Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air tasted like ash and iron, gritty on Reiner's tongue as he stepped into the open. Smoke coiled around his shoulders like a shroud, carried on the wind from Liberio's burning husk behind him. Buildings crumbled in the distance, spitting embers into a sky gone rust-red, and beneath it all came the wails—the shrill keening of children, the guttural cries of soldiers, the haunting silence between shell blasts. 

Each breath scraped his throat raw. The acrid stink of oil, blood, and scorched flesh clung to his lungs, and beneath his boots, the ground crunched with shattered glass and pulverized brick. The earth itself felt wounded, quaking with the footfalls of Titans far off in the distance. 

He hadn't wanted to come back, not like this. Not to fight children. Not to bury more innocents beneath rubble and fire, under the weight of sins that were never truly his to begin with. 

But war didn't care what he wanted. War didn't ask. 

The heat kissed his cheeks like a furnace's breath. He ached, deep. And still, the only thing that filled his mind... was her. 

Her voice. Her touch. The way she used to look at him when he couldn't look at himself

Was this what she'd seen that day? When Wall Maria fell, when fire bloomed across Shiganshina and the screams rose like a tide?

He had begged her not to stay in Paradis. Pleaded with her to come with him—to escape the hell he'd helped create. He remembered that moment with razor clarity, having run the scene through his head a million times. 

The trees in the forest had stood very still, as if the whole world was holding its breath. Their branches arched high above like cathedral ceilings, sunlight filtering through in pale gold ribbons. The wind had died, the leaves quiet, bearing solemn witness to a thousand years of blood-soaked history.

Reiner leaned back against the rough bark of an old pine, its cold, sappy texture biting through the fabric of his uniform. His breath fogged in the crisp morning air, hanging ghostlike before dissolving into the silence. The forest was pale and still, the frost shimmering like powdered glass across the underbrush. Every exhale sounded too loud. Every minute stretched like wire.

She's late. 

The thought gnawed at him—not with annoyance, but with dread. Maybe she wasn't coming. Maybe she'd already guessed what this was about and decided she couldn't bear to hear it out loud.

Then—crunch. Footsteps. Measured. Hesitant.

He straightened. Heart thudding hard beneath his ribs, Reiner almost didn't want to look. Not yet. Not if it meant remembering how her face looked when she said goodbye. 

But he did. And gods, there she was. 

She stopped a few feet away, haloed by the morning light breaking through the trees behind her. Her breath curled in white wisps around her face, already flushed pink from the cold. Strands of hair fell out from beneath her scarf, and the wind played with them gently. Her features were delicate but fierce, drawn tight with purpose and quiet fire. She had always been beautiful—too beautiful, Reiner had often thought. Not just for him, but for this world. And certainly for war. 

"You sent a note," she said. "Said it was urgent."

Reiner turned slowly, afraid his voice would choke him. Her face was unreadable—she had always been good at guarding herself. But those eyes of hers. Those damn eyes. They betrayed her every time. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, the words rasping out like splinters. 

She did not flinch. “I figured,” she said quietly. “The way you’ve been looking—like you’ve one foot out the gate already.”

He let out a sour smile. “You always saw right through me.”

Silence fell like wildfire ash between them. Weightless. Suffocating. 

Then he took a step forward, his boot crunching on the large branch’s bark. “You don’t have to stay,” he said, his voice hoarse from a sleepless night. “I can get you out. You and me both. We can leave tonight.”

She blinked slowly, processing the statement. She sighed, and her head tipped down. Her eyes rose to meet his again. “Run away?” 

“I-I mean…” He swallowed hard. His hands trembled. “We could leave it all behind. The war. The Titans. All of it. We could go somewhere—”

She was not entertained. “Where?” She snapped at him. 

“Anywhere!” He cried into the morning air. “No one would know us!”

“Again,” she barked, “I ask you, where, Reiner?” 

He stood shaking for a moment, frustrated and frantic. “I-I don’t know! We could go anywhere… Anywhere away from here!”

She stayed quiet. 

“We could just,” he hesitated, “I don’t know. I guess we could just… be.”

“Reiner,” she whispered, bringing her hand to rub her temples. There was steel in her words. “Do you really think either of us gets to just… be?” 

The air punched from his lungs. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. Tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. 

She stepped closer. The soft thud of her boots against the bark. Her breath touched his face, warm and sweet, like clove and cedar. It made his heart ache. 

“My home is here.” She might as well have reached into his mouth and twisted his guts herself. “I will fight. For my home.” 

He felt small, shrinking with every word. 

“My friends, my family, my home.” Her eyes bore into his. “They need me.”

His head snapped up. The words came out too fast, too bare. “I need you.”

The wind carried her silence like a bird. Her voice, when it came, was quiet—hurt. “You should have thought about that. Before you pursued me. Before you built something you knew you would leave behind. What did you think would happen?”

Her words struck like the edge of a blade—but they were true. “I don’t know,” he murmured. 

She scoffed. “I think you do know.” Accusatory. Strained. 

“I don’t know!” He screamed into the sky. He looked down quickly after, shame closing around his throat like chains. His chest heaved once, silent, hollow.

Silence. 

Then her hand reached out. Lightly, just for a moment, she touched his chest. Over his heart. Where the weight of the armored skin always lay heavy. Her palm was warm even through the cold.

She sighed. Her voice broke the quiet like glass. "Do you really have to leave?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. Just hung his head further, his chin touching the top of his collarbone and chest. She already knew

She nodded slowly. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I love you."

“I love you, too." He barely got it out

The wind moved between them like a spirit. The moment passed—just a breath in winter.

She turned. Her silhouette drifted into the trees, melting into the frost-hazed mist.

Reiner stood rooted, his hand hovering over the spot where hers had been. Warmth fading. Heart hammering.

He had never hated war more than he did right then.

If only they had left that second, that moment. Him, Bertolt, Pieck, Zeke. 

But they had not, and they could never take that back. 

Reiner's last day on Paradis began with fog on the horizon and ended in fire.

The blast ripped through Shiganshina like thunder made solid—a god's fist slamming into the earth. The air changed before it hit, a pressure drop like the sky itself was being pulled inside out. Then: impact. A roar that seemed to tear the color out of the world. Roof tiles exploded upward. Walls sheared clean off. Screams and stone and sky tangled into one.

One moment, Reiner stood on a crumbling rooftop, watching chaos descend like vultures. The next, he was airborne—flung like a ragdoll into fire and shrapnel. Burning timber, blood-wet brick, the splintered skeletons of homes—they collapsed around him, over him, crushing, smothering. He didn't remember hitting the ground. Just pain, blinding and raw. And then darkness.

When he clawed his way free, hands raw and bloody, ash coated his tongue like poison sugar. The sky above him was veiled in smoke and falling debris. The Beast Titan vanished into the haze—tall, terrible, indifferent—hurling stones like executioner's hammers, each one birthing new carnage.

Paradis was crumbling beneath his feet.

And (Y/N)—where was she?

The question burned hot on his tongue. 

He searched. For minutes. Hours. Maybe more. Time lost all shape. Gunfire cracked through the distance. The metallic zip-zip of ODM cables overhead. Distant screams rose, broke, vanished. 

But all he could hear was her voice. Her laughter. Her stubborn defiance. All he could see was her face. She was supposed to be near Station Six, she'd said. The grain depot.

That's where he ran.

When he found it, the world stopped.

Station Six wasn't there anymore—only the ghost of it. A blackened crater where the depot had once stood. Fire licked the remains of shattered beams. Smoke curled in thick, oily ribbons. The stench—burned flesh, scorched wood, charred stone—was thick enough to choke.

Reiner stumbled through the wreckage like a drunk, coughing, squinting through smoke and sweat. Then his foot caught on something.

A twisted, half-melted hunk of metal. 

ODM gear. 

He knelt slowly, fingers trembling as they brushed soot and blood from the surface. A faint engraving remained near the base. Barely visible. But there. 

Her initials. 

His breath caught. His knees gave out, and he sank fully into the ash, staring at it like it was a grave marker. 

"No..." The word cracked from him, hoarse and raw. "No, no, no..."

His voice vanished into the smoke.

He didn't cry. Wouldn’t. Couldn't. There were so many other losses he'd stacked on his back. But this felt different. This felt final.

Something inside him cracked—not loud, not dramatic. Just a quiet break. A fault line that had held for too long.

She was gone.

And it was his fault. Like everything.

He'd brought this war to her doorstep. Lied to her, even while he fell in love with her. He had chosen this path, and now the one person he would have burned the world down for was gone.

Another ghost swallowed by the fire.

That night, as Marley retreated and the smoke rose high enough to blot out the stars, Reiner sat in the Cart’s cabin. 

He didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't sleep. If he moved, if he let go—he'd have to accept it. 

Reiner stumbled down the street, boots crunching over shattered glass and splintered bones, lungs scraping in smoke and grief. The stench of scorched flesh and burning oil clung to the air. Each breath was a struggle. His limbs felt submerged in lead. 

He wasn’t sure how he was still walking. Or why he was still walking. 

A mechanical whir filled the air—ODM cables somewhere behind the smoke, followed by the heavy beat of propellers. Thunder overhead. Shadows passed across the rubble.

Reiner looked up. 

An airship. Their airship. 

He knew what that meant. Who it meant. 

“Fall back! We’re leaving, now!”

The voice sliced through the chaos like a knife. Urgent. Familiar.

Reiner’s head snapped toward it, heart suddenly pounding hard enough to echo in his ears. The smoke shifted, and through the haze of fire and falling ash—there she was. 

Flying. 

Graceful. Etherereal, even.

ODM cables hissed as she arced across the wreckage. The firelight through the smoke painted her in gold and shadow, like some mythic ghost caught between flame and sky. He saw her silhouette clearly for a moment, outlined against a crumbling wall, hair whipping behind her, boots crashing against broken stone. 

She moved like war was just a chant, and she knew every line.

His breath caught in his throat. She hadn't changed. 

He tripped over his feet a little, eyes latched to her figure. He stumbled and fell, hitting the stone hard. But he didn’t wince. He kept his eyes on her, like she might disappear. 

He made his way to his feet. 

She still carried herself like the weight of the world was something she'd long since learned to bear. But her face—her face was different. Hardened. There were more lines now in the corners of her mouth. Her eyes—God, her eyes—no longer held that fire of hope he’d held in such high regard years ago. They looked tired. Like the world could split, and they wouldn't be bothered to scream. A soldier’s eyes. 

Reiner felt his knees lock. How…

She was alive. 

She was alive. 

He didn't dare move, terrified the illusion would vanish if he blinked. She looked up—just for a second. Her eyes scanned the destruction, moving past corpses and flames and twisted steel. She raised her hand, pushing down the trigger to release another cable. She jumped, taking in the scene—until her eyes locked on his.

She faltered mid-swing. Just a heartbeat of hesitation, but enough. She landed with a heavier thud than usual, dust kicking up around her boots as her knees bent to catch the impact. She skidded to a stop in the rubble, blades still clenched in her shaking hands.

“Reiner,” she breathed.

His name. From her lips. A dead woman. Speaking. 

It shattered him. 

He couldn't speak. Couldn't blink. Could barely breathe.

The sound of her voice—something he'd replayed in dreams, in nightmares, in every damn second of the silence that followed Shiganshina—rang in his chest like a bell struck too hard.

She was supposed to be gone. Dead. Buried beneath rubble. Mourned. 

And now, there she was. Standing in the ruins of the only home he'd ever known. Real. Solid. Breathing. 

She stepped toward him, slow, tentative. Like she wasn't sure if he was real either. The hiss of her gear still lingered in the air, cables twitching at her sides. The heat of the fire danced behind her, and for a second, it lit the tears already drying on her cheeks. 

Reiner's chest rose too fast. His palms trembled at his sides.

“You…” His voice choked, rough from smoke and disbelief. “You’re here.”

(Y/N) nodded once, the motion stiff, the corners of her mouth twitching with careful emotion. “I told you I’d fight for my home.”

Reiner flinched like she'd hit him. The words lodged somewhere deep, scraping bone and memory.

He looked at her—really looked at her. The dirt smeared on her skin. The blood on her collar. The familiar way she tilted her head slightly when trying not to cry. He'd memorized every part of her in silence, all those years ago, and still—he was stunned. 

She was just as beautiful a the day he left, if not more. His gaze fell from her eyes to her nose, her lips, her jaw, her neck. 

Her neck… something new peeked from under her collar. Puckered and twisted skin—

Her lithe figure shifted, breaking his attention away and back to the matter at hand.

"And now you're fighting against me," he said, bitter and broken. It wasn't anger. It was agony.

She inhaled slowly, her chest rising against her black uniform. "I didn't want this."

"Then why?" he said, his voice suddenly desperate. "Why didn't you come with me? You could've been safe. I would've—"

She cut him off with a sharp motion, gesturing to the carnage. "Would've what? Saved me from this? Reiner, look around you!"

The world crackled behind her—embers drifting like fireflies from the skeleton of a home that still smoldered. 

"You chose Marley," she said, voice trembling with more emotion than she wanted to give. "I chose my people." 

Reiner swallowed a sob. He stepped forward, broken glass crunching beneath his boots. 

"I chose you ," he whispered. "I came back here thinking... maybe it could still matter. That maybe I could make it right. But seeing you in that gear..." His voice broke again. "I thought I'd lost you. Again." 

She looked down for a moment, lashes fluttering. A deep breath. When she looked back up, her eyes had darkened. 

"You don't get to be surprised, Reiner," she said sternly. "Not after everything. Not after you left." 

And that was it.

He wanted to scream. Tell her he never had a choice. That they fed him lies before he had a say in who he was. That he’d been a scared child pretending to be a hero. 

But all of that sounded hollow. None of it changed what he had done. 

She stepped closer, mere steps away. Her dull eyes looked up at his. “Reiner,” she whispered, harsh but loving. “I didn’t follow you because I knew this would happen.” Her voice was almost mournful. “I knew we’d see each other again. Just like this. Opposite ends of the same tragedy.” 

He stared at her like the flames might take her if he blinked. She stepped even closer, her breath tickling his neck. The heat of the fire danced in the strands of her hair. 

“I never stopped caring,” she whispered. “But I can’t go with you. Not now.”

Reiner’s fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, just brush her cheek, her jaw—

“(Y/N)! Let’s go!” 

Armin. 

She looked up. The grapple hissed again. The cables ripped her skyward toward the belly of the retreating airship. Smoke curled beneath her feet. 

She looked back—only once.

Reiner didn't wave. Didn't speak.

He watched her go, his hands clenched at his sides, his own mental armor crumbling like sand.

And then, as the echo of her ascent faded, he dropped to his knees in the ash and ruin of the world he could have shared.

Chapter Text

The roar of the engines faded into the smoke-choked sky, swallowed by ash and stars. The night hung heavy, thick with the scent of burning wood, scorched flesh, and wet iron. The airship was gone—its shadow already erased by the clouds above.

Reiner stayed on his knees.

His fingers curled against the fractured stone, knuckles split and bleeding, skin scraping raw against the rubble. The warmth where she had stood just moments ago—where her voice had trembled with memories and choices—was already leaching from the earth like spilled breath. Gone. Again.

But this time… she’d chosen to go.

Not death. Not disaster. Choice.

He let his head drop forward, greasy strands of hair clinging to the sweat on his brow, his jaw tightening until his teeth ached. Behind his closed eyes, the world spun—firelight and gunpowder still flashing behind his eyelids like ghosts of battle.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain. It was pressure. A slow, collapsing kind of hurt, like his ribs were folding in around something already broken. It was worse than the shockwave that shattered half of Liberio. Worse than the scream of the bombs or the roar of Eren's Titan tearing through the stage. Worse than the moment he thought he'd found her remains in the wreckage of Shiganshina—charred, silent, beyond reach.

That had been grief. This was something crueler. This was rejection. This was knowing she lived—and still choosing to turn away.

Behind him, the sounds of the living crept slowly back into focus. Barked orders, shortwave radios hissing. The metallic groan of vehicles pushing through rubble. The faint, pitiful crying of children. Someone shouted Falco’s name from near the hospital ruins—desperate, frantic—but Reiner didn’t rise.

He couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to.

He pressed his palms harder into the ground, jagged stones biting deep into already-torn skin. His muscles trembled. She’d looked at him tonight—and in that moment, it wasn’t the battlefield that hurt. It was her eyes.

She’d looked at him like she still remembered the boy he’d been. The one who sat beside her in the mess hall, quietly studying her face when she laughed, never quite brave enough to join in. The boy who bore secrets too large for his bones. Who kept the truth buried so deep, even she couldn’t reach it.

But now...

She had looked at him like a stranger. Like a line in the sand that couldn’t be crossed. Like something already lost. An enemy.

And Reiner couldn’t even summon the rage. It hollowed in his chest, but never rose.

He couldn’t blame her.

Not for surviving.

Not for seeing him—really seeing him, stripped bare of excuses, of uniforms, of purpose.

His breath stuttered out in a broken rasp, catching on the thick smoke that clung to the back of his throat. A shiver climbed his spine, slow and icy, despite the heat blistering the air—smoke-scorched and metal-bright.

He pressed a fist to his chest as if to keep the words from crumbling apart.

“I chose you,” he whispered. The words cracked in his throat—hoarse, stripped down to bone. Raw from ash, from grief, from all the things he’d never said when it mattered. “And I still lost you.”

He looked up—through the haze, past the smoke, toward the star-choked sky. The airship was nothing more than a memory now. A vanishing thread between two worlds that could never be mended.

He wondered if she was looking down at him from that sky, shrinking him into a figure small enough to forget.

Wondered if her hands still trembled. Wondered if her heart hurt—even half as much as his.

A dull thud behind him made him flinch. Instinct had him halfway turning before the pain caught up—his limbs protesting with every twitch. He looked over his shoulder to see Galliard limping toward him, one hand clutched to his ribs, blood smeared down the side of his face.

“You alive?” Galliard asked. Not gruff. Not dismissive. Just... tired. 

Reiner gave a slow, reluctant nod.

Galliard’s eyes swept the burning skyline. “Falco’s missing. Pieck’s down. Zeke’s vanished. And he’s still out there.”

“Eren,” Reiner muttered.

Galliard nodded, jaw tightening. “We regroup soon. But not here.”

Reiner didn’t move. Couldn’t. His voice, when it came, was low.

“She was here.”

Galliard’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Reiner didn’t answer.

He pushed himself upright—slowly, carefully—as if his body might collapse under the weight of what he couldn’t say. Every movement sparked pain that crackled up his spine and bloomed in his knees, his shoulders, his skull.

Without another word, he turned toward the smoke and followed Galliard into the ash-strewn night—carrying the shape of her absence like a second shadow.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

Reiner couldn’t sleep. He could blame it on the uncomfortable medic bed and his own thoughts. It hurt to remember her. Every thought of her scraped like glass against the inside of Reiner's skull, a jagged ache he couldn’t dull no matter how hard he tried to bury it. But even now—especially now—he found himself sinking into the past, where her shadow still clung to everything he'd once dared to care about.

She was laughing. That was the first thing Reiner remembered.

It was during one of the earliest drills — the kind where most cadets tripped over themselves trying to manage vertical maneuvering gear. Yet (Y/N) soared. Not flawlessly, no. But determined. And when she landed in a messy heap in the dirt, she laughed.

Not bitterly. Not embarrassed. Just free.

Reiner was already a hardened wall of quiet discipline even then, carrying the weight of two worlds on his back. But something about her laugh cracked through. He looked away before anyone could see him staring.

He didn’t even know her name yet, but he remembered her.

The training grounds became a daily ritual of stolen glances.

She was strong. She was relentless. Stubborn. A fire in her that never quite went out, even when the others were beaten into dull routine. There was something in the way she moved—unrefined, sharp-edged, but brimming with purpose—that made it impossible for Reiner to look away. Not out of lust… not exactly. It was admiration. Something quieter. Safer. Yet every time she passed him in the mess hall, sunlight catching in the strands of her hair, or stood flushed and breathless after drills with a defiant smirk tugging at her lips, he felt a strange tightness in his chest—like he was being pulled toward something he wasn’t allowed to want.

She always tied her hair back before training, and he noticed the way loose strands framed her face like it wasn’t meant to be tidy. She muttered to herself when she was frustrated, swore under her breath when things went wrong, but never once complained. And when she helped others up, it was with a snort and a soft insult—"get up, dumbass"—but her hand never hesitated. She reminded him of home, somehow. Of warmth he no longer believed he deserved.

And so, Reiner kept his distance—enthralled, but afraid.

Then one day…

Reiner hadn’t been listening at first—just cleaning his rifle like always, the weight of the steel cool against his palms, the smell of oil and dust thick in the air. The late afternoon sun had turned the yard gold, heat rising in shimmering waves off the stone walls, cicadas buzzing lazily in the distance. But then he heard it—Thomas’s voice, low and sheepish, cracking just enough to make Reiner glance up.

“Hey, uh… I was wondering… wanna grab some food together tomorrow? Maybe after drills?”

The words hit him harder than they should have. Reiner’s stomach dropped like he’d been punched beneath the ribs.

(Y/N) stood just a few feet away, her sleeves rolled up, a streak of grease smudged along her jaw. She blinked, tilted her head, then gave Thomas that soft, almost amused smile she wore when she wasn’t quite sure how to let someone down easy. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be spending my rest day with my bed.”

Thomas laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Worth a shot.”

Reiner didn’t laugh. He looked down at the rifle in his lap, fingers clenched so tightly around the barrel that his knuckles blanched, trembling just enough to betray him. The metal bit into his palms, cold despite the heat.

He didn’t even want to date her. That wasn’t the point. The point was that she was sunlight in this goddamn place—sharp, warm, untouchable—and other people got to reach for her. They weren’t choking on lies. They hadn’t buried their true names.

And she—damn her—was beautiful in a way that made Reiner ache. The kind of beauty that wasn’t soft or practiced, but lived in the curve of her grin, the flex of her arms during drills, the flush on her cheeks when she wiped sweat from her brow. It was the kind of beauty that made others stumble over words. Made him forget how to breathe.

But he stayed quiet. Like always. Too afraid to shatter whatever thin thread kept her light from burning right through him.

What right did a liar have to something so kind? So bright? So real ?

None. He had none.

There was a night—quiet, cloudy, the kind that made the whole world feel muted. Fog clung low over the dirt paths between the barracks, and a faint, salty wind stirred the air like a breath holding itself back. Reiner had been heading toward the mess hall when he caught sight of her, crouched on the steps, fiddling with her boot strap under the flickering glow of a lamplight.

She looked tired. Not sad—just… worn thin, like the edge of a blade that had seen too many strikes. The lamplight threw soft gold over her features, catching the sweat-slick curve of her cheekbone, casting the hollows beneath her eyes in shadow. Even exhausted, she looked sharp enough to split the sky.

He stopped walking.

The sound of his own breath seemed loud in his ears. His heart beat hard in his throat, and for a long second, he just watched her—the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the stubborn little twist of her mouth as she muttered to herself. She shifted slightly, the muscles in her shoulders flexing beneath her uniform. Built like she could punch through the wall if she wanted to. Like if the Titans ever broke through, she’d meet them halfway.

He thought—now. Just say hi. She’s right there.

But his feet locked in place. His mouth dried up. And then she straightened and turned her head slightly, and he panicked—spun around before she could catch him staring.

The next day, she laughed at something Marco said during drills. Loud, warm, unfiltered. And Reiner told himself she was fine without him. That his absence didn’t matter.

It was after a training tournament that he saw her again, the cadets buzzing with post-competition adrenaline. Someone passed around stolen bread and lukewarm cider. Even Annie cracked a rare smirk at Sasha’s chaotic, drunken chicken dance.

(Y/N) stood at the edge of the firelight, amber flames licking up her silhouette. Her eyes glowed like polished brass, catching firelight in a way that made Reiner’s lungs stop working properly. She threw her head back at something Connie said, laughter erupting from her like lightning cracking open a still sky.

That same laugh. That same damn laugh from the first day.

Reiner’s gaze hadn’t left her for more than a second.

Annie elbowed him in the ribs—sharper than necessary. “You ever gonna talk to her?”

“Why would I?” he grunted, eyes still glued to (Y/N) as she wiped ash from her face with the heel of her palm.

Annie snorted. “Maybe because you’ve been staring at her like she’s the last sunrise you’ll ever see.”

“I don’t stare.”

“You really do,” Bertolt added from behind him, voice low but amused. He was hugging his knees by the fire, his face half in shadow. “It’s kind of painful to watch.”

Reiner shot him a warning glance. “I’m not—”

“Oh come on,” Annie cut in, voice laced with mock sympathy. “It’s okay to have a crush, Braun. Even you get to feel things. Like an actual person.”

“I do not have a crush,” Reiner muttered, though his face was already heating. “She’s just—good at what she does.”

“Oh sure,” Bertolt said with a small smirk. “That must be why you nearly walked into a tree during drills. Twice.”

Annie leaned in, grinning now. “If you stare any harder, you’re gonna set her on fire.”

Reiner scowled and folded his arms. “You two done?”

“Not even close,” Annie said.

The truth coiled hot in his chest like a live coal.

