Chapter Text
Cannons! Bombs! Guns! The thunder of it all! Screams ripped out from the bodies of which bones are crushed, under the weight of rocks, or perhaps the weight of their sins. You couldn't tell which is louder. This is the price everyone pays. Every Evil is justified given the right words whispered into the ears of the people—written into school books and newspapers; and these Evils are turned into Goods—into the pride of a nation. But what good is a nation; the false pretence of a country; the division from all other groups, built on blood? It's all nonsense. At the end of the day, it all falls to sleep, and in the slumber of it all, a realisation is struck: Wouldn't it be better if it could all stay silent forever? Nonexistence—sounds like a dream. Isn't that right, Ksaver? But in the place of tranquil absence are these CANNONS! BOMBS! GUNS! BLOOD-CURDLING CRIES! The thumping of a heart, it’s in his chest, it’s in his ears, and it travels up his throat, until it erupts a scream so shrill, and nine-year-old Ezekiel Yeager has woken up everyone in his home.
With gruesome pictures flooding his mind; emotions, unfamiliar yet undoubtedly his, rushing in; memories of a different him invade his mind, and all he can do to fight it is wail and cry and, red-in-the-face he thinks: “I don’t want this! Get out! Get out!” But this intruder remains unfazed, even when he tries to shake it out, restrained by his mother’s arms holding him close to her chest. Her shushes do little to help, Zeke continues to push himself so far until he senses cloth stick to his skin, wet and warm, and just before he feels himself pass out, he hears his mother dial the phone. Dina calls Grisha after years of their divorce.
Zeke has since learnt that he remembers certain things that others don’t. Though, do they even count as memories if he has no proof of the existence of such a life? It didn’t take long for him to realise speaking of it brings him nowhere, lest he wishes to be perceived as a victim of psychosis. He’s fine with the way things are, especially now that his parents are on talking terms. But it’d be a lie to claim he didn’t feel oddly lonely, not that he wishes such memories staining others’ minds. The mere thought leaves him frowning, his brows pinched as he watches Eren sloppily scoop his breakfast into his mouth. What would his younger brother do with such a curse?
“I’m goin’ to th’ mall with m’ friends,” Eren informs, eyes avoiding his as he fiddles with his now empty bowl and spoon. Grisha looks up from his phone and sets aside his reading glasses with a pleasant smile, “Do you need me to drop you, son?” Adjusting his arm, he checks his wristwatch, “I have some spare time before wor—”
With a grimace on his face, Eren cuts off his offer, “Ugh, please, don’t…” He trails off, something about their father being ‘uncool’, before finally locking eyes with Zeke, staring at him expectantly.
“Yeah, sure thing, ‘Ren.”
“Sweet!” The younger swings his backpack over his shoulder before rushing to bring his dishes to the kitchen, whilst Zeke sluggishly grabs for his keys and kicks on his worn-down sandals. Grisha eyes their attire with a raised brow, “Aren’t you two going to change out of your pyjamas?” Earning a chuckle from Zeke as he looks down at their baggy bottoms and ratty tops, “What do you mean? We’re already dressed.”
“Alright, bye!” Eren slams the door shut.
Zeke’s appointed with the task of picking up his friends one-by-one from their homes, if it weren’t for the comfort of his father’s wealth, he probably would’ve made a bigger stink over the gas prices. With the click of his seatbelt, Eren turns to his brother, tone serious, as he warns, “Reiner’s been kinda weird recently, just so you, uh, know.”
“Weird?” The blond snorts, “Didn’t take you for an ableist.”, gaining a groan and complaint from the younger. Looking back, Zeke thinks he probably should’ve taken the warning a bit more seriously, as he eyes Reiner in the rearview mirror. The young teen sits nervously at the back of the car, fidgeting about with this face tense, mere quick one-to-two word responses exiting those tight lips when needed. Reiner’s always been awkward, but this was beyond anything Zeke has seen before. Under other circumstances, he’d probably poke fun at Reiner, something along the lines of him looking severely constipated.
