Chapter Text
The first time Porco Galliard meets Reiner Braun he’s glaring at him.
His uniform fits, of course it does, because they’re not going to give him another one: the test begins when they give out the uniforms, better accept it without complaining- that’s what Marcel told him the previous evening, and Porco, who might have been a bit too busy mimicking the way Marcel holds himself while eating dinner, nodded with a mouth full of vegetable soup. He almost forgot his piece of advice, but luckily someone in their group complained out loud because their uniform was ‘too big’, and that’s when Porco’s mind flew to Marcel holding his spoon with his left hand rather than the right, and whatever he’d said about the test starting immediately. He’s lucky there’s always someone stupider than him around.
Porco is still glaring at that kid who, sitting opposite him at the table, looks away so quickly he could’ve broken his neck. His cheeks are round, and red, his little body a bulky square of baby fat and large bones, and Porco snickers at how awkward he looks, all blond and pink and red, the white of the uniform trying to help with his complexion. His skin looks weird, not like Marcel or Porco’s. And his nose is funny.
“Stop glaring,” tuts Marcel, who sits beside him, and Porco shrugs. Once he would’ve listened to Marcel’s reprimands, but now he’s older, he’s the exact same age Marcel was last year, and last year’s Marcel was wise and grown-up and the top graded potential candidate. So it only makes sense that Porco is just as wise and responsible, being his brother and all.
Despite having so much fun, Porco does stop glaring. There’s many boys and girls his age, some are older, some younger, and it’s kind of scary. Porco wouldn’t want someone so little embarking on such a dangerous mission: that’s the only reason he didn’t join sooner, because Marcel was worried- and he still isn’t sure about it but their parents agreed, and insisted, especially Dad, so here they are.
Commander Theo Magath is saying something Porco isn’t really able to follow, but he’s sure it’s not because he’s stupid: many other kids are rolling their eyes, chatting in shrill voices, or they simply stay still because they’re afraid of being scolded for not paying attention. Porco knows that only Marcel and the oldest potential candidates are listening.
Candidates. Porco is going to become a warrior candidate. He grins at the thought, because it’s finally happening: just like Marcel, he’s giving their parents a shot at a better life, and two of them means double the possibility. They’re surely going to do it because Marcel is good at everything, and Porco is the second best, he knows. He can settle for third, maybe fourth, but nothing less than that. It’s just like Mum and Dad said, they’re two little geniuses and they’re going to do so many great things once they’re adults.
The Commander, who sounds a lot like the neighbours’ dog when he barks at other dogs, stops talking. Or barking, thinks Porco, wondering if the joke will finally make Marcel laugh: he hasn’t seen him smile all day, and it’s weird, because when he’s home he’s always grinning and laughing at Porco’s jokes. But maybe the Commander wouldn’t find them funny, so it’s better to keep quiet. It’s different from home, here.
They stand to attention as the Commander calls out their names. Porco gets called immediately after Marcel, and he stands up with his back straight and chest puffed up, grinning, occasionally glancing sideways to see if he’s doing it right. After a few more names get called, the short, rectangle-shaped kid stands up as well, his eyes wide as if he were constantly scared of something. Porco suffocates a laugh again, he’s so ridiculous, really. He looks funny and nothing like a future warrior, like the rest of them.
And that’s how he learns Reiner Braun’s name.
They’re going to run around the courtyard, an endurance test to see how much they’re worth right off the bat, explains Marcel shortly after the Commander stops barking like a dog again. Porco shrugs: it’s just running, it can’t be that difficult. He starts slower than he would like to, because he sees almost everyone else doing the same, and they’re the older kids, meaning they’ve done this already so he better follow them. There’s a short girl who speeds past everyone, though, and Porco knows she’ll be out of breath before anyone else, so he keeps an eye on her: though she doesn’t slow down even after five full laps, and the courtyard is very, very big.
Porco catches up with her when she eventually slows down, towards the end of the seventh lap: she tosses her head to the side, trying to get the sweaty hair away from her face, but doesn’t even try to look at Porco, she just stares straight ahead. And then she runs faster, again, and Porco is left behind: he’s almost out of breath, his legs hurt, so he won’t try to catch up again. He knows better.
