Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s heard somewhere that there could be answers at the bottom of a bottle.

But after seeing two that looked like nothing but smooth glass and tasted like nothing but warm bitterness and left an acrid furry feeling on his tongue, it was almost hard to remember why he’d even bothered searching in the third. But there was still more left, and Reiner hadn’t stirred from his sleep, and Pieck hadn’t said a word to stop him.

Not that she would.

Not when she understood.

Not when she felt the same sadness and despair, one she covered up by sitting quietly and worrying over everyone but her.

Porco slouched forward, letting the weight of his head drop, letting his neck hang loosely from his shoulders.

His head was full of buzzing thoughts, ones not even the bottles could silence. In the barracks it was impossible to let them out, he couldn’t bleed them off as yelling or turn them into fuel for a fight. Besides, the man he usually fought had already been beaten. Reiner had let himself be caught, let himself be insulted, let himself take the brunt of anger for them.

Reiner had saved him.

Not that he deserved to be saved.

The man lying on the bed twitched, a groan escaping him.

Porco looked over, and shook his head.

There was no end to all this pointless anger, but it was all he’d had for so long. The wheels of the world were turning and he had no idea where they were taking them all. Not even Pieck knew. But the way Reiner shifted, restless, a frown etched into his forehead. He’d known all along.

Maybe it was time to stop punishing him.

Maybe it was time to stop.

A gasp cut through the heavy silence. Reiner sat up with a start, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his brow. He looked down at himself, the surprise evident. Like he didn’t believe he was alive. Like he didn’t want to be.

“Have a nightmare or something?” Porco didn’t need to ask, but he was tired of this silence and this wine and this scene playing over and over.

He was tired of this feud. Tired of war. Tired of asking himself if he’d wake up and who of his friends wouldn’t.

He offered the rest of the bottle to Reiner. There wasn’t much left. But there was something. And maybe the answers still sat at the bottom of this one.

“If only it was all a dream.”

If only.

Chapter Text

Sunday was race day. Kenny always said he didn’t like priests and gospel nonsense. Said he didn’t believe in no miracles from anyone else’s grubby hands. Said he’d rather pray to Lady Luck. So, instead of struggling on the starched, itchy, white button down and combing his hair with water until it sat flat in the back like he had when Mom had been alive, Levi pulled on a hand-me-down little league t-shirt with the arms cut off and climbed onto the passenger seat of Kenny’s old pickup.

The track was thirty minutes away, and the sun beat down hot in the car, making Levi drowsy as Kenny rolled the windows down and cussed out the broken a/c. Once they rolled onto the highway it didn’t matter, too much air blew in through the windows like a humid hurricane and buffeted against Levi’s lolling head as the radio blared country music.  

That Sunday, for the first time Levi could remember, there were real, live horse at the racetrack. Levi ran up to the fence while Kenny went off to get his race program. Brown and black, even a few gray horses made their paces along the dusty track. Tall and lean, their coats shiny in the heat, Levi watched them eagerly.

The horses were interesting up close.

Usually they just ran by on the screens inside the track building. He’d sit, fidgeting, next to Kenny, bored beyond belief as his uncle watched and pored over his books. When he got too bored, legs itching to do more than just kick back and forth in front of the high wooden bench, Levi would slip quietly away. He’d run around the uneven, sloping floors of the concrete hall, tennis shoes slapping. Dodging old men who held the morning paper two inches from their face as they waddled through the building, skipping out of the way of already-drunk good-for-nothings who stunk and lurched.

He’d always find himself down by the track.

Empty, uncovered, its scoreboard dark, the green grass beautifully mowed but in all other ways abandoned.

But today it was full of horses, and handlers, and riders, and staff. They wheeled out the big metal gate, one Levi had seen on plenty of screens, that looked much bigger and much brighter in the summer sun. The horses wore socks, or masks on their faces. Their handlers decked out in bright colors and numbers as they paraded the animals. Levi stared, mesmerized by the muscular beasts and healthy, shining coats. If he looked closely, he could almost imagine their personalities. One pranced as it walked, short high steps that were light and pretty, just how Levi imagined a fancy lady would. One kept flicking its head aside, uninterested in its handler’s instructions. A third raised its tail and- oh, shit. Levi wrinkled his nose. That horse just shit. It just shit in the middle of the track. Gross.

A whack on his shoulder made him turn around. Kenny held the program, already folded over and smacked him lightly on the head with it.