They’re currently parked in front of Jean’s home, the only sounds in the car being the drumming of fingers on the steering wheel accompanied by Eren’s mutters about Jean taking too long. “Fuck this, I’m going in, I’ll be back,” Eren grunts, giving the other two a quick glance before marching over to Jean’s frontdoor.
Well. It’s just him and Reiner now. Zeke sighs as he lights up a cigarette, debating whether or not to say something. Out of all of Eren’s friends, the older Yeager had always been more familiar with Reiner, with the three of them being some of the few Germans of their town.
“So, Reiner,” he puffs out a cloud of smoke, “How’s life treating you?”
Looking horrified at the fact that he actually has to respond, Reiner shuffles in his seat, “A-alright…”
Zeke hums in response, deciding maybe it’d be best if he just left the boy alone—that is, until he hears the latter continue. Two simple words, uttered out so faintly, they could’ve gotten lost with the smoke that dances out the car window and left unheard. But Zeke heard them, loud and clear: “War-chief”, that’s what Reiner just called him. Zeke imagines how comical he must look, his complexion pale and mouth agape, only for a whilst before his expression scrunches up and he rubs his hand down his face with a pained sound.
“Is THAT your way of being subtle?”
And with that, Reiner lurches forward, albeit with a bit of struggle from the seat belt locking. But once he gets the hang of it, he finds his face inches away from Zeke’s, desperate for anything the older has to offer. “I mean, seriously, what if I wasn’t, well, me?”
“I, uh,” Reiner pauses, “I dunno.”
Leaning back in his seat, Zeke sighs out, “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of days.”
“And how much do you remember?”
“More of then, less of now.” How odd, Zeke plays with his ear in thought. “How… How do we get back?”
Zeke blinks in genuine surprise, “You want to go back?” He questions, astonished, stumping the younger.
“Shouldn’t we? This place, it’s weird, like,” Reiner gestures to the home they’re in front of with wide eyes, “WHAT is going on? Why am I a child again, with you and Eren picking Jean up?”
The question stirs up discomfort within the Yeager, was it so out of place for him and Eren to be happy together? He lifts the cigarette to his mouth to hide the scowl on his face, “I’m just doing my younger brother a favour. You’re here because you’re his friend.” He then turns to face Reiner, as much as his seat allows him to. “Wouldn’t you have liked that? To be friends with them? Instead of… Well— you already know.” Truthfully, he understands how the younger must be feeling. In a different place, in a different time, in a different life. Speaking to a familiar, yet, oh so different face. He’s probably never seen Zeke so sincere in his whole life spent back home. “Reiner, I am a lying bastard, you know that. I lied to you, I lied to Marley, but fuck, I lied to myself. I’m not as unbothered and selfless and high-and-mighty as I thought myself to be. I like it here, I like being happy.” He throws out the cigarette onto the pavement. “I’m sure you will too.”
He watches as thoughts rush about so violently, yet silently, in Reiner. The silence is suffocating, but necessary. Afterall, no truth shall come easily. “Don’t stress it, I’m here for you if you need me.” It feels almost funny how lucky Zeke realises himself to be, having had this happen to him as a younger child, leaving him more time to adapt, get over the culture shock. Additionally, why was Reiner’s memories of the past so much more vivid than those of the present?
“Thanks… It’s just— confusing, y’know? The Eldian part of my identity just suddenly not being there, the titan part too!”
“Tell me about it.”
“And this giant leap in the industry? New religions? The different politics?”
Zeke nods in agreement, with a finger at his chin.
“Even my personal and academic life!” Reiner throws his hands into the air, “It makes no sense! I’m being told to take anti-derpe… depress..ants, and, and— I have to take extra, “special” classes for reading?”
“Ah. Well, how do I put this…”
They’re cut off by the passenger seat door being swung open, “Hey,” is all Eren offers before he throws himself in, followed by Jean at the back getting comfortable next to a tense, rigid and pale Reiner. “Hi, Zeke,” Jean greets, before taking down Reiner’s appearance, “Are you alright, dude? You look like a fridge.”
