Chapter Text
Hell. That's the word Jean finds himself circling back to, over and over again, as he reflects on his time since joining the Survey Corps. Everything that's happened, every place he's been to has been some level of hell. Lately, so much has been happening that Jean hasn't even had time to think about what he could have possibly done for him to deserve any of it, but all Jean knows is that he has to keep going, even if he doesn't know why.
And then the Rumbling happens. The days that follow have Jean questioning why anybody is trying to do anything, save or salvage anything or anyone left on whatever the world they're in is supposed to be. It seems like for every one thing he learns, ten questions pop up in its place. And all around him is death. Everywhere he goes, he's surrounded by it. Meaningless, merciless, endless death. He's seen so much of it that the news of someone he knows dying has become easier to handle, as terrible as that sounds. Sasha, Ymir, Bertholdt, Erwin...those are just some of the more recent deaths he had to cope with. He's grieved over and over again, learned how to mourn and move on quickly to keep himself from falling apart. To keep himself alive.
But there's one death, one life, he prefers to think of it that way, that is almost off-limits in his mind, because if he thinks about it too much, he's afraid he might actually have to stop and just die with it. He didn't allow himself to die that time, all those years ago; rather, he threw those bones in the fire and let his life burn on where his had ended.
And besides, if Jean had learned anything since joining the Survey Corps, it was that fantasizing about the past was useless, if not downright reckless. His mind is too full, anyhow; how could it not be, with everything happening around him?
But Jean is admittedly surprised when Floch shoots a Volunteer right in front of him, holding fierce eye contact with Jean as he pulls the trigger, almost as some kind of warning. Jean doesn't know how shaken he's supposed to be from it; lately he seems to be growing numb from the death caused by titans, but watching Floch so easily end a man's life using such a small weapon is almost more jarring. He can barely find the words to address Mikasa properly, although what use could that possibly have, anyways; she hardly cared when it came to anything besides Eren or Armin.
Later, though, Jean is somewhat taken aback when Armin approaches him, visibly distraught. Jean immediately begins to doubt his ability to help Armin in the slightest, but listens regardless. Armin explains how he had argued with Mikasa just before Jean had seen her, for the first time in a long time. He had asked Mikasa why they were even bothering to try and reason with Eren at this point, and after releasing his frustration out on Mikasa, Armin said that Erwin should have been saved instead of himself.
"I said something I shouldn't have," Armin says. "And then I threw myself a pity party. I feel like an asshole. But mostly an idiot."
"I mean, you had a point," Jean says. Then he stops, sputtering. "About Eren, I mean, not about you..."
"I know," Armin says, cutting him off and saving him the apology. "I just hope she didn't take what I said to heart."
"I doubt it. She knows you must be overwhelmed right now, and you guys both care about Eren so much."
"Yeah. That's an understatement," Armin says, laughing coldly under his breath. "We're all overwhelmed right now, though."
"You know," Jean says, his voice dropping into a low whisper, even though they're the only people in the hallway right now, "I'm on your side, whatever that is. I know it must be hard, to watch Eren do all this stuff, but I trust you more than anyone to keep your cool and act reasonably. As long as you do that, I'll do whatever I can to help. It sucks having to put up this Jaegerist facade bullshit. Feels so wrong."
"Thanks," Armin says, and his smile is genuine. "It's not easy. Not at all right now. And as much as I hope Eren changes, eventually, it seems like he's done most of the damage. To the world, and...to our relationship."
Jean is trying to formulate a response that is free of too much pity when two Jaegerists round the corner of the hallway. They seem to pay Jean and Armin no mind as they walk by, rather whispering to each other. Jean wonders if it's about what had happened upstairs just a little while ago, and while he stares at Armin, trying to think of what to say, he catches a snippet of their conversation.
Armin looks at Jean strangely as his eyes widen, and Jean struggles to hold back a cough as the Jaegerists walk away from them. It's stupid, a habit he still can't seem let go of, but it almost sounded like they had said his name. It almost sounded like they had said Marco.
It's a name he hasn't heard it years. But certainly not one he's forgotten about. In fact, Jean has thought about Marco nearly every day since his death. Sometimes it's little things that remind him of Marco, like when he catches one of his sayings in somebody else's speech, or sees someone who looks a little too much like him to not send Jean's mind down a very dark path. And while the events of the past four years have forced Jean to keep moving forward no matter what, he still struggles to not mourn Marco's cruel, needless death every day, wondering what he could have done to save him somehow, or what things would be like now if he was still here. That's why thinking too long about Marco's death is off-limits, because it's the one that hurts the most.