It wasn’t rejection he feared. It was the impossible idea that she might say yes. That she’d look too close, see the cracks beneath his skin, and realize everything he wasn’t.

Because if (Y/N) ever got that close— really close—she’d see it all: the fracture lines, the rot in the middle. And Reiner wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

So he stayed where it was safe. Behind firelight. Behind silence. Behind the illusion that watching was enough. But the coal inside him still burned.

Then came the afternoon training incident.

Reiner had taken a solid blow to the ribs—nothing cracked, but enough to leave him staggering off the field, each breath shallow. Sweat dripped from his jaw. His vision swam. Shadis’s voice roared somewhere behind him.

She passed by with her gear slung over one shoulder, moving like gravity didn’t quite work on her the same way it did everyone else. She didn’t break stride, but her eyes flicked toward him—quick, assessing. Her gaze lingered, something unreadable in it. Concern. Or maybe just curiosity.

Their eyes met.

He froze.

She gave the faintest smile, barely a twitch at the corner of her mouth. And then she was gone.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Reiner wasn’t watching her. At least, that’s what he told himself when Jean caught him staring across the field with that half-glazed look again. He watched everyone. He was a soldier. Observation was part of the job.

But somehow, it always came back to her.

She wasn’t the best in the air, not by a long shot—but she was wild, unpredictable. Mid-swing, she would falter—then adjust with a sharp twist of her hips and a flash of her teeth. Every failure only sharpened her resolve. Reiner had seen full-grown cadets break after one bad run. She just spat out a curse, tied her hair tighter, and threw herself right back in.

Too graceful. Too strong. Too beautiful , he thought—and instantly cursed himself for it.

He was mid-run when it happened.

(Y/N) went flying.

One second she was airborne, the next she was a flailing blur of limbs and gas canisters—her wire must’ve snagged. Maybe she miscalculated. Maybe fate just had a cruel sense of humor.

She crashed straight into him like a meteor.

Reiner hit the dirt so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs. Something heavy landed on his back— her —followed by a muffled, mortified voice.

“Oh no, no, no—sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Her breath was warm against the back of his neck. Her body was toned, solid, all muscle and chaotic grace.

“I swear I aimed for the tree. Not you.”

Reiner blinked into the dirt, half-crushed, half-delirious. So this is how I die. Trampled by the girl I’ve been too scared to talk to for six months.

“I-It’s fine,” he croaked, trying to push himself up. “Good aim.”

She scrambled off him like she’d touched live wire, boots skidding. “I’m usually better than that—I just—there was wind. Or maybe the anchor tension—”

He rolled onto his back, heart racing, dirt smudged across his face.

She was crouched beside him, wide-eyed, strands of hair stuck to her sweat-damp forehead. Her cheeks were flushed. There was a smear of earth across her jaw. She was grinning.

“Did I break you?”

“No,” he muttered, throat tight. “Just my pride.”

She laughed—rich and raw and lovely—and he felt the world tilt sideways.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“I know,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I mean—I’ve seen you around. A lot, I guess?” He wanted to crawl into the nearest tree and disappear.

But she didn’t tease him. Instead, she offered her hand. Dirt-streaked. Strong.

“Well, mystery guy—I owe you one. Next time I crash, I’ll aim for someone else.”

He took her hand.

“Reiner,” he said. “Braun.”

“Nice to finally meet you properly, Reiner Braun.”

He spent the rest of the week mustering up all of his courage. 

Reiner had fought Titans.

Well—not real ones. Not yet. But he’d faced the looming, bone-white mock-ups in the field drills. He’d run obstacle courses through sheets of freezing rain, boots slick with mud, fists clenched so tight his knuckles split. He’d disarmed comrades twice his size, barked orders under fire, and endured the kind of training designed to strip a man down to bone and rebuild him into something harder.

None of it— not a single second of it —had made him nearly as nervous as this.

(Y/N) sat on the low edge of the mess hall steps, boots unlaced and one knee bouncing with casual rhythm. Her uniform jacket hung half-zipped, collar loose, hair pulled back in a haphazard tie that had started to come undone. She had a spoon in one hand and a dented tin bowl of something lukewarm and beige in the other, steam barely curling from the top.

When she looked up and spotted him, her whole face changed.

Her eyes lit like warm lanterns in the dusk. “Hey. You didn’t get flattened by anyone else today, did you?”

Reiner huffed a small laugh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck where sweat still clung. “Not yet. Day’s still young.”

The corner of her mouth curled. She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against the worn stone step to her right as she scooted. “Sit, Braun. I won’t bite.”

Gods, help me.

He sat, stiff as a board, arms tight to his sides. His knees stuck out like bent fence posts, awkward and locked. The stone was still warm from the day’s sun, but the air had cooled with the coming evening. A breeze drifted lazily through the yard, rustling the nearby trees and carrying with it the smell of hay, sweat, and whatever was burning in the mess kitchen.

The wind caught her hair, blowing a few strands loose across her face. She squinted, nose wrinkling, and let out a small, frustrated grumble as she tucked them behind her ear.

Reiner was staring again. He knew he was. Couldn’t stop himself.

There were dirt smudges on her cheek, sunburn high on her neck, a light scratch on her forearm from drills. Her shoulders were roped with lean muscle. Her hands, calloused and confident, cradled the spoon like she’d wield it as a weapon if needed. He thought again—absurdly—that she could probably punch through a Titan if given the chance.

She caught him.

“What?”

Reiner snapped his head forward, ears burning. The dirt between his boots had never looked so fascinating.

“Nothing,” he muttered. Then cleared his throat, voice catching. “Actually—uh. Something.”

She tilted her head, eyes dancing. “Well, which is it?”

Reiner inhaled. His heart thudded hard against his ribs. Every instinct in him screamed to armor up, deflect, retreat—but he forced himself to hold still.

“I was wondering if you… maybe wanted to go for a walk. After dinner. Or—well—after drills tomorrow, maybe. Or whenever you have time.”

Silence fell like a dropped stone.

She paused mid-scoop, her spoon suspended halfway to her mouth. The expression on her face wasn’t mocking—just surprised. Studying him.

“Are you asking me out, Braun?”

Heat crawled up his neck. “Only if you want me to be.”

She stared at him—really looked—and in that suspended moment, Reiner felt more exposed than he ever had standing in the open during training.

Then she smiled. Not her usual half-smirk or crooked grin. Something softer. Real.

“You’re kind of a dork, you know that?”

“…Yeah.”

“But I like that about you.”

Reiner blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she said, finally letting the spoon clink back into her bowl. “Alright. One walk. Tomorrow after drills.”

“Oh-okay,” he said, dazed. Grinning despite himself.

She bumped her shoulder into his—light, but solid.

Chapter Text

The taste of ash still lingered on his tongue—a bitter tang that no amount of hospital water could wash away. Even now, waking in a hospital bed with crisp white sheets and stark, sterile light streaming in through shuttered windows, Reiner’s senses were assaulted by memories of smoke and burning. The acrid smell of char and scorched flesh still clung to the remnants of his body, and every shallow breath reminded him of the devastation outside. His body ached in an unrelenting rhythm, some parts numb from shock and others throbbing with a raw, unhealed pain. Yet it was the oppressive silence that gnawed at him most, an empty vastness that left his heart hollow and raw.

He had seen her. He had spoken to her. He had watched her vanish into the sky—like a final, heart-wrenching farewell etched in fire and ruin.

And now…

“Still breathing, huh?” Galliard’s voice cut through the haze like a shard of glass. He stood by Reiner’s bedside, accompanied by Pieck, both swathed in bandages and silent agony. Galliard casually tossed a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol onto Reiner’s lap. “Drink. You look like you need it worse than I do.”

Reiner’s trembling fingers closed around the glass, the coolness of the bottle contrasting sharply with the searing heat of memories. But he didn’t drink. His gaze wandered upward toward the ceiling, as if searching for an escape in the sterile, indifferent light.

“Gabi… Falco…” His voice cracked under the weight of unspoken horrors. “They called out to me during the battle. Are they—?”

Pieck’s nod was slight, heavy with resignation. “They’re alive. But they snuck aboard the enemy airship… with Zeke.”

Reiner sat up too fast, the room spinning around him. Galliard’s steadying hand on his shoulder brought him back to a fragile reality. “Zeke…” Reiner muttered, the name tasting like cold lead in his mouth.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

In the dim, oppressive light of the war council room, Reiner stood once more beside Pieck and Galliard—this time not as a wounded comrade, but as a Warrior before Magath and the shattered military brass of Marley. Zeke’s betrayal hung in the air, thick and acrid like the smoke over a desolate battlefield. No body, no blood, only the chilling absence of a once-fierce enemy. And now, Zeke was allied with them. With her.

“They’ve gone back to Paradis,” someone murmured in disbelief. “Six months. We’ll gather the world’s armies, and—”

“No.” Reiner’s voice emerged, sharp and unwavering, forged in sleepless fury. All heads turned as he stepped forward, jaw set and eyes shadowed by relentless memories. “Zeke is expecting that. He knows we’ll wait—he’s counting on it. He’ll use that time to solidify their power, to finish what they started in Liberio.”

For a heartbeat, her face surged in his mind—an image of vulnerability and strength intertwined. The gentle curve of her smile, eyes that once shone with hope and compassion, now marred by the sorrow of betrayal and loss. Something inside him shattered anew—a desperate, tormented acknowledgment that every decision, every lie had led to this carnage.

Reiner met Magath’s steely gaze. “We need to strike now. Surprise them. Before they rebuild. Before we lose everything.”

Magath’s measured look bored into him. “You’re certain?”

Reiner’s eyes, alight with both fury and despair, did not waver. “Yes.”

In the silence that followed, a single thought seared beneath his ribs—unspoken but incandescent: Because she’s out there.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

Back in the barracks, the tension before deployment felt like a held breath—a silence dense with the scent of leather, cold metal, and the inevitability of impossible choices. Reiner stood at his locker, methodically buckling on the new gear, every movement heavy with regret and resolve. Everything felt wrong; every gear, every crisp, clean uniform detail clashed with the raw ache of his memories. His gaze fell to the inner pouch sewn into the side of his chest plate. 

There, nestled like a forbidden relic, was a letter. Folded neatly, its edges softened by countless desperate readings. She’d left it folded in his bag pocket long before he had even pleaded with her to come with him. Damn, she was smart. 

His fingers trembled as he opened it once more:

Reiner,
I know you’ll go. I know you’ll want me to follow. But my place is here. I don’t expect you to understand. Maybe you never will. But I can’t stand on the side that burns my home to protect someone else’s dream. Even if that someone is you. Still, I want you to know—I never hated you. Not once. I remember your laugh. That stupid one you always tried to hold back. I remember how you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching.
I remember you.
I hope that somewhere, even as enemies… you’ll remember me too.
    —(Y/N)

He read each word slowly, each letter etched into him like a fresh wound. Her handwriting was immaculate—always precise, even in the dark moments, as deliberate as she was. And now, it returned to him like a ghost from the flames of Liberio: ODM gear gleaming under a burning sky, hair tangled in the wind, eyes stormy and tender. That face he had once stolen glances at across the mess hall; that mouth he had memorized in the quiet hours of longing; that voice that still whispered his name as if it could mend everything broken.

She was breathtakingly beautiful—a beauty that cut him to the core. It wasn’t merely her physical form, although every curve and every line still ignited him like a distant sun. It was the strength behind her gaze, the unyielding conviction in her posture, the warmth in her laugh—a light that once made him believe in redemption, even when he thought he was already damned.

Reiner pressed the letter to his chest, as if it were a shield, a talisman against the relentless ache of regret. “You always knew we’d end up here,” he murmured into the emptiness. “I was the one who kept pretending we had time.”

A knock at the barracks door shattered the moment. Galliard’s voice then, clipped yet carrying an undercurrent of urgency: “Orders came in. Wheels up in twenty. You ready?”

Reiner did not answer immediately. He tucked the letter back into his gear, holding it close, before straightening up with a silent determination born of despair and reluctant hope. He wasn’t ready. But he was going. Not just for Marley, and not just for vengeance. He was going because she was out there—fighting for a future he could no longer bear to miss. And maybe, if fate was unkind or kind enough, if he was lucky—or cursed—he’d see her again.

The air stung with the sharp tang of cold metal and smoke as his boots thudded onto the airship deck. His palm bled freely, sliced open with military precision, the sight of his own blood a stark reminder of the battles that had worn him down. The moment his eyes caught Eren’s silhouette on the distant battlefield—raging and defiant—it was as if the world itself had split open. Leaping into the maw of destiny, the wind tore past his face, carrying with it the taste of forgotten freedoms. His body convulsed with the familiar agony of transformation—the searing heat of golden light, the relentless surge of power that overrode pain as his form shifted once more. For the fourth time, Reiner Braun became the Armored Titan.

Bitterly, he thought, “We always end up here. Me and him. One more time.”

The impact as he hit the ground was cataclysmic—stones shattered under the force, his hardened limbs cracked like brittle branches splintering under a relentless storm. Across the square, the Attack Titan turned, his snarling expression a mirror of all the fury and despair Reiner had bottled up inside.

And then they charged.

Chapter Text

The impact split the earth with a deafening roar, stone buckling beneath their massive forms. The air shook. Fists collided with armored plating and sinew—each blow a thunderclap, each strike a fresh fracture in the land itself.

Eren moved like a shadow given flesh—sleeker, crueler than before. The War Hammer’s influence rippled through his every motion, elegant and horrifying. He wasn’t just fighting. He was hunting.

Reiner barely brought his arm up in time to block the first strike. It shattered through the plating like it was brittle clay. Claws tore at his ribs. Another hit cracked his jaw with a sound that vibrated through his entire skull. Light burst behind his eyes. His legs almost gave.

But instinct overrode pain. He lunged, tackled Eren, forced him down with a roar that shook his throat raw. For a heartbeat, he had him. Held him just long enough for Galliard to surge in from the side.

There—strategy. A glimmer of hope.

Then Eren’s body convulsed.

With a grotesque twist, spikes of hardened flesh erupted from his core—jagged, unnatural, vicious. They pierced Reiner’s torso, punched clean through Galliard’s side. The pain came in waves, searing, nauseating. Reiner gasped, staggered, the taste of blood flooding his throat.

Agony bloomed. But deeper still— rage .

A whistle cracked through the sky. Magath’s artillery fired.

The shot rang out like the voice of gods.

Reiner felt the tremor before he saw the impact. He knew— this was the moment. Now, while Eren reeled, now while the shock was still in his movements—

With a guttural growl, Reiner tore one of the jagged spikes from the scorched earth and drove it into Eren’s side with every last shred of fury he had left. His muscles screamed in protest. Blood erupted in a boiling arc, splattering across his armor in thick ropes, hot as fresh tar. Bone crunched beneath the force of the strike, but it still wasn’t enough.

Eren snarled in response—feral, relentless—and retaliated without hesitation.

Another spike, faster than Reiner could brace for. It punched through his shoulder, the force of it lifting him from the ground before it skewered him again, pinning him like an insect on display. He roared, more in anguish than rage, the sound fractured and ragged. His vision blurred, darkening at the edges. He could feel the Titan healing stutter, lagging behind the destruction.

The pain was immense—but it wasn’t new.

And then—her voice.

“You can’t keep carrying this alone, Reiner.”

It was faint, almost lost in the wind between explosions, but unmistakable. Her voice. Her voice. He froze, mind teetering, spine locked.

No. No, not here. Not now. You’re hallucinating again. 

But he saw her anyway—clear as a sunrise after bloodied snow—sitting cross-legged on the floor of his old barracks, firelight flickering across her face. That same calm presence. That impossible softness in her eyes. She didn’t speak much that night, just sat with him. Let the silence speak in ways he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He remembered how her thumb had brushed his broken knuckles, like even his wreckage was still worthy of warmth. He’d wanted to confess everything then—how the guilt lived in his marrow, how he didn’t deserve her patience, her care. How she made him want to try anyway.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. So he said nothing.

Now, all he could do was scream.

Not just from pain—but from the unbearable weight of the things left unsaid. From the truth that if he died here, it would be with that silence wrapped around his throat like a noose.

“You’re a good man, Reiner,” she had whispered once, snow clinging to her lashes like stars. “Even if you can’t see it yet.”

A kindness. Maybe a lie. He still didn’t know. But it echoed now, cutting deeper than any blade.

Eren’s colossal hand snapped forward, caught his jaw in an iron grip. Bone fractured. Tendons snapped. His Titan’s neck twisted with a sickening crack. White light exploded behind his eyes as agony shrieked through every fiber of him.

It’s over. It’s all falling apart. This is where it ends.

And all he could think—all he could feel—was her.

(Y/N). Alive. After all these years, after he’d found her ODM gear half-buried in the rubble at Shiganshina, charred and bloodied, bent at the clasps. He’d held it in shaking hands like a prayer, like a gravestone. He’d mourned her. He’d buried the thought of her because it hurt too much to carry.

But she had survived. Somehow. 

A roar of stone and thunder yanked him from the abyss.

A boulder—massive, shrieking through the sky—crashed to the ground like divine punishment. Zeke’s mark.

The shockwave tossed them both like rag dolls. Dust swallowed the battlefield, the light, the breath in his lungs. Everything was white and burning.

Reiner slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the world. The rubble cracked beneath him, stone and heat biting into his flesh. His Titan limbs spasmed, broken, healing too slow.

He staggered upright, vision swimming.

He saw Eren, already in motion—unstoppable, monstrous.

Reiner moved on instinct. Launched toward him with the last of his strength. But Zeke had him marked. Another volley tore through the smoke, raining fire from the heavens.

The ground detonated beneath his feet. He was flung backward, bones cracking like glass under a boot heel. He tasted ash and iron. Everything spun.

Then—

A shot cracked through the chaos. Magath. Somewhere. Still fighting.

Reiner blinked—and watched the Beast Titan fall from the Wall like a broken statue.

He hesitated.

Zeke…?

Before the thought could finish, the order came.

Devour Eren. End this.

But Reiner barely heard it.

His mind had already fled—to quieter nights. To warmth.

Her, laughing around the fire with her boots off and her shoulders loose. Her, scowling at Eren whenever he jabbed at Reiner, always leaping to his defense with that fierce loyalty. Her, asleep with her head on Reiner’s shoulder after a long day, soft breath brushing against his neck.

He remembered Eren’s face then. Watching.

He remembered the look.

Jealousy.

Even back then, Eren had seen it. Had hated him for it.

Galliard’s groan pulled him back to the moment—raw and real.

Reiner reached out—just in time for it to hit him. A rush of memory that wasn’t his. Marcel’s voice. The truth. The betrayal. Why Reiner had been chosen in the first place.

“Falco,” he gasped, reeling—because the boy was here . Terrified. Too close.

And then—

Zeke’s scream.

It rolled across the field like a divine command, and Falco's body twisted, stretched, split apart.

Reiner watched in horror.

Falco transformed.

No. No, no—

Reiner turned to Eren. Wrapped himself around the boy. Tried to stop him from reaching Zeke. From ending the world.

Teeth sank into his nape.

This is it, Reiner thought, bracing for the end. Falco will live. And maybe… maybe she will too.

He began to loosen the hardening around his core. Let the child take what he needed.

But the bite stopped.

Reiner twisted to look—and his heart shattered.

Falco had turned.

“No—”

And then Reiner saw it. Galliard—deliberate, selfless— offering himself.

Reiner screamed.

“GALLIARD!!”

His Titan’s voice split the sky.

Fury boiled up. He slammed his fist into Eren’s face. It felt like punching through steel—Eren had already hardened again, locking Reiner’s hand in place.

Roaring, he tore it free. Bone and armor crunched.

Ahead—Eren ran. Toward Zeke.

Reiner gave chase, lungs burning. Every step a war.

A Thunder Spear hit.

His hand disintegrated.

And then—

Eren’s head snapped back, a crimson arc trailing in the air.

Shot.

Beheaded.

Reiner seized up.

The world went silent .

No breath. No cries. Only the low rumble of the Walls beginning to crack.

The Rumbling had begun.

Reiner stared as the stone split. As the horizon moved with giants, this was it .

The future they’d all bled to prevent. The nightmare they were desperate to outpace.

And all Reiner could think was—

I should’ve stayed with her.

When I had the chance.

Chapter Text

The sound of the world unraveling was deafening.

Stone groaned as the Walls collapsed, one after another, like dying gods surrendering to the sea. Titans—colossal, skinless, and unfeeling—marched with rhythmic dread, their footfalls a heartbeat of annihilation. The air turned to ash. Even light itself seemed to fracture, caught in the rising dust and steam.

Reiner watched it all from the cracked earth, his Titan’s form battered and crumbling.

This is it. We lost.

His legs buckled. Armor flaked from his limbs like dried blood. He hit the ground hard, his body barely catching up to the weight in his chest. Every breath rattled like shrapnel through his lungs.

It’s really happening. The world’s ending. And I helped bring it here.

A cry broke through the thunder. Gabi—barely more than a shadow in the haze—rushed to his side. Her voice was sharp with desperation.

“Reiner—Reiner, get up! Please!”

The world tilted. Heat radiated from the earth. Smoke burned his throat. Everything stung.

Still, her voice pierced the chaos.

“I can fight—we have to stop him!” she cried.

He blinked slowly, his Titan beginning to disintegrate in steam. His human body slumped, trembling, his face barely recognizable beneath bruises and blood.

“Gabi,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel, “enough.”

She gripped his arm, trying to lift him, doing her best to get him in the door of an abandoned building nearby.

“We still have time—if we can find Armin, Mikasa—if we—”

“Stop. ” He coughed, choking on the smoke. “It’s over.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “We can’t just—”

“Listen to me.” His voice broke, but his eyes held hers. “As long as Eren has the Founder… there’s no stopping him. Not like this. He can control every single Subject of Ymir. Every Titan. Every one of us.”

He could see it in her face—the horror dawning. The realization.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Not yet.

“You have to go,” Reiner said. “Head south. Find the other survivors. Evacuate.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“You have to.” He grabbed her hand, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You’re all that’s left, Gabi. If you stay here, you die for nothing. There’s no glory left. No honor. Just… survival.”

She looked like she wanted to scream. But she didn’t.

Instead, she nodded. Barely.

“Promise me,” he whispered. “Run. Live.”

And then his strength gave out. His grip slipped, thudding against the wood flooring. 

The last thing he saw was Gabi’s face as the world faded.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

It wasn’t just the absence of light — it was suffocating, solid , like the world had closed its fist around Reiner’s chest and refused to let go. Every breath was shallow, stale. The air felt thick with ash, as if the sky itself had burned and poured into his lungs.

His body didn’t move. It couldn’t . He wasn’t sure if he was lying down or suspended in nothing. Only the crushing pressure against his ribs reminded him that he still existed at all.

In that black, endless place, his mind spiraled.

Flashes—disjointed and violent.

Blood — hot, metallic, spraying like a storm from Eren’s neck.

Screams — Gabi’s voice shrill, cracking, echoing through the chaos like a wounded animal’s cry.

And Eren’s head — flying through the air in a slow, horrific arc. Time had stopped in that moment. His eyes were open. Focused. Knowing.

He did it.

He touched Zeke.

And then — everything shattered.

The ground itself had heaved like it was rejecting them. A sickening groan rippled through the earth, and then came the sound — not thunder , but something deeper. Ancient. Like the world was breaking its spine.

The Walls had collapsed. He had felt it in his bones. Heard the impossible roar of thousands of footsteps, growing louder with every beat of his heart.

The Rumbling.

The word alone hollowed out his soul.

He could still hear Gabi screaming through the ringing in his ears. That scream — not just of terror, but of something worse. Grief . A child watching the world die in real time.

Then — nothing.

No light. No movement. No breath beyond his own ragged draw.

Only the sound of his heartbeat, slow and leaden in the void. And beneath it, buried so deep he almost didn’t hear it — a crack in something inside him. The sound of despair finally finding a voice.

If this was what came after survival… he wasn’t sure he wanted it.

He sat in silence, overwhelmed by torturous thoughts.

Until—

WHAM.

Something crashed into his ribs — not a slap, not a shove, but a kick that lit up every nerve in his side. White-hot pain lanced through his torso, jolting him from the void like a man being dragged from a grave. He wheezed, gasping for air that tasted like metal and dust.

Another blow cracked against his thigh.

He flinched with a groan, trying to curl away from the pain, but a voice followed—sharp, cutting, familiar .

“Get up, dumbass.”

Reiner froze.

That voice.

Not a dream. Not a hallucination conjured by guilt and blood loss.

He opened his eyes.

And there she was.

(Y/N).

Standing over him, one hip cocked, scowl carved across her face. ODM gear still clung to her hips like she hadn’t taken a breath since the last battle. Blood splattered her boots. Smoke-streaked cheeks. Her arms were crossed, tight like they were the only thing holding her together.

But it was her eyes that undid him.

Not cold—not really. They burned. With fury, yes, but beneath it — relief . Worry . All tangled up in a storm of everything she hadn’t said yet.

And then, just as quickly, she turned away — like looking at him too long might crack something open she wasn’t ready to face.

Reiner tried to sit up, groaning as agony flared across his body. His limbs felt like they’d been forged from stone and shattered in the same breath. The scent of sweat, oil, and old blood clung to everything.