More and more kids start speeding past Porco: almost all of them are older than him, so Porco doesn’t mind it that much. He’s trying to spot Marcel, maybe he’s in front of everyone, almost surely is, when Porco trips onto something he’s sure wasn’t there before, but as soon as he’s doubling down someone is grabbing his arm and hoisting him up. Porco looks to the side, to see who just saved him from falling face first on the ground: a very, very tall boy, maybe taller than Marcel, completely out of breath, starts to lag behind, though he finds the time to offer Porco a tired, small smile. He’ll need to thank him later.
The Commander calls them right when Porco concludes his ninth lap: whoever can complete ten laps is going to get better starting grades, he says. Of course, everyone tries to do that: many can’t even complete the required number of laps, so there’s very few of them left at the end.
Marcel keeps up for fourteen laps, together with the short girl from before: some of the oldest boys manage to hit thirteen, some twelve, like the taller boy who helped him when he was falling, and Porco settles for eleven, with some bitterness. He knows that if he hadn’t tried to catch up with the short girl he would’ve hit twelve or even thirteen. Not fourteen, maybe next year.
He looks around: he can’t see the rectangle-shaped kid anywhere. He probably never finished the ten assigned laps, so Porco isn’t that surprised.
When he returns at Marcel’s side, he sees he’s chatting with the short girl: she’s not saying much, but Marcel is talking anyway, content with her just listening. Porco looks between the two of them, and even if the height difference is funny they look like the best potential candidates in the whole academy right now.
Porco is tired to think of her as the short girl, so he pipes up when Marcel stops talking, asking her name. She stares for a bit, and Porco starts thinking he’s done something wrong, but then she answers- she’s called Annie, and her voice is soft and short, somehow, just like her. Porco is pleased, and says his own name too, putting major emphasis on his last name because it’s also Marcel’s last name and it’s very important; but maybe Annie doesn’t know about it, because she doesn’t react.
They go back inside to drink and eat something, Porco hopes: he’s disappointed when he finds himself at the end of a long queue for getting to drink water and nothing else.
Porco tags along with Marcel and Annie, who are now silent, but are also staying close anyway, and Porco hopes she won’t steal him away, for some reason. He wants to hold Marcel’s hand just like when they were younger, because he’s in distress, and Marcel has to know so he’ll say the perfect thing to put Porco at ease: he thinks he won’t mind that they’re with other people. It’s something that all brothers do, he knows.
Someone bumps into him from the back as the queue advances: Porco turns around fast, eyes widening in annoyance, and he sees rectangle-kid raising his hands to show he’s not doing anything wrong.
“Ah- sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he stutters, his voice squeaky and shrill like a broken toy, and Porco sighs, eyebrows crawling up his forehead, imagining what Marcel would do in his place.
“No problem, it happens,” he says, cringing at his choice of words, because it doesn’t sound natural at all. Rectangle-kid seems to notice, because he’s giving him a weird look, and he doesn’t seem to be worried anymore.
“But you’re annoyed,” he points out, his eyes still wide, and irritating, as he keeps staring at Porco. He’s waiting for an answer, and Porco can hear Marcel and Annie talking to each other again as the queue advances at a snail’s pace.
He almost, almost shoves rectangle-kid away from him. “Yeah, I’m annoyed,” he snarls, thinking of the Commander’s harsh, grownup voice, the Commander who sounds like a dog, because dogs can be scary, and Porco wants to be scary too, now. Rectangle-kid is sorry again, not scared, though, and Porco turns away from him, even more irritated than before.
“Sorry,” mumbles rectangle-kid, behind him. His voice is quieter, it almost sounds like he’s about to cry, but Porco doesn’t care. It’s his own fault if he’s bumped into him, and it distracted him from Marcel, who now talks with Annie and other people instead of Porco.
Porco will last fourteen laps even before turning eight years old, he knows. He’ll be even better one day, and then he’ll be able to talk to other people without feeling awkward, too.
When they get home in the evening, the sun is low in the sky, and everything is bathed in orange.
Porco hasn’t talked much: he was in a talkative mood after drinking his glass of water, but then the Commander decided that they’d have to run again, though this time the competition was about speed, and so many children were tired to the point of being called snails and ‘lazy shitty Eldian arses’, something that made Porco chuckle, but he covered his mouth quickly when he noticed Marcel’s glare; he thought his time was good, even if he didn’t know anything about bad times or good times, but he wasn’t called lazy so it was enough, he thinks. It could’ve gone worse.
Now he’s not talking, and Marcel isn’t showing signs of concern about him: they’re both so tired the walk home took a lot longer than usual, and as soon as Mum and Dad see them they start fretting about washing up and changing into cleaner, comfortable clothes. They don’t even ask about Porco’s first day, they just worry about them having something to eat after they come out of the bathroom.