"Jean, what..." Armin begins, but follows Jean's gaze as he intently watches the pair at the end of the hall. One of them turns his head to glance at Jean, and then they're gone and out of sight. Armin looks back at Jean curiously, and Jean can tell from his eyes that he feels that underlying suspicion too.
"Armin, we need to follow them," Jean says, and before he can think he's grabbing Armin's arm and pulling him down the hallway. Armin doesn't question him immediately; they both know Jean's gotten a lot better about acting on impulse, or without reason, and it seems like being quiet right now would benefit them both. Jean carefully leans around the corner just in time to see the pair of Jaegerists turn right down the hall that's second from the end of the building.
"What's going on?" Armin whispers. Jean stops for a moment, trying to think of how to say this without sounding stupid.
"I just have a gut feeling something's going on right now," is all he has to offer. "I need to hear what they're saying." He and Armin walk quietly towards the hall the Jaegerists have gone through, and faintly he can make out their voices.
"Floch found him a couple of days ago. The guy was a mess, apparently, desperate for anybody to help him."
Armin looks at Jean, his brows downturned in confusion.
"...whatever Floch wants to do with him, I guess. Not sure why he doesn't just kill him already, unless he has some kinda intel."
"He thinks he might, though. A lot of names popping up. He's speaking a lot of nonsense right now though, since he's kinda hysterical.''
"What?" Armin asks, although it's mostly to himself.
"I thought," Jean begins, "it kinda sounded like they said Marco's name, when they walked by earlier." Armin turns his head slowly to look at Jean.
"You don't...that wouldn't make any sense," Armin says, his voice suddenly soft and full of sympathy. “Jean, he’s been dead for years.” He's right, of course, and Jean beings to backpedal, wondering if he really is acting on useless feelings that are clouding his judgement. He probably just heard a word that sounded like Marco's name, like he always does, or, or maybe there's a different Marco, or something. But Jean still can't shake that burning feeling in his body, the one telling him if he walks away now and never finds out what happens, he will regret it for the rest of his life.
"...said he knows people from the Survey Corps. Kept asking about Jean, for some reason."
Jean's body goes cold. Armin meets his gaze, positively dumbfounded. He doesn't say anything, but Jean can read it in his eyes-what if it's actually him? He forces himself to freeze, to think long and hard about his next few moves. If there's even a fraction of a chance that what he thinks is happening actually is, what he hopes is happening right now, he has to move deliberately, unless he wants to fuck everything up. Of course, it's most likely that he's just hearing what he wants to hear, and acting out would not do him any good in Floch's eyes. But this impossible situation...for Jean, it would change everything. So he steps into the hallway, walking towards the Jaegerists at a pace far too leisurely for his own liking. They're hovering outside a door.
"Hey, you're not supposed to be here right now," one of them says. "In fact, Floch's been looking for you. Upstairs." Jean stares at them both coldly, absolutely indifferent to whatever authority they might have over him right now, and the other guy subtly inches towards the door, his arms stretched slightly behind him. And that tells Jean everything he needs to know.
"What's going on in there?" Jean says, walking towards the door, and now he can hear sounds from behind it. Voices, although none of them distinguishable, the squeaking of a chair sliding across the floor.
"Hey, did you hear what I just said? You're not-" and Jean pushes past them, pressing his ear up against the door, hoping to get even a second or two of conversation before he gets pulled away.
He hears Floch laugh from inside, conceited and cold, and inexplicable rage surges through his body. He grabs at the door handle, yanking on it furiously, but the door is locked. He bangs his fist against the door, as loud as he can.
"Hey! Let me in!" he shouts as one of the men grabs at his arm. Jean pushes him away with more force than intended, turning around to bang on the door again.
"I told you, you're not supposed to be here right now!" the man says. He's pulled out his gun, and Jean feels his heart skip a beat, but the man turns it so he's holding the gun in both hands and shoves it forward, intending to push it against Jean's neck. Jean catches the gun just before it reaches his throat; after a bit of struggling, he manages to yank the gun out of the man's grasp. Jean has no intention of killing this man, but as the man leans back to throw a punch, Jean panics and slams the magazine of the gun into his forehead.
The man collapses to the ground with a thud. Jean is breathing heavily, holding onto the gun so tightly his knuckles turn white. He realizes suddenly that there should be another Jaegerist trying to fend him off; when he looks down the hallway, he sees Armin standing over the man, who is lying on the floor. Armin looks at him almost somberly; Jean gives him a quick nod. Before he can stop to listen and try and hear whatever might be going on behind the door, Jean pulls the gun back and slams it down against the doorknob. It rips off the wooden door frame and Jean quickly kicks the door open.