Reiner’s stutter of a response is swallowed by the roar of the engine as they drive off.
As always, Zeke was correct about Reiner coming around to his new life. In fact, he seems to really enjoy it. No more immense weight put onto a child like him. It was sweet watching the kid live his life as he should before, but now it’s different; even sweeter, knowing the Reiner Braun he knew, the abused shield of a nation which didn’t care for him, was given a second chance at a life. But it got Zeke wondering once again, who else out there shares memories of his time? It had been over a decade since Zeke got his back, and he hadn’t encountered anyone since then. Truthfully, he figured it was another one of his weird quirks, (like how he sometimes refuses to consume anything other than banana milk for multiple days in a row, or like how he hadn’t made a proper friend until late high school despite being put in many extra curricular activities, spec-ed classes and etc.), an imagination much too grand for a little boy like him. And if the memories were real, wouldn’t they come back to a person in their early childhood? Why flush back to Reiner after he’s already entered the stage of identity versus role confusion?
Zeke ponders, with his ever so big brain, what could possibly determine whether one should experience this phenomenon. Perhaps it was limited to titan shifters, something about having the blood of the nine within you. With how memories of previous shifters were able to flood your mind, there’s a potential that said memories may travel beyond universes. (Zeke hopes this is so.) Perhaps it had something to do with Zeke and Reiner being Marleyans. Could it be that the universe thought their fates to be so cruel, that the heavens bestowed upon them the privilege of another go at life? (Zeke hopes this is so.) Perhaps it was connected to the colour of their hair, both of them are blonds! (Zeke hopes this is so.) Perhaps it’s connected to their height, with people being below a certain height not passing the criteria. (God, Zeke really hopes this is so.) If Zeke’s calculations are correct, and they usually are, then there should be no reason for Ezekiel Yeager to worry about a certain grumpy, short & raven-haired individual whose name starts with an L and ends with -evi! Because truth be told, the former is by no means ready to deal with Levi face to face, especially if he remembers the things Zeke does.
(The first time Zeke heard “Levi” after obtaining his memories was during his birthday when his mother had purchased him a brand new pair of Levi’s, like, the denim brand. Zeke had ended up bawling his eyes out, screaming and squirming, wanting to do nothing with the name. It was terrifying and agonising. Sure, maybe it was also related to the fact that Zeke can’t handle the feeling of denim scratching his skin, but it was mostly the Paradisian Devil to blame. Long story, cut short, if you were to ask to have a look through the blond’s baby pictures, you’d find one of him all snotty and red-faced, eyes puffy and mouth frowning sporting his brand new Levi’s.)
“You guys know that feeling when,” eighteen year old Zeke Yeager takes a drag from Pieck’s pipe, inhaling deeply, letting the fumes into his lungs. He quickly cuts himself off with knitted brows, “Hey,” he kicks Pieck’s shoulder with his foot, “You listening?”
“Huh? Yeah.”
“Yeah man,” Marcel wraps an arm around Zeke’s shoulders, simultaneously reaching out for the pipe with that very hand, “Keep going.”
The two of them are sprawled across Pieck’s couch, with the girl in question hunched over on the floor, sloppily biting at her pizza.
Thoughtlessly passing the pipe on to Marcel, he continues, “You know the feeling when you think you know someone?”
“Uh-huh,” Pieck says, mouth stuffed, “Then they turn around and break your heart.”
The red head hums in agreement to that, gulping down some beer, “Turns out you never knew them from the start.”
“What? No,” Zeke frowns in confusion. “I mean that feeling when someone seems familiar to you but you don’t actually know them.”
“Like déjà vu?”
“Well, no. That’s not—”
“Ooh, or jamais vu.”
“Definitely not. It’s more of a past-life thing.”
His two friends squint their eyes, processing the information, before letting out a loooong “Huh” in unison.