His chest heaved. “You’re—” he croaked. “You’re still—”

“Alive,” she snapped. She didn’t even glance at him this time. “Yeah.”

He blinked hard.

The others were there — Jean, arms folded, jaw tight. Mikasa was watching with that quiet tension she always wore when death felt close. Armin looked tired. Annie, unreadable. Connie, grim.

No one looked happy to see him.

But Reiner barely saw them.

He was still staring at her.

How? How are you here?

She wasn’t supposed to be. He’d seen her vanish into the sky. ODM cables drawn like wings of light, her silhouette swallowed in smoke. That had been her goodbye. The final, brutal echo of the choice she made.

He’d mourned her again. Carried the weight of her memory like a spike buried in his chest.

And now she was here. Breathing . Moving . Yelling at him like no time had passed.

His mind reeled.

This doesn’t make sense. This isn’t real. You can’t be real.

But she was..

He could feel it — in the way her voice still cut straight through him. In the way his gut twisted at the sight of her, same as it had back when everything was simpler, and all he wanted was to be the kind of man she could trust.

The silence that fell was sharp-edged.

So much unsaid. So many things buried under the rubble of Shiganshina and everything that came after. She hadn’t spoken his name. She hadn’t even looked at him.

But she’d kicked him awake.

She’d been the first to touch him.

He didn't know if that made him grateful or cursed.

All he knew was this:

She was still here, talking to him. 

Armin stepped forward, his voice steady, but heavy with the strain of what they were asking. “We’re putting everything aside to stop Eren. All of us. You included.”

Reiner stared at him, the words bouncing off the walls of his skull like stray bullets. Putting everything aside?

His mouth opened, dry and cracked. “You… want my help?” The words tasted bitter—wrong. Like asking the ocean to help stop a flood.

“We don’t have a choice,” Mikasa said, her eyes unreadable but not unkind. “The Rumbling has already begun.”

The Rumbling.

The words slammed into his chest like a hammer. The air in his lungs turned to glass.

A low hum filled his ears — not a sound, but a pressure, like thunder before it breaks. His breath stuttered.

The ground had shaken. The Walls had fallen. He’d seen the light. Heard Gabi scream. Heard her scream, maybe — or maybe he imagined that, because her voice never left him for long.

He swallowed hard, stomach twisting. The civilians in Liberio… the children, the soldiers, the old woman who always left flowers outside the base…

His mother.

Falco. Gabi.

A wave of nausea climbed his throat. His hands curled into fists against the floor, nails digging into his palms.

They’re all going to die.

Because of Eren.

Because of us .

Because we broke the world and now the sky is falling in to finish the job.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but the dark behind them was worse — filled with marching Titans, burning buildings, screaming innocents, and the face of a boy he once called a friend.

And now they wanted him to help stop that boy.

Eren. The one who'd shattered everything and walked away without looking back.

Is that what I’m doing now? Am I any different?

A sour laugh nearly escaped him, but it stuck in his throat.

He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t even sure he was a man anymore — just a weapon in a shape that still pretended to breathe.

Still, Reiner raised his eyes, dull and storm-colored, and looked at the people who used to be his enemies.

Connie. Mikasa. Jean. Armin.

You.

Standing in their midst, arms crossed, jaw set, her expression unreadable.

And for a moment, a flicker of something sparked in him—not hope, not quite—but defiance. If she’s still standing, maybe I can stand too.

He drew in a breath that rattled in his chest like broken glass.

“I’m supposed to help save the world,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “After everything I’ve done.”

Chapter Text

That night, they camped in silence. Firelight flickered across faces too worn out to glare anymore. Smoke curled into the cold air, clinging to skin and fabric like ghosts of everything they’d left behind. No one spoke. Not really. They were all murderers now. Soldiers without countries. Weapons without hands to guide them.

Reiner sat with his back against a rock, head bowed, arms limp at his sides. The weight of his body felt foreign, like something borrowed and broken. He watched the flames flicker, the soft crackling a dull echo in his ears.

He didn’t realize how much he missed the warmth of a fire until he saw it again. Until it reminded him of her.

Bootsteps padded across the packed dirt. A figure lowered beside him.

(Y/N).

His breath caught. Even after everything—the Rumbling, the blood, the confessions—this moment still shocked him. That she was real. That she had survived. He could still barely process it.

It’s her. It’s really her. After all these years.

The silence between them roared louder than the wind.

He finally spoke. “Why’d you kick me?”

“Because Annie would’ve gone easy on you,” she said, arms crossed, not looking at him.

A huff escaped his throat. Not quite a laugh. “I deserved it.”

“You deserve worse.”

“I know.”

The fire crackled.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, voice low.

He nodded slowly. “I wanted to be.”

The words left his mouth like rust scraped from old iron. He scrubbed a hand down his face. The skin was raw from the earlier beating, but he didn’t care. “After what happened… I thought Gabi was dead. Falco. You. Everyone.”

She didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, until—

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Reiner.”

“I know.”

“I watched kids burn in the flames Eren summoned. I held a boy while he bled out, begging for his mother. And I kept fighting. I didn’t have the luxury of sleeping through the end of the world.”

He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. His jaw locked.

She turned toward him, eyes sharper now. “You always tried to carry it all. The guilt. The pain. But you never told me the truth.”

“I couldn’t,” he murmured. “You would’ve hated me.”

“I hated you anyway,” she said, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. “For leaving.”

The words hit harder than fists ever could.

But then, softer: “But I never stopped wondering if you were still alive.”

Something crumbled inside him. A part he’d sealed off long ago. He turned to her, eyes red from smoke and too many nights alone.

“I’m not sure I am,” he said.

Because every day he’d woken up without her felt like surviving, not living. Every breath was penance. Every heartbeat a reminder of what he’d abandoned.

And she was still here.

Later, during dinner, the smell of stew drifted over the camp. She ladled it out carefully—focused, precise. Her movements were calmer than he remembered. More practiced. There was an elegance to them now, like someone had taught her how to make cooking an art form.

Reiner’s stomach turned—not from hunger.

He watched the way she stirred the pot, added seasoning without even measuring. He could smell rosemary and something richer—wine?

Nicolo’s influence.

Of course it was.

When the hell did that happen? he thought bitterly, eyes narrowing as she handed Armin a bowl with a tired smile. Was it during those years I was rotting in my room, wanting to die? Did he teach you to cook while I dreamed about a bullet in my mouth?

He felt stupid for being jealous. Petty. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be the one who made her smile again. The one who gave her something good.

Instead, he gave her grief. And guilt. And absence.

Yelena’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Do any of you remember Marco?”

The spoon froze halfway to Reiner’s lips.

Jean turned slowly. “What?”

“Annie,” Yelena went on, syrupy sweet, “you remember, don’t you? That boy you left to die?”

“Stop,” Annie growled, her voice ice.

But Reiner already felt the guilt boiling over.

“It wasn’t just her,” he said, throat tight. “I ordered it.”

The night froze.

Gasps around the fire. Even (Y/N)’s breath caught beside him.

“I was the one who had Marco killed,” Reiner said, staring into the flames like they could burn the memory out of him. “He heard me and Bertolt talking. He found out the truth. We took his gear. Left him there. And I—” He hesitated. He clenched his fists at his side. “A Titan ate him. Watched it happen.”

Jean didn’t wait.

The first punch shattered his nose.

The second had stars bursting behind his eyes.

(Y/N) moved to stand, but Connie held her back, teeth clenched. “Let him.”

Jean kept hitting.

Reiner didn’t stop him.

I deserve this. Every blow. Every drop of blood.

“Say something!” Jean screamed. “SAY SOMETHING, YOU BASTARD!”

“I’m sorry,” Reiner whispered, blood running down his chin. “I’m so—sorry…”

The next punch never came.

Gabi threw herself between them, sobbing. “Please! Stop!”

Reiner slumped where he sat, head bowed, face swollen and slick with red. The fire blurred. Everything blurred.

(Y/N)’s voice cut through the smoke.

“He’s already dying,” she said, eyes never leaving Reiner. “Let that be punishment enough.”

He looked at her—really looked.

And he realized then, with crushing clarity: He missed her every day. Her voice. Her scowl. Her quiet. Her kindness, even when it hurt.

And the worst part wasn’t that she was still alive.

It was knowing she’d learned to live without him.

---------------------

Later on, Reiner watched her from across the fire.

She was helping Mikasa bind a broken strap on her gear, (Y/N)’s sleeves rolled up, soot on her cheek, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The light caught her eyes just right—like it used to. But it felt different now. Not unfamiliar. Just… unreachable.

Reiner looked away, jaw clenched.

Who picked you up when you broke?

Who was there when your world fell apart?

Because it sure as hell hadn’t been him.

He’d left her to fight through the end of the world alone.

She hadn’t said. Not yet. Maybe she never would. Maybe she didn’t owe him that.

But his mind filled in the blanks anyway. It tortured him with images—her laugh around someone else's joke. Her hands passing bread to someone who hadn’t betrayed her. Her voice soft in the dark, whispering her fears to someone who hadn’t disappeared for four goddamn years.

And then there was Nicolo.

He watched and remembered the way she stirred the stew. The pinch of spice, the little flourish with the ladle—those weren’t things she used to know. But Nicolo had.

Had it been him? Had she learned to smile again because of someone like that—kind, gentle, not drowning in sins?

You deserved that, Reiner thought bitterly. Someone decent. Someone whole.

But the thought made him sick anyway.

He wished he could hate whoever it was. Nicolo or not. But the only person he hated was himself, for leaving. For not being there to see her grow. To see who she became when the world forced her to keep going without him.

He wanted to ask. He almost did.

But the question stayed stuck in his throat.

Because if she had moved on… If someone else had held her through the nights he spent alone, hating himself… If she’d kissed someone else the way he used to dream about kissing her…

He wasn’t sure he could survive knowing.

---------------------

The moon was low. Silver light spilled across the outskirts of the camp, just beyond where the others had bedded down. The only sounds were the wind shifting through dead branches and the distant crackle of embers still glowing in the fire pit.

Reiner sat beneath the ash tree, armor long since shed, bones aching, not just from battle—but from everything. From memory. From guilt.

“Armin,” he said quietly when the boy passed nearby.

Armin paused. “Yeah?”

“Can I… talk to you?” Reiner didn’t look up. “About her.”

Armin didn’t have to ask who he meant. He came over, sat beside him in the grass, and took a breath.

“I missed four years,” Reiner said. “I missed her.”

Armin folded his hands. “We all missed someone.”

“Yeah, but—” Reiner’s voice broke. “I left her. Without a word. After everything. I thought she was dead. I wanted her to be. Because then… maybe it wouldn’t hurt this much.”

Armin didn’t say anything for a while. Just let the wind fill the silence. Then—

“You two were good together. Back then,” he said, his voice quiet. “Before the fall of Shiganshina. You balanced each other out. She grounded you. And you made her feel like she mattered—really mattered.”

Reiner’s throat tightened. He hadn’t known Armin noticed.

“When the walls fell again... when Zeke attacked, we thought we were all going to die. Eren went off on his own. Everything was chaos. And she was there. She fought like hell. But she took a hit.”

Reiner’s head snapped toward him.

Armin’s eyes darkened. “She has a scar,” he said quietly. “Runs across her back—shoulder to hip. Almost lost her spine.”

Reiner froze, breath caught in his throat.

“It happened during Zeke’s last assault on Shiganshina. A Thunder Spear exploded too close. She threw herself over a wounded cadet… shielded him with her body.” Armin’s voice faltered. “It tore through her gear. Shrapnel sliced her side open, deep. Mikasa thought she was dead when she pulled her from the rubble.”

Reiner said nothing. He couldn’t.

“She didn’t scream. Didn’t even pass out. Just kept crawling forward. Said she couldn’t die yet. Not until the others were safe.”

His stomach churned. His hands were shaking.

“She nearly bled out before we could stop the hemorrhaging. Spent weeks recovering. Couldn’t walk at first. But she never complained. Not once.”

Reiner stared at the dirt, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The image burned behind his eyes: (Y/N), broken and bleeding, crawling through debris and ash.

All while he was buried in the dark, doing nothing.

Reiner closed his eyes. Damn it. Damn it all.

“She didn’t cry, even then. Not when they stitched her up. Not when she lost three of her squad the same day. She just kept going.”

“Of course she did,” Reiner whispered. “She always did.”

“She shut down after that. She didn’t talk about you. Not for a long time. She buried herself in anything else—missions, rebuilding, ration duty. And when there were no missions? She cooked.”

Reiner turned to him again, brows drawing in.

“She got good at it. Started experimenting. Making something out of nothing. She got creative with scraps. That’s how she and Nicolo got close.”

His gut twisted.

Armin noticed. “It wasn’t like that,” he said gently. “Not really. He taught her how to add polish, technique—she had the instincts, but he helped her finesse it. She taught him how to make use of almost nothing. They clicked, yeah. But it wasn’t romantic.”

Reiner didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just stared down at the dirt, hands curled into fists.

There was a silence, thick and burning.

Then Armin glanced at him, hesitating. “There was a time… not long after that… Eren tried to get close to her.”

Reiner’s entire body went rigid.

“He didn’t say it outright. But we all saw it. The way he watched her. How he talked to her. Different than the rest of us. He started spending time with her whenever he could. I think he respected her strength… maybe saw something in her he couldn’t name.”

Reiner’s hands curled into fists.

“She gave him a chance,” Armin admitted, voice softer. “Let him walk her home a few times. Talked with him. I think she was lonely. Wanted to believe something good could still exist.”

Reiner swallowed hard. The taste in his mouth was acid.

“But it didn’t last,” Armin continued. “She could tell… something in him was slipping. She said once he looked at her like he already knew he’d lose her. Like he was trying to make a memory out of her before the end.”

Reiner exhaled, long and low, like the air had turned to glass in his lungs.

“She walked away before things could go further. Said she didn’t want to be someone’s farewell.”

The ache twisted deeper.

He hesitated. Then: “But we weren’t blind. We saw the way people looked at her—of course we did. She was beautiful. Kind. The kind of person who made broken places feel whole again, just by being in them.”

Armin looked away, eyes flickering with something like pity. “She dated a few people after that. Never serious. Just trying to feel normal again, I think. She never talked about it much. But she never brought anyone around, never let anyone close.”

Reiner stared at the fire, jaw locked. Reiner breathed out like he’d been punched.

“She never forgot you,” Armin added. “No matter how much she tried.”

“I should’ve been there,” Reiner rasped. “I should’ve protected her. I promised her—before everything—I told her I’d come back.”

“I think a part of her always waited for you,” Armin said. “Even when she hated herself for it.”

That hurt worse than any Thunder Spear.

The wind stirred again. Reiner looked to the stars—so many of them. Cold and distant.

“I thought if I died, it’d be easier. For everyone. For her. But now… seeing her alive—different, but alive—I realize I made her carry it all alone.”

“She had us,” Armin said. “But you’re right. It wasn’t the same.”

Reiner scrubbed a hand down his face. His voice cracked. “I missed it all. Every scar. Every bad meal. Every laugh. Every night she stayed awake wondering if I was still breathing.”

“Then maybe,” Armin said, standing slowly, “it’s time you tell her that.”

And then he left Reiner there—beneath the ash tree, heart aching, jealousy and love tangled like barbed wire in his chest.

Reiner didn’t want to die. He wanted to make it right.

Chapter Text

The stars above blinked through cloud cover, distant and cold. Reiner moved through the dark like a ghost, unsure where he was headed—only that something pulled him forward.

Then he heard it. A soft, cracked sob.

He froze.

Beyond a stand of trees, dimly lit by the glow of an oil lamp set on a rock, he saw her. Curled against Hange’s chest, trembling with the weight of exhaustion and grief. Hange sat behind her on the grass, arms looped around her middle, rocking gently like they might keep her from falling apart.

Reiner ducked behind a tree, guilt already clawing up his throat. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Her voice, hushed and hoarse, cut through the silence.

“I hate that he’s back.”

Hange’s hand rubbed slow circles over her side. “I know.”

“It’s not fair. I spent years trying to kill what I felt for him. And now he’s here like no time passed.”

Reiner’s chest cracked.

Her voice broke. “I waited. God help me, I waited. And now I can’t look at him without remembering how it felt when he didn’t come back.”

“I remember,” Hange whispered. “You used to come to my lab just to have somewhere quiet to cry. You didn’t think I noticed, but I did.”

“I was so stupid,” she muttered. 

“You weren’t stupid,” Hange said gently. “You were in love.”

(Y/N) gave a shaky laugh, bitter around the edges. “And now I feel like I’m betraying myself just for missing him.”

“You’re not,” they said. “Come here.”

She shifted, letting Hange guide her between their legs again, her back pressed against their chest. Hange wrapped their arms around her from behind, fingers lacing together just above her stomach. They pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” they murmured into her hair. “You’re always taking care of everyone else.”

She nodded, slowly. “My shoulders won’t stop aching.”

“Let me help.”

She leaned forward and began unbuttoning her shirt with shaking fingers. Hange helped her  out of it slowly, carefully, like undressing a wound. When they pulled the fabric away, Reiner saw it.

The scar.

It started at her right shoulder blade and carved its way down to her hip in a jagged arc, skin mottled with burn marks and warped tissue. Parts of it looked thin as paper. Fragile. Other patches were tough and angry, scarred over again and again. Around it, faint silver lines shimmered—shrapnel damage, Thunder Spear burns, the ruin of what she’d survived.

Reiner’s vision blurred.

Hange ran their hands delicately along her back, avoiding the worst of it. “Still hurts?” they asked, lips barely an inch from her ear.

She nodded. “Only when I think about it.”

Hange bent lower and kissed just below her ear. “Then don’t think. Let me take the pain away for a little while.”

They touched her gently, fingers pressing along the edge of the scar, loosening the tightest parts of her muscles. She exhaled with a sound like surrender, letting her head fall back against their shoulder.

Reiner turned away, pressing his forehead to the rough bark of the tree.

When did she start leaning on them like that?

He hated the twisting knot in his chest. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was grief. Regret. Mourning for everything he hadn’t been there to protect. For the comfort he hadn’t earned. For the years she spent breaking and healing without him.

She used to lean on him . She used to fall asleep on his chest, murmur secrets into his collarbone. Now—

He dropped to his knees behind the tree.

And finally, quietly, Reiner began to cry. Shoulders shaking. Hands over his mouth. The kind of broken sob that couldn’t be swallowed anymore.

He stayed there for minutes—maybe hours—curled beneath the branches, hidden by shadows and grief. The sounds of the camp felt far away. Just the soft murmur of her voice and Hange’s hands moving gently against her back.

Eventually, he heard movement—clothes rustling, the slow exhale of breath as she leaned away from Hange, shirt gathered in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ve been… falling apart too often lately.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hange said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “You mean between your war plans and lectures on titan anatomy?”

“That’s what friends are for,” Hange replied, teasing affection light in their tone. “Unsolicited advice, coffee at 2 a.m., and back massages after emotional breakdowns.”

Reiner froze.

Friends.

She laughed again—warmer this time. “You really pulled me out of some dark places, Hange.”

“I had help,” they said, and Reiner could hear the smile in their voice. “You’re strong, you know. You always were. Even when you didn’t believe it.”

There was a pause. Then her voice, gentler:

“You always make me feel safe.”

“And you always make me feel like the world is worth saving,” Hange replied.

Reiner leaned his head back against the tree, breath shaking.

Not lovers. Not a replacement for him.

Just friends—true ones. Trusted ones.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, letting the tears dry on his cheeks, the fire’s distant crackle folding over his heartbeat like a blanket. A strange ache lingered in his chest—not from jealousy now, but from longing. A yearning not for what Hange had, but for the peace she’d found with them. The bond. The safety.

I could’ve given you that, he thought. If I hadn’t left. If I’d been brave enough to stay.

A few moments later, he heard Hange rise, footsteps crunching in the dirt. They murmured something about tea and walked off toward the firelight.

Then—

Her voice, quiet but certain: “I know you’re there, Reiner.”

His breath caught.

She didn’t turn around. Just sat cross-legged by the lamp, pulling her shirt carefully over her shoulders again.

“I figured you’d come eventually,” she said. “You’ve always been good at punishing yourself.”

He stood slowly. Hesitated. Then stepped into the clearing.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t glare. She just looked tired. Raw.

“I wasn’t spying,” he said, voice rough. “I just—heard you. I couldn’t walk away.”

“I know,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “You never could. Not from me.”

The scar was hidden now. But he could still see it—in his mind. Etched into skin and memory.

“I didn’t know you and Hange were…”

“Close?” she finished. “Yeah. War does that. You cling to what doesn’t break.”

She looked up at him then—eyes glassy, yes, but not gentle. Steady like a blade held to the throat of the past.

He swallowed. “I missed everything.”

She nodded once. Sharp. “You did.”

He dropped to his knees beside her like something folding in on itself. No armor. No weight behind his fists. Just a man collapsing under the wreckage of himself.

“I can’t fix any of it,” he rasped. “The first breach. The hundreds dead before they even knew they were dying. Marco. Bertholdt. Your squad. Hange.” His voice cracked. “You—”

She turned toward him so fast he flinched. But not from fear. From the force behind her—like the years had been dammed up in her chest, and the wall just gave way.

“ Stop, ” she snapped. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” His voice was threadbare, desperate.

“Playing the fucking martyr!” she shouted. “Crawling in here like you’re some tragic hero who carries the weight of the world alone.”

She surged to her feet, pacing—like her body couldn’t contain the fire in her anymore. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. “You think you’re the only one who watched everything fall apart? Who made choices that haunt you? You think I wanted to become someone who knows what it sounds like when the back of a friend’s skull hits stone?”

He looked up at her, eyes wide, but silent.

“I had to scrape Hange’s blood off my hands while it was still warm .” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. “I watched Connie care for what was left of his mom. I fought beside children who didn’t know how to die yet. And you —”

She turned on him again, shaking now. “You left. You ran. You blew a hole in the wall and ran. And we were left to dig through the rubble.”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest like it physically hurt. “You think I haven’t screamed into a pillow until my throat bled? That I didn’t beg for someone— anyone —to tell me why this happened?” Her voice broke completely then. “And the whole time, it was you. It was you. ”

He was still on his knees, staring up at her like he wanted to speak, to reach out, to do something—anything—but knew that he couldn’t. That maybe there was nothing left to do.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and broken: “I hated you, Reiner. I hated you more than I knew a person could hate. And the worst part?” Her eyes glistened, jaw tight. “I still waited for you. I still looked for you in every goddamn crowd. Because some stupid, bleeding part of me hoped you’d come back.”

He couldn’t muster up anything to say. Silence fell like ash in the air between them.

She stood there, breathing hard, like she’d just dragged her own soul out of her body and laid it bare.

And Reiner—he didn’t move. He didn’t argue. He just bowed his head, hands trembling in the dirt, shoulders shaking like the words had cracked something loose in him that would never quite fit back into place.

Reiner didn’t speak. Didn’t defend himself. Didn’t flinch.

He just stayed there, kneeling in the dirt like he wanted the weight of her fury. Like it was the only thing that felt real anymore.

(Y/N)’s breath was jagged, her chest heaving. Her fists were clenched at her sides. And for a moment, she just stared at him—at this man who’d haunted her nightmares and memories and the space in her heart that refused to close.

Then she moved.

She was on him like a storm, fists slamming against his chest, wild and trembling. “ Why? ” she screamed. “ Why did you leave me? ”

He didn’t stop her. He didn’t dodge.

“I waited. I waited, Reiner. I called for you in the dark—when Trost fell, when they told us about Annie, when the world was ending, and I kept thinking you’d come back. You’d say something. ”

Another blow landed against his shoulder. Then his ribs. Her fists were breaking rhythm now, heavy and unsteady.

“You let me think you cared. You let me think I mattered. And then you vanished and I was just—just wreckage. ”

He rose slowly, hands open, like he was afraid to scare her further. Like she was a wounded animal with teeth bared and blood on her hands—and he was the one who put it there.

She shoved him hard, palms flat against his chest. “I needed you. I needed you. And you weren’t there!”

Her voice cracked like splintering glass. Her legs buckled a little with the next shove, but he caught her wrist gently. She pulled away, hitting him again, and again, but her strength was faltering, unraveling in his arms.

“I lost everything,” she sobbed. “And I still looked for you. ”

Reiner’s hands hovered at her back, not daring to hold her fully until she sank into him—her fists crumpled against his chest, her head burying itself in the hollow of his collarbone like it was the last safe place she knew.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, barely able to breathe through the ache in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

She cried harder. Ugly, shuddering sobs that tore through both of them.

“I know,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “But it wasn’t enough.”

His arms folded around her then, slowly, like he was afraid she’d disappear. Like part of him still believed he didn’t deserve this—her weight against him, her pain in his hands, her voice shaking in his ear.

“I should’ve stayed,” he murmured, pressing his cheek against her hair. “I should’ve been there when it all fell apart. I should’ve found you.”

“You should’ve,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “You should’ve. ”

But she didn’t pull away again. Not this time. She stayed in his arms, shaking, hurting, her hands still balled in his shirt like she was afraid to let go—even now.

