guh this is because I'm hungry too

Disclaimer: SnK is not mine. But I do worship freckled jesus.

Note: tumblr's muns are trolling me O.o

Note 2: foood.

Note 3: more foooood.

Three Warriors

xxx. hopeful .xxx

The bread is stale, but he can't complain. He shuffles to the dimly lit tavern, an old, shabby place with creaking boards and a once-filled liquor cabinet. Now, it stands out, the wooden frames stark and lonely within the shop. There's an old man wiping down the dishes, and he casts them a sad glance before looking away.

"Tomorrow, let's try the next town in," he suggests.

Bertholdt offers a dubious shrug, gnawing skeptically on his rock of a bread roll.

"Maybe we'll run into Annie."

Bertholdt shrugs again, and Reiner supposes that he won't be getting any answers out of the taller boy any time soon. Ever since Annie scooped them up on her shoulders and ran for an eternity until they reached a ferry station — where they'd slipped amongst the frantic passengers with startling ease — Bertholdt had been deadly quiet.

Now, with a meek nibble on his hardly edible bread, Bertholdt sits himself down on an empty barstool and swings his legs back and forth, pensive.

"Hey," calls Reiner. "Tomorrow we'll look for her, okay?"

No response; not that he expects one from the dark-haired, brooding Bertholdt. Sighing, Reiner plops himself unceremoniously beside his companion, disinterestedly picking at his roll. They sit there in affable silence, neither saying a word to the other, each to their own meticulous chewing — they complain of sore jaws, Bertholdt as he rubs his face gently, and Reiner by his consistently loud whines — and thinking.

True to his word, Reiner takes the lead and the next day, they're meandering to the next town, stocked up with a grand total of three rolls of bread and a slab of old cheese a kind old woman was generous enough to offer them.

"This would be so much faster with Annie," Reiner states bluntly.

Bertholdt casts him an exasperated glance.

"I know, that's why we're looking for Annie."

Bertholdt shakes his head.

Reiner shrugs, slinging their insufficient pack fashioned out of a scrapped strip of tarp over his shoulder. They walk for a day and a night, and then maybe some more, because neither can remember.

Eventually, Bertholdt starts talking, if only to ease the boredom and keep both of them from going insane. After all, it takes Reiner fifty-two children's songs strung on endless repeat for Bertholdt to hoarsely join in and add the parts that his stocky blond friend doesn't remember.

They eat the cheese before it goes bad, and even though it leaves a dank, sticky feeling in their mouths, its sustenance, and they're trudging down the worn path with one and a half rolls left and twenty-four more songs to sing.

It's only luck that they find Annie a town and a farm later, chewing on a similarly hard chunk of bread, faring twenty times better than they could have ever hoped to.

The raunchy punch lines and offensive jabs are not what endear Connie to Reiner. It's the boy's relatively easygoing personality that catches the muscular blond by surprise, and he watches the exchange between resident joker and infamous potato girl with mild amusement. He realizes, with a wry smile, that his fellow trainees have truly grown on him.

"Reiner, you're on dish duty today," is what Millius tells him, and he graciously accepts because dish duty is practically equivalent with a soapsuds battle. Reiner knows very well that Eren and Jean are two worthy opponents in the battlefield that is the sink and kitchen.

But even before that, Reiner sits himself down for lunch, his stomach growling at the very sight of Eren spooning soup into his mouth and Mikasa downing a loaf of bread before Sasha can even dream of reaching it.

He recalls being delighted by the fact that the camp bread was considerably less rock-like than the type of baked earth he'd lived on for the past few years. Bertholdt, who hardly ever says a thing, actually exclaims, "It's good!" to himself upon eating the bread. (Across the room, Reiner catches Annie's eye, but the petite girl simply shoots him a glare that makes him appreciate the fact that they'd found her, but yet dread ever making eye contact again).

Morning arrives with, more often than not, Bertholdt hanging halfway off his upper bunk and maybe Armin wailing because the poor soul is being teased again. Reiner pushes his way out the door first, dressed and ready, and trots down to the dining hall. He has to look twice, because there's Bertholdt, sitting quietly at the table, sipping a cup of something.

"I thought you were still in your bunk," Reiner begins, but is cut off by a pair of fingers pinching arm so hard he yelps pathetically.

He looks down.

"Anni—"

She shoves a cup of that something into his hands, and he almost drops the mug in his surprise.

"—nnie?"

He thinks he must be dreaming, because how could Bertholdt teleport and since when did Annie ever interact with him and is that apple cider?

How in the world Annie obtained a precious, rare export of produce is beyond him. He hasn't seen an apple, let alone apple cider since he was seven, and even then, his father and Bertholdt's father had taken off on a life-or-death mission to the only fruit orchard they knew of. To say the least, Reiner saw his uncle come back with a leg almost bitten off, and was horrified into crying that he never wanted apple cider again if it meant that his family might lose their arms and legs and even their heads.

But there it is, right in his hands, and Reiner takes a tentative sip.

It's warm and sweet and tangy and perfect, and it's got the kick of spice he likes at the end, the subtlety of taste from their hometown; the one that Annie, of course, knows well.

"Thanks, Annie!"

Expectedly, she ignores him and shoulders her way past the incoming recruits, to disappear toward the other side of the hall and settle next to Mina. But Reiner doesn't mind, because the cider is soothing on his tongue and throat, yet also flavorful and zesty, and he savors the drink like it's the fountain of youth.

"It's good," Bertholdt murmurs, and this time it's Reiner that doesn't say a thing, only nodding in blissful agreement.

But the moment is ruined by Connie and Sasha, who ask what it is they're drinking, and when Sasha's impeccably sharp nose catches a whiff of precious apple, they're on the two titan-shifters' tails like mad hounds, and Reiner has a split second to down the rest of his cider in one gallant swig — albeit a good one — before running for his life.

Again, Bertholdt does his magic, and he's gone like a ghost; to Reiner's dismay, the tall, stoic Fubar has left him to his own devices, which include running away from the insanely fast combo of idiots nearly stepping on his heels.

It's troublesome, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Oddly enough, Reiner doesn't long for the decent mushroom soup that Shadis dishes out, or even the savory apple cider he wishes he had more time to appreciate — instead, he's perched in a tree wistfully thinking of hard bread rolls, the kind he can chew on for hours and hours and pretend that the stomach has been filled because he's been crunching on its inhospitable crust for the past hour or so.

He almost wishes nothing would happen for the moment; a good hour of rest would do him wonders. But as he considers sitting down for a moment, he knows it's not to be, because the next thing he knows, he's flinging titans at the Scouting Legion, and his stomach is as empty as his heart.

But, at least, he figures he might find an apple orchard on the way home.

Optimistic, this one is.

/chapter

Annie headcanon: she's a good chef.