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It’s the night of their Disbandment Ceremony and they’re supposed to be quietly eating their dinner, preserving their energy for their first day tomorrow as full-fledged soldiers.
Key words: supposed to be.
Jean has no fucking clue who and where the booze came from but, hey, he isn’t complaining or anything. It doesn’t taste like horse piss, which is pretty swell. Might as well as enjoy the countdown to when he’ll get into the Interior, right?
There’s plenty of alcohol to go around, with spontaneous dance and vocal numbers happening a few tables down. Ruth belts out notes high enough to make a paid opera singer from Sina cry, and Floch sounds like a dying pigeon as he leads the unsynchronized chorus of witnesses “singing” their hometown’s nursery rhymes, while Daz (Floch’s opponent? Partner? Jean doesn’t precisely know nor remember the mechanics of their doings) has surprisingly gotten past his stage fright and is performing a terrifying fast-paced swing dance with a half-dead Samuel.
Hell, if Jean looks outside the window of their unsupervised pavilion, there might be couples sneaking out for a nightly escapade away from the center of the impromptu party.
...Who is he kidding, there’s probably an orgy happening in the barracks right now. Or right outside the mess hall, if the people are impatient and horny enough. Which they probably are. They’re all teenagers, for fuck’s sake, what do the instructors expect?
“So is it better to escape from reality, to the point where you’re throwing away your hope?”
Oh, yeah. Eren’s also making another one of his speeches.
It’s... admittedly quite hype, but Jean’s not about to admit to it that easily. He swirls his bottle, having foregone the hassle of using a shot glass to drink directly from the source, and takes a large gulp.
“Tell me... what’s so good about giving up? Is it better to escape from reality, to the point where you’re throwing away your hope?”
If Jean was sober right now (which he’s practically becoming the opposite of as times goes by), he’d feel personally attacked or offended as if the words are aimed directly at his person, even if the speaker is talking to no one in particular. In fact, Eren is proclaiming his rhetoric towards the ceiling with an empty upside-down bottle under his lips, treating it like some kinda microphone that’ll make his loud ass voice and declarations of Titan genocide be heard by those beasts.
(Jean spends his last shred of coherence to wonder what in Rose’s saggy tits is a microphone.)
But, anyway, he isn’t sober, so, instead, he hollers his honest and earnest support with an, “OF COURSE NOT!”
...They do say alcohol is the best way to loosen a person’s tongue.
A few other people yell their support. Sasha makes a hungry battle cry resembling a growling beast, and it startles a few out of their seats. Some begin laughing like maniacs and tears of mirth begin to form in Jean’s eyes too.
Eren nods solemnly and continues, using the enthusiastic energy of his attentive audience to fuel his braincell into producing fancy, preachy words. “In the first place, it’s a given that we’d lose to the Titans in material terms...”
This has to be one of the finest moments of their lives.
*
Contrary to the bullshit Jean spouts out of his mouth on a regular basis, Marco would like to correct that neither the previous night nor the subsequent early morning after it are “one of the finest moments of their lives”.
Bull. Shit.
It’s him that wakes up first, his head throbbing as if trampled by a Titan. Marco blinks blearily, rubbing the upper arms of his jacket and sitting up. The familiar weight of his 3DMG rests on his lower half, and he looks around to see his friends sprawled in different areas beside a Wall. At least they seem to be sleeping well. The afternoon sun is rather bright, but thankfully a large cloud of steam is covering them from its harsh glare.
—Marco pauses, backtracking his thoughts.
Steam? Wall? 3DMG?
He straightens his back too quickly that his head protests at the sudden jerking motion. Looking up, well, looking up he realizes that he and his friends are all beside the fucking Wall that has a sparkly paste covering the gate what the fuck where are the Garrison soldiers.
And a few meters away, Marco realizes, is a massive pile of Titan bodies stacked upon one another. All freshly killed, seeing as how their flesh is still disintegrating. The heap is taller than most of the aged buildings, rising high into the sky.
He stares.
It’s too fucking early for this.
Turning his head away to look at his friends, the others are still resting in their sleeping pile—though Marco isn’t sure if Eren’s leg on Jean’s neck and Mikasa leaning on Sasha is particularly comfortable. Bertoldt seems to be having the time of his life at least, posing like a French girl about to be drawn with his head on Sasha’s lap. Reiner lays like a corpse about to be lowered into its coffin, ramrod straight with his hands folded on his stomach, and Annie uses his bosom as her personal pillow with Armin slumbering on her back. Ymir and Krista borrow Reiner’s legs too, curled into a small ball while Connie hogs most of the space with his T-posing.
They’re all still dressed in their cadet uniforms, green capes being used as makeshift mats and blankets. Marco clutches his head, exhaling in an attempt to clear his mind. Looking at the still-steaming mass of Titan bodies and back at his friends, he resignedly decides to postpone all logical and rational thinking.
Eren murmurs something under his breath about exterminating all the goddamn Titans and Jean hugs Marco’s legs when Marco flops down onto the pile of bodies. He thinks an arm is thrown across his back and another head bumps against his, but he doesn’t find it in himself to really care.
*
“HOLY SHIT!”
“Nobody cares, Connie!”
“NO, GUYS, THE BREACH IS FUCKIN’ GONE!”
“You’re hungover, we’re hungover!”
“—SHUT UP, THE TWO OF YOU!” Eren yells, his beauty sleep interrupted, throwing a rolled-up cape in the general direction of the noise. He deems himself victorious when he hears a loud yelp of pain. “DON’T WAKE ME UP UNTIL THE SURVEY CORPS LEAVES FOR THEIR EXPEDITION!”
“Fanboy!”