The sobs into his chest had quieted into trembling breaths. Her arms were still around him, tentative but there. Her fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt like she didn’t know whether to hold on or push him away again.

Reiner swallowed hard. His voice came out thick. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” he rasped. “I left because I had to.”

She didn’t move. But something in her posture went still—like she was bracing for more.

“I was a warrior,” he said. “A soldier of Marley. Trained since I was a kid to break walls and follow orders and forget what my heart wanted. I didn’t know how to be anything else.”

She shifted slightly, just enough to hear him better. Her breath caught in her throat.

“They gave me a mission. Go back to Marley. Report. Prepare for the next phase.” His voice was barely a whisper now, raw with guilt. “That morning in the forest didn’t feel like enough. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you again after our last attack. I wanted to, but I thought—I thought you were…”

His arms held her tighter, like if he didn’t, the world might split open again.

“I didn’t know how to fight for you. Not then. I only knew how to fight against you.”

A choked sound escaped her, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I kept telling myself I was doing what I was supposed to. That I was protecting my people. That leaving was part of the mission.” His voice cracked. “But every step I took away from you felt like it was hollowing me out.”

He slid lower, curling around her as if the confession itself made him smaller.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice breaking again. “Every damn day. I missed the way you talked, the way you fought, the way you looked at me —like I was more than what they made me.”

Her hands trembled where they rested on his back. She still hadn’t answered. Still hadn’t pushed him away again. But she hadn’t pulled him closer, either.

“I’d lie awake at night, back in Marley, my chest aching like something had been ripped out. And I’d think of you—wondering if, in the great beyond, If you hated me. If you knew I never wanted to leave you.”

Then the tears came again. Reiner’s whole body trembled with the weight of everything he’d never said.

“I cried into my pillow like a fucking child,” he whispered. “Because I chose duty. And I lost you.”

And just like that, he shattered. His breath hitched and broke and he buried his face against her, sobbing openly now—like the truth had been too much to carry alone for too long. Every ragged inhale was full of her scent, her warmth, the impossible ache of being close to the one person he’d trained himself to live without.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I should’ve fought harder—for you . Not them. Not the mission. You. ”

He clung to her, crying in deep, shaking waves.

And she didn’t speak—not at first. But her arms didn’t let go.

Her breath had steadied.

Reiner still clung to her, face buried in her shoulder like it was the only place he could breathe. His sobs had slowed, but the silence between them was louder than grief— thicker , like the moment before a goodbye.

(Y/N) exhaled softly. And then, with the gentlest motion, she eased her palms against his chest and pushed— not unkindly , not to reject him, but to see him.

He let her. Slowly, as if it hurt to let go.

She sat back, eyes shining, the oil lamp painting soft gold beneath her lashes. She looked at him for a long time—just looked. Like she was memorizing him. Or maybe like she already had, a long time ago.

Her voice came out low—barely more than a breath. But it was steady. Anchored. Like it had taken her a lifetime to build up the strength to say it without falling apart.

“I would have done anything,” she said. Her eyes glistened, wide and unblinking in the light. “Would’ve given everything for you.”

The words cracked open something in him. Reiner’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow, his entire body going still. His eyes searched hers—desperate, stunned—as if she were the only thing in the world left worth clinging to. Like she was the last star in a collapsing sky.

“I did give everything,” she went on, voice growing rougher, hoarse with held-in sorrow. “And when you left, I kept giving. I gave to the dead— buried them with my own hands . I gave to the survivors, to the bleeding, to the terrified, to the goddamn ashes .” Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms. “I gave to the fight. To the pain. Until I didn’t have anything left but the thought of you.”

She let out a trembling exhale, as if even that confession cost something. Her lips parted, just slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment—long enough to hold back whatever emotion threatened to spill over. Then she blinked. Once. Twice. A glimmer fell down her cheek before she looked away, jaw clenched.

“You broke my heart,” she said, and there was no anger in it—only a hollow, aching truth. Quiet. Honest. Not a blade, but a wound already scarred over.

Reiner felt the words hit like thunder beneath his ribs. His mouth opened, breath trembling—but nothing came out. His throat was thick with silence, with grief, with a love that couldn’t fix what had already shattered.

Her gaze returned to him, slow and deliberate, and something had changed. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. Not completely. But it was mercy —a softness that lived beside the pain, like the delicate glow of dawn against bruised clouds.

Still wounded. Still raw. But no longer burning.

“I forgive you,” she said.

Reiner’s throat closed. His vision blurred. The heat behind his eyes began to rise again, hot and relentless.

“You didn’t know what you were doing,” she whispered. “You couldn’t see right from wrong. You were a child… and they turned you into a weapon.”

She swallowed hard. Her voice broke—but she didn’t look away this time.

Then her hand rose—slow, trembling, like she wasn’t sure he’d let her touch him. But he didn’t flinch. He leaned into it, instinctively, like a man desperate for absolution.

Her thumb brushed the sharp edge of his jaw, the faint stubble beneath it. Calloused fingers tracing the years that had hardened them both.

“I forgive you,” she said again, and this time it trembled out of her like a prayer. Like a final offering.

Reiner’s eyes squeezed shut. A tear slid down his cheek and met the tip of her thumb.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because somehow, even now— even after everything —she still saw the boy beneath the ruin.

The wind stirred ash through the coals. A faint ember glowed, fading orange. Reiner didn’t move. He was afraid that if he breathed too deeply, she’d disappear again — like a dream that turned to smoke with the dawn.

“I used to imagine what I’d say if I saw you again,” she said after a long silence. “Sometimes I’d scream at you. Sometimes I’d hit you.”

“You did hit me.”

A faint smile pulled at her lips. “Did it help?”

He gave a huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “A little.”

“I never stopped wondering where you were,” she admitted. “Or if you were still… you.”

Reiner turned toward the lamp, his eyes glazed with the weight of memory. “There were days I didn’t know either,” he said quietly. “Some mornings I’d look in the mirror and wait for someone else to look back. I kept thinking if I just stayed in the armor long enough, maybe I’d stop feeling everything.”

“And did you?” she asked.

“No.” His voice cracked. “It just made me forget how to live without it.”

The night wrapped around them both. Even the wind seemed to quiet, like the world was listening.

She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his temple. “You should’ve let me carry some of it.”

“I didn’t want to break you too.”

“Too late,” she said softly.

And that shattered him more than any of Jean’s punches ever could.

He turned to face her fully now. “I missed everything,” he whispered. “Your smile. Your cooking. The way you’d get quiet when it rained. I missed the chance to fight beside you — to protect you.”

She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. “I didn’t need protection. I needed you to stay.”

“I know.” He sighed, mustering up the courage to admit, “I saw you earlier. With Hange. I thought…”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s not like that.”

He blinked.

“Hange’s family. The only kind I’ve got left, really. When I couldn’t breathe, they sat with me. When I couldn’t move, they pulled me forward. But that’s all it is. All it’s ever been.”

Relief struck like lightning—sharp and blinding.

She tilted her head, eyes still a little puffy and red, studying his expression. “Jealous?”

Reiner let out a broken chuckle, wiping at his face. “I would’ve been jealous of anyone. Even the wind.”

Something in her face softened completely then — the way it used to. 

And for the first time in years, Reiner Braun let himself hope that maybe — just maybe — he could still build something from the ruin. Not the boy he used to be. Not the warrior. But something real. Something with her.

“I missed you,” he said, voice thick with something like a confession. “Every damn day. I thought about you when I was out there — in the dust, in the chaos, in every moment I thought I’d die and never see you again.”

He swallowed hard, breath catching in his throat. “I imagined you a thousand different ways. I imagined you laughing, stubborn as ever, with your hair tangled from the wind, standing your ground like you always did. I imagined you with that fire in your eyes— the one that used to scare me when I was younger, but now, it’s the only thing I ever wanted to see again.”

His gaze flickered away, shadowed. “I regretted so many things. I never told you how much you meant to me. Never told you I thought about holding your hand on those cold nights, about waking up to your voice every morning. I never told you how much I wanted to fight for you, not just with swords and fists, but to fight for a life where we could have peace.”

He paused, jaw clenched, memories flooding like a tide. “Do you remember that night before the mission outside the walls? We sat out under the stars, and you showed me how to make that stupid stew from whatever was in the supply bag? You laughed when I burned it, and you said, ‘It’s not about perfection. It’s about making do.’ I thought then... maybe if I stayed, if I could be the person you believed in, maybe that’d be enough.”

He swallowed, voice breaking. “I never got to tell you how much you saved me—not from enemies, but from myself.”

His breath shuddered, and the oil lamp’s glow reflected in tears. “If we get out of this alive, if this war ends and the world stops breaking apart… I want to sit with you. Not in uniform, not on a battlefield. Just... us. No pretense. No running. I want to learn everything about you I missed — the quiet mornings, your stupid jokes, your stubbornness when you won’t admit you’re tired.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to make you something better than burnt stew. Something worthy of the woman I never stopped loving.”

He finally looked at her, eyes raw but resolute.

“I know I’m not perfect. Hell, I’ve made every mistake I could. But if there’s even a sliver of a chance — just one — I want to take it. With you.”

His grip softened, a fragile hope threading through his exhaustion.

“I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Reiner grasped your hands in his, his grip firm but trembling with a desperate need. He didn’t want to wait for permission. He didn’t want to waste any more time.

“I’m done waiting,” he said, voice low and raw. “Done letting years slip by like they meant nothing.” He leaned in, eyes burning with a fierce kind of hope. “I’m here now. And I want you. All of you. Scarred, broken, beautiful—you.”

Before she could say anything, he closed the distance, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the cold night air. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“I’ve missed so much,” he whispered. 

His lips found hers—urgent, searching, no hesitation. The kiss was fierce, full of all the words he couldn’t say, all the pain and longing locked inside him. She responded, melting into him, the years of distance dissolving in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers again, his voice thick with emotion.

“Stay with me,” he breathed. “Let me make up for lost time. Let me fight for you—not just on the battlefield, but in everything that comes after.”

She looked into his eyes and nodded. 

Chapter Text

The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable. Reiner’s forehead still rested against hers, breath brushing her lips, eyes closed like he was afraid that opening them would break the spell.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Stay.”

He nodded. “Always.”

He kissed her again—gentler now, as if memorizing her mouth. It deepened slowly, a quiet conversation between lips and breath, all the words neither of them could say aloud. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her cheekbone.

Reiner's thumb lingered at her jawline, rough skin brushing hers like it was a question he didn’t know how to ask. His gaze searched her face—her eyes, her mouth, her breath—and for once, she let him. Let him see the way her lips parted slightly, how her chest rose and fell with something fragile and aching.

She reached up slowly and touched his face. Callused fingertips to the curve of his cheek, brushing through the stubble like it was familiar, like it was still hers.

"You really mean it?" she whispered. "All of it?"

He nodded, his voice thick. "I’ve never meant anything more."

She leaned into him, her hands curling at the base of his neck, and he caught her—arms around her leaned waist, pulling her in like he was afraid she might disappear again. The kiss they shared now was different. Softer. No longer desperate, but devout. Like a beginning.

The oil lamp cast golden light over the clearing, shadows flickering across bark and moss, painting both of them in warmth. She slid her hands into his hair, and he shuddered under her touch—like the simplest contact might undo him.

"You're shaking," she murmured.

Reiner exhaled through a shaky breath. "I just... I don't want to move too fast. I don’t want to mess this up. You mean too much to me."

She pressed her forehead to his again, her voice gentle. "Then don’t rush. Just stay with me."

He nodded, eyes fluttering closed.

“Touch me. Please.”

Reiner froze, his breath catching, eyes scanning her face as though making sure she meant it—not just from sorrow or need.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “I want to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”

His expression shattered into something reverent and wrecked all at once. He kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her jaw, and finally her mouth again, slower, deeper. His hand moved to the buttons of her shirt, but he hesitated.

She guided his fingers further.

Her shirt opened, just enough for Reiner to see her chest, her skin warming in the lamplight. Reiner’s hands trembled as he traced the ridges and silvered lines of her past battle scars, his touch gentle.

“You’re so...” he whispered. “Fuck.”

That earned a breathless laugh from her. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the slope of her shoulder. “But I mean it. Every inch of you... Fuck.”

The air was cool, but she felt warm in his arms, tucked under the heavy cloak he shrugged off and pulled around both of them. Their legs tangled instinctively, and when his hand found the small of her back, it felt like it belonged there—like maybe it always had.

His touch explored slowly. No rush. No hunger. Just awe. Reverence. His hand traced the lines of her shoulder, her arm, the curve of her waist, each motion tentative at first, like he was learning a language he used to speak fluently but hadn’t dared to in years.

She guided him, too. Helped him understand what had changed—what hadn’t.

He kissed her collarbone. Her jaw. The corner of her mouth. Not claiming. Just being allowed.

Every touch felt like a vow: I'm here. I'm real. I'm yours, if you'll still have me.

She breathed his name between kisses, the sound catching in her throat like it had been waiting there for years. When her hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt and felt the heat of his skin, he tensed, but didn’t pull away. He only looked at her with something like wonder.

"I thought I'd forgotten how to feel this," he said, voice hoarse. "But with you, it’s like remembering how to breathe."

She smiled through the sting in her eyes. "Then breathe, Reiner."

So he did.

And in the quiet rhythm of breath and skin and trembling hearts, they let the war fade for a while. Let the pain go silent. Let the broken pieces rest.

He didn’t need to say I love you yet.

It was there in the way his hand curved around hers, fingers interlacing without needing to be asked. It was there in the warmth of his body pressed to hers, in the softness of his kisses, in the gentle reverence of his touch.

Then he shifted—only slightly—and reached for the hem of her shirt again.

His fingers paused.

“Can I see it?” he asked, voice low, reverent. “The scar.”

Her breath caught, but she nodded. Slowly, she turned, letting her back face him as she pulled the fabric up and over her head. The night air kissed her skin, cool where his body wasn’t, and then—

Silence.

He reached out with both hands, and for a moment, he just held them there. Not touching. Just hovering over her. Then, very carefully, his fingertips grazed the outer edge of the scar, where the skin was lighter and softer. Her muscles twitched under his touch. His breath shook.

“I used to wonder what they did to you,” he whispered. “What you went through after I left. But I never imagined this.”

She turned her head slightly, voice soft. “This is just the part that shows.”

His hands pressed more firmly now, kneading into the places where the muscle had healed wrong, where it was tight and knotted. “Fuck,” he murmured—quiet and broken—as if the word itself could substitute for all the guilt he couldn’t voice.

She shivered at the warmth of his touch.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, thumb brushing the jagged seam at her lower back.

She shook her head. “Only when I feel ashamed of it.”

“Don’t.” His voice was raw. “Don’t ever be ashamed.”

She turned then, facing him again. “It’s not just the scar. It’s what it means. What I lost.”

Reiner’s hand came to her face, cradling her jaw. “You didn’t lose everything.”

And then he leaned in—slower this time, lips finding hers with that same sanctity. As he deepened the kiss, his hands traveled lower, mapping every inch of her with aching patience. His palms curved over her ribs, her waist, her hips.

She let her hands roam too—over his shoulders, his chest, the planes of muscle beneath skin that had hardened over years of battle.

At one point, his forehead pressed against hers again, breath ragged. “I’m terrified this isn’t real.”

“It is,” she whispered. “Feel it.”

She guided his hand over her heart. Her skin was warm. Her pulse raced beneath his touch.

“This is real,” she said again, voice almost breaking. “I’m still here.”

Reiner’s lips found her neck, her shoulder, her scar again—each kiss deliberate, healing, like he was trying to write something back into her with his mouth. I’m sorry. I see you. You’re still beautiful.

“You’re not broken,” he murmured into her skin. “You never were.”

She let him press her gently down to the ground, his body hovering over hers, the cloak falling around them both like a shelter. She gasped softly as his weight settled, his hand splaying over her stomach.

Then he kissed her neck again.

Lower. Slower.

And with every careful press of his lips, something old inside her—some long-caged hurt—finally loosened. And let go.

Her breath hitched as Reiner pressed his lips just below her navel, slow and deliberate. His hand slid up her back side, over the raised paths of her scar, pausing wherever her breath caught. He wasn't in a rush—if anything, it felt like he wanted time to stretch around this moment, to make it last, to make it right.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"I'm not scared," she whispered. "Just... it’s been a long time since I let someone see me like this."

Reiner’s gaze lifted, golden eyes catching the lamplight. "Then I'll take my time," he said. "I don’t want to miss a single thing."

He kissed the inside of her thigh, her hip, the sensitive skin just above her ribs. His fingers laced with hers, grounding them even as the world narrowed to just their bodies, their breath, the fire’s quiet crackle in the distance.

Every place he touched, he lingered—palms tracing the stories written on her skin, like he needed to learn them by feel. He was quiet, shy at first, then more certain as he responded to each sound she made, each arch of her back, each moan that escaped her lips despite herself.

And when he finally lay over her again, chest to chest, his forehead pressed against hers, she cupped his face with both hands.

"I used to imagine this," he whispered, his voice a little raw. "The way I’d hold you. The way you would feel under me. The way it would feel to be wanted without question." His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking your temple. "I never stopped wanting you. Even when I hated myself for it." His breath became more ragged. 

She softly smiled, running her hands down his navel, strong and toned. 

He sat up, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down to his thighs. 

She sat up a little and slid off her underwear, bending her knees in a way that covered his sightline. She blushed, averting her eyes. 

Gods, she’s gorgeous. Reiner took a moment to gaze at her, kneeling over her, maybe a moment too long. 

Her eyes snapped up, meeting his. “Well,” she got out, reaching to cover her chest. “Are you just going to stare?”

His cheeks heated up to an unbearable temperature. “I–I’m sorry!” he stammered. 

Reiner lowered himself back over her, spreading her legs with his hips as he came closer. 

“Are you sure you want to do this with me?” He caressed her cheek, his forearm keeping his balance, as he shly rubbed himself against her entrance. 

Her eyes met his, gentle. “Of course I do.”

He slowly guided himself in, slow and sure, her body welcoming his like it had been waiting—grieving— for the moment it could finally be whole again.

She moaned, adjusting beneath him. Reiner let out a soft whimper as he felt himself reach her end. So good. 

She gripped his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut. 

He paused, and gave her a moment to adjust to him, and when her eyes slowly raised to meet his again, he began to move. 

There was no rush. No need for fire or frenzy.

Just the quiet, aching press of his body sinking into hers, breath to breath, heart to heart. Their bodies becoming one, movements slow, rhythmic, like the sea pulling in and out of the shore. She clung to him.

He whispered her name like a vow. Like a prayer. Like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

His breaths became ragged, his head dipped into the crook of her shoulder, his sweat sticking to her skin. 

“Reiner,” she moaned into his ear, her hand softly tangling in his hair. 

Gods. 

When it was over—when their breaths slowed and her fingers were still tangled in his hair—they held each other in the hush that followed. They didn't speak. They didn’t need to.

His hand moved over her scar again, slower this time. Like gratitude.

"You're still here," he said softly.

"So are you," she whispered back.

The wind stirred outside the trees, and the oil lamp burned lower. But within the circle of Reiner's arms, wrapped in the warmth of their bodies and everything they’d finally said without words, the night felt endless.

Chapter Text

The path back to camp crunched beneath their boots, the frost-hardened ground giving beneath each step with soft, brittle snaps. Morning light filtered through the trees in silver shafts, catching in the low mist like gauze over old wounds. Beside him, she walked in silence—close, but never quite touching.

Her shoulder brushed his lightly. A quiet connection. A question without words.

“You alright?” she asked, her voice hoarse, quiet.

Reiner gave a small nod that felt like a lie in his own throat. “Yeah. Just… waiting for the sky to fall.”

A dry sound left her, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “It’s not going to.”

But before the words could settle—

“HEY!”

A voice cracked through the stillness like a slap of cold water. Branches whipped aside, and Connie stumbled into the clearing, flushed and breathless, like he’d been running full-tilt for miles.

“There you are,” he panted, bent over with his hands on his knees. “Shit—I’ve been looking everywhere . Armin thought you fell into a sinkhole or got kidnapped by, like, boars or something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Boars?”

“I don’t know, okay? It’s early ,” Connie muttered, waving his hand vaguely. Then he straightened—and his gaze landed on them.

First on her face. Then Reiner’s. Then on the space between them—their mirrored steps, the silence that wasn’t quite awkward anymore, the closeness that hadn't existed before last night.

Reiner saw the flicker in his eyes. Not suspicion. Not judgment. Something older. Softer . Something born from watching someone you care about drag herself through hell and keep going anyway .

Connie had seen it all. The way she’d crumpled quietly in the hours after battle, the way she’d carried death on her shoulders but still offered warmth to those around her. The way she’d never said Reiner’s name—but never let it go, either.

And now here he was. Back. Standing beside her.

Reiner tensed, preparing for… something. A hit. A glare. A demand for distance.

But Connie just stared.

And slowly— so slowly it was almost funny —a grin crept across his face.

His hands came together with a loud clap. “Sooo… are you two, like… good?” His eyebrows waggled obnoxiously. “You know. Good good? ”

Reiner’s mouth opened. Then shut. His brain emptied out in an instant, replaced with static. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, and for a second, he imagined curling up into a ball and rolling back into the woods like a kicked log.

She, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm.

“We’re talking,” she said, her tone steady. Grounded. “That’s a start, isn’t it?”

Connie lit up like a sunrise. “That’s more than a start! That’s like—chapter two!”

Reiner glanced at her. The calm in her voice. The way she didn’t flinch from the moment, or rush to explain. His chest ached.

Connie’s grin faltered just slightly—just enough for Reiner to glimpse the man behind the mask. The one who’d stood by her when Reiner couldn’t. The one who had probably pulled her out of more than one moment of quiet collapse. The one who had earned the right to ask questions.

And behind that grin, Reiner saw it clearly: the warning. Not hostile. Not cruel.

But firm.

Don’t hurt her again.

Connie turned to walk with them, but his gaze lingered. Not unkind. Not suspicious.

Just... protective.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, he muttered, “Still not ruling out the boar cult, though. I mean, if I were a boar, this is definitely where I’d set up my woodland death society.”

Reiner let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

She chuckled.

Connie looked between them again and softened. “I’m glad. I mean it. Things have been so tense lately. I missed seeing people just… y’know. Being okay with each other.”

His gaze lingered on her, warm and honest. “You’ve always been strong. I figured if anyone could put him in his place and still have room in their heart… it’d be you.”

She held his gaze. “Thanks, Connie.”

Then, without warning, he gave her a hug—tight, quick, a little awkward but full of affection. He stepped back just as quickly and gave Reiner a look.

“Don’t screw this up,” he said, not unkindly.

Reiner nodded mutely, clearly overwhelmed, ears reddening by the second.

Connie offered a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna go running my mouth to everyone. This is yours.”

She blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“I mean, I want to,” Connie admitted, that shit-eating grin still on his face. “But I won’t. Because I’m mature. Ish.” He turned on his heel, hips swaying in a mocking and stiff way as he made his way back to camp. 

Oh, boy. Reiner thought to himself. 

┄┄┄┄┄┄

Reiner sat low on a fallen log, elbows braced on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

He wasn’t hiding exactly—but he wasn’t ready to face everyone, either.

Annie sat nearby, quietly tying her bootlaces, glancing up at him now and then with a sort of detached interest.

“Something happen?” she asked, nonchalant.

Reiner didn’t look at her. “I… yeah. Kind of.”

Annie raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, she picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, then added, “You look like someone who just survived being hit by a cart full of horses.”

He let out a soft laugh—half-choked, half-bitter.

“Feels like it,” he said, and then… he smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But real.

He covered his face with his hands, his chest tight, hot with embarrassment and awe. Last night still burned like a secret under his skin—every glance, every breath, every piece of you offered so willingly when he’d expected to be cast aside.

Annie didn’t say anything. She just sat with him, quiet and still, the unspoken kind of presence that didn't demand anything but gave space anyway.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

The morning air was sharp, biting through the layers of clothing as the group made their way toward Paradis’s docks. The dirt path was uneven beneath their boots, scattered with brittle leaves that crunched with every step. (Y/n) moved deliberately, a slight wince crossing her face as a dull ache pulsed along her back, but she pushed through it.

Ahead, Connie’s playful laughter pierced the morning quiet. Before she could react, his arms suddenly wrapped around her waist in an attempt to surprise her—but she was quicker. With a sly grin, she twisted, slipping her arm around his neck and pulling him into a gentle but firm headlock.

“Hey! Let me go!” Connie gasped, breath quickening as he struggled, hands clawing gently at (y/n)’s arm, but the grip was ironclad. His voice was half-laugh, half-plea. “Seriously, come on! You can’t hold me forever!”

She tightened her hold just enough to keep him in place, a teasing glint in her eye.. “Maybe you need to learn some humility,” she said softly, your voice a low murmur, almost lost beneath the rustle of the trees.

Connie’s muffled protests continued, his fingers scrabbling at her arm in a futile attempt to escape. “You’re relentless,” he grunted, voice slightly breathless.

From a few steps away, Pieck watched quietly, her dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she stepped closer, a sly smile curving her lips. “I’m Pieck,” she said smoothly, voice low and almost conspiratorial, “and I don’t believe we’ve met.”

