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His head felt fuzzy. White noise filtered between his ears, and it felt as if he was awake, but not quite there at the same time. Above him, the sky; an endless expanse of warm, bright blue. Not a cloud in sight, but the sun was strong and hot and made him squint. It was a beautiful day. At home children would be playing in the streets, farmers would be toiling in the hot weather, life would be going on as usual.
“Squad Leader Kirschtein?”
He could hear sounds now; the faint whinnying of horses, muffled voices – it sounded like someone had wrapped a blanket around his head, it sounded as if everyone was thousands of miles away.
There was a dull ache in his chest.
“Squad Leader?”
The voice was closer. He closed his eyes.
“Jean!”
Like someone had flipped a switch, everything came crashing down. Jean’s eyes snapped open again, and this time although he saw the bright sky, it was like his other senses began working overtime. The air smelled of blood and death and rotting meat, human bodies torn open and their remnants scattered - limbs, organs, blood and flesh, the messy leftovers of a titan’s meal, staining the grass red.
Huge thuds shook the earth, the ground was torn with the galloping hooves of the horses. The carts trundled loudly and he could hear the metallic noises of metal on metal; blades being unsheathed, 3DMG in use. And worst of all, over all of that he could hear the frantic yells and shouts.
The pleasant numbness from earlier was gone. Jean could feel sharp pain now, in his right leg and in his ribs and in his head. His heart was beating too fast and he could feel his own blood trickling down his face. What had happened? Were his friends okay? The sun was too bright.
“Squad Leader Kirschtein!” A voice called. Jean looked down. One of his subordinates – what was his name? Muller. He was kneeling beside him in the cart. There were others there – in varying states of injury – but Jean was the only one conscious.
“We’re heading back, sir,” Muller told him. “We’re nearly at the walls. We’ll be home soon.” He glanced over his shoulder. Jean could see the loom of a titan, and automatically went to reach for his blades, but his gear was gone, and the movement sent daggers of pain through his body. He cursed.
“Don’t sit up!” Muller insisted.
He was a good kid, Jean knew, a few years younger than him. He didn’t know why he joined the Scouts – something about a brother eaten during the battle of Trost (Jean should know, he knew those who died in Trost, but his brain wasn’t working right now, he couldn’t think clearly). If anything, he was alive at least.
Jean just nodded, but the gesture made him dizzy. He lay down again. He wished he was out cold again. Or that the numbness would come back. Like this he was all too aware of what was going on. A scream rang through the air. Another dead. He wanted to get sick. He couldn’t even do anything – he was helpless.
A roar – it sounded like Eren. Jean forced his eyes closed, trying not to think about what was going on, but to focus on remembering what had happened.
Slowly it came back to him. A simple mission, it had been. A regular expedition, to scout a potential route to Wall Maria, and Shiganshina. But of course, like everything in the fucking Scouting Legion, it had fallen apart as soon as they left the safety of the walls.
They had gotten split up into two groups, and then their flare system didn’t work correctly, and then they had the luck to run into a group of deviants. Jean could remember it know, in fragments; swinging up with the 3DMG. There had been two titans ahead; a three meter class and a fourteen meter class.
His squad had been there, he could remember issuing orders. He had told Muller and Johnson to help him with the fourteen meter class titan; telling Dunne and Gray to deal with the three meter one. He can remember it now, and he kicked himself for being so stupid, for presuming that these were run of the mill titans. He had swung over the smaller titan, prepared to strike the bigger one. But of fucking course the smaller was a fucking deviant. It jumped – right into the air – and caught him around his leg. Using his momentum and thinking quickly he had cut off its finger and freed himself.
But it was hard enough to control the 3DMG at high speeds fully functional. With an injured leg it was impossible. His own momentum sent him rocketing into the trees, and his gear was damaged from where the titan had gotten a hold of him. Using 3DMG was Jean’s talent but even he couldn’t right himself. Thankfully he hadn’t impaled himself on a branch and died – that would have been just his luck – but he remembered knocking his head and – and that’s where it all faded out.
There was s blood lazily trickling from a gash on his head – Muller was doing his best to bandage it up. Jean tried to survey his other injuries. His whole body ached, like he had been thrown around – which kind of did happen, anyway. There were awfully familiar pains in his ribs – he knew these well enough to know he had fractured at least two ribs. And his leg…he forced himself to look down, despite the dizziness. As he suspected; it was horribly bent and twisted to match the fiery pain.
Jean gasped a little despite himself, gritting his teeth as he lowered his head back down. He tried not to think about anything, but it was hard to the stench of blood and the screech of steel and the pain in his body and in his head.