The door bursts open, slamming against the wall. Jean scans the small room quickly; his sights are set on one person and one person only. He barely registers Floch upon seeing the man on the floor in front of him, crouched on all fours, as if he can't bear to stand up. He's in the middle of a coughing fit, and his face is obscured from underneath his arms. Jean looks back up at Floch, whose smile dissolves quickly, his face contorting into an expression of bitter rage.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Floch spits. "I'm in the middle of something right now."
Jean ignores him entirely, struggling to identify the person wheezing in front of Floch. His hair is the same shade of brown as Marco's, if Jean's memory is serving him correctly, but he still can't see his face at all. He almost calls out Marco's name, but the word refuses to leave his throat. The man stops coughing, wiping his mouth. Floch takes a step back, and Jean realizes he's about to pull his foot back to kick him, presumably not for the first time. And that's when the man finally sits up, frantically crawling back a few steps, and when he looks behind himself to throw an arm out for balance, that's when Jean sees his face. Their eyes lock and the air leaves Jean's body in one fell swoop.
The person Floch is about to strike is without a doubt, Marco Bodt.
"Marco!" Jean screams. Floch falters for a moment, letting his leg land back on the ground.
"Jean," Marco chokes, and it comes out almost like a question, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. Jean hardly can himself. It doesn’t make any sense. Marco is dead. But now he’s right in front of him, and he’s very much alive.
"So you two really do know each other," Floch sneers. "He kept crying for you. I didn't even remember him being in the 104th."
"Don't touch him," Jean says immediately, voice full of malice. When Floch looks back at him with wide eyes, Jean realizes that he's instinctively pointed the gun at him.
"Hey, let's calm down. I think you have some explaining to do," Floch says.
"I don't know what the fuck is going on right now, but you need to back off before I blow your brains out," Jean says.
"I don't think you're in much of a position to threaten me right now," Floch says, and before Jean can argue, Floch draws out his gun and points it at Marco's leg. "Move and I'll shoot."
Jean's jaw clenches so tightly, he's surprised none of his teeth break. "You're evil," he spits. Marco hasn't taken his eyes off of Jean. Floch hovers over him menacingly. Jean wants nothing more than to meet Marco on the floor and pull him into his arms. He's so fucking close; he's right here. He sees Floch's mouth twist into a subtle smirk, and for the first time in his life, he feels absolutely prepared to take another person's life, knowing he wouldn't feel an ounce of guilt if he did so.
Then without turning around, Marco kicks wildly behind him. His foot makes contact with Floch's ankle, who stumbles back. A loud bang fires through the room, the bullet landing inches from Marco's spot on the ground. But Jean is already running. He sprints past Marco, pulls the gun back, and swings as hard as he can into the side of Floch's head before he has time to defend himself. The gun hits the side of his skull with a dull thud, and Floch falls to the ground. Jean stands there, heaving, making sure that Floch won't get up. He debates sending a bullet through his head, but decides that might end up causing more problems down the road. He turns around, immediately dropping to the floor where Marco is sitting, hands covering his ears from the gunshot.
"Come on," he says, holding out his arm. Marco reaches forwards tentatively, his eyes glued to Jean's, evidently trying to process everything that's just happened. As soon as Marco's hand brushes against his, Jean pulls him up off the floor and leads him to the door. There's so much he has to say right now; his mind is burning with a thousand questions, but one thought pushes its way to the surface and repeats itself over and over. I'm so glad. I'm so glad. I'm so glad. Marco says nothing as they approach the door, but before they step into the hall, he grabs onto Jean's other wrist. His eyes are terrified, tears glistening along his lower lash line. They're the same golden brown Jean had seen all those years ago, although his right eye is surrounded by scrapes and bruises and a few shallow scars.
"Marco," Jean says again, his voice coming out as almost a whisper. "It's okay. We're gonna get out of here, okay? Just follow me." Jean is nodding reassuringly as they both stare at each other, wide-eyed, until reality kicks back in and Jean composes himself again. He can't let his guard down until they're both safe. Marco's mouth is open slightly as he respires, as if he wants to speak, but the words won't come. Jean tightens his hold on Marco's hand.
"Come on, we gotta run," he says. He starts running down the hall, where the two Jaegerists are still lying, unmoving on the floor. Armin is nowhere to be seen as they round the corner. He's pulling hard on Marco's arm, and he can feel the resistance as Marco stumbles clumsily behind him. Jean's gait is awkward as he runs with part of his body facing to the side. Marco sounds like he can't get enough air, gasping and coughing still as they wind through the basement of the building.