“AND PROUD OF IT!” There’s some shuffling, but he tunes it out in favor of turning to face the other side. Unless the fucking breach in his hometown has actually been sealed up, he doesn’t want to take any of their shit this early in the day.
*
The blank parchment continues its staring contest with Keith, who tries to will the letter to write itself.
Because, really.
How does he explain this situation to the higher-ups?
‘The top ten of the 104th Southern Division of the Training Corps, along with two other skilled trainees overindulged in liquor and drunkenly flew over Wall Rose. They’re now currently missing.’? He knows that those cadets are talented, if a little too competent in some fields, but he never expected them to be reckless...
Looks like Nile isn’t going to be having new MP’s from Keith’s branch. If those trainees are blessed by the Goddesses themselves and do find their way back, Keith has no fucking clue if they’ll be allowed into the Military Police Brigade or if they’ll be charged for desertion... even if they were under the influence of alcohol.
Where did they get alcohol from, anyway? When Keith went to check on his kids—ahem, when Keith went to wake up the trainees, he spotted an empty bottle lying innocently near the doorway. While he isn’t surprised that this batch of cadets partied and celebrated, he is surprised that they managed to get their hands on exclusive and expensive Sina liquor.
Times like these, Keith thinks as he twirls his pen in his hand, I think fighting Titans would’ve been an easier way to go.
Then again, managing the Survey Corps isn’t exactly easier.
Setting the high mortality rate aside, the higher-ups have basically given a group of heretical crazies free reign to do whatever they want with pointy steel swords and machines that make them soar through the air. Combined with an abundance of free time when not training, it’s practically a blaring and bright neon invitation for disaster. During his time as a commander, Keith recalls putting out ten fires made by just the research division. Not counting the spontaneous combustions and random explosions made by stupid soldiers trying to show off to their peers or cook when they’re meant to stay at a minimum of five feet away from the kitchen.
Now that he thinks about it, if the twelve missing cadets return from their... expedition, they might fit perfectly in the merry band of corpsmen. A bit too perfectly, maybe.
Maria help Keith and his sanity.
*
Armin rubs his aching temples, watching as the Titan skeletons crumble in their cycle of decomposition. Despite losing a big part of their surface area when their flesh decayed, the mountain of bodies still towers over them—but at least it’s no longer as tall as Wall Maria.
That’s right.
Wall Maria.
Because, somehow, he and his friends managed to make it all here in one piece.
But that’s not all.
Oh, no.
Because they don’t seem to know the definition of doing things “half-assed”, they also found a way to seal the breach in Shiganshina District’s outer gate.
Which is what Armin is currently trying to remember.
(“After Eren made a brilliant speech about not letting the deaths be in vain, you stepped up saying that you have a ‘brilliant plan in mind’,” Jean draws air quotes as he says this. Marco nods in confirmation. Armin belatedly realizes that they’ve traced each one of his freckles with neon glow-in-the-dark ink, and wonders if Marco has noticed it yet.)
“It’s not glass,” Eren notes when he tries to stomp on one of the mysterious blockage’s cords. Beside him is Mikasa, whose blade snaps on impact when she tries to scratch the material. “Very durable.”
“Crystal,” is Ymir’s comment on it.
With pursed lips, Armin turns in the direction of the inner gate and towards Wall Rose. “I think we should get back. If it’s durable, then it’ll probably last.”
“Probably,” Reiner echoes.
“Probably.” Armin sighs.
*
They walk most of the way back, save for when there are nearby buildings and forests for them to use their gear. Surprisingly enough, they encounter no Titans on their way back. None. Nada. Titan-free. All of them seem to be unable to piece together a coherent memory of the previous night, though.
(They’re all trying to squeeze their minds for some sort of explanation to give to their superiors. Sasha scratches her head, telling them something she just remembered.
“Eren turned into a Titan.”
Bertholdt spits out his water into Jean’s face.)
They originally dismissed her story, but Mikasa can’t deny that there are... rather large and deep footmarks on the earth. Some large trees they’ve passed by have been knocked over too, as if a large object was swung into them. There are plenty of empty bottles scattered around their path too, and crushed remnants of large wooden crates that she assumes was filled with liquor.
Some villages they pass by have also had their stashes raided.
*
It’s the next afternoon when they make it back to Trost. Connie whoops and pumps his fist into the air when they catch a glimpse of the Walls. They wince at the loud noise, heads still buzzing with the last lingering presence of their collective hangover. There seems to be a crowd on top of Wall Rose too, soldiers that are—
“Look! We seem to have a welcoming committee awaiting our return.” Jean grins.
“Adoring fans,” Annie says dryly.
They scale the Wall with ease, practically masters at the 3DMG after using and carrying it on their persons for almost a day. When they reach the top, there is, in fact, a welcoming committee.
...Though the “welcoming” part is debatable.
Their instructors and assorted officers in the three military branches watch, stunned, as they fling themselves to lay down on the Wall’s surface. The crowd looks rather conflicted, torn between being proud, being pissed, and being amazed that the whole lot of them are even alive.
Which, yeah, fair.
“Do we get medals? Please tell me we get medals,” Marco begs.
“I think we’ll be getting our asses kicked for being so goddamn stupid,” is Annie’s muffled input from where she’s face-down onto the stone, feet aching from all the walking.
Commander Erwin Smith of the Survey Corps opens his mouth, then closes it. Even he, a normally eloquent and persuasive speaker, is speechless and unsure of how to ask the bigass question the crowd of higher-ups seem to have. Captain Levi looks impressed, and the shape of his mouth possibly implying that he’s amused at the situation.
“We sealed the breach in Shiganshina’s outer gate,” Krista has mercy on them, flipping her hair in a regal manner and speaking in a voice that demands their full attention. “You’re welcome.”
There’s silence.
Then, Keith Shadis faints.