Dad helps them clean up: Porco’s arms and legs hurt all over, so he’s grateful. His eyes start watering when Dad dries his hair with a fresh towel, he doesn’t know why, but the feeling doesn’t go away even when he puts on his favourite pajamas and walks into the kitchen for dinner, even though it’s very late and normally at this hour he would be asleep already.
“Where’s Marcel,” mumbles Porco between mouthfuls of soup, as Mum sits opposite him and watches with a worried look on her face that makes her look older. Mum sighs, runs a hand through her hair and pushes it all back, something that Porco does too when he’s nervous, and tells him that he’s gone upstairs to sleep because he’s not hungry.
Porco purses his lips. “But he needs to eat or he’ll be slower tomorrow. He can’t be slow.”
Dad sits in the chair right beside him, taking Marcel’s usual spot. He reassures Porco that Marcel will wake up earlier tomorrow to eat a bigger breakfast, he’s just so tired now that he can’t even stand up.
“But Marcel is bigger than me. And stronger. He can’t be more tired than me.”
This time, Mum and Dad don’t say anything. They watch him eat in silence, as Porco thinks back on Marcel’s weird behaviour, wondering if next year he’ll be tired faster, too.
His legs still hurt, the morning after: he doesn’t mind though, because he woke up earlier to eat an even bigger breakfast than Marcel. If he can show him that he’s faster and stronger and taking this seriously, then surely he’ll laugh at his jokes and speak to him whenever Porco wants him to! It only makes sense. That’s what he did wrong yesterday, but now he knows and he’s going to fix it.
Porco steps in the kitchen and is surprised to see Marcel eating already, because their parents are both still asleep and there’s no way he’s prepared everything by himself.
“You can cook?” mumbles Porco, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Marcel freezes and his head snaps to the side, so he can look at him, and snorts, a few bits of bread flying out of his mouth.
“What are you doing? You should get some more sleep,” he scolds him, though he’s smiling, and talkin with his mouth full, even: something that Dad would never forgive. Porco stifles a laugh. “And no. Bread takes so much time to cook, this one was already cooked the other day.”
“How long does it take?” yawns Porco, sitting beside him in his usual chair, stealing a piece of Marcel’s bread. “And how do they do it?”
“It grows underground like carrots and potatoes. When it sprouts you pull it out and wash it, and then you eat it.”
Porco glares. “No, it doesn’t work like that. You have to cook it first, you just said that. Liar.”
Taking back his piece of bread from Porco’s hands, Marcel laughs again, softly. “Yes, I’m a big bad liar. Now go wash your face, I’ll save you something to eat. Go on.”
Doing as he’s told, Porco hops to the bathroom, making sure not to wake his parents. It’s weird to wash his face when it’s still dark outside: the sun still hasn’t come out, but he’s so impatient today, he can’t wait to show all the other kids how strong he still is the day after such a hard training, all thanks to the big breakfast that Marcel prepared for him.
When Porco is ready he goes back to the kitchen, though Marcel has already left: his shoes are missing, and there’s a whole loaf of bread left on the table, together with a couple of pears and a small slice of cheese. There’s also Marcel’s leftover bread- maybe he wasn’t hungry anymore? Also, his glass is full of water, and it wasn’t even on the table before.
He eats happily, hoping all this food won’t slow him down too much.
Today is just like the first day, except there’s half the children Porco saw yesterday.
Marcel observes that maybe they realised it was too much for them, and dropped out: it’s not easy at their age, it’s a commitment, he says, and even though Porco doesn’t know what a commitment is he agrees. Annie is still sitting with them during lunch, not talking, just being kind of there, and Porco isn’t as irritated as he thought he would be. She smirks sometimes when he speaks up, offering his own opinion on everything, and he doesn’t know if she agrees or thinks he’s stupid. He should ask Marcel later, he understands these things better than him.
Porco is working his way through the slice of stale bread he was given, when someone almost drops his bowl of vegetable soup on the table near him: he looks up and sees the tall boy from the day before, his face startled, as he holds the bowl and exhales, glad it didn’t spill all over the table.
“Careful with that,” mumbles Annie, and the boy laughs, sitting down on the bench beside Porco.
“Sorry, I was… oh! Do you mind if I sit here?”