(Y/n) glanced up, still holding Connie captive, and returned the greeting softly, “(Y/n).”

Pieck’s gaze drifted over her with an appraising look. “You carry yourself well,” she said, voice dripping with subtle admiration, her eyes flicking to the spot on (Y/N)’s neck where the scar twisted and puckered from below, “especially for someone who seems to have quite the  injury.”

Connie, still trapped, let out a muffled chuckle. “You should know—(Y/N) is one of the strongest and most able warriors I know. She’s quite the anomaly. ” He wiggled slightly in the headlock, trying once more to free himself. He stilled for a moment, locking eyes with Pieck. “So don’t get any ideas, lady .”

“You’re still stuck, by the way,” (Y/N) said, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.

Pieck laughed softly, a sound like silk sliding over stone. “I can see why Reiner would be so affected by you.” Her eyes flicked toward the distant figure of Reiner at the back of the group, lingering just a moment longer before returning to (y/n). “He seemed utterly captivated.”

Pieck stepped a little closer, tilting her head as her eyes swept over her once more. “Reiner talks about you a lot,” she said, voice low and almost teasing. “Says you’re quite the handful.”

She raised an eyebrow, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t imagine he’s ever had an easy time with me.”

She chuckled softly, stepping just a little closer, letting her voice drop to something more intimate. “Apparently, you’re also the reason he used to get all choked up back in the barracks.”

Nearby, Reiner’s curiosity piqued. He slowed his pace, watching the interaction from afar, trying to catch bits of their conversation despite the distance and murmurs of others.

She felt heat rise to her cheeks, thinking back to the night before, how he sobbed like a mourning, broken man. “He wasn’t exactly the crying type,” she strained.

“No,” Pieck agreed, her gaze flicking briefly to her back where the faint outline of her scar peeked again from beneath her shirt’s collar. “But I get it. You’re striking.”

Connie, still in a headlock, smirked and nudged her side. “Looks like you’ve got another admirer.”

Pieck’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Maybe. Though I’m more interested in knowing the person behind all that.”

The compliment was warm,  and she looked caught off guard. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Reiner, trailing several paces behind with Annie, had been unsuccessfully trying to catch snippets of the exchange. But when Pieck’s velvet voice floated back to him, her words thick with compliment and something flirtier than necessary, his jaw tightened. He scowled, puffing a breath through his nose and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, muscles tensing under his shirt. Annie glanced at him sideways, raising a brow at the sudden shift in his energy.

“She always talk like that?” Reiner grumbled.

“Only when she’s interested,” Annie muttered dryly.

His glare deepened.

Connie, still in his inescapable headlock, called out loudly enough for Reiner to hear. “Hey Reiner! (Y/N) always had a way of attracting attention—don’t look so surprised!”

Reiner flushed but couldn’t look away, the corner of his mouth twitching in a reluctant smile.

At last, with a final, breathless groan, Connie sagged in defeat. “Okay, okay, I surrender. You win. I’m gonna pass out.”

(Y/N) gave one last teasing squeeze before releasing him, and he stumbled forward dramatically, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “You’re freakishly strong, you know.”

Her gaze drifted forward through the group, finally landing on the figure walking in the lead: Jean. “I’ll be back,” she said softly, mostly to herself. (Y/N) nodded politely to Pieck and gave Connie a flick on the head, then began weaving her way toward the front of the column

Reiner watched her go.

The knot in his stomach twisted tighter with each step she took away from him. He didn’t even realize he’d slowed his pace until Annie, walking beside him, made a small noise of acknowledgment.

His eyes were locked on the way (Y/N)’s form moved—deliberate, graceful, even in fatigue—as she caught up to Jean. They exchanged a few quiet words, too low for him to hear. Jean gave her a brief nod, a thoughtful look on his face, and then (y/n) laughed at something he said, her hand brushing her hair behind her ear in that absentminded way Reiner knew all too well.

The sound of her laugh drifted back on the breeze, and something about it—light and unburdened, just for a moment—tightened his throat.

Annie followed his gaze. “You’re acting like someone’s gonna steal her away,” she said flatly.

He bristled. “I’m not.”

“Then stop glaring like you’re about to bite Jean’s head off.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“You are.”

Reiner’s jaw flexed as he crossed his arms again, gaze still locked on (Y/N). She was gesturing now, her brow furrowed, and Jean was listening intently. Reiner tried to read her lips— something about “contingency” or maybe “options”— but it was no use.

“She always confided in him,” Reiner muttered.

Reiner exhaled slowly through his nose. The harbor was getting closer now, and the scent of salt thickened in the air.

Chapter Text

The harbor was in sight now—a distant sprawl of low buildings and steel-gray docks jutting into the sea, still softened by the morning mist. But the closer they came, the more tension coiled through the group like wire drawn tight beneath their feet. The air carried a strange, electric silence, the kind that preceded a storm.

Reiner walked alongside Annie now, both of them hanging back from the rest of the 104th. He could still see (Y/N) up ahead, walking with Jean, their heads bent together in discussion, voices swallowed by the wind. Every few seconds, Reiner caught himself watching her, only to snap his eyes away again—each glance scraping at something raw inside him.

Hange burst into view, hair wind-tossed, sweat on her brow, her eyes wide and bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“We have a problem,” she said, voice shaking as she came to a halt. Everyone turned toward her.

Reiner's breath caught in his throat. Something in her expression hollowed his chest before she even spoke.

“They’re there,” Hange rasped, barely audible. “Eren and his Titans. They’ve reached Marley.”

The world dropped out from beneath him.

Reiner stared at her, everything else fading into static—the harbor, the wind, (Y/N)’s laughter in his memory, even Annie beside him. It all vanished.

“No,” he whispered.

He staggered back a step, the blood draining from his face. “No—they weren’t supposed to be there yet. There was still time.”

“There isn’t,” Hange said grimly, voice raw. “The rumbling… it’s already begun.”

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Somewhere up ahead, (Y/N) turned around slowly, hearing the change in the air. Her eyes found Reiner’s instantly, and something in his face made her breath catch.

He had been too late again.

As they got closer to the dock, they saw it. Movement. Figures. Armed soldiers patrolling the dock. Stationed on rooftops. Posted along the flying boat’s hangar. Their uniforms were familiar—too familiar.

Jean lowered his binoculars slowly. “The Jaegerists beat us here.”

“They’re guarding every approach,” Mikasa murmured, scanning the terrain. “They’ve taken the harbor completely.”

Armin’s voice was tight with disbelief. “They’re not just guarding it. They’re ready to destroy the boat if we make a move.”

(Y/N) stood beside Jean, staring hard through the rising light. “They know what we need. And they’re willing to kill us to stop it.”

The air grew heavier around them. The scent of salt and fuel lingered like a threat.

“They were our friends,” Connie said, voice cracking faintly. “Some of them still are.”

“They were ,” Reiner murmured, more to himself than anyone.

And Eren’s words echoed back in his head again: “You and I are the same.”

He clenched his fists.

“They’re not going to be able to do it,” Reiner muttered suddenly, almost to himself.

Annie turned her head toward him. “Hm?”

“They shouldn’t have to fight their own,” he said, louder now, jaw tight. “Armin, Jean, Connie…(Y/N)… even Mikasa.” He took a deep breath. “Eren said we were the same,” he said quietly, the memory bitter on his tongue. “And I hated that. But he was right. I pushed forward because I convinced myself I had no other choice. I watched you fall apart. And for what?” His voice cracked a little, low and rough. “To make someone else carry the same weight.”

Annie didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him with that detached calm she’d always worn like armor.

“You’re thinking of volunteering.”

Reiner nodded.

Annie sighed. “You always did want to play martyr.”

“It’s not that,” Reiner said quickly. “It’s that we’ve already done this. We’ve already killed. And they—” He gestured vaguely to the others ahead. “They shouldn’t have to carry that. Not for this. Not for us .”

There was a long pause. The wind swept up from the sea, bringing with it the scent of salt and oil and something faintly metallic. Reiner took a breath, and it burned in his lungs.

“I’ll do it,” Annie said quietly.

He blinked. “What?”

“I’ll fight too,” she said, her eyes steady. “Not because I care about sparing anyone. But because you’re right. We’re already ruined. Let us be the ones to get blood on our hands.”

For a moment, Reiner felt something strange stir in his chest—relief, yes, but also a sense of understanding that ran deeper than words. Annie didn’t offer comfort. She offered clarity. It was what he needed.

The group fell quiet, uncertainty thick around them like fog. But Reiner stepped forward, past the others, shoulders squared. “Annie and I will go. Just us.”

Mikasa turned sharply. “You’ll be overwhelmed.”

“Not if we hit hard and fast. You all hang back. Don’t engage unless you have to.”

He looked at Armin. Then Connie. Then finally (Y/N). Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he swore she could see straight through the mask he wore—into the exhaustion, the regret, the defiance.

“I won’t let you go alone,” she said quietly.

Reiner opened his mouth, ready to protest, but the look on her face shut him down instantly.

Jean exhaled harshly. “Then we’d better come up with a plan that doesn’t get everyone killed.”

The salt wind tugged at Reiner’s cloak as he crouched behind the outcrop of stone above the harbor, eyes fixed on the sleek outline of the flying boat. It still sat untouched beneath its hangar canopy, guards posted on all sides. But they hadn't made a move to destroy it yet.

Hange knelt beside him, adjusting the lens of their binoculars. “They’re holding back.”

Reiner turned slightly, muscles tense. “Why?”

“They’re not sure yet. They don’t know we’re here—or they think no one’s bold enough to oppose Eren.” Hange’s brow furrowed deeply. “If they suspected otherwise, that boat would already be gone.”

Reiner’s jaw tightened. "Then we still have time."

“Not much,” Hange murmured, lifting their gaze to the horizon. There, far in the distance, a thin, curling thread of steam marked the path of the Colossus Titans. The haze blurred the line between sky and land, but even from here, it was undeniable.

Marley was burning.

Reiner’s heart squeezed in his chest. The image of Liberio, his mother, Gabi, Falco—it rushed forward all at once, visceral and choking. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“We have to move,” Jean said, sliding down beside them. His voice was clipped, taut with urgency. “We draw Floch out, trick him into freeing the Azumabito engineers, get them to the boat.”

“And if he sees through it?” Annie asked from where she knelt nearby, fingers twitching slightly, already on edge.

“Then we go loud,” Jean said grimly. “Reiner, Annie—that’s when you go in.”

Reiner nodded. He could feel the familiar coldness beginning to rise through him—the armor, already assembling in his mind like a second skin. But it wasn’t just duty now. Not just guilt.

It was the faces of everyone they were about to lose.

---------------------

Reiner kept low behind the rusting hull of an overturned truck near the southern ridge above the docks. From here, he could just make out Armin and (Y/N) approaching the harbor checkpoint, hands lifted in that universal gesture of peace. Reiner’s breath stilled in his chest.

“Armin’s bluffing,” Jean murmured from where he crouched nearby, eyes locked on the scene through the scope of his rifle. “Let’s hope Floch’s still got just enough sense not to shoot him in the face.”

Reiner’s eyes narrowed. 

Far below, the Jaegerists had gathered in a cautious semicircle. At the center of it all stood Floch. His posture screamed control, self-appointed authority. The rifle slung over his shoulder glinted as he tilted his head to Armin, listening.

Armin spoke quickly, face flushed with urgency, gesturing toward the sea, toward the fake retreat of the Cart and Armored Titans. (Y/N) stood behind Armin, ready to corroborate his story. Reiner watched the flickers of calculation on Floch’s face. He wasn’t buying it. Not fully. But for a moment... maybe.

Floch turned his attention to (Y/N), dismissing Armin, and everything else vanished from his attention.

She was standing a little back from Armin, face set in that determined calm that made Reiner’s heart twist in his chest. She held herself steady despite the tightness in her jaw, the pain she carried still etched into her movements. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the Azumabito engineers—bound and guarded—but it was Floch’s reaction that made Reiner’s blood go cold.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. His eyes softened—not with kindness, but with something possessive, ugly.

“She’s here,” Floch murmured to the soldier beside him. “Told you she’d come back. She always does.”

The soldier rolled his eyes so hard that Reiner thought his pupils would get stuck in his head. But Floch didn’t seem to notice. His gaze lingered far too long. He stepped forward, letting Armin’s words drift past him. Something had festered there for years.  And now it rose to the surface like rot.

He just stared. Not at her face. Not really.

His eyes dragged down her figure, slow and deliberate, before returning to her eyes with a smile that didn’t belong on anyone's lips—least of all his.

From behind the overturned truck, Reiner shifted. His breath hitched sharp in his throat, fingers flexing involuntarily over the concrete. If he moved now, the mission would fail. If he didn’t…

Floch’s hand lifted.

“Don’t—” Armin started.

But Floch was already reaching, already brushing a thumb against the soft of (Y/N)’s cheek.

Reiner’s jaw clenched so tight it clicked. His teeth ground together behind closed lips.

“I was chosen,” Floch whispered.

She didn’t flinch.

Not because she wasn’t afraid—but because fear only made men like Floch braver. If she gave him nothing, maybe he’d let go. Maybe he’d walk away.

But he didn’t.

His hand cupped her face, thumb dragging across her jaw. Calloused. Greedy.

“I survived. Out of all of them. Me. That wasn’t luck.” His breath brushed her skin. “That was destiny. You don’t see it yet, but you will.” His voice lowered as if confiding something sacred. “I was meant to rebuild this world—with you beside me. Can’t you feel it?”

She held his gaze. Steady. Impassive.

But the hollowness in her chest burned like fire.

Slowly, she closed her eyes. Not to let him in, but to shut it all out. 

Behind the truck, Reiner’s fists balled into shaking rocks against the dirt. He’d seen war. He’d been war. But nothing in the bloodshed of his past twisted his stomach like the sight of that boy— that coward —laying his hands on her.

Then Floch said it again.

“You were mine the moment the fire cleared and I was still breathing.”

“I was chosen ,” he breathed, like a prayer to something that had long since abandoned him.

“Floch,” Armin interrupted, trying to cut through the tension with forced calm. “The flying boat is our only chance to follow the Titans. The Cart and Armored are fleeing. We have to pursue them before they vanish completely—”

“Don’t lie to me, Armin,” Floch snapped.

He didn’t even look at Armin. His hand still held her chin, thumb pressing slightly harder now, his eyes locked on hers like he was trying to force his future into her skull.

Reiner moved like he might stand. His whole body was a live wire of fury and restraint.

“I know why you’re really here.”

The silence was a knife waiting to be driven home.

(Y/N)’s voice was quiet,

“Floch. Listen to reason—”

But he didn’t. He never did.

His voice turned bitter, warped by delusion.

“After everything. After all the blood we shed to give you a future. I survived because I was meant to lead us. Meant to protect people like you. And now you're standing with the ones who burned our friends to the ground?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, a tremor barely hidden in the steel of her tone.

But he wasn’t listening. Not really.

His eyes shone now with something unhinged, glassy with old grief and new obsession.

“I do know,” he said. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw you that night—when we buried the others. You looked at me like I was nothing. But I was the one who lived. I was the one who crawled out of the ashes. I earned this. ”

Her breath hitched. Just once.

“Earned what?” she asked, voice sharp and flat as a blade.

His next step forward was slow, terrifying in its certainty.

“You.”

The word hung in the air like a curse.

Behind the truck, Reiner’s control snapped. The scrape of his knuckles against the metal was barely audible, but his rage was thunder in his bones. His body trembled, on the edge of transformation.

He didn’t care anymore about strategy, about stealth. All he could think of was getting her out of there.

That was when Armin saw it—the shift in posture. The flick of Floch’s hand. The moment everything spiraled.

“No—!” Armin lunged forward.

Floch raised his rifle.

But it never fired.

Because Mikasa crashed through the upper window above them in a hail of shattered glass and rage.

Reiner saw the glittering shards before he heard the cry—heard the thud of boots, the gasp of shocked soldiers, the shriek of steel as Mikasa’s blades cleaved downward.

She struck like a blade of lightning—cutting the rifle from Floch’s hands in one fluid motion and slamming him to the ground before he could even shout. Blood spattered the stone. Two soldiers fell with barely a gasp, and then—

“Run!” Jean shouted. “The plan’s blown!”

The air around him ignited in gold and thunder as he tore forward, rage boiling beneath his skin.

He surged forward with Annie beside him, the earth trembling under their boots. The scent of smoke thickened in his lungs, stinging his throat as the air warped with heat. Gravel sprayed beneath their feet. The sound of cannon fire and distant screaming twisted into a roar that swallowed everything else.

And then—light.

Blinding, searing. A sunburst of agony bloomed through his nerves as his body tore itself apart. Every tendon snapped, every muscle liquefied, his bones crackling under the strain of the shift. The pain was ancient now, familiar, but no less brutal. It ripped a soundless cry from deep inside him as muscle reknit, and slabs of hardened armor clamped down around him like the jaws of a god.

He wasn’t Reiner anymore.

He was the shield.

The Armored Titan thundered into the docks in a maelstrom of steam and stone. The ground fractured under his weight; wooden scaffolds shattered like splinters beneath his heel. A nearby tower exploded in a spray of brick and metal as his armored fist plowed through it, dust choking the air. Screams tore from the scattering Jaegerists below—orders barked, then drowned out by gunfire, tracer rounds streaking like angry fireflies against his plating.

To his left, the Female Titan danced like death incarnate—lithe and brutal. Annie vaulted a row of crates, then slammed both fists into a gun battery, flipping it into the side of a truck. The crunch of metal was followed by a burst of flame. Shards of glass glinted in the air like falling stars.

He charged the hangar.

The sharp, sulfurous stink of gunpowder mingled with blood and engine oil. Explosions burst against his shoulders in muffled thuds. The heat bit at him, but his armor held—for now. He crushed a mounted cannon with one sweep of his arm, the metal squealing as it bent like wet clay.

Through smoke-streaked glass, he caught sight of Mikasa slicing through a hallway, her silhouette a blur of muscle and speed. Her blades were red. Hange followed close behind, yelling orders. The Azumabitos were being ushered into the basement. That would have to be enough.

A unit of Jaegerists regrouped behind a stack of crates, rifles raised—Jean and Magath were pinned. Reiner surged forward, crashing his armored fist down on them with a sound like a collapsing wall. He saw Jean roll clear, mud and ash streaked across his face as he signaled back with a nod.

The dock writhed in chaos behind him—smoke pillars rising into the burning sky, the air thick with soot and screams and the staccato rattle of machine guns. Wood groaned under the pressure of destruction. The tang of scorched iron filled his nostrils even through the steam.

And then—he saw her.

(Y/N) moved through the smoke like it was part of her—her cloak whipped by the wind, eyes sharp with the weight of everything she’d lost. Her blades caught the sunlight in flashes, every movement honed, practiced, devastating. She ducked low under a gunman's swing, the movement fluid as breath, and drove her steel up through his ribs with a twist that dropped him instantly.

Reiner’s heart lurched in his massive chest.

Another Jaegerist came at her from the side—he flinched, instinctively—but she spun with surgical grace, using the dead man’s body for leverage and kicked off, blade slicing clean through her next attacker’s throat. Arterial spray caught in her hair, streaked across her collar. She didn’t stop.

She was merciless.

Every movement was precise and purposeful, driven not by rage but by something stronger. She fought for the living, not vengeance. For the ones who couldn’t fight anymore. For the world they might still save.

Her strength wasn’t loud. It was true .

And Reiner felt it—deep, unshakable awe—press into his bones like gravity.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t break.

She was everything he wasn’t sure he could be anymore.

He crushed a mounted turret with one clenched hand, the steel twisting under his fingers. But his gaze kept finding her—leaping a crate, dodging a bullet, turning and striking with such brutal beauty that it made his chest ache.

Then, across the smoke and sky, their eyes met.

Only for a heartbeat. But it felt like the center of the storm had stilled.

And Reiner remembered why he was still breathing. Not to save her. But to follow her.

To stand behind her, not to shield her, but to catch her if she ever did fall—even if he knew she wouldn’t.

The Armored Titan pivoted, massive shoulders blocking the hangar gates from another wave of fire. He readied himself for the next charge.

Smoke choked the air now, thicker than fog and heavy with the metallic sting of blood and burning fuel. The plan had shifted—fast. Screams rang out across the docks as the Azumabito engineers made a break for the ship under the cover of fire. The moment their boots hit the open causeway, Reiner knew what had to be done.

Protect them.

He surged forward, plating already cracked from shellfire, and slammed his Titan’s shoulder into the ground to cut off a group of Jaegerists closing in. Annie leapt overhead in a fluid arc, landing hard and scattering the snipers that had taken position on a fallen scaffold. Together, they moved like a wall of steel and fury.

But the Jaegerists kept coming.

More disciplined now, angry, better-armed. Reiner heard the unmistakable hiss of compressed gas—Thunder Spears. A dozen of them.

“Annie—!” he roared, but she was already turning.

She had never faced these before. He didn’t think. Just moved. His body slammed into hers, shielding her just as the first barrage struck. The blast ripped into his back, molten pain tearing through the armor like fire through wax. He stumbled but held. Another volley hit, and he buckled, pieces of plating sloughing off like broken teeth. Blood steamed from cracks in his joints. His vision pulsed red behind his Titan’s eyes.

Still, he stood. He had to.

The engineers were sprinting toward the ship now, ducking behind crates and scraps of cover. Annie was dragging herself upright, fury in her teeth. Reiner stepped forward again, arms raised like battered shields.

Another strike—this one closer. He didn’t even register the noise anymore. Just the pull of gravity. The weight of his promise. He felt himself faltering. They weren’t going to make it. Not like this.

Seconds later, Pieck’s Cart Titan barreled in from the side, chewing through a Jaegerist gunline with ruthless speed. Debris flew. Gunfire scattered. They had made it.

The Armored crumpled, steam shooting from its neck as Reiner freed himself from its sinews. Jean and Connie scrambled from the hangar, slipping between the bodies and flames to reach him.

“We’ve got him—!” Connie shouted, grabbing under one of his arms. Jean hauled up the other side, face pale but steady. “Just hold on.” Reiner’s vision blurred as they dragged him toward the ship, piece by agonizing piece. He didn’t see the others—only the blur of motion and heat and the spray of ocean beyond the chaos.

(Y/N).

She had been fighting near the hangar doors, holding the left flank. She should’ve been on board already. She should’ve—

And then he saw her. Locked in a struggle near the flying boat’s undercarriage, pinned by a hand at her arm. Floch.

His face was smeared with blood, twisted with something unhinged, a desperate cornered man clinging to a crumbling world. He gripped (Y/N) with one hand, the other holding a gun. Her blade was knocked aside. She struggled, teeth bared.

“You think I’ll let you go to him?” Floch spat, his voice a snarl over the chaos. “I loved you. I was chosen. And you—you were supposed to see that.”

(Y/N) didn’t flinch.

“You were never chosen,” she said, quiet and deadly. “You were just the last one left.”

His grip tightened—his finger moved toward the trigger.

But then—

CRACK.

Mikasa landed a swift, crunching kick against his hip, her expression unreadable. He screamed and his grip on (Y/N) loosened. The gun dropped as he fell to the floor in shock. 

(Y/N) didn’t look at Floch again.

She ran.

Mikasa covered her, blades drawn, as the last of the crew and the injured Titans were ushered aboard. Reiner felt a hand on his chest, his vision still reeling—but the only thing that cut through it was the sight of her silhouette darting up the gangway.

Just before the ship lurched into motion, Hange turned their eyes toward the horizon—and froze. “Reinforcements,” they murmured. A train.

It roared forward—but just before it reached the harbor, a flash of light and a high, sudden scream of screeching metal tore through the smoke.

It derailed.

They turned back, lifting a badly wounded Pieck, dragging her onto the deck just as the flying boat began its slow, shuddering liftoff. The sea opened wide beneath them.

Reiner lay still, barely breathing, vision full of steam and pain and—

She knelt beside him, sweat streaked down her cheek, blood drying on her arms. Her hands were shaking.

He reached for them, fingers brushing hers weakly.

“You… okay?” he rasped, voice more breath than sound.

(Y/N) nodded, though her throat was tight.

“You were amazing,” he whispered.

Her grip tightened.

“So were you,” she said.

Chapter Text

The boat rocked gently beneath them, the rhythmic slap of the ocean soft against the hull as the wind smoothed out the worst of the chaos they’d left behind. The deck was scattered with soldiers—some sleeping, some quietly tending wounds, others just… breathing. For once, not fighting.

(Y/N) sat cross-legged near the bow, her back resting against a crate, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders. The salty air tangled her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind. She looked tired. But alive.

Next to her, Jean lowered himself to sit with a soft grunt, clutching a canteen. His hair was still damp from a hasty wash, and he smelled faintly of salt and soap.

Reiner sat across from them, leaning against a crate, quiet. 

Jean tilted his head back dramatically. “Okay, hear me out: if we survive this and the world doesn’t blow up, I’m opening a bakery.”

(Y/N) blinked. “A bakery?”

“Yeah. Like, real bread. None of that stale rations garbage. Maybe I’ll grow a mustache, get really serious about kneading.”