The three of them fall into silence, staring into nothing in particular. Zeke should’ve known it the conversation wouldn’t lead anywhere, especially not with the two in this state. Letting out a sigh, he pierces the quiet, “You guys wanna watch Family Guy?”
“Yeah.”
If you were to ask Zeke how he knows Kenny, the short answer would be “He’s family, sort of.” It’s as simple as Zeke’s suspiciously rich distant relative, Uri, dating the guy. (Odd taste in men, right?) But that’d feel somewhat like a lie because, to be frank, Zeke had never met Uri until recently. Hell, he didn’t even know he existed. The first time Zeke had ever encountered Kenny was when he offered to tutor Mikasa in a couple of subjects. They’re related, apparently. And Kenny has a knack for roaming around the place barely dressed. Zeke did not appreciate the lack of warning, especially when they locked eyes in the kitchen as the younger was pouring himself a glass of water—only for Zeke to completely abandon the water, profusely apologising and running away.
His second encounter with Kenny, and the time he actually got to officially meet not only the aforementioned, but Uri as well, was during Historia’s birthday. The blonde wasn’t planning on anything big, so her uncle had urged her to host a small get-together at their ridiculously sized mansion of an abode. Historia had obviously invited her girlfriend (Ymir), who invited her brothers (Porco and Marcel), who invited their entire friend group (too many names for him to list. Surprising, he knows,) which brought Zeke to have to properly interact with Kenny after that water incident.
Believe it or not, Kenny wasn’t all that bad to be around. In fact, the two had developed a sort of ritual of sharing a smoke together when they got the chance. Even with all the walls the blond built around his core, protecting his fragile heart, Zeke still longed for familial bonds (whether he’d like to admit it or not). It wasn’t hard to tell Kenny wasn’t much of a father, nor really an uncle—and to assume their bond comes anywhere close to what he had with Ksaver, you’d be dead wrong. Unfortunately, it’s not like he could reproduce such a bond with this world’s Ksaver being his GP (and when Zeke puts some thought into it, he realises it’s maybe for the better. Let the old man finally share a lifetime with his son, shall he?) So, the young Yeager settles for the rowdy, somewhat invasive, no-boundary-knowing Kenny Whateverhislastnameis, cause hey, at least he doesn’t yell at him and throw hard-cover books at him like his biological father did.
“Say,” Kenny starts after lighting his cigarette. Now over his years of smoking, Zeke can proudly say he’s developed a tolerance and taste for all sorts of cigarettes. Every kind, except the ones Kenny smokes, Camel yellows. “You got a girlfriend?”
“Wh—”
“Naw, look atcha. You wouldn’t have no girlfriend,” he cackles. Cool. “Boyfriend, boyfriend. Ya got one?”
Zeke exhales through his nose dawning a sheepish smile, shaking his head sideways for an answer.
“I’ve got meself a nephew. Short, broody,” he goes on listing, ashing out his cigarette in the process, “The cutest lil’ attitude known to man.”
The elder twists his torso (and Zeke swears he hears a crack, or five) to face the young adult this time, drawing close, his voice dropping a few octaves which fully captures Zeke’s interest. “Listen, he broke up with his boything a whilst back an’ hasn’t been the same ol’ boy since. Now I know your scrawny self don’t get any so…” He nudges Zeke with his elbow, “Can’t hurt for two lonely men to find solace in each other. I mean, hey, it sure did work for me and Uri, dinnit?”
Zeke takes one last drag before commenting, “You are quite the rude one, I hope you’re aware.”
Kenny guffaws, pulling the younger closer in a side hug and ruffles his hair.
Truth be told, Zeke, in fact, did not get any. Though, he bets this wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. It’s a bit of a touchy topic for him, he’s not as fine with his self-isolation as he seems. On desperate nights when emotions sway him, he runs through the possible reasons that play into his loneliness. Here he presents his sad, pathetic list, which consists of three reasons:
- He’s undoubtedly different from others.