"I'm sorry...I can't," Marco huffs from behind him.
Jean slows his pace to a fast walk, turning around to face Marco. "What?" he asks, slightly out of breath.
"I can't keep up," Marco says. "I'm gonna slow you down, you need to get out of here."
"No," Jean says firmly. He grabs hold of Marco's forearm in hopes of being able to drag him along better when he realizes how weak Marco is. His arm is thin, thinner than he had remembered before, and Jean wonders what the hell could have possibly happened to him. But he doesn't have time to let himself stop and think for too long. "Get on my back," Jean says, slowing down to a stop.
"Are you sure?" Marco asks. Jean nods insistently, turning around and crouching down slightly. He realizes he can't hold the gun and Marco at the same time, and it might be a good idea to have a weapon considering the circumstances, so he hands the gun to Marco. Marco takes the gun hesitantly and climbs on, and Jean wraps his arms securely around his legs and then they're off again.
Jean surprises even himself with how fast he's running, but he can tell that Marco has lost weight since the last time he saw him, or maybe he's just gotten stronger over the past four years, who knows. Marco clings on tightly, his arms slung over Jean's shoulders and his face pressed into the back of Jean's neck. The gun presses into Jean's chest uncomfortably. He knows how to get out of the building fast; he's been planning his escape the moment he stepped foot in that hall. Their escape.
He doesn't know how he gets there, or how he's still breathing and full of energy, but before Jean has time to process anything properly, they're outside the building. He looks around frantically; where was he meant to be taking Marco, besides just away from everyone? And then he sees it in the quickly fading light of the sunset, the abandoned hospital, if you could even call it that anymore, that's just two buildings down. Jean takes off running again and Marco's breath hitches; he tightens his grip around Jean's chest. Jean reflexively squeezes the undersides of Marco's legs, to let him know that he's got him.
When they get to the hospital, Jean gently lowers Marco to the ground so he can open the door, taking the gun from his grasp. He glances behind himself as he does so-nobody seems to have followed them. He pulls Marco inside and then they're running again; even though they might not have to, Jean is anxious to get somewhere more secure as soon as possible. He pulls Marco up a flight of stairs and the hall is full of rooms with beds. Just what he was looking for. He and Marco slip into one of the rooms and Jean closes the door with his foot, not having let go of Marco the entire time they've been together, and lets the gun drop to the floor. He turns to look at Marco properly, taking in his features, as they both stand there, heaving in and out of breath. He's the same Marco that he remembers, albeit paler and skinnier now, and with considerable bruising around one of his eyes, and without the usual smile he managed to wear despite the chaos and death that surrounded them. He's here, four years later, and he's real. He's real because he had said Jean's name, he's real because Jean has carried him all the way to the hospital, he's real because he's looking at Jean right now, just a few feet away. And yet...
"I don't know what to say," Jean says.
Marco lunges forward and hugs him impossibly tight, his arms snaking underneath Jean's because he's shorter than Jean now, and Jean squeezes back just as hard. He's imagined this before, mostly in dreams, or when thinking about his own death where he would finally be reconnected with Marco in the afterlife, but evidently he doesn't have to wait that long. He feels his knees buckle, not underneath Marco's weight, but from the disbelief and overwhelming emotion flooding him right now. He tries to keep himself upright but his body gives out, and Marco is grabbing underneath his elbows, slowly lowering them both to the ground. He pulls away, still holding onto Jean, and says,
"I missed you so much,”
and Jean lets out a sob that wracks his whole body and lets Marco pull him in again. He has no reason to cry-Marco is right here, after all-but it's just too much. It's all too much. Four years of pushing down any feelings he couldn't afford to let get in the way have forced their way up to the surface, and Marco is here to catch them all. He feels himself grasping at the back of Marco’s shirt and Marco leans his head into the side of Jean’s neck. It’s surreal; Marco is so warm against him and it feels so good, so good that Jean doesn’t know what to do besides just cry. Cry for the lost time, cry for Marco’s sickly state, cry for the pain Marco certainly has experienced over the past four years, cry because they’re finally reconnected after all this time.
“I missed you,” Marco says again, and Jean can feel the tears in his voice too. Jean nods furiously against Marco’s head. He knows if he tries to speak right now the words will come out all muddled, if he could get them past his throat at all, so he just nods and nods, letting the pressure of Marco’s head pressed against his own calm him down. He realizes that he’s been rocking them both side to side and that Marco has just let him. It’s soothing, somehow. He doesn’t ever want to let go. He never wants to let Marco out of his sight ever again. Marco’s arms are slung around his waist, his hands pressed gently into Jean’s spine, and it feels so safe. Marco is the only safe place he has left in this world.