She grinned. “Can I be your taste tester?”

“You? You’ll eat anything with sugar in it. You’re a terrible control group.”

She gasped in mock offense. “That’s slander.”

Jean chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Nah, I just… I think about stupid things now. Like bread. Or sleeping in. Or what it’s like to wake up not feeling like the world’s going to end.”

(Y/N)’s voice softened. “That’s not stupid.”

Before either of them could say more, a loud, boneless flop interrupted the moment—Connie, limbs sprawling like a sack of laundry as he threw himself across both their laps.

“Finally,” he mumbled. “A good spot. You’re both warm.”

“Wh—Connie!” Jean flinched as a boot smacked his thigh. “You little freak, what are you doing?”

“Sleepin’,” Connie mumbled, already half gone, head nestled comfortably on (Y/N)’s thighs. “This spot is premium. Warm. Comfy. I regret nothing.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and didn’t protest, only started gently dragging her fingers through his hair. “ He snores .”

“I do not,” Connie mumbled into her leg.

“You really do,” she whispered with a smile.

Jean shook his head in exasperation but leaned back on his elbows. “He’s like a stray dog that never left once we fed him.”

“Accurate,” Reiner said quietly from across the way.

Jean’s eyes flicked to him, jaw tightening slightly—but not enough to start something.

A beat passed.

Then Jean muttered, “Floch would’ve hated this.”

That got everyone’s attention—even Connie’s, who snorted in his sleep like he was agreeing.

(Y/N)’s hand stilled in Connie’s hair, fingers still in place, like they’d suddenly forgotten what to do.

Across from them, Reiner’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look up, but the words pierced deep anyway.

Jean leaned back on his elbows, squinting out at the dark waves beyond the deck. “You know it’s true. He’d be losing his mind if he saw us sitting here. A Marleyan Titan shifter, not just alive, but with us. And you…” His eyes flicked briefly to (Y/N), then away. “He thought you were his. Like he’d earned you, somehow, by living.”

“I know he was crazy at the end, but he was still a friend at one point.” Jean paused, hesitating before he continued. “He used to talk about you. Not to you, of course—he didn’t have the guts for that most days. But when we first took that scout ship, when things started to move so quickly towards the end, he’d get this look in his eye. Said you were proof that he was meant to survive. That someone like you would eventually come around and see him for what he was.”

(Y/N)’s expression didn’t shift much, but her lips pressed tight. Her eyes locked on the horizon, watching something far away—or maybe nothing at all.

Then: “He died believing it.”

Reiner finally looked up, just barely. Jean’s words were blunt, brutal—but they weren’t wrong. He hadn’t even known the guy, but he could feel the tension in the air, recounting the memories. 

Jean’s lip curled. “Good riddance.”

(Y/N) didn’t agree. Not really. She just shrugged softly and said, “I don’t think he ever stopped being scared. I think that’s what made him dangerous.”

That hung in the air a while. Heavy. True.

Even the ocean seemed to quiet for a beat, waves soft against the hull as if giving space for grief to settle.

Connie muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and shifted, face still mashed into her lap. One arm dangled over Jean’s legs like a forgotten scarf. Jean made a face, but didn’t shake him off.

Reiner finally spoke, voice low and rough. “Maybe, he thought we were enemies. That the world was a line, and everyone had to pick a side or die. No room for anything else.”

He looked up slowly, meeting (Y/N)’s eyes for the first time in the conversation.

“But you… you kept looking for something else. Even when the rest of us stopped.”

(Y/N)’s gaze softened, just barely.

Jean looked between them, frowning faintly but not commenting.

“I don’t think Floch could handle that,” Reiner added. “That you didn’t need him. Or anyone to tell you what side to be on.”

(Y/N) gave a quiet exhale. “He always needed to feel important. To be right —even if it meant dragging everyone else down with him.”

“Sounds familiar,” Jean muttered, shooting a look at Reiner that wasn’t entirely joking.

Reiner didn’t rise to it. He just nodded once. “Yeah. It does.”

There was a pause. Connie snored again.

Jean sighed. “This is the weirdest group of war survivors ever.”

(Y/N) smiled faintly. “Weird’s not so bad. Beats being dead.”

Jean grinned. “Fair.”

(Y/N) looked softly down at Connie. “Poor kid ,” she whispered. Jean leaned against her, shutting his eyes and crossing his arms over Connie’s legs. 

From where he sat against the crate, Reiner let the quiet wrap around him. Maybe there weren’t sides anymore. Maybe this strange little moment—friends and former enemies and snoring idiots tangled together in shared exhaustion— was what came after the end of the world.

Reiner looked at her—really looked. The wind tugged her hair over her face as she bent a little to adjust Connie’s jacket where it had slid off his shoulder. She wasn’t smiling now, but she wasn’t weighed down either. There was something steady about her. 

He kept thinking back to the night before. She had completely opened herself to him, accepted him, but he still didn’t feel like he had the right to be in her presence. 

His eyes followed her fingertips as they danced through Connie’s hair. She was always so kind. 

Reiner looked away before she caught him staring. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't.

Connie’s head was resting against her lap. Jean was slumped against her side, like a tuckered kid leaning against their mom at the park. He wasn’t jealous.

But gods, he wished—just for a minute—that it was his head in her lap instead, that it was him making her laugh under the smell of salt air and stolen peace.

He’d never be the easy one. The funny one. The friend.

But he could be the one who stayed. The one who fought beside her. Believed in her.

He could be that.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let the wind carry the sound of their quiet laughter toward him.

Reiner had just leaned his head back against the crate, letting the soft slap of waves and distant laughter of the others settle like balm over his nerves, when a shadow passed over him.

A gloved hand tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, big guy,” Hange said, already smiling—but with that glint in their glasses that always meant trouble. “Mind walking with me for a minute?”

Reiner hesitated, glancing at (Y/N), still gently stroking Connie’s hair as Jean complained half-heartedly about snoring and circulation. (Y/N) gently waved at him. 

He followed Hange toward the edge of the deck, boots creaking softly against the wood, just far enough from the others that their voices would be lost to the hush of the waves. The wind picked up out here—briny and cool, with a bite of metal that clung to the air. The last brush of dusk was bleeding into night, the sky ink-dark and littered with the first stars, faint and blinking like distant signals.

“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” Hange said, casually at first—but their silhouette was sharp against the horizon, arms folded tight across their chest like they were holding something in.

Reiner’s posture straightened, almost unconsciously. “About her?”

“Oh, relax,” Hange replied with a tilt of the head and a half-smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “You’re not in trouble… yet.”

Reiner didn’t answer. He just stood there, still and waiting, the wind tugging at his collar, sea spray dampening his lashes.

Hange turned then, leaning forward on the railing with both hands braced like they might tip into the ocean if they let go. The water below shifted and churned, a living thing under moonlight. The glow caught on their glasses, hiding their eyes.

“You know,” Hange said, their voice dropping into something quieter, more intimate, “when we first arrived in Marley… I remember how she looked. (Y/N)’s eyes were huge. She tried to play it cool, but she couldn’t help it. Everything was so new. So wrong and fascinating all at once. She didn’t rush into it like the others did. Sasha wanted to try every food stall. Connie wanted to climb buildings like a damn monkey. But (Y/N)?”

A soft chuckle rose from Hange’s throat—half-amused, half-sad. “She moved like someone walking through a museum. Like she might ruin something if she touched it.”

Reiner swallowed, throat dry and tight. He could see it—(Y/N) walking the Marleyan streets with her shoulders tucked close, absorbing everything with admiration and suspicion, like the world could vanish beneath her at any moment.

“She was nervous,” Hange said, voice drifting. “She was in your world. The enemy’s world. And she was terrified—but she still came. Still smiled. Trusted us to keep her safe, even when we didn’t know how to keep ourselves safe.”

Reiner’s fists curled at his sides. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Hange said gently, like it wasn’t even a judgment. “You were too busy being a ghost.” Hange wagged their fingers at him, taunting on the final word.

The silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the hush of the sea.

“But that night, in the immigrant’s camp…” Hange’s smile returned, soft around the edges, tinged with nostalgia. “She danced. Gods, she danced like the world couldn’t touch her. With Connie. With Sasha. With me. Barefoot in the dust, drunk as hell, hair wild—just spinning and laughing like she’d never seen war. For a few hours, the world didn’t own her.”

Reiner closed his eyes, chest aching. That image would haunt him. She’d never looked at him like that. Not carefree. Not weightless.

Then—without warning—Hange turned and grabbed him by the collar with startling force.

Reiner grunted, stumbling slightly as he was yanked forward until their faces were just inches apart, breath mingling in the cool night air.

All the warmth drained from Hange’s expression.

“You don’t get to take that light from her,” they said, low and deadly. “You don’t get to touch that part of her if you’re just going to leave more wreckage in your wake.”

Reiner didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

“She’s held on to every shred of hope with bloodied hands. She’s carried all of us at one point or another. And you —” Hange’s fingers tightened against his collar, “—you already helped destroy her world once. If you even think of hurting her again—physically, emotionally, accidentally or not—I will end you. I don’t care that you’re a Titan. I will find a way.”

Reiner looked at them—really looked—and for a moment, it wasn’t just Hange standing in front of him. It was everything they had lost. Everyone they were still trying to protect, even now. And the threat wasn’t bravado. It was grief . It was love .

Then, just as quickly, Hange released him. They smoothed the front of his shirt like an old friend might, patting his chest twice, and stepped back with a wry smile that didn’t quite hide the steel underneath.

“Anyway,” they said lightly, like the air between them hadn’t just ignited, “enjoy the seascape. I imagine she’s wondering where you wandered off to. Don’t keep her waiting.”

They walked off, humming something tuneless under their breath, coat fluttering behind them like a flag in retreat.

Reiner remained frozen, the wind cutting through him sharper now. His heartbeat pounded like thunder in his ears.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

The air in Odiha was different.

Not lighter—no, the burden of what they carried would never be light again—but it was clearer , sharpened by salt and steel. The wind rolled in off the harbor in uneven breaths, tugging at loose sleeves and stinging at raw skin. Smoke clung faintly to the breeze—burnt oil, scorched metal, the scent of things built too quickly and under duress.

Inside the vast hangar, voices murmured and clanged like percussion. Mechanics swarmed the flying boat with organized chaos—shouted measurements, clanking tools, footsteps echoing across concrete. The glow of lanterns made the sweat on their brows glisten like dew, casting long shadows against the corrugated walls. Somewhere outside, a gull cried once before going silent again.

Reiner wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing sweat and dust across his temple. The muscles in his arms ached with a dull, familiar throb—from hauling the massive hull of the flying boat into place alongside the others. He rolled his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his back where it had been soaked through with sweat.

Armin had talked him down from cutting the explosives away from the rigging. “We might need them,” he’d said, calm and measured even with dirt on his cheeks and grief still fresh in his eyes. And of course he was probably right. Armin always was.

Still, Reiner found himself glancing at the cables, the charges lashed tight beneath the wings. Every time he looked, he imagined the spark—the misstep. That sudden, unfixable mistake.

His jaw tensed.

Across the hangar, amid the swirl of movement and tension, Hange stood near (Y/N), the two of them pocketed in a brief, still corner of the world. Yelena had just been marched off under the wary gaze of two soldiers, her long silhouette disappearing into the bowels of the hangar. But Hange lingered behind, shoulders relaxed, for once. Their glasses had fogged slightly in the heat, and their voice, when it rose, was soft.

Then (Y/N) stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Hange. Not hesitantly. Not like someone unsure of the space they could take up. It was full, arms tight across Hange’s back, her face tucked into the crook of their neck like it was the only place left on earth where she could let her weight rest.

The hug wasn’t brief.

It was the kind of embrace born of shared fire and blood and sleepless nights.

Hange’s arms folded around her in return, slow and sure. One hand rose to cup the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair, cradling her like parent might after a long nightmare.

“You’re still here,” Hange murmured, just above the hum of the hangar noise. Their voice was rough, close to breaking. “You’re still you .”

She didn’t answer right away—just nodded once, her forehead pressing into their shoulder.

“Thanks to you,” she whispered.

Reiner looked away then. Not out of disinterest, but out of respect . That moment belonged to them—etched into the quiet heartbeat between one catastrophe and the next. The kind of moment soldiers stole whenever they could. Something small and holy amid the wreckage.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

Later, once the hangar had settled into a rhythm—metal ringing like distant bells, voices raised in clipped commands—Reiner found her just beyond the open bay doors.

The air rolled in, crisp with sea spray and oil. A salt tang lingered on the breeze, weaving between the gusts of warm metal and hot engines. Outside, the world had tilted into dusk. The sky, orange and yellow and blue, bled across the horizon in lazy smears like an unfinished painting. Light caught on the bay’s surface in flickers, like tiny fires scattered across the water.

(Y/N) sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wound tight around them. Her boots were untied, the laces limp in the dirt, and her hair stirred slightly in the wind. She didn’t turn as he approached—just kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, face bathed in the soft hues of light.

Reiner sat down beside her slowly, his joints stiff from labor. The concrete was cool against his thighs. He let out a low exhale, the kind that had weight behind it.

Still, she didn’t look at him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said softly.

He followed her gaze. The clouds above the ocean moved like slow breath. A gull wheeled once in the distance, a speck against the canvas sky.

He nodded, wordless.

She rested her chin on her knees. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to her temple, and a thin smear of grease streaked one wrist—remnants of a day spent surviving instead of living.

“I used to think…” she began, voice quiet, “maybe I’d end up somewhere quiet. Someday. Just me. A porch. A field. A sky I could watch all day without being told to move.”

A breeze tugged at the hem of her shirt. Her eyes remained fixed forward, unblinking.

“Somewhere I could just sit and watch the world go by,” she murmured. Her voice didn’t crack—but it dipped low, full of something that felt too old for someone her age. Longing, maybe. Regret, almost certainly. The ache of wanting a life the world had refused to give her.

Reiner swallowed, the back of his throat dry with sea salt and emotion.

“But the world doesn’t let us, does it?” she said, barely above the wind. “It needs us to fight. To lose. To bleed and survive… and bleed again.”

He let that settle, a stone dropped into water.

The clang of tools echoed from inside the hangar, distant now. The cries of gulls had faded into the hush of waves against the dock, a slow, rhythmic lapping that felt almost kind.

“Maybe one day,” he said at last, his voice low and even, “if we live through this… we can make the world let us.”

She blinked slowly, her lashes shadowing her cheek. A crease formed between her brows like she didn’t dare let herself hope.

He turned slightly, his shoulder brushing the concrete wall behind them. “We’ve both had our time stolen,” he continued. “And I don’t know how much I’ve got left. But if I’ve got any … even a few years…”

He hesitated, then turned fully to her—voice dropping like a promise.

“I’d spend them with you. Just like this. Watching the sky. Letting the world go by.”

A gust of wind kicked up, threading between them. Her fingers tightened slightly on her knees. The muscles in her jaw moved once as if bracing against something sharp inside her.

But she didn’t speak.

Instead, she leaned just the tiniest bit—so her shoulder pressed into his. Not much. Just enough to say: I hear you.

Chapter Text

The scent of grease and salt hung thick in the air as the mechanics worked furiously around the flying boat. Reiner stood near the wing, watching the last few cables get secured to the fuselage. Hammers rang out in steady rhythm, but even under the noise, he could hear the tension pressing in on every breath—like the sky itself was holding its breath.

Annie stood a few meters away, arms crossed, shoulders taut.

Reiner approached her slowly, Pieck just behind him. She turned toward them before he even spoke, eyes already betraying the decision she’d made.

“You’re not coming,” he said.

Annie gave a short nod. “There’s no point in me going. Not if it means leaving them alone.” Her gaze flicked to where Gabi and Falco stood beside the hangar wall, speaking quietly with one of the engineers. “They’ve seen enough. I’m not dragging them into more of this.”

Reiner lowered his eyes. “I understand.”

There was a beat of silence between them, heavy and unspoken.

He broke it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For pushing you. For everything I made you and Bertholdt do. For pretending I had it all under control when I didn’t. You should’ve gone home. Both of you.”

Annie’s brows pulled together, her voice flat. “Do you know how many times I thought about killing you?”

He let out a weak breath, almost a laugh. “Every time I looked at you, I figured I was on borrowed time.”

“You were,” she said. Then, unexpectedly, her voice softened. “But I didn’t. Maybe I should’ve.”

Reiner nodded. “You had more restraint than I ever did.”

Another beat passed. The air was changing—sharpening.

“Watch over them,” he said. “Gabi and Falco. If something happens to me—”

“Don’t say it like that,” she interrupted, but not cruelly. “Just don’t die. That’s all.”

He nodded once, tightly, and stepped back as Annie turned and walked toward the kids. He watched the way her posture changed as she approached them, softer somehow, less soldier, more… guardian.

From near the hull, Reiner caught a few quiet words between Hange and Levi. Hange’s voice was low, unusually thoughtful.

“You think they’re watching us?” they asked. “All of them?”

Levi didn’t answer right away. His silence was its own kind of answer.

Reiner didn’t want to think about the dead. Not yet.

Then a different kind of noise cut through the hangar. 

Gunshots.

Not the clang of metal or barked instructions. A sharp, panicked shout—raw, human, broken.

“Don’t move!”

Reiner’s blood turned cold.

He turned fast, boots grinding against the floor, eyes scanning for the source—and found it.

Floch.

He was gaunt and wild-eyed, his red hair damp with sweat and seawater, clothes soaked and clinging like a second skin. He stood trembling near leaking fuel tanks, pistol raised in a shaking hand.

And he had (Y/N).

She was pinned against his chest, one of his arms banded tight around her ribs. The muzzle of his gun pressed to her temple. Her hands were raised slightly—not in surrender, but calculation. She wasn’t frozen. She was reading him.

The whole hangar froze with her.

“She was mine!” Floch barked. His voice cracked, high and unhinged. “She was supposed to understand! She was supposed to choose me!”

Reiner’s chest clenched like a vice. He could hear his own pulse hammering in his ears, could see the way (Y/N)’s fingers twitched, like she was waiting for a window—waiting to strike.

She could handle herself. She always had. But Floch was unpredictable. A cornered animal.

“Let her go,” Reiner said, stepping forward, slow and controlled, though his entire body screamed to launch himself at the bastard.

Floch’s eyes darted to him. His face twisted. “You!” His grip on (Y/N) tightened. “You poisoned her against me! Against the cause! Against everything we built! She—she used to look at me like I mattered!”

Reiner said nothing. His hands curled into fists. He could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His Titan strength lurked just beneath the surface, begging to be unleashed.

“She was supposed to stay,” Floch growled. His voice hitched with something sharp and ugly. “She promised. After the harbor, after the Yeagerists started falling, she promised! And then you—”

“She didn’t promise you anything,” Reiner snapped. “You just wanted to believe she did.”

Floch flinched at that. His grip faltered—but just for a second.

(Y/N) moved.

A sharp jab of her elbow into his ribs made him grunt and stumble, and she twisted halfway out of his hold—faster than he could react. The pistol dipped.

But Floch was desperate.

He caught her again, clumsier this time, grabbing her arm and dragging her toward him like a shield. He moved to fire—

Reiner launched forward.

He slammed his shoulder into Floch’s chest. The impact knocked the breath out of all three of them.

The gun fired.

A deafening crack split the air.

(Y/N) cried out, crumpling to the ground, hand flying to her thigh as blood spilled fast and thick through her fingers.

Floch hit the concrete with a grunt, weapon clattering out of reach.

Reiner didn’t hesitate.

He spun and dropped to his knees beside her, ripping his shirt off in one motion. Her leg was already slick with blood. The wound was high—too close to the artery. He pressed the cloth down hard, ignoring her hiss of pain.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

Her face was pale but focused. She grit her teeth. “I had him.”

“I know,” he said, breath ragged. “You did. You almost had him. I just—fuck, I couldn’t watch him hurt you.”

Footsteps thundered in from behind.

A blur of motion.

Steel hissed.

But then—thwip.

A cable snapped through the air.

Floch’s body jerked. His eyes went wide with pain and disbelief as Mikasa’s ODM hook embedded clean through his neck. He choked once. Blood bubbled, then poured, and he collapsed, twitching, then still.

Silence followed. But it wasn’t peaceful.

The air felt heavy, trembling.

Then—underfoot—it started.

A slow, grinding vibration.

Like the world itself had started breathing.

Reiner’s eyes widened. No.

The Rumbling.

It was here.

And he was still holding (Y/N), her blood hot beneath his hands, the sky behind her darkening with the weight of a thousand approaching footsteps.

“(Y/N)!”

Connie’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands trembled over the blood pouring from her thigh, eyes wide and terrified. “No, no—don’t you dare die like Sasha. Don’t you f***ing dare.”

Tears tracked down his cheeks, raw and helpless.

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, breathing sharp and shallow. “Connie…” she managed, “I’m not going anywhere.” She snatched his collar, bringing his face to hers, sweaty and dark. “You’re way too clingy to let me die,” she gritted out.

“Damn right,” he choked out, tears dropping, laughing even as his voice cracked. “Damn right I am!”

Reiner hovered over her, hands soaked in blood, frantically pressing hard on the makeshift bandage. “She needs a medic—she’s losing too much—!”

A deep, low groan rolled beneath them—like the world itself was cracking apart.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Voices, like gunfire across the hangar—panicked, overlapping, frenzied. 

“The fuel line’s hit!”

“Titans! They’re almost on us—!” 

Steel groaned. The stench of scorched oil and blood hung thick in the air.

“We’re out of time!” Hange barked, their voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Reiner pushed himself up, legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and dread. “I’ll stay behind,” he gasped, stumbling toward them. “I’ll go—buy you time—!”

Hange didn’t even look at him. “No. You’re leaving.”

“I can fight! I should —!” he cried, desperation breaking through his usual stoicism.

“We don’t have time to argue, Braun!” Hange snapped, already yanking the straps of their ODM gear tight. Levi moved in behind them without a word, blades drawn, ever silent and steady.

Reiner’s fists clenched at his sides. “Let me—let me do something. Anything.”

“You will,” Hange said, finally looking at him. Their eyes were fierce but wet. “By surviving, for me, for her.”

Then they turned to (Y/N).

She was half-conscious, barely upright, clutching Connie’s arm for balance as sweat trickled from her temple. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts.

Hange’s entire expression shifted. The bravado fell away. They knelt slowly, carefully, like time had cracked open for just this moment. Their gloved hands found (Y/N)’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away soot and tears.

“You stubborn, stupid, beautiful pain in the ass,” Hange murmured, voice breaking around a laugh that never quite came.

(Y/N) tried to smile. “You’re not rid of me yet.”

“I never want to be.”

Hange leaned forward, pressing their forehead against hers for a heartbeat. Then a kiss—soft, lingering—on her brow. The kind of kiss that says goodbye without ever saying the word.

They pulled back, just barely. “ Live, okay?” Their voice trembled. “You live. That’s the mission now.”

A sob caught in (Y/N)’s throat, but there was no time to answer.

Jean burst through the smoke, boots skidding across oil-slicked steel. “I’ve got her!” he shouted, arms already out. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, his eyes rimmed with red. He lifted her like she weighed nothing.

Reiner turned with them, the chaos swallowing every thought but one— keep moving .

Screams echoed, mingled with the roar of engines and the deafening crunch of something massive slamming into the hangar.

The air stank of heat and metal, of fear so thick it clung to their skin.

They reached the flying boat just as a mechanic screamed, “Final checks! Strap in!”

Jean climbed aboard, never letting go of (Y/N). He cradled her on a seat, brushing sweat-matted hair from her face. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Reiner threw himself in beside them, chest heaving, blood roaring in his ears.

He looked back—just once.

And saw Hange standing in the firelight, framed by the glow of their own destruction.
Smiling.

And already turning toward the Titans.

Then the flying boat’s engines roared, and they lifted into the darkening sky, fire and earth and memory falling away beneath them.

And Hange was gone.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

“ AAGHHH—what the hell are you doing?! ”

Connie’s scream tore through the cramped cabin of the flying boat, snapping Reiner’s head around so fast his neck cracked.

(Y/N) was sprawled across a bench, her pants on the floor, blood still oozing in sluggish pulses from the gunshot wound. But that wasn’t what had Connie yelling.

She had a knife.

Her own damn knife.

And she was digging it into her thigh.

Reiner lurched forward just as Jean cursed and backed away, eyes wide, face turning green. “ Shit—shit—no, stop that, you’re gonna pass out! ”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her jaw was clenched like iron, the tendons in her neck taut as wire. She wasn’t wearing her blouse anymore either—she had bunched it under her leg—and now she leaned over, breathing hard through her nose.

“(Y/N), what the hell are you—?” Reiner dropped beside her, reaching for her hands.

“I’m not flying into a warzone with a bullet still in me,” she ground out. “It’s lodged here. I can feel it.”

Her voice was shaking—but it wasn’t fear. It was fury. It was pain. It was control. “Son of a bitch!” She snarled, sweat pooling in her eyes. 

Then—without warning—she grabbed Connie’s arm and yanked it toward her face.

“ What?—WAIT, DON’T— ”

But it was too late. Her teeth sank into the meat of his forearm, muffling her scream as she plunged the tip of the knife into her own flesh.

