Chapter Text
He was on the track team every year, and was one of the most promising individuals on it. It wasn't just that he was fast, or had fantastic stamina, it was also how much he loved doing it. Jean could run forever, no matter how much his legs screamed or his throat burned. It was a new kind of freedom, one he found when running through the empty halls of his parent's mansion as fast as he could before the maid caught him and sent him outside instead. The wind made it better. He was almost free.
His last track meet in his junior year was the only one his father could make. To this day, Jean still didn't know why he came, or how he managed to stay off the phone the whole time. But he cheered the loudest, and for once Jean ran faster than Eren.
That was where their little group had met, back in freshman year. Mikasa was the star of the team, and Eren and Jean were competing against each other despite being from the same school; Armin was the water boy who felt it would be good for his health if he were to get some fresh air every week instead of being trapped in the stuffy school library with a textbook and a graphing calculator. They found that they were kind of glad to be with each other, and they were happy to help each other through the tough times, from Jean's inability to write a good lab report to the death of Eren's mom. The constant threats and uneasy glances became happy greetings and shoulders to lean on. Armin would often say, while the others agreed but didn't say so out loud, they had a special bond.
Mikasa was doing great, of course. She was great at everything. Jean used to have a stupid crush on her before he realized that he would rather love her as a sister than a sweetheart. Petra looked pleased as she completed another lap of the obstacle course with ease.
Eren was tripping over everything. It was easy for Jean to tune out Levi's string of frustrated cries and curses as he watched his clumsy apprentice. All he had to do was just keep running.
He wasn't a coward, he had assured himself through the years. Jean always ran from his troubles. In his middle school days when his parents fought each other over 'morals', he dashed out of the house to the nearest park. No one ever noticed, even when he returned hours after curfew and didn't bother sneaking inside through the window with the broken latch on the second floor.
Jean gritted his teeth and sprinted forward at the thought. I'm not a coward. They don't take cowards.
It was at that point that Jean scanned the sidelines to find his mentor, see if he approved at his time, speed, and sure-footedness.
The world slowed.
Jean hadn't known Marco for very long, only two days at the most, but Jean was sure he had Marco figured out. He didn't get sad, he got mad, if he felt anything at all. Even his happiness was tinted with rage. If he had a heart, it had been crystallized long ago.
He wasn't normally wrong.
But Marco looked crestfallen.
That wasn't allowed.
If he's upset, he's going to take it out on me!
The thought was distracting. Jean spit the dirt out of his mouth after recovering from the shock of tripping.
“Kirstein! What the fuck do you think you're doing?”
He was pretty sure his head was bleeding, or at least bruised.
“If this were real life, you'd be fucking dead! How do you like the sound of that? You want that?”
Jean wiped a speck of red off his forehead, and snapped, “I'm sorry, I didn't realize I could fucking die from tripping on an obstacle course!”
Marco snarled. “Do another fifteen laps!”
Still bleeding and dirt clinging to his clothes, Jean started running again, wondering exactly what he got himself into.
Marco was not pleased.
He had just been watching Jean. Marco hated to admit it, but Kirstein had been doing good. But he had been... smiling. While running. Because he was enjoying himself, probably.
It was like looking at his younger self in the mirror, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager and ready to be the best he could be.
Without the stupid haircut, of course.
He hadn't thought about it in years, but Marco wondered what he would be like if he didn't in the accident. Would he still be like that, why isn't he still like that, would it be better if he was-
And when Kirstein tripped, why wasn't he as good as he should be?
Stupid thoughts like that. Marco couldn't stop them.
Marco refused to let that happen again.
Storming across the building, scaring the interns who dare crossed his path, he made it to Erwin's office without breaking anything or anyone. “Erwin.” He flung open the door carelessly without so much as a real greeting. “We need to talk.”
He looked up from the paper he was signing. “Hello to you too, Marco. What's going on?”
“You've got to get rid of him.”
“Who?”
“My apprentice.”
“Jean?”
“Switch him with someone else, I don't care. I can't do it, I can't train him. That kid's no good for me, and I refuse to put up with it.”
Erwin, instead of jumping into action, just gave Marco a steady look. “Bott,” he started, “it's been two days. I think you'll be fine, you're one of the most accomplished agents I know. You can handle training a kid. Just give yourself a chance. Maybe Jean is just what you need.”
Marco didn't like the way that was phrased. “What is that supposed to mean?”
This time Erwin did take action. He stood up, knocking over his cup of coffee in the process, slamming his fists against the table in anger. “You know exactly what I fucking mean!”
They've had this argument before. “I'm better this way!” Marco shouted back, not even caring the door was still open. Everyone knew what they were talking about. Everyone knew the story, but pretended not to. Thinking of his old self, how weak he was, almost made him wince.
“You were one of the strongest people I knew back then, when you cared!”
Marco didn't want to hear it any more. “Fine.” He said acidly. “I'll keep the kid. But don't expect anything to change,” He added on the way out.