“Get inside. Races are starting.”

Levi’s face scrunched up, disappointment welling.

“I wanna’ see the horses.”

“You can inside.”

“You’re not betting on the TV?”

Kenny shook his head ‘no’. Levi’s eyes widened. Kenny always bet on the TV. He bet on three or four. Always.

“You’re not betting on the TV, so we can watch out here.” Levi didn’t say it as a question. He knew Kenny didn’t like too many of those.

For a moment Levi was afraid Kenny would get mad. His uncle got that faraway look as he stared out over the track. Sometimes that look wasn’t a good one. But this time was fine, and Kenny looked down at him and just gave an exasperated sigh. “Alright. Can smoke out here anyway.” He dug in his back pocket, pulling out a smashed carton of cigarettes and lighting one up as he trudged over to a picnic table behind them.

Levi turned back to the horses. They were still being walked around, but their riders had joined them this time. They wore bright uniforms, helmets with a small bill, their sporty look sleek and exciting. Levi wondered what it would be like, to be one of them. To ride a horse, to feel it moving with all those muscles and all that power, to go around the track and see it from high up on horseback.

He leaned on the chain-link fence, pressing himself close to the hot metal, imagining riding in the race. An announcement came over the loudspeaker that last bets were being taken. The larger-than-usual crowd shifted and murmured. Levi didn’t have to look back to know that Kenny had already gotten up to go place his bets at the window. Counting out old folded bills, smoothing them in his palm before handing them over reluctantly. Kenny might be a gambling man, but he didn’t bet lightly. Each dollar was gas, and soap, and cigarettes, and bread, and eggs, and never enough of those. So, Kenny only bet on a sure thing.

That’s what he said.

The horses lined up, getting into the confined space of their individual gates, and Levi felt excitement bubble in his empty stomach. His fingers tensed on the fence, metal digging into his skin. With the crack of a shot, the horses were off, and Levi sucked in a quick breath, eyes wide, attention trained on the track. They surged forward, legs pounding the earth, kicking up dust as they sped around the curve. Moving so fast, Levi could barely believe how the jockeys held on, standing up in their saddles and moving with the horses. Around the tight curve they fought for the inside, two already falling behind.

On the back stretch they looked small, much further away, and Levi realized just how big the track was. On TV they were always close, always the same size with the camera trained on them. But here he could see how fast they really were, how they fought for position and sped down the track. On the curve they went out of view, hidden by pretty plantings and equipment. Maybe if Levi was taller he could see them, but he’d just have to wait, holding his breath, wondering if the horse he’d seen at the front would still be there when they reappeared.

As they rounded the turn, Levi could see that they’d spread out. The ones at the front pushed hard. They were so close to each other, almost glued together, all trying to be first. As the track straightened, Levi held his breath. The horses plummeted through the dirt. Closer, faster, getting larger. Dirt kicking up, sweat shining on their bodies, riders crouching: poised. Two ran neck and neck at the front. But a third was picking up the pace, making a final move. As they neared the finish line it pulled alongside, one of the original two falling back. With a final burst it strained forward. Neck leaning, body full of speed. As they plummeted past the finishing posts the newcomer got ahead. By a neck. No, by a hair. Barely, but he made it.

Levi let out a breath. The horse had won by so little, the other places were so tight was well. He’d have to wait for the numbers to flash on the scoreboard to know who had even come in third. Staring at the horses as they began to walk and cool themselves, jockeys dismounting as they were hosed down and cared for, he let his grip loosen on the chain-link fence. The metal was too hot after all now that the excitement was over.

Levi heard and felt a whack and looked up to see his uncle frowning down from the brim of his big old hat. Kenny blew a lungful of smoke out the side of his mouth.

“Oi, Brat.” Levi tried to read his uncle’s weathered face and failed.

“Want a hotdog? Won the Superfecta.” Pointing with the rolled-up program, Kenny indicated the scoreboard. “Lucky fucking 8, 3, 7, and 10. Good horses.”

Levi nodded eagerly as his stomach growled to life. He was going to get mustard, and ketchup, and onions, but none of that gross sweet relish stuff. Kenny gave him a look that wasn’t a frown, where the wrinkles in his forehead look a little less deep, one that Levi sometimes saw him get when he looked at old pictures of Mom.

“Hell, Runt, I’ll buy you two.”