Reiner’s stomach flipped.

There was blood. So much more blood. It welled up around the blade, hot and thick and glistening. Armin had turned pale. Mikasa had stepped back, her face unreadable but her throat bobbing. Even Levi, half conscious and slumped against a seat, cracked one eye open to stare.

She gasped, pulling the blade free for a second.

Reiner hesitated for only a breath—then braced her thigh with both hands, firm but careful, his calloused fingers gripping just above the wound.

“Do it,” he muttered. “I’ve got you.”

She nodded once, then jammed the blade in again, angling it deeper this time. A guttural noise tore from her throat, stifled again by Connie’s arm—who was very much crying now, swearing through clenched teeth.

“I hate this—I hate this so much,” Connie whimpered. “Why is this happening. Why are you like this.”

“Because she’s a goddamn lunatic,” Jean muttered from somewhere near the cockpit, hiding. “A terrifying lunatic.”

CLINK.

Something small and metallic hit and rolled across the floor of the flying boat.

“Got it,” (Y/N) breathed.

Reiner stared. The bullet. Blood-streaked, mangled. She’d really gotten it.

With shaking fingers, she reached for the bottle of alcohol someone had tossed to the floor earlier. She poured it straight into the open wound.

The shriek that tore from her lips this time wasn’t muffled.

Connie yelped as she cried, but Reiner held her steady. His grip never wavered, even as the muscles in her leg jumped under his palms. He gulped hard. I’m gonna fucking hurl. 

Her face was drenched with sweat. Her breath came in harsh, shallow gasps.

But her eyes—storm-bright, alive—met Reiner’s.

“I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You’re insane,” Reiner whispered, stunned.

But there was something hot and desperate in his chest now. Admiration. Fear. Fierce, brutal love.

Everyone else stared at her like she’d just crawled out of hell itself.

Chapter Text

The dim cabin smelled of salt, steel, and blood — the faint, metallic tang of it still clinging to (Y/N)'s skin, still soaking the rag she kept pressed to her bandaged thigh. She hadn’t said much since the hangar. None of them had. But she especially had gone quiet, her breath shallow, her skin damp with fever-sweat, as if the act of holding herself together had taken everything she had.

She hadn't let anyone do it for her — not the suturing, not the alcohol, not even the pressure dressing. She’d gritted her teeth, taken the blade, and dug the bullet out herself like it was a splinter. Biting down on Connie’s forearm to keep herself from screaming. Reiner still saw it — still felt the shake of her thigh under his palms as he’d held it still — felt her muscles jerk and spasm against his hands as she carved pain from flesh.

Now she just sat propped against the cabin wall, eyes half-lidded, sweat-slick hair stuck to her temple. Reiner couldn’t tell if she was asleep or just staring at the floor, lost somewhere too deep to reach.

She wasn’t alone — Jean sat nearby, watching her like a hawk. Connie hovered too, trying not to hover. Everyone gave her space, but no one left her.

She’s still here, Reiner reminded himself.

But for how long?

The thought gutted him.

The meeting began with hushed voices and stiff bodies. Armin led it, his voice quiet but clear, framing strategy in terms of heartbreak. Every word was soaked in it — the slow erosion of hope.

Reiner barely listened at first. His eyes were on (Y/N), counting the rise and fall of her chest, shallow as it was. Her fingertips twitched now and again, as if even her dreams were bracing for pain.

But then Connie spoke, and Reiner’s attention snapped back.

“…I’m sorry,” Connie said, his hands clenched in his lap. “For what happened in the forest. I—killing Daz and Samuel… they were my friends. And I did it. I did it without hesitation. I’m not better than you. Or Annie. I just didn’t know what it meant until I had to do it too.”

Reiner felt the breath leave his lungs. His throat worked uselessly. He had waited years for someone to say it. To say they understood. But now that it had come, it only made the shame sharper.

“I appreciate it,” Reiner said at last, quietly. “But I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. Not even if we win. Not even if we save what’s left.”

Jean leaned forward. “I used to dream about what I’d say to you, you know. About Marco. About what you did.”

Reiner flinched.

Jean’s mouth was tight. His hands fisted. But his voice stayed level. “And now I’ve killed too. I know what it feels like. The guilt. The way it never leaves. I get it now. Doesn’t mean I like you. Doesn’t mean I forgive you. But… I get it.”

Reiner nodded slowly. His hands were shaking again. They always did when he thought about Marco.

They all sat with it for a while. The grief. The knowing. The mutual scars. Then Reiner looked up. “Maybe… maybe Eren wants us to stop him.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“He hasn’t stopped us from transforming,” he continued. “He could. But he hasn’t. Why?” He looked at Armin. “Maybe he wants to be stopped. Maybe the weight of what he’s doing… maybe it’s too much.”

Armin looked stunned. “You think he’s giving us a chance?”

“I think he’s waiting.”

For a moment, no one said a word.

Then the world shifted.

The air became heavy, the light fell away — replaced by something eternal, something without time or sky.

Paths.

Reiner knew this place. Its stillness. Its endless, pale glow. Its terrifying quiet.

They stood together now — all of them — their bodies suspended in the liminal white of the Founder’s domain.

And he was there.

Eren.

Or… what remained of him.

The voice that came was neither warm nor cold. It simply was.

“If you want to stop me… you’ll have to kill me.”

Then the voice faded.

And so did the Paths.

They were back in the cabin — gasping, cold, blinking like they’d just come up from underwater.

But Reiner wasn’t looking at Eren. Or the others.

He was looking at her.

(Y/N) had collapsed sideways, her breath ragged, one arm over her wound, the other braced on the floor. She looked like she’d barely stayed conscious. Still didn’t speak. Still didn’t look up.

Reiner dropped beside her, his arm sliding behind her back to steady her. “You okay?” he asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

She gave a faint shake of her head. “Too tired to answer that,” she whispered. Her lips were pale. “Still bleeding.”

Jean rushed over to check the dressing. Connie brought water. Mikasa handed Reiner a clean rag, and he pressed it gently to the blood seeping through.

No one said anything about how close she’d come. They didn’t need to. They all cursed Floch under their breath.

Reiner sat with her, feeling the weight of her against his side, her breath against his collarbone.

If she died, it would be his fault again. If she bled out, if the plane failed, if they lost the fight — it would all come back to him. Another life lost to the wake of his sins.

He closed his eyes. Let himself imagine it — just for a moment.

Not the war. Not the Titans. Not Eren.

But peace.

A cabin maybe, somewhere cold, where the trees were tall and the air always smelled of pine. A porch. A chair beside his. Her hand in his. A sky they could sit under, without anyone needing them to die for it.

That’s what I want for you, he thought, tracing the shape of her shoulder with his eyes. That’s all I want.

A world that doesn’t need you to bleed to deserve it.

And if I survive… if we both do… I’ll build that world with you. Even if I have to claw it out of the ashes with my bare hands.

Even if I don’t deserve it.

But until then, all he could do was stay beside her. Protect her. Be the shield she didn’t ask for — and maybe didn’t need — but the one he would be anyway.

The flying boat cut through the thinning clouds, the sky ahead bruised with ash and distant firelight. Beneath them, Fort Salta sprawled like a cracked tooth in a sea of dust, and just before it,  the skeletal monstrosity of the Founding Titan. Its spine stretched toward the horizon, ribs jutting like broken pillars through the mist.

Then: a flash. A shriek. Something massive split the sky.

The Beast Titan was already waiting for them.

“Take cover!” someone shouted—Jean or Armin, Reiner couldn’t tell. The deck lurched violently as a barrage of projectiles tore through the air, narrowly missing the hull. Alarms blared through the flying boat. The metal groaned in protest, and every hand flew to weapons, to gear, to resolve.

Reiner’s heart was already pounding when he turned—only to find (Y/N) struggling to her feet.

She had wrapped her leg in gauze and scrap fabric, still soaked through with blood, but she was upright. Her fingers trembled slightly as she fastened the buckles of her ODM harness, breath shallow. She winced with every movement but kept going.

"(Y/N)... what are you doing?" Reiner’s voice was sharp, near panicked.

She didn’t look up. “Getting ready.”

“You can barely stand.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!” His voice cracked—rage, fear, all of it blurring together. “You’re not healed. You shouldn’t even be out of bed!”

(Y/N) finally turned her face toward him. Pale, drawn—but her eyes were steady, unwavering. “I made it this far. I’m not sitting out the end.”

Reiner swallowed hard. The others were suiting up around them—metal clinking, blades snapping into place, gas hissing. But all he could hear was the way her breathing hitched when she cinched a strap too tight over her thigh.

He stepped forward, gripping her arm to steady her. “Then I’m not leaving your side. Not for a second.”

She didn’t argue. But she didn’t promise to be careful, either. That was never who she’d been.

Reiner helped her fasten the last of her gear, fingers lingering on the clasps at her waist. His chest felt like it was caving in. He didn’t have the words to say what he needed to. That he’d already failed her once. That the thought of her falling again—on this field, on this day—was a weight heavier than any armor he’d ever worn.

She looked at him, and for just a breath, the world softened. No Beast Titan. No death looming. Just her eyes, tired and fierce, and the wind whistling through the torn hull.

“If we survive this,” he whispered, “I’ll give you everything I have left. Every second. Every quiet day the world allows.”

(Y/N) gave a soft huff—half a smile, half a wince. “Then you better not die, Reiner.”

Another roar shook the sky. The flying boat dipped lower, and Reiner instinctively reached to shield her as debris slammed against the hull. It was time.

The ramp began to lower. Light flooded the bay. Fort Salta lay beneath them, already swallowed by the Founding Titan’s horror.

Reiner clenched his jaw, his eyes never leaving her face. He couldn’t protect her from the world. But he could stand between her and death—again, and again, and again, until there was nothing left of him but armor and promise.

They stepped to the edge together.

And jumped.

Wind roared in Reiner’s ears as he plummeted through the sky, body taut in freefall. The landscape below surged up at him—cracked earth, shattered steel, and the impossible sprawl of the Founding Titan’s body like the skeleton of a god rotting across the land.

Behind him, ODM lines fired with sharp metallic snaps—Jean, Connie, Mikasa, Pieck, Armin… and her.

Reiner didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t. If he saw her—wounded and burning through every ounce of will just to stay in the air—he’d hesitate.

And hesitation now would mean death.

The Beast Titan appeared through the smoke like a specter, hurling debris from the ruined fort with cruel, efficient power. A barrage of stone and twisted steel. A shriek of air. A chunk of concrete missed Reiner by inches, spinning past like a meteor.

He angled his gear, shot forward—

And transformed midair.

The explosion of heat and muscle ripped the sky apart.

A second later, the Armored Titan slammed into the Beast.

Reiner hit with all the fury he’d been bottling for years. The impact sent shockwaves across the battlefield—his fists crashed against the Beast Titan’s face, splintering bone, armor cracking from the force. He didn’t hold back.

He couldn’t.

This wasn’t just Zeke. This was every broken wall, every body, every choice he couldn’t undo.

The Beast reeled. Reiner drove him back with another blow, shoving him toward the edge of the Founding Titan’s ribs. Dust and blood sprayed like ash.

Movement caught his eye—a glint of steel, a black silhouette soaring through the smoke and ash.

(Y/N).

Her line struck just past Reiner’s shoulder. She flew between the crumbling ribs of Eren’s Titan, blades flashing. There was blood on her thigh, her leg trembling with every burst of gas—but she was fast. Faster than she’d ever been.

(Y/N) didn’t hesitate. She screamed—a raw, hoarse cry of pain and fury—and dove, blades first.

Steel met flesh.

A wet, final sound.

The nape split open.

And just like that—

The Beast Titan’s body slackened beneath Reiner. The frame began to crumble, steam erupting in waves from the shredded nape.

Something was wrong. Where was Zeke?

There was shouting in the distance. The others were closing in. The battlefield kept burning. (Y/N) landed on Reiner’s shoulder, confusion on her face. 

Jean landed hard beside (y/n) on Reiner’s shoulder, ODM lines snapping back. “That wasn’t Zeke,” he growled, sweat streaking his soot-darkened face. “That thing wasn’t fighting back. It was just— there .”

The Cart skidded into view, blood on her face, eyes wide. “They’re decoys,” she said. “All of them—these Titans—Ymir’s just sending them to slow us down.”

Reiner’s stomach sank. He glanced over his shoulder.

Smoke bloomed across the horizon, the Founding Titan’s body still stretching endlessly through the valley like a ribcage from a dead god. And all around them—

Ancient Titans, dozens, maybe hundreds, charging with mindless determination. They were grotesque. Crooked, sinewy. Snapping jaws and clawed limbs and long, rattling gasps.

But not yet… coordinated.

Not yet smart.

Not yet Ymir .

(Y/N) tried to rise. Reiner caught her under the arm. “Don’t,” he said. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll keep moving,” she rasped. “I’m not stopping.”

Before he could respond, a scream cracked across the sky.

“BLOW IT UP, ARMIN!”

Jean’s voice.

Reiner twisted—just in time to see Armin midair, hesitating, face contorted in horror. His hand hovered over his trigger. His eyes wide, far away.

“Armin—!” Mikasa was shouting too now, but her voice was raw. She knew . Reiner could see it in her face. The hesitation was back. Doubt creeping in like mold.

Another scream—closer.

Reiner’s blood iced.

Something long and boneless—an Okapi-like Titan, with that grotesque, stalked face—shot forward out of the dust and snatched Armin mid-thought. The air was sucked out of the sky in one sharp gasp.

“NO!” Jean roared, ODM lines sparking as he launched toward it.

Armin was gone.

Swallowed.

Just like that.

Reiner’s heart stopped. The Beast was a distraction. Zeke was never there. The strange Titans weren’t mindless—they were evolving.

He just wanted to save her.

And if that meant charging into the mouth of hell, then so be it.

“We kill Eren,” Reiner said at last, his voice flat, solid. “We kill him. That’s the only way.”

Everyone looked at him. No one argued.

No one had the strength left to hope for another answer.

Chapter Text

Then: the Founding Titan's back moved. Panic rippled through the group.

The shifting bones quaked beneath them. From the steaming ridges, one by one, figures began to rise—Twisted silhouettes. Familiar ones.

The Nine Titans. From across time.

Reiner’s blood turned to ice.

There—Porco’s scowl, carved into the bones of a long-dead Jaw Titan. Bertolt, looming like a nightmare, his dead eyes blank and full of fire. Marcel’s Titan, fangs bared in agony. Ymir.  Dozens more, rising like wraiths, each gaze fixed on them.

The air filled with an inhuman chorus of snarls, creaks, and cracks as the reanimated Titans surged forward.

“Fall back!” Levi barked, already sprinting to regroup, blades flashing.

(Y/N) didn’t run. She was bleeding—Reiner saw it, dark red soaking through her thigh, a gash across her arm—but she stood firm, launching herself into the air with a hard kick of her gear. She flew straight at a resurrected Cart Titan, slicing through its eye with precision, flipping over the beast’s neck and plunging her blade into the nape.

Jean landed on Reiner’s shoulder for a brief moment. “She’s insane,” he muttered to him.

“She’s brilliant,” Reiner breathed.

She landed roughly on the edge of a protruding rib, staggered, almost fell. Reiner’s whole body twitched—ready to lunge after her—but she righted herself, lips pulled into a grim smile, panting. Her eyes met his across the battlefield.

Reiner surged into motion, charging toward the source of the Titan wave to cut a path through for Armin—if he was still alive.

But Bertolt's Colossus was there.

It appeared in a blaze of steam, rising tall above the Founding Titan’s back, limbs moving with ghostly, dreamlike slowness. Reiner barely had time to brace. The impact was like a meteor. Bertolt’s massive foot slammed into him, sending him soaring backward.

Reiner crashed through bone and slammed into where Connie, Jean, and (Y/N) had regrouped. The shockwave shattered the bone.

Everything exploded.

(Y/N) landed on the rib beside him—hard. She hit with a cry, her maneuvering wire tangled and one knee buckling under her. 

“(Y/N)—!” Reiner called to her.

“I’m fine,” she panted, bracing herself with one hand. Her knuckles were scraped raw. Her face streaked with ash. “Go.”

“You can’t stand—”

“I said go.”

Even now, she was trying to protect them. His body was torn, he released himself from his Titan.

Jean was pulling Connie’s limp body upright, blood trickling down his temple. Reiner looked up—Pieck was making her move on the nape, explosives armed.

“Come on, come on—” Jean muttered.

Then it happened.

Dozens of pikes shot out of the Founding Titan—crafted from hardened Titan matter, War Hammer weapons. They stabbed Pieck mid-air. She screamed, lost hold of the detonator, and vanished beneath the mass of bone and spears.

“No—!” Reiner roared. 

Another explosion of steam hit him as Bertolt’s Titan advanced.

Then, salvation came in feathers. A shadow passed overhead.

Falco’s Jaw Titan, newly grown, newly flown, dove in with talons extended. He swept down under them all, grabbed Jean, Connie, (Y/N), and Reiner in a single powerful swoop.

The Titans screamed in fury as their prey vanished into the sky.

(Y/N) sagged against Reiner’s side as the wind howled around them, her body trembling. 

She turned her head, lips brushing his neck as she whispered, “Told you… not getting rid of me.”

Reiner could only hold her tighter.

Falco’s wings beat against the storm of steam and arrows as the Jaw Titan soared high over Fort Salta. The wind was dry and stung of ash. Below, the Founding Titan stretched across the earth like a corpse made of gods—bones and sinew and pulsing rage, still crawling, still alive.

Reiner knelt at the edge of Falco’s spine, gripping one of the curved fins that jutted from its back. The world beneath them was red and moving. He could feel (Y/N)’s presence next to him, crouched beside Jean, breath shallow but steady.

She hadn’t passed out. Not yet.

He glanced back.

Her hand was braced around a leather strap, knuckles white. The gash across her thigh had darkened her pants, and her gear looked like it had been patched together in haste. Still, her eyes were sharp, scanning the Titan below for threats. She didn’t flinch as a volley of arrows from the War Hammer Titans soared past them, slicing through air just feet from Falco’s wings.

She didn’t even blink.

Reiner felt his chest tighten.

They circled again, spiraling lower through steam and chaos. Below, Fort Salta's ruined cliffs jutted like broken teeth—and with it, the terrible, sprawling form of Eren’s Titan.

The group huddled together briefly atop Falco’s shoulder, wind screaming around them.

“We’re running out of time,” Mikasa said grimly. Her scarf had been whipped loose from her neck, trailing behind her like a banner of grief.

“Armin’s still alive,” Connie insisted, though his voice trembled. “He has to be.”

“He is,” Annie said. “I can feel it.”

Reiner looked between them. Their faces were bloodied, ash-smeared. They had nothing left but each other—and this last shot.

Gabi stood near Levi, rifle slung across her back, her face taut with concentration. “Back in Shiganshina… when Eren transformed, something came out of him. A centipede thing. It—reconnected his head and body.”

Reiner felt a cold chill run down his spine. “You’re saying if we blow his neck again, that… thing might come out?”

Gabi nodded. “Maybe. But if we destroy it—maybe we stop the Titans. Maybe everything ends.”

A silence fell.

No certainty. Only possibility.

Levi’s voice cut through it like gravel. “Then we split up. Mikasa, Connie, Annie—you find the Titan that took Armin. Bring him back, whatever it takes.”

He turned to Jean and Reiner. “You two go for the neck. The explosives are still wrapped there. If Gabi’s right… blow it. Blow everything.”

Reiner nodded once, jaw clenched.

(Y/N) started to rise with them. Reiner turned. “You’re not coming.”

She scowled. “Try and stop me.”

Jean stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

“Everyone’s hurt.”

Falco dipped sharply to avoid another barrage. Arrows slammed into his tail, piercing it—he screeched, then steadied.

Levi limped forward, steady despite the strain in every motion. “You’re not flying. You’re staying here. With me. With Gabi. If they need cover fire, you give it.”

(Y/N) looked like she might argue again, but the moment she shifted her leg, pain twisted across her face. Reiner moved closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve done enough. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” she whispered. “I just want to be there if you don’t come back.”

Reiner’s throat closed. He looked down, then up again, catching her gaze.

“I’m coming back.”

Her brows drew together, disbelief and hope warring in her expression. “You better.”

Falco let out a sharp screech—time was up.

Jean looked at Reiner. “Ready?”

Reiner nodded, and together they launched—gear firing, wind slamming into them as they plunged toward the death-riddled horizon.

Below, Eren’s neck loomed closer.

The bones were slick with heat. The explosives were still in place, coiled around the vertebrae like a promise waiting to be broken.

Arrows soared around them.

Reiner’s muscles screamed. His mind roared with everything they’d lost—everything they were still trying to hold on to.

He landed hard, blades drawn.

Jean hit beside him a beat later, already moving, checking the lines.

“We do this fast,” Jean muttered. “Before another War Hammer stabs us out of the air.”

Reiner nodded, eyes darting back to the sky where Falco circled wide.

The first pike pierced his shoulder with a sickening crunch.

Reiner staggered back, armored plating cracking beneath the blow. Another came from the side, slicing through his left arm with impossible precision. He roared, half in pain, half in defiance, and swung wildly, catching the nearest War Hammer Titan in the chest with his claws. It barely flinched.

A dozen more surrounded him now, crawling up Eren's bones like insects. Each one wielded cruel, crystalline weapons formed from nothing but their will. He tried to move, to cut through them, to get to the nape—but they were endless.

Another arrow slammed into his thigh, the impact vibrating through bone and armor. A crystalline lance followed, puncturing between his ribs with a sickening crack. Reiner staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Steam hissed from ruptured plates as he dropped to one knee, the Armored Titan's shell peeling away like wet bark under a storm.

His vision swam with heat and blood. The battlefield was a chaotic graveyard of skeletal remains and molten sinew, thunder shaking the marrow of the world.

No, he thought, his pulse a hammer in his ears. Not yet. Not here.

He dragged his gaze upward through the steam and carnage, searching. For what, he wasn’t sure—an end, maybe. A sign. Something to hold on to.

And then—There. A flicker of motion against the white.

(Y/N) darted across a narrow ledge of bone high above, her ODM gear sparking and screeching with strain. Her left arm barely moved, and her shirt was soaked dark with blood. But she was moving. She was fighting.

Are you kidding me?! his thoughts cracked like lightning. You should be with Falco! You—what the hell are you doing?! You suicidal, stubborn—

But he couldn’t look away.

The War Hammer Titan on his flank shifted, bone armor gleaming. Its eyes turned— it saw her.

The weapon in its hand morphed mid-air, bone threading like sinew, reshaping into a massive flail studded with jagged spikes.

Reiner's eyes widened.

“ No. ”

The flail swung. Fast. Final. Straight toward him.

But just as it descended, a blur dropped from the ledge.

(Y/N) was there.

Her blades screamed as she shot past, slicing into the flail’s chain, redirecting its swing—just enough. The killing blow meant for Reiner’s nape struck low instead, exploding into the earth and sending debris skyward in a geyser of blood-soaked dust.

“ You— ” he choked out, awe knotting in his throat. “You idiot. You brilliant—”

But he never finished.

The War Hammer’s arm recoiled with unnatural speed, and before she could disengage, the flail reversed course. It hit her midair with the force of a landslide.

Her body folded around the blow and was launched across the battlefield—crashing through a row of towering ribs. White bone splintered like glass.

She vanished into the dust.

“No!” Reiner screamed, his voice ragged and raw, clawing toward the space where she’d been. Something inside him cracked. Not just fear— loss.

Again. Not again.

His armor groaned as he forced himself upright, one leg dragging. There was blood in his eyes, smoke in his lungs—but it didn’t matter. She’d saved him. She’d bled for him.

And if she was still breathing, if even the smallest part of her was alive out there—

He’d tear through every Titan on this cursed earth to bring her back.

He tried to rise, fury surging through his limbs, but another pike drove through his side and pinned him to the ground. Then another, through his knee. He howled. The Titans swarmed him, stabbing, crushing, peeling his armor off one piece at a time.

“I can’t reach her. I can’t protect her. I promised I’d come back!” He thrashed beneath them, blind with rage and shame, until everything became a haze of red and white.

Suddenly, a roar split the air.

From the haze emerged Pieck. The Cart Titan tore into the War Hammers with vicious precision. She transformed again, and again, rapid-fire, over and over, claws raking, teeth gnashing, smoke exploding with each shift. Her human form flashed between the chaos, eyes wild.

“Reiner, get up!” she shouted.

He couldn’t answer.

Toward the rear, Bertolt’s Colossus Titan tossed Annie through the air like a ragdoll. She slammed into the bone ridge and vanished. Jean shouted something, but it was lost in the storm. More Titans began spawning around Mikasa. They blocked her from the okapi Titan—the one that had taken Armin. Reiner couldn’t even see it anymore.

He gritted his teeth and shoved upward with the last of his strength, breaking one of the pikes from his leg. Pain flooded his nerves. He rose.

And then—suddenly—the tide changed.

A War Hammer Titan turned. Then another. Their pikes lowered. Their weapons fell to pieces.

Reiner froze.

They were fighting the others. Not him.