He’s getting up already even before Porco can answer, but Marcel is faster than him, and he says yes, he can sit with them, no problem at all. The tall boy smiles, sitting back down and holding his bowl tight as if his hands were cold and he just wanted to warm them up rather than eat his food.
“I’m Bertolt Hoover. Hello,” he introduces himself. Porco grins, deciding to show him his gratitude, and introduces himself as well as Marcel, and Annie, though he says, “I don’t know her last name though.”
“Leonhardt,” she offers, almost under her breath, and Marcel whistles.
“That’s a beautiful last name.”
Annie’s eyes widen. “Thanks,” she says, clearing her throat. Porco concentrates on the quiet noises that Bertolt makes beside him as he sips, trying to be less noisy as possible. He prefers it. Marcel might have left him more bread that morning, but now he isn’t talking to him, again, and he’s asking Annie questions about her father, and Porco huffs, looking around the room as all the other children eat - or try to, the slowest ones would get the leftovers of the day before, and there’s not much you can do when all you get is a bruised apple or moldy bread.
He can’t see rectangle-kid anywhere. Maybe he dropped out like all the others.
Porco is more tired than yesterday, and in a bad mood, too: he mumbles instead of answering Mum and Dad, and doesn’t care if they scold him- they do, and he tries to look indifferent even when Dad starts shouting. Maybe Marcel will start talking to him again when they’re with others, too, if he behaves like Annie. It’s not fair that he ignores him during lunch or whenever they can talk to each other.
He has trouble sleeping, that night: he tosses and turns, waking up every few hours, and feels relieved when eventually he makes out Marcel’s form in the dark, as he gets up and stretches his arms and legs. It’s almost time to go.
Marcel eats more than him, because Porco isn’t that hungry, today. He’s one of the slowest kids during the agility test, and is rewarded with leftovers for lunch- maybe it’s the same piece of old bread he struggled to eat yesterday. There’s bite marks on one side of it.
He isn’t sitting with Marcel, because he dislikes him when they’re not home and when he’s so different, so he sits by himself. He can see Marcel on the other side of the room, standing up and looking around in every direction: Annie and Bertolt are sitting with him, but don’t appear to be talking. Serves him well.
A red, untouched apple rolls on the table: its rhythmic thumping echoes in Porco’s ears, until it stops against his elbow. He glares at it, then looks back up, and sees rectangle-kid sitting opposite him, just like on their first day.
“I don’t want that, you can eat it,” he offers, in his shrill voice that Porco had almost forgotten.
“I don’t like apples,” grumbles Porco. Rectangle-kid’s face is wide and his cheeks are so red that just looking at him is irritating, he doesn’t know why. “You can eat it yourself.”
Rectangle-kid shrugs. “I’m not hungry. I just took it.”
“For me?” asks Porco, and he can’t believe him. He couldn’t have known he would be so slow today, and besides, why does he care?
“No… I wanted to bring something home for my Mum. But I thought, I can’t keep it all afternoon, and I saw you only got some old bread, so I gave it to you.”
Porco’s cheeks feel warm all of a sudden. “Oh. Um. Thank you.”
Rectangle-kid nods, a crooked little smile on his face, and just sits there, looking at the apple expectantly. Porco clears his throat: he never even thought about bringing something back for Mum or Dad, but they’ve got a lot of food at home already, and it’s even better than what they eat here. Maybe rectangle-kid’s mum can’t cook as good as Porco’s Mum.
“Why did you want to give it to her?” he asks, before touching the apple, just in case he changes his mind.
“Today is her birthday,” he explains, shifting on the bench to one side then the other, as if he were dancing on the spot for no reason, “and I wanted to surprise her. But it doesn’t matter.”
“You can’t say that. Now I don’t want to eat it, I feel bad,” sighs Porco, tossing the apple to him. Rectangle-kid giggles, sending it rolling back to Porco.
“Eat it! She doesn’t have to run all day like we do. I can get her another present.”
“Alright. Thank you… um.”
“Reiner Braun,” he introduces himself, still shifting on the bench. Maybe he has to go to the bathroom?
This kid- Reiner, he makes him laugh. Porco is sure Marcel wouldn’t like to talk to him, he doesn’t have that grownup look that Annie and Bertolt have, so he’s safe: he won’t steal him away from Porco. He can eat the apple.
“Porco Galliard.”
Reiner still smiles but looks away, somewhere far behind Porco as he bites into the apple, not minding at all that it’s not a pear, even if he likes pears a lot more.