When the tears finally stop and Jean feels his breathing subside to something relatively normal, he pulls away slowly, uncertain if he actually wants to break contact with Marco, so he lets his hands rest around Marco’s waist. Marco pulls his hands up towards Jean’s face, holding his cheeks in his palms. His thumb moves back and forth, tracing over the beard Jean realizes he hasn’t seen before. Jean feels a bit silly, but Marco laughs, and any embarrassment he felt evaporates. It’s Marco, after all.
“How…how is this possible?” Jean says. "You died. I-I saw your body, I threw your bones in..." He trails off as Marco's expression turns confused, bordering on mortified. He shakes his head.
"I didn't die. I think I've been asleep, or something similar, up until a couple of days ago," Marco says. His fingers are warm against Jean's face.
"I thought I saw your body. They told me you were dead," Jean says.
"Who?" Marco says.
"Reiner and Bertholdt. They..." Jean stops, the words catching in his throat. How is he supposed to explain everything to Marco without breaking his heart? He rubs his eyes in an attempt to straighten out his thoughts, and Marco pulls his hands away. "They said you had been eaten by a titan. I saw you."
"That wasn't me," Marco says, his expression darkening briefly. "Maybe there was another soldier who looked like me?"
Jean realizes this is entirely possible; after all, the body he had found was nearly dismembered beyond recognition. It made sense that it was Marco, because Jean hadn't seen him for most of that mission, and after he reported Marco's death, he never saw him again. Not until now. Jean’s brain is working overtime, scrambling to try and remember what exactly had happened that day, even though now that feels like a lifetime ago.
"So where did you go? After we had escaped from that building?" Jean says.
"I overheard Reiner and Bertholdt talking. Whatever they were talking about, I wasn’t supposed to hear it. I don’t even remember what it was, now, but they turned against me all of the sudden. I tried to get away, but they pinned me down and took off my gear. There was a titan nearby. I would have died..." Marco stops, shuddering, and Jean puts a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. At least Marco found out that much already.
"Hey. You're okay now, so that's what matters."
"Yeah," Marco says, still visibly shaken. And then Jean feels uncontrollable rage bubbling in his chest-Reiner and Bertholdt were going to kill him? If Bertholdt wasn't dead already, Jean would hunt him down. And if he ever sees Reiner again...
Jean screws his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to rid his head of the violent thoughts taking over the burning curiosity he has. "Why didn't they kill you?"
"I think they would have, but Annie showed up right before...and then she must have turned into a titan, because this titan that looked like a girl grabbed me. Reiner and Bertholdt didn't stop her. After that...I don't remember anything really, besides being asleep. I just woke up a couple days ago, and I was looking around trying to find people when I found this building."
"It's been four years since then," Jean says. Marco's eyes widen in shock.
"Four?" he says, his voice cracking.
"Yeah. We're 19 now," Jean says.
"Oh my god..." Marco trails off. "And I was just...asleep, this whole time. Where are we?"
"Shiganshina," Jean says, and he can practically feel Marco's stomach drop, his eyes asking the question, still?
“The last thing you remember was Annie grabbing you?” Jean asks.
“Yeah.”
Jean hasn't thought about Annie for a while now, at least not until Armin had speculated that Eren undoing all hardening would force her out of the crystal she had enclosed herself in. The Rumbling had happened a couple days ago.
"When you woke up, where were you?" Jean asks.
"I was in the forest nearby, underneath some really thick vegetation. I was soaking wet for some reason, and there was water all around me, even though it didn't seem like it had rained," Marco says.
Oh my god. Armin was right. That means Annie must be awake, too. "Holy shit," Jean whispers.
"What?" Marco asks.
"It's kinda complicated," Jean says. "You've missed a lot. For better or for worse. But it sounds like Annie saved you and hid you somewhere she didn't think Reiner and Bertholdt would find you. She must have known this would happen eventually."
"What would happen?" Marco asks.
"The Rumbling. It's-it's a lot for me to explain right now. I don't even know where to begin. These past four years have been nothing but chaos." Marco must notice his weary, pained expression, because he reaches up to cradle Jean's face again, and Jean rests his own hands on top of Marco's. "I still can't believe it. How did this happen?"
“I don’t know,” Marco says. “I don’t care. I’m just so happy I found you again.”
“Me too,” Jean says, leaning his head forward, and Marco lets their foreheads rest against each other. He wants Marco to hold his face like this for a long time. And he does.