, he was so frozen that he could hardly startle.

She sat down beside him.

And when the door behind him opened with a heave and a wheeze, he shuddered with relief because now there were two people to lend him warmth, and they sat beside him until the sun came up, and one forgot his reason for sitting there, and the other donned her mask of icy indifference.

But he was never alone.

"Marco," he called softly, waiting for the boy with the smattering of freckles on his cheeks to turn.

"What's up, Bertholdt?"

"It'll be sunny today."

/chapter

idek.

bertl-turtle.