#sarukemono

[massensterben-a]

@sarukemono​ 

He barely recognized it, in the end. After all these years, after horror and hurt, after drowning in blood and gore, he finds he has forgotten everything he promised to remember. Bertholdt stands on deck, his hands clenched to fists in his pockets, and stares at the sea. The morning is gray and ugly and so is the water. Bertholdt watches as its foam-capped fingers rock the hull of the war ship, its heavy metal walls dipping down. Gulls shriek overhead, excited for the company. It doesn’t feel real, to stand here and to look at the sea. He is swimming in his own head, the exhaustion of the last days erupting in bursts, shocking his system to numbness. He cannot feel anything yet, not the elation he promised himself when he thought of this day, not even the grief he swore he would fight off when the time comes. 

Bertholdt’s thoughts are reduced to hoarse whispers, sluggish bedside conversation, murmuring over his unconscious soul. They are safe now. For now. Reiner rests in the cabin they share. Ymir has been taken away, deeper into the guts of the steaming juggernaut. Bertholdt is empty for their absence, taking what solace he must, in the knowledge that, briefly, there is no knife at their throat. He should be glad. And on a rational, objective level he is. Pieck held him so tightly, he thought she meant to wring his neck. He hasn’t seen her in so long. She mentioned his height and he weakly smiled, not knowing what else to do. There were salutes all around, greetings and ironic jokes. They gave him a blanket and something hot to drink, to take the edge off. Civilization, they tell him, has him back. Bertholdt feels like a foreign object in a closed system. He is not fast enough to mirror their gestures, to parrot their speech. Trapped between worlds, he thinks of himself as an organ about to be rejected by its host body. 

And he hears how the scalpel approaches him, prepared to perform the surgery. Bertholdt looks up when Zeke saunters over to him, the glasses he doesn’t need glinting above his nose. To see him there, at Utgard, was such a relief, he could barely believe his eyes. Connie’s village lay as the proof positive of his war chief’s presence, but it didn’t hit him until he saw the great Beast on the horizon. It is about to hit him again.

“... War Chief,” He manages to nod in greeting, haltingly distant, before he drops his gaze again. He knows this is no hero’s welcome. They have failed at every turn. They lost Marcel on the first day. They lost Annie behind enemy lines. Five years lie in rubble at his feet. Until they made it back to the Sea Wall, Zeke Jaeger didn’t say much of anything and the silence was crueler than any reprimand. Bertholdt was so blindsided by the disregard that it cowed him into wordless obedience, like a dog ducking before the kick has even landed.

 He should say something. He should be on his fucking knees and beg, for something, his life or forgiveness. Bertholdt feels it by the pricking of his nerves, the tension in the air. His throat tightens in anticipation. Bertholdt doesn’t speak. He waits.