One of them—a figure that looked like Porco—sliced through a War Hammer lunging for Jean. Another, with Ymir’s wild hair and eyes, crushed an attacker beneath her heel.

The dead had returned.

Bertolt. Grisha. Eren Kruger. Even Tom Ksaver—they were there, flickering into being, a pantheon of ghosts turned saviors.

Reiner felt it in his bones: something had changed in the Paths. Armin was alive. Armin had reached them.

And Reiner still had time.

Reiner didn’t feel the heat of the explosion, only the force of it—a concussive pressure that knocked the breath from his lungs even inside the Armored Titan. Armin’s transformation was a sunburst against the smog-choked sky, a final act of devastation that shattered the remaining bones of the Founding Titan and sent the skeletal body collapsing like a felled colossus.

The shockwave rolled outward.

Steam, bone, and ash scattered like paper caught in the wind.

The sky was a bruised purple as Reiner watched Falco bring his comrades to Fort Salta. Reiner sat heavy inside his Armored Titan shell, exhaustion clawing at his limbs, but his mind was sharp and focused. The shattered bones of the Founding Titan lay like a graveyard of giants. The others gathered silently, their faces grim, the impossible task now seemingly complete: the Rumbling had stopped. The world was quiet, almost too quiet.

Armin’s Colossus Titan emerged from the crater, towering and unscathed. Nearby, Reiner forced himself up, armor groaning, and looked toward the clouded crater where Eren should have fallen.

But then—a sudden flash burst from the depths of the crater.

Eren.

Not dead.

Not gone.

A Titan rose, massive and grotesque, its size rivaling Armin’s Colossus, its form a dark, twisted echo of the Founding Titan’s power. It billowed a thick gas, rising like a storm cloud toward Fort Salta.

Reiner’s heart clenched. What in the fuck?

The gas drifted over the edge of the plateau, down toward the settlement below.

“Gas,” Connie’s voice rang out, sharp with dread. “It’s like Ragako.”

Levi’s eyes snapped to the wind’s movement, calculating the threat with deadly precision.

“Get back on Falco. Now,” Levi ordered Mikasa and Pieck.

Jean and Connie exchanged a grim nod—this would be their stand.

Reiner’s gaze flicked between the gas and the monstrous Titan below, feeling the weight of the moment.

The ground trembled as Eldians transformed into Titans—Gabi, Leonhart, Karina Braun, and others—diving off the plateau, a desperate attempt to halt the spreading nightmare.

Annie and Pieck shifted immediately to aid Reiner, but the swarm was overwhelming.

Three against countless—cries and roars filled the air as the Titans closed in.

Reiner’s thoughts flashed to (Y/N), vulnerable and somewhere below. His fists clenched inside his armored skin.

Armin fought Eren. The battle was brutal. Eren’s Titan smashed Armin again and again, but Armin’s resolve was iron. He held him fast enough to land blows that echoed through the battlefield.

Levi, ever focused, spotted the key.

“Eren’s inside the mouth,” Levi said. “That’s where he’s vulnerable.”

He fired a Thunder Spear—teeth shattered, splintered enough for Mikasa to slip inside. Reiner watched, breath caught in his chest, as Mikasa disappeared into the gaping maw of the Titan.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

The others were regrouping—he could see Falco circling back from overhead, the Jaw Titan’s wings wide and slow as it coasted toward Fort Salta’s battered silhouette. Jean waved him down, urgency in his step. Mikasa stood atop a rib fragment the size of a house, still holding her swords as if the battle hadn’t ended.

Reiner scanned the field.

"(Y/N)... where—"

She wasn’t there.

A cold pit formed in his chest.

He leapt down from the bone ridge, landing hard and stumbling to a run. His voice tore from his throat.

“(Y/N)!”

Nothing. Just wind and the far-off groan of settling wreckage.

Jean landed beside him, eyes darting in every direction. “She was with us—after Falco dropped us off. She wouldn’t stay with Falco. She fought near the spine with the rest of us.”

“She was hit,” Reiner muttered, panicked. “One of the War Hammers. I saw her—she went down.”

Jean’s face tightened. “Then we find her. Come on.”

They split apart, calling her name.

Every second dragged like chain links behind his heels. Every chunk of rib, every collapsed fragment of Eren’s body that he looked behind and didn’t find her—each one pressed heavier into Reiner’s lungs.

Then Jean’s voice rang out.

“Reiner! There—!”

Reiner followed his arm.

She was there. Stumbling, dazed. Just beyond the curve of the fallen skull, half-shrouded in steam. Her ODM gear hung broken at her hips, and her steps were too slow, too heavy—like someone walking through a dream they couldn’t wake from.

Reiner’s heart caught.

He ran.

But as he drew close, his body stopped before his mind did.

Jean bumped into his back with a curse, but Reiner didn’t move. He raised a hand, stopping him from progressing with a single motion.

“Wait.”

Because something was wrong.

She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t calling for help. Her hands hung limp at her sides, stained red. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, fixed on nothing, not even the bones of the monster they’d just slain.

She was walking like she didn’t know she was alive.

Reiner stepped forward—soft, cautious, like approaching a wounded animal.

“(Y/N),” he called gently.

No answer. Just the sound of her foot dragging through loose gravel.

He tried again, slower. “It’s me. It’s Reiner.”

Her head twitched. Turned slightly.

He stopped just a few feet away. Her eyes—those familiar eyes—met his.

Something flickered in them. Recognition, maybe. Pain.

He took one last step, hand outstretched.

“I’m here,” he said, voice low. “I’m right here.”

Her lips parted. A breath escaped. Then, with a slow collapse, she fell toward him.

He caught her.

Chapter Text

Her weight slammed into him with a force that stole his breath, knocking him down hard on one knee. Pain screamed up through his battered leg as his kneecap pressed against the jagged rocks below. But he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t let go.

His arms locked around her like a vise, desperate and trembling, clutching her to his chest as if the world might split open beneath him and swallow them whole if he loosened his grip. Her body was limp in his hold—far too limp. Heat drained from her skin. Blood soaked through her shirt, hot and sticky between them. Smoke tangled in her hair, stinging his eyes and burning his lungs, but he pressed his face into her crown anyway, trying to breathe her in over the stench of fire and blood and gunpowder.

“Reiner?”

Her voice was barely there—more breath than sound, soft as ash and just as fragile. It ghosted across the hollow of his throat, so light it almost didn’t register. But it was her. It was her.

His breath caught like he'd been sucker-punched. “Yeah,” he choked, his voice raw and shaking, splintering open. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket. Or tried to. They were slippery with blood, too weak to hold—barely clinging, like her body had forgotten how to hold anything . That hand, the same one that had once gripped a blade with precision and certainty, trembled against him like a leaf in a storm.

Her forehead slumped against his chest, right over his heart, and he felt it stutter in response—thudding out a rhythm of panic and prayer.

“I was… looking for you,” she murmured.

The words were broken glass, scraping their way out of her throat. They cracked and splintered, each syllable trembling with exhaustion, dry and raw and barely carried by breath.

Reiner’s eyes clenched shut. A breath shuddered out of him—unsteady, strangled, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His ribs screamed with the effort, but he didn’t care. Let them shatter. Let everything burn. She had come back. She had found him.

“You found me,” he whispered, voice breaking apart around the words like they were too big for him to hold. 

Behind them, Jean stepped back slowly, his boots crunching over shattered bones and smoldering rubble, each step a muffled echo in the aftermath. He said nothing—just watched with eyes caught in that impossible space between relief and grief. Falco’s wings beat the air in heavy sweeps, stirring grit and soot into a choking haze as he circled for a landing. Levi hung limp on his back, pale as chalk, one good eye fixed on them with a sharp, unreadable intensity.

Reiner didn’t see any of it. Didn’t feel the wind Falco kicked up, or the sharp sting of ash in his lungs.

The whole world had collapsed into the fragile weight in his arms.

Her body pressed into his chest like she was trying to disappear inside him, every hitch of her breath scraping raw against the ruins of his ribs. Each inhale came too slow. Too shallow. Like her lungs were tearing themselves apart just to keep her alive.

Then a voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

“Reiner!”

He flinched. The sound was cracked wide open, jagged with panic.

“Reiner—!”

His mother.

He heard the desperation in her voice, the way it cracked with everything she'd ever feared and hoped, straining across the battlefield to reach him. But he didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman in his arms.

He lowered his head until his forehead touched hers, resting against the sticky, blood-matted tangle of her hair. The scent of her—fire, earth, spent gunpowder, blood —sank into him like poison. The metallic tang clung to the back of his throat. It soaked into his armor, into his bones .

It smelled like death.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispered, the words ripping out of him raw and shaking. Not angry. Terrified. Soaked in a love too big for his broken body to contain.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift her head. Only her lashes fluttered, slow and uncertain.

“I know,” she breathed, her voice dry as ash, so faint he had to bend closer to hear it. “I… I couldn’t leave. My squad… Everyone. You. ”

Reiner’s jaw clenched until it ached. His throat burned. His hands trembled where they clutched at her undershirt, fabric torn and stiff with dried blood. Her spine felt too sharp beneath his fingers, like her body was hollowing out beneath his touch.

“You should’ve stayed on Falco,” he ground out, voice splintering. “ You were supposed to be safe. ”

“I had to come back…” Her words cracked like brittle glass. “I couldn’t leave without you.”

A sound caught in Reiner’s chest—something wild and wounded. It tore through him, but he forced it down, crushed it under the weight of everything he hadn’t said and couldn’t say. He blinked hard, vision swimming. Her face, too pale beneath streaks of soot, flickered in and out like a fading light.

Her lips were cracked, ringed in dried blood. Her pulse—a faint flicker beneath his fingers—beat like a dying ember.

“Don’t,” he rasped, voice thick, breaking. “ Don’t leave me. ”

Not now. Not when he finally had her back in his arms.

Not when everything else was already lost.

And still she had walked back through the fire.

For him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, lashes fluttering like she was fighting to stay conscious. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“No.” His voice cracked completely. “No, don’t apologize. Just stay. Stay with me.”

Her knees buckled. Her legs gave out entirely. He caught her instinctively, one arm curling under her legs, the other holding tight to her back, the warped muscle trembling. Her armor dug into his chest but he barely felt it.

“I got you,” he murmured, barely audible. The words shook. “I’ve got you.”

Smoke drifted in a lazy spiral around them. Somewhere behind him, his mother’s voice echoed again—desperate, pleading. But Reiner didn’t move.

Somewhere behind him, his mother’s voice cracked through the smoke again. 

“Reiner—please—!”

But he still didn’t answer.

In that moment, Reiner Braun didn’t belong to the world that had survived.

He belonged to the broken one crumbling in his arms. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Her breathing was shallow against him. Her body sagged more with each second, her weight pressing down like gravity had finally claimed her.

He couldn’t let go.

Even when his mother’s footsteps crunched through the ash-covered ground behind him—fast, desperate, uneven—he stayed kneeling.

“Reiner!”

The voice was closer now. Shaking. Terrified. Familiar in a way that made his insides clench.

“I’m here,” he said at last, not looking up. “I’m here.”

His mother’s sob tore through the air. Then she was there, falling to her knees in front of him, hands reaching—but stopping short the moment she saw what—or rather, who —he was holding. Her eyes darted between them.

(Y/N)’s head was limp against his chest, her lips parted slightly as she fought for every breath. One of her hands still gripped his shirt. Her fingers barely twitched.

“Reiner…” His mother’s voice cracked like brittle glass. “Is she—?”

“She’s alive,” he snapped, sharper than he meant to be.

He finally looked up. He let himself meet her eyes.

Karina Braun didn’t look like the mother he remembered. The lines carved into her face by fear and years of grief now seemed deeper, harsher in the cold battlefield light. Ash clung to the strands of her hair like snowfall. Her mouth was slightly open, trembling with unsaid words. Her eyes—red-rimmed, wet, too wide—were locked on the woman in his arms.

She stepped closer. Her breath hitched like she might speak—but Reiner raised a hand, protective, instinctive. Shielding (Y/N) even from the wind, even from his mother.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. He shifted slightly, pulling (Y/N) closer, cupping the back of her head as though the pressure might keep her from slipping further away. The wind shrieked low through the bones of the Founder, carrying the smell of ash and blood and scorched air.

“I need you to help me,” he said. “Please. She needs a medic. She needs to get out of here. She needs—” His voice cracked, and he had to pause, had to swallow down everything clawing up his throat. “—She needs to be okay.”

Karina stood frozen, as though the plea had struck something in her chest. Her hands hovered at her sides for a heartbeat. Then she leaned forward.

Her face softened—not into understanding, not into forgiveness, but into something raw and naked. For the first time in his life, Reiner saw uncertainty in her. Not judgment. Not expectation. Just a mother.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out. Gently, she brushed back the matted hair from (Y/N)’s blood-crusted brow. Her touch was featherlight. Her breath caught in her throat.

“She fought?” she asked, barely audible.

Reiner gave the faintest nod.

“I told her to stay on the flying boat. Told her to stay on Falco, too. She didn’t listen.”

A pause. The wind carried dust between them.

Karina’s eyes flicked to his. “Sounds familiar,” she whispered, and her voice—small, fragile—brought a deep ache to his chest.

He met her gaze. And for once, the weight of her expectations, her disappointment, her desperate pride—all of it—slid off his shoulders. He didn’t feel shame. He didn’t feel like a failure.

“I came back,” he said, steady now. “I always came back.”

Karina’s mouth trembled. Her eyes shimmered. And then, with a voice barely louder than a breath, she said:

“You did.”

Reiner adjusted his hold on (Y/N), standing slowly despite the way his legs protested and his ribs screamed. Her head lolled against his shoulder, but she murmured something unintelligible, and that was enough—she was still with him.

Karina rose with him, her hand hovering close, afraid to touch either of them.

“I don’t know what kind of world’s left for us,” Reiner said, his voice low, gravel-rough from smoke and exhaustion. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, where the ruined ribs of the Founding Titan jutted toward the sky like the carcass of a god. The wind sifted through them with a hollow moan, carrying ash and the distant crackle of dying fires. “But she’s part of it. She has to be.”

The weight of her pressed against his chest—a warmth too fragile, too fleeting. He looked down at (Y/N) again, cradled against him like something sacred and scorched by war. Her skin was cold against his fingers, too pale, the smudges of soot and blood tracing the curve of her cheek like fingerprints left by death.

“She deserves to be,” he said, softer now, almost to himself. As if saying it aloud might will the universe to agree.

His mother didn’t speak right away. The silence between them stretched thin—tight as wire. He could hear the wind hissing through the bones, the faint scrape of shifting debris, and the low buzz of pain still gnawing at the edges of his mind. When Karina finally spoke, her voice sounded as though it had been pried loose from her ribs.

“She does,” she whispered. The words came like a surrender, like it hurt to say them. But they were real. And they meant something.

Reiner’s throat tightened.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—Jean approaching slowly from the side, face lined with grief and blood, his sword sheathed now that there was nothing left to cut. Falco hovered in the air behind him, wings dipping low, and Gabi ran at his side, breathless and wide-eyed with relief and horror all tangled together.

In the distance, the final steam curled from the mangled remnants of Eren’s Titan. Smoke lifted toward the sky in slow ribbons, the last breath of a monster unmade. The earth was still trembling in places, but the roar of battle had gone quiet.

The silence that followed felt endless.

The battle was over.

But Reiner didn’t feel victorious. He felt the bruising weight of survival settle deep in his bones.

And in his arms, the only thing that mattered still breathed.

Chapter Text

The cabin wasn’t much.

The wood creaked when the snow got heavy. The roof leaked once during a spring thaw, and Reiner had to patch it in the rain, cursing under his breath while (Y/N) laughed at him from the doorway, her blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. The porch sagged just enough to be familiar. The chimney smoked unevenly. The boards were crooked in places, cut by hands that had once been used for killing, not carpentry.

But it stood.

And it was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled into your ribs. That let your bones forget war. That filled the air with birdsong and pine and the whisper of wind through tall trees instead of fire and steel.

There were two chairs on the porch.

One was always hers, even when she wasn’t in it—though most days she was, scarred legs tucked up beneath her, hair pulled loose, a sweater stolen from him clinging to her shoulders. He didn’t always know what she was thinking, but she always let him hold her hand. That was enough.

The other chair was his. He didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. Not anymore. He’d learned to sit with stillness, with the way her thumb brushed the back of his hand, with the rise and fall of her chest, steady now. Alive.

A world that didn’t need her to bleed to deserve her.

That’s what he’d wanted. What he’d clawed for, through flame and grief and guilt that still came to him in his sleep.

Several years passed, and when the baby stirred inside, pressing against her from within, small and strong and stubborn—Reiner would sit back in his chair and rest a hand over the curve of her belly. His fingers large and scarred, her skin warm beneath them.

Sometimes he whispered to the child. Just nonsense, or names, or promises he didn’t know how to keep. She would smile, tired but radiant in the fading light, and he would wonder how something so gentle had survived all of it. How she had.

He wondered, often, if it would ever feel real. If he’d ever stop expecting the world to end again.

But when he woke with nightmares in his throat, she was always there, eyes soft in the dark. She touched his face and held him close, as if she could rewrite the story written into his spine.

And in the stillness that followed—when the fire popped low in the hearth, and the cold crept up the windows, and the world held its breath just for them—Reiner would press his lips to her temple and whisper into her skin:

“We made it.”

She’d nod, sleep-laced and warm. “We did.”

And sometimes, if the wind was soft and the stars above the trees were kind, he almost believed he deserved it.

┄┄┄┄┄┄

The sky was gray the day the baby came—low clouds stretched tight across the horizon like the world was holding its breath, like even the air outside the cabin knew something sacred was happening within.

Inside, it was warmth and firelight. The hearth had been stoked high, casting a molten glow over the walls, and Reiner’s rough palms were damp with sweat—not from the heat, but from the sheer enormity of what was happening. Of what he was witnessing . What he was part of .

(Y/N) gripped his forearm with fingers slick from sweat, her knuckles pale with the force of it. She lay propped on folded blankets, her legs trembling from the strain, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. Her eyes flicked to him—wild, glassy, but grounded. She wasn’t afraid. She was fighting .

“Another push,” the midwife said, calm but firm. “You’re doing beautifully.”

Reiner knelt beside her, a towel slung over his shoulder, knees pressed into the wooden floorboards. His heart pounded like it had in battle, only louder— realer. He held her hand, but he was the one leaning into her, the one drawing strength from her every breath, every cry. Her voice rose—guttural, powerful, alive —and he felt it in his bones.

She was radiant, even like this. Especially like this.

Her body shook with effort, soaked in sweat and pain and endurance, every muscle pulled to its breaking point—and still she kept going. She commanded the moment, even as it tore through her. She was fighting harder than he ever had in any war. And Reiner, who had seen what it meant to endure, to survive when everything else was stripped away, could only look at her with something like veneration.

Then—

A cry.

The baby’s wail rang out sudden and sharp, slicing through the still air like a miracle with lungs. Reiner’s breath caught so hard it hurt. His hand dropped from hers as he staggered slightly, catching himself at the edge of the bed. His vision blurred instantly. His throat burned.

The last time he’d heard a cry like that—hers—it had come from the brink of death. That night in the medic’s tent, when her blood had soaked through his hands and her breath was slipping away and he thought she’d never open her eyes again. He’d prayed, then, with everything he had left in him.

But this cry—it was new life. It was rebirth .

The midwife turned, cradling a small, red-faced bundle, and pressed the child gently into his arms. Reiner’s whole body froze, seized with awe.

She was so small.

So impossibly light , and warm, and real.

His hands trembled as he tucked her closer to his chest, instinct taking over where certainty failed. She squirmed, wailed again, her mouth puckering in outrage. Her skin was slick, flushed, and her tiny fingers reached blindly—until one of them curled, impossibly tight, around his thumb.

Reiner looked down at her and felt the world shift.

A girl. Their girl.

“She’s here,” he whispered, not even sure if he meant it for (Y/N), or himself, or some old god finally deciding to listen.

Beside him, (Y/N) let out a long breath, her body limp with exhaustion but her eyes still open. She was pale, her hair matted to her forehead, her lips dry and cracked—but when she looked at him, she smiled.

And that smile—barely there, small and trembling—hit harder than any wound he’d ever taken.

“Reiner,” she murmured.

He leaned in, unable to stop the tears that spilled freely down his cheeks, hot and quiet. Her name in her voice, in this moment, was too much. It was everything. It shattered him all over again—but gently this time, like waves smoothing stone.

“You okay?” she asked, watching him, always watching him. Even now.

“I’m okay,” he managed, though his voice broke on the words. “You… you did it.”

His hand shook as he reached to brush her hair back, fingers reverent. He bent and kissed her forehead, lingering there, breathing in her scent—salt and firelight and the iron tang of blood. She was still fever-warm. Still trembling.

But she was here. Alive.

And gods, she was strong.

“You were…” He choked on it, overwhelmed. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

(Y/N) gave a breath of a laugh, soft and wrecked. “Stronger than you?”

He smiled, eyes never leaving hers. “Stronger than all the scouts put together.”

She leaned her head gently toward him, eyelids fluttering closed, her body giving in to the weight of what she’d done. Of what they’d made.

Reiner looked back down at their daughter. Her cries had softened, her face scrunching as if the world was already confusing and a little too bright. Her fingers hadn’t let go of his thumb.

He swallowed thickly, his heart aching with the sheer fullness of it all.

He hadn’t let himself imagine this—not really. Not after everything. Not after war and guilt and grief had taken up so much space inside him. But now, with his daughter in his arms and (Y/N) beside him, eyes fluttering as sleep finally claimed her—

Reiner was not afraid of the future. 

┄┄┄┄┄┄

They came the next day. 

Some walked the path alone, others hand in hand with loved ones. No announcements. No fanfare. Just the quiet rhythm of boots on frozen ground, breath in the cold air, hearts full of something sacred.

Mikasa arrived first, with a hand-woven blanket, deep red and black, stitched with quiet care. She held the baby like something sacred—like it might slip into spirit if she breathed too hard. She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to. Her tears did all the talking, silent and steady as they traced the curve of her cheek, catching in the corner of her mouth.

Jean brought fresh bread and a bottle of something sharp and warm. He tried to act unaffected, muttering jokes and rolling his eyes—but when the baby sneezed, tiny and sudden, he staggered a step like he’d been physically struck. “Shit,” he whispered, hand over his chest. “Okay, that’s not fair.”

Connie managed to make the baby laugh within ten minutes—an honest, bubbling sound that lit up the cabin like sunlight through leaves. He froze, eyes wide with mock offense. “Oh, now I’ve peaked. It’s all downhill from here.”

Falco hovered near the wall, stiff and wide-eyed, barely breathing as he looked from (Y/N) to the baby and back again. “It just… came out of her ?” he whispered to no one in particular. Gabi stood firm at his side, a little older now, but still with that fire burning just beneath the surface. She held the baby next—gentle, but fierce, arms folded like she was guarding the last treasure on earth. “She’s got your scowl,” she told Reiner, and he almost laughed. Almost.

Even Annie came.

She slipped in like a ghost, wordless at first, standing in the corner in her pale coat. She watched (Y/N) sleep for a long time, the baby curled against her chest, breathing like a song.

Then her eyes met Reiner’s. No smirk. No bitterness. Just a quiet nod.

“She’s beautiful,” she said. And for Annie, that was more than enough.

And then Armin came.

He arrived last, alone, stepping lightly across the snow-dusted path with a scarf around his neck and a book under one arm. He hesitated at the threshold, a softness in his face Reiner hadn’t seen since they were cadets. Then he stepped inside, and the cold closed behind him.

He didn’t go to the baby right away.

He greeted (Y/N) first, careful not to wake her as he leaned over and whispered a quiet “Welcome back,” like he meant it for more than just the birth.

Then he knelt beside Reiner, voice low.

“May I?”

Reiner nodded and watched as Armin cradled the baby like he’d done it a thousand times—fingers sure, gaze tender. The child blinked up at him with glassy new eyes.

“She’s so new,” Armin said softly, almost in awe. “Like the world hasn’t touched her yet.”

Reiner couldn’t speak around the weight in his throat. He just nodded, heart thudding with something too big for words.

“She’s going to change things,” Armin said, smiling down at her. “Maybe just your world. But maybe all of it.”

Then, as gently as he’d taken her, Armin placed the baby back into (Y/N)’s arms, brushing a thumb lightly over her brow. “You gave her a world to come into. That matters.”

When they all left—quietly, respectfully—the door shut gently behind them, and the hush that followed wasn’t silence.

It was peace.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, golden embers dancing in the shadows.

(Y/N) slept on the bed, her face softened by exhaustion, the baby curled close in the curve of her body. Reiner sat beside them, one hand draped protectively across (Y/N)’s hip, the other resting on their daughter’s tiny back, feeling every breath rise and fall beneath his fingers.

The room smelled of pine smoke, warm bread, wool, and new life. The kind of scent that wrapped itself into your memory forever.

And Reiner sat there, rooted and wrecked in the best way.

He let his head fall forward, his body bowed not in defeat—but in gratitude . For her. For this. For a future made of breath instead of blood.

He whispered the words, almost afraid to disturb the stillness:

We made it.