Reiner doesn't expect forgiveness. No matter how much regret he feels or how much his guilt grinds him down into fragments of a man, he knows he doesn't deserve forgiveness. He hasn't apologized (has he? would he remember?), nor can he bring himself to try. Even in the moments of lucidity when he recalls precisely who and what he is, what would be the point?
It was always going to end in betrayal. It started with blood, and Reiner is sure that's how it'll end.
But Jean says he doesn't want to fight. Jean says he doesn't want to be an enemy. Just like Eren said that he didn't want those things. Except coming from Jean's lips, Reiner can actually believe it.
And it's … wrong. It's all wrong.
Reiner releases his grip, hand snapping back as though burned. Or, more accurately, as if he's remembered how much blood is on his hands. As if he might contaminate Jean with his touch.
It's worse, somehow, than if Jean resumed hitting him. Worse in a way that Reiner can't quite articulate, guilt and regret lodged in his chest, intertwined with a longing for something that can never be. His throat clicks as he swallows, gaze cutting to the side. All too aware of how unstable he is right now, the rapid cycling that he can't seem to control. All too aware that any second, he could start grieving for Marco again. All too aware that the wrong words could make him forget.
Still, he waits until Jean stands before he speaks again.
"… Jean," he says, finally looking up into Jean's eyes again, his voice low and steady. "Blame me. Not Annie, not anyone else. It was my fault. Just blame me."
He could be talking about so many things. Marco, Wall Maria, Trost District, the attempts to abduct Eren—so many, many things. His fault remains the same.
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It was always going to end in betrayal. It started with blood, and Reiner is sure that's how it'll end.
But Jean says he doesn't want to fight. Jean says he doesn't want to be an enemy. Just like Eren said that he didn't want those things. Except coming from Jean's lips, Reiner can actually believe it.
And it's … wrong. It's all wrong.
Reiner releases his grip, hand snapping back as though burned. Or, more accurately, as if he's remembered how much blood is on his hands. As if he might contaminate Jean with his touch.
It's worse, somehow, than if Jean resumed hitting him. Worse in a way that Reiner can't quite articulate, guilt and regret lodged in his chest, intertwined with a longing for something that can never be. His throat clicks as he swallows, gaze cutting to the side. All too aware of how unstable he is right now, the rapid cycling that he can't seem to control. All too aware that any second, he could start grieving for Marco again. All too aware that the wrong words could make him forget.
Still, he waits until Jean stands before he speaks again.
"… Jean," he says, finally looking up into Jean's eyes again, his voice low and steady. "Blame me. Not Annie, not anyone else. It was my fault. Just blame me."
He could be talking about so many things. Marco, Wall Maria, Trost District, the attempts to abduct Eren—so many, many things. His fault remains the same.