A sense of satisfaction surges through Reiner as Eren's expression changes, hints of anger coloring that too-pretty face. There it is. That's what Reiner wanted. Something genuine, something Eren. It's foolish of Reiner to relish it, gold eyes alighting with a quiet intensity, watching Eren like a predator hungry for more. Eren's anger is dangerous, his temper a lit fuse that invariably spells destruction, but it's so familiar that it's nearly nostalgic. It's something that seizes Reiner by the throat and makes his pulse accelerate, eager for more. It's something Reiner understands when so many other things leave him bewildered.
If Reiner provokes Eren enough, will this escalate to a fight? Will they shed blood right here and now? Maybe. Innocent people would die—but when Reiner thinks of that, he only considers the inconvenience it could cause. He's trying to establish a treaty, isn't he? Dead civilians would hinder that.
Just a hindrance. Just collateral damage. Just bodies beneath a Titan's feet. Just another splash of blood on his soaking hands.
He'll hate himself for those thoughts later. He already hates himself for Shiganshina, Wall Maria, Trost, Marco. He doesn't know the exact number of corpses piled at his feet; no one does. All he knows is that it's upward of two hundred and sixty thousand—if he can be blamed for Paradis' government sacrificing their own people for more food. (He can be blamed. Of course he can be blamed. He's the one who barreled through that wall and tore away their land.)
For now, Reiner just watches, savoring the crack in Eren's calm demeanor. There's probably something wrong with Reiner, choosing anger over neutrality. But then again, he's always pushed for reactions. He's always wanted people to see him. And Eren does see him; Eren sees him for the mass-murdering piece of shit that he is.
At least, that's what Reiner thinks. Then Eren keeps talking, his fists clenching, and a sense of unease coils in Reiner's gut, cutting through the taste of victory. Too late, he realizes that Eren's anger isn't directed at him. Too late, he realizes that Eren is … what? Empathizing?
What the fuck. What the hell is Reiner supposed to do with that…?!
Suddenly, he wants to scream at Eren. He wants to demand that Eren hold him accountable. He wants to be back in a place he understands. He wants to be that ignorant child damning hundreds of thousands to death because it would make him a hero. He wants Bertolt; he wants Annie. He wants to believe his mother's words.
So he spits them out, poison on his tongue. "Yeah, you were stupid. Blame your king for that. Or blame your ancestors for abandoning us, running away and hiding."
Propaganda poured into his mind from his mother's lips, bedtime stories of devils intertwined with hatred of their blood, tears running down her cheeks as she wished they could be Marleyan, not Eldian. He doesn't know if the propaganda is true or not. It spills out of him anyway, a precursor to the rush that follows, rapid-fire, voice rising slightly as his emotions take hold.
"You think I don't know how old I was? You think I don't know about the lies? So what if I was an ignorant kid? So what, Eren?" He spreads his hands, too clean, no mirroring steam rising from his palms. "Is that gonna bring anyone back? No! So what difference does it make? It doesn't matter what I did or didn't know or what it did to me. It doesn't matter that I lived there too long and I care about you. It doesn't change anything."
That's too much. Too revealing. But Reiner can't yank the words back into his mouth. At least he's not shouting this time.
He scoffs, lowering his voice. "Are you still looking for an apology? Is that why you've stopped running? Or is there something else you want from me?" And then, acting on an impulse more brazen than he feels: "Because I can think of plenty I want from you."
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If Reiner provokes Eren enough, will this escalate to a fight? Will they shed blood right here and now? Maybe. Innocent people would die—but when Reiner thinks of that, he only considers the inconvenience it could cause. He's trying to establish a treaty, isn't he? Dead civilians would hinder that.
Just a hindrance. Just collateral damage. Just bodies beneath a Titan's feet. Just another splash of blood on his soaking hands.
He'll hate himself for those thoughts later. He already hates himself for Shiganshina, Wall Maria, Trost, Marco. He doesn't know the exact number of corpses piled at his feet; no one does. All he knows is that it's upward of two hundred and sixty thousand—if he can be blamed for Paradis' government sacrificing their own people for more food. (He can be blamed. Of course he can be blamed. He's the one who barreled through that wall and tore away their land.)
For now, Reiner just watches, savoring the crack in Eren's calm demeanor. There's probably something wrong with Reiner, choosing anger over neutrality. But then again, he's always pushed for reactions. He's always wanted people to see him. And Eren does see him; Eren sees him for the mass-murdering piece of shit that he is.
At least, that's what Reiner thinks. Then Eren keeps talking, his fists clenching, and a sense of unease coils in Reiner's gut, cutting through the taste of victory. Too late, he realizes that Eren's anger isn't directed at him. Too late, he realizes that Eren is … what? Empathizing?
What the fuck. What the hell is Reiner supposed to do with that…?!
Suddenly, he wants to scream at Eren. He wants to demand that Eren hold him accountable. He wants to be back in a place he understands. He wants to be that ignorant child damning hundreds of thousands to death because it would make him a hero. He wants Bertolt; he wants Annie. He wants to believe his mother's words.
So he spits them out, poison on his tongue. "Yeah, you were stupid. Blame your king for that. Or blame your ancestors for abandoning us, running away and hiding."
Propaganda poured into his mind from his mother's lips, bedtime stories of devils intertwined with hatred of their blood, tears running down her cheeks as she wished they could be Marleyan, not Eldian. He doesn't know if the propaganda is true or not. It spills out of him anyway, a precursor to the rush that follows, rapid-fire, voice rising slightly as his emotions take hold.
"You think I don't know how old I was? You think I don't know about the lies? So what if I was an ignorant kid? So what, Eren?" He spreads his hands, too clean, no mirroring steam rising from his palms. "Is that gonna bring anyone back? No! So what difference does it make? It doesn't matter what I did or didn't know or what it did to me. It doesn't matter that I lived there too long and I care about you. It doesn't change anything."
That's too much. Too revealing. But Reiner can't yank the words back into his mouth. At least he's not shouting this time.
He scoffs, lowering his voice. "Are you still looking for an apology? Is that why you've stopped running? Or is there something else you want from me?" And then, acting on an impulse more brazen than he feels: "Because I can think of plenty I want from you."