Anyone could’ve told you this ever since his Warrior Candidate days. He was slower than most kids, which often left him behind in numerous training sessions. He wasn’t as physically strong, or good with his hands, or his words for that matter. An awkward, bumbling mess for anyone with eyes to see. Even outside of training, he struggled to socialise; had a hard type picking up what others were putting down, couldn’t find anyone with similar interests as him. It was only until he was older, was he able to build a persona more suitable for society; why the younger candidates never noticed his strange demeanor. It took a lot of numbing of all things that made up Zeke Yeager, but eventually he managed to win over the respect of his subordinates and superiors alike.
In this world, it isn’t as bad. Zeke figured it wouldn’t be bad at all, but alas, he still was different. Only this time, it was easier to find people similar to him. Not only was mental health awareness more accessible, but you could meet a broad range of people with their own “quirks” on, Zeke’s favourite invention of modern times, the great and grand internet! Sure, it took a good whilst for the kid to make the number of IRL-friends he has now, but growing up he had his lovely internet friends.
2. He’s got a wounded heart.
Had he never gotten his memories back, maybe he would’ve been okay, but knowing the cruel nature of not only humans, but your own parents, is an impossible weight on a little child’s shoulders. The criticism and looks of disappointment from every corner, whether it be from xenophobic Marleyans to his father; the responsibility and duty forced upon him, being “loved” for that, the power he carried, but never for the person he was; the agonising coldness of solitude when all negative attention had been used up; it all leaves a deep gash in the pit of one’s stomach.
So Zeke learnt to hide any sort of weakness, any resemblance of humanity. If he had to play the role of an unphased monster with godlike powers, so be it. As long as the outside didn’t view him as vulnerable, then his chances of being hurt would lessen. Snarky responses instead of sympathy, brutal killing in the place of guilt. Cannons! Bombs! Guns! take the place of the childhood he should’ve had. After the loss of Ksaver, Zeke decided to not let anyone in, to not allow himself to lose anyone else. But he, being the overgrown child, was weak. No matter how hard he tried, he was weak to the idea of having a family, he was weak enough to let Eren Yeager abuse his trust… And look at what that got him. (Zeke is sometimes grateful his brother isn’t the Eren from back then.)
And last but not least;
3. He simply has got no game.
But Zeke’s living a new life, and figures he doesn’t need to keep himself so sheltered from pain. In the end, he’s still that little boy desperate for connection. So he says yes to Kenny’s offer. Plus, Zeke never knew Kenny in his past life, so it’s not like the latter’s nephew would be anyone familiar.
r/Reincarnation - 5 years ago
@asx5ticism
TFW you think you know someone
Has anyone ever experienced this phenomenon…
Upvote 34 Downvote - 10 Comments - 0 Awards - Share
Zeke doesn’t really know how to dress for a first date. He figures one warrants a bit of effort from his end so he actually decides to iron his baggy dress-shirt and loose, flowy beige pants. Would a tie be too much? It’s rather funky, one of those ties you only see on pretentious art students, which Zeke is (if you remove the art student part). He’s cleanly shaven and his hair finally decided to cooperate today. He grabs one of his many totes, (this one says “Feeling Nietzs-chic”) and tosses in his flavoured cigarettes, the ones that don’t stink as bad as regular tobacco. So apart from his sweaty hands and fidgety stance, Zeke would say he’s feeling good about this date.
Until he’s not.
Because why on Earth is Levi Ackerman sitting across the table.
If people typically consider Zeke weird, then it’s definitely ten times worse now that Zeke’s deathly pale with his eyes wide as saucers, with his shoulders hunched, stiff and unmoving.
Levi wears the usual scowl but it’s not as bad as the one from back then, as a matter of fact Zeke would consider it quite a good response to the way he’s behaving right now. After a cautious, “Are you, uh… Good?” from Levi, the younger starts entertaining the thought that maybe this isn’t the Ackermann he’s so afraid of.
“Yeah, I’m— Sorry,” he clears his throat, “just a bit nervous. What were you saying?”
“I was saying I work as a security guard for Mitras Villa.”
“Oh, I see! That’s, err… Fun. I work as a librarian in Liberio.”
“You definitely look the part.”
Zeke should’ve seen this coming when Kenny mentioned an attitude, although he wouldn’t by any means call this cute. “You a reader?”
“No.” Okay.
Levi sips at his black tea, rather gracefully might Zeke add, to which the latter offers a small smile and asks, “Not much of a coffee drinker, huh?”
“Hate it.” Okay.
The blond’s fingers twitch towards his tote, with the ravenette’s eyes on him. “I’m— I’m sorry, but…” He pulls out one of his cigarettes, “Do you mind?”
With a scrunch of Levi’s face and a distasteful tone, he replies, “Not at all.” Okay.
Disregarding their previous disagreements, it seems as though he and Levi just weren’t at all cut out for each other. What a shame, though. For the younger finds the older quite attractive. Pale, with sharp, delicate features—from his narrow eyes, nose, mouth to his slender and long fingers; nails well-taken care of, not a speck of dirt in sight. Levi sits in a blue button up and black dress-pants, posture straight with his legs crossed, and hair meticulously groomed. Mysterious and gloomy. How unfortunate, he’s admittedly Zeke’s type.
Following a couple of inhales and exhales, huffing and sighing, sipping from both ends, Levi asks with a reluctant tone about what Zeke does for fun; any hobbies; sports. To this, the blond straightens up, almost excitedly pulling out his phone, scrolling through his gallery for photos. “Baseball, actually.”
“Baseball?” Levi’s voice is softened by surprise.
He turns his phone to the dark-haired man, displaying photos of him as a child, wearing a grin so wide it spreads from ear to ear, holding trophies the size of his torso. If only Zeke wasn’t so blinded by enthusiasm, he would’ve seen the conflicted look on Levi’s face: eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. It isn’t until Zeke swipes to a more recent photo of him pitching does he notice the change within his date’s eyes, it’s as if a fire was ignited, or a switch had flipped. The younger regresses back to his frightened state when Levi’s eyes flick back up to meet his, so furious and accusatory.
This time, Zeke’s the one to ask if Levi’s good. “Yeah,” his answer doesn’t match his sour expression, a deep scowl that resembles the look past-Levi would give Zeke. “You? You look a little pale.” Levi’s knuckles whiten as his fingers tighten around the teacup.
“Really?” Zeke’s mouth has gone completely dry by now. “Huh, that’s f– funny. I, uh, think I need to use the WC.” With that, Zeke abruptly stands up, taking about three long strides across the café until he shuts himself in the cramped restroom, and apparently he didn’t lock the door because within seconds, Levi enters and has Zeke pinned to the tiled wall.
“You have one minute to explain what the fuck is going on.”
“I— I— I— Uh—” his voice trembles as much as his body.
“Do not fuck around with me, I swear to god I’m so close to tearing you to pieces, you hear me?”
“W-Well what I reckon is happening i-is reincarnation, thuh— the proper term being punarjanman which is a central belief of Indic reli—”
“The hell are you blabbering about? Just— Cut to the chase, where are we? Why do you look like… That?”
“Huh?”
The shorter of the two eyes him up and down, his grip on Zeke not faltering in the slightest, “What happened to your shitty beard, and why are you so lanky?”
For some reason, Zeke figures this is a great time to be cynical, “I want you to think well and hard, and ask yourself, if it weren’t for my titan powers, would I really be the type to work out?”
“A—”
“Listen, I know you could kill me with your bare hands, since evidently one of us decided to stay in shape. But I know you wouldn’t, not in this time and place, not under these circumstances,” and Zeke sure hopes his words sound believable because he might just burst down in tears.
A knock cuts the two of them off, and Zeke, for a moment, swears he’s been blessed by whatever heavens are out there. “Occupied,” they both yell. Levi then lets go of the taller, and backs away whilst sizing him up before eventually unlocking and opening the door.
“Let’s take our drinks to go, yeah?”