He must have passed out again, because the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes. The sun was blocked from view, hidden by the shadow of Wall Rose. They were back. He sighed in relief.
Muller was gone. Gritting his teeth, Jean pulled himself up into a sitting position on the cart. He hissed in pain, fighting the dizziness. The gate had just been closed, the somber procession of the Scouting Legion – what was left of them – coming together to make the journey through the city back to the barracks.
The civilians were already forming crowds along the streets, frowning and shaking their heads. Jean was thankful he couldn’t hear what they were muttering. He had heard it all before. He switched his attention to scanning the lines of soldiers, looking for his friends.
At the front, beside the Commander was the unmistakably scarlet scarf of Mikasa. Not far from her, Eren and Armin. Connie’s familiar buzzcut could be spotted nearby. Sasha was near the back. He made out most of his squad, but his sense of uneasiness grew when he couldn’t find all of them.
Where was he?
Jean felt sick again, and whipped his head around to scan his other side, searching for him frantically. But he moved too fast; the dizziness overwhelmed him for a moment and he cursed, shutting his eyes and bringing a hand to his head?
“Jean?”
The familiar voice – full of concern, but there – washed over him like a bucket of cold water that had been doused over his head. Jean swore, opening his eyes again. For a moment, everything was blurry as a horse and its rider pulled up alongside the cart with the injured, a blur of green cloak and the wings of freedom solidifying into him.
Marco sighed heavily, the relief clear. “Christ, Jean – I didn’t know what had happened to you!” He said. “For a while I thought…it doesn’t matter.”
Jean tried his best to give him a smile. He couldn’t manage it. Marco was studying him again, his brows furrowed as he tried to judge Jean’s injuries. “Are you alright?”
Jean shrugged. He wanted to take Marco’s hand. “A little banged up,” he said, skimming on the details. Marco would find out soon enough. “I’m alive. What about you.”
“I’m…fine.” No, he wasn’t. He was tense and tired and who fucking knew how much shit he had seen in the last few hours. Marco wasn’t fine, Jean wasn’t fine, nobody in the fucking Scouting Legion was fine, but there was nothing they could do about, just keep going and try to stay alive. “Well…I’m not dead,” Marco amended.
Jean just wanted to take Marco’s hands into his own, to pull him close and inhale his scent (which was the same scent as everyone else in the damn military because they all used the same military issued soap and detergent, but somehow there was still something Marco about it) and to kiss every freckle on his dark skin to make sure he was still alive, he was still with him, and not some half eaten mangled corpse forgotten on a battlefield.
Marco looked like he wanted that too. He opened his mouth to say something else, but an order barked from someone up front drew his attention. He gave Jean an apologetic look before riding up front. “I’ll find you later,” he promised, and then he was gone.
***
Jean had never wanted to be a leader. He cared about people too much, and couldn’t throw away his humanity like Armin or Erwin could. He couldn’t just…sacrifice people. He wouldn’t be a good leader.
The first time he took the lead of anything serious was in the Battle of Trost, and that definitely was a mistake. Jean didn’t even know how many people had died because he used them as distractions, but it still haunted him – what, nine years later? Maybe some of the 104th were still alive because of what he did, but that still couldn’t have been the right choice – it was just the choice he made, and there was no going back to change it now.
Maybe if he had ended up in the Military Police he wouldn’t have been as opposed to it as he was now. Leadership there means no real duties; less work and a bigger paycheck. Leadership here meant that there were lives on the line, and if you didn’t make the right call, people were going to die.
A squad was formed in what – his third year? His fourth? A squad with some of the most talented with the 3DMG. Not the people as incredible as Corporal Levi or Mikasa, not the real strength of the Survey Corps. But the people like him, who had exceptional talent with it. They might not have been good at much else, but in theory they were much better at maneuvering than the average soldier, and they could get in and out of trickier situations easily. In theory.
Of course, some of them died and then new recruits joined their little squad, and as the years went by he ended up as the second in command. This ended up, inevitably, as him being promoted to Squad Leader when their old one got eaten. And now, he had a bunch of lives directly tied to his own decisions. Jean hated it – but his friends insisted that this was what he was meant for. Armin insisted that he could rise further than Squad Leader if he wanted to. If he had to, Jean would. If he didn’t, there was no way in hell.
His squad – what was left of them – came to visit him in the infirmary. He was given his own room now. A tiny, stuffy room, but at least it has some privacy. Squad Leader did come with some little perks, at least. He told them about his first expedition, the battle with the Female Titan, with Annie, and how that all went to shit. He realized halfway through that it wasn’t exactly heartening, and how his message of “well it could have gone even worse,” wasn’t exactly the best for morale.
Marco didn’t come until later. His position was higher than Jean’s, and after every expedition he was kept cooped up in meetings and making reports. He slinked in around the door in the early hours of the morning, expecting Jean to be asleep. He still came; it was almost as if he needed confirmation that his Jean was still alive and breathing.
Jean hadn’t been able to sleep, and his leg (badly broken, but expected to make a full recovery) was paining him. He also knew what awaited him if he slept. Nightmares were commonplace anyway, but after expeditions they were unbearable. He looked up when Marco came in, pushing himself into a sitting position as best as he could.
Marco tentatively sat on the edge of his bed, the silence between them heavy for a moment. “I really want to kiss you,” Marco said softly. Jean knew the feeling. Usually their post expedition encounters involved them clutching onto each other tightly, staying as close as they possibly could for as long as they could. Obviously, with his broken bones, Jean couldn’t do much of that. His hand found its way into Marco’s, who grasped it tightly.
The patch of the night sky he could see through the square window was dark, but the moon was as sharp as one of their 3DMG blades, letting a stream of white light fall across the room.
“You should get some rest,” Jean said.
“So should you, you’re the injured one.”
“I couldn’t sleep. My leg is sore.” Only a half lie. They both know that injury or not, neither of them wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Silence hung for a moment.
“A lot of people died today,” Marco muttered. This is it, Jean thought. He could hear his voice slip, just slightly, and he knew that this was the point where Marco’s strong foundations would begin to crumble. “What for? We didn’t make any progress.”
Jean sighed. “What’s any of it for?”
“We’re taking people – some of them are just children, how are we making fifteen year olds do this? We’re taking people and we’re sending them out to be…to be butchered. For what? We haven’t gotten any information on titans or the shifters in the last few years. We’re right back where we were before Maria ever even fell.”
This was so wrong. Marco was the optimist, he always was. Jean was the one who took a look at the glass and complained about how not only was it half empty, but how it would be completely empty in no time at all. Jean was the one who was here because if they were going to die – he might as well die fighting. Marco was always the one who tried, no matter how dark it was or no matter how slim the sliver of light was, to focus on the brighter side. He was like a pillar of support; not only for Jean, but for every damn person he encountered.
People had always said that nobody was perfect, but Jean reckoned that Marco was as close to perfect as humanly possible.
Maybe it was his flaws that made him perfect. He wasn’t like some other being, better than the rest of them. He was a good person, but he was still human. Jean was sure he wouldn’t have managed this bloodshed for all these years if he hadn’t had Marco’s concrete support. Now, that concrete support was crumbling. And that was okay too.
Jean raised his hand, cupping the side of Marco’s face. The taller boy leant into the touch. He wasn’t crying, but he seemed so…hopeless. This was unlike Marco, it was so unnatural to see him so beaten down like this.
“Where did it go wrong,” he muttered quietly. “Ten years ago, I was gonna join the Military Police, and serve the King, and live a long and happy life.”
“And then we were in a battle, and people died, and the King and the MP turned out to be a pack of filthy, scheming liars, and here we are,” Jean replied. That brought a small smile out, at least.
A lot had changed in nine years. Not just for them, for everyone. Commander Smith was older and missing an arm, but still led them. Hange was as brilliant as ever, Levi hadn’t aged a day but his temper had grown even worse.
Mikasa was just as beautiful as she had been when Jean was an embarrassing preteen, but she had softened slightly. She was still as determined and deadly and protective, but cared and loved as fiercely as anyone. Armin was like a blade, his mind just got sharper and sharper. He hadn’t even placed in the top ten, but now he was one of the Commander’s top men. At heart, Eren was the same reckless idiot, but he was older and (slightly) wiser now.
Connie had matured and Sasha wasn’t as naïve as she had been, although they were two goofballs (some things would never change). Historia was very different to the Christa he had once known, but she felt more natural and real the way she was now, although they didn’t see her very often, she was busy ruling.
Of course, there had been other changes. Ymir turned out to be a fucking titan, Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie turned out to be the worst traitors anyone could have imagined, and all four’s whereabouts were unknown. Humanity had taken a battering, but had made slow progress. The people were more hopeful now, not as quick to write the Scouts off, but still disapproving when they came back from expeditions. Historia reigned as queen, and on the whole, the lands between the walls were more peaceful. Maria was as full as titans as ever, but finally, they were close to reclaiming it.
“We have made progress,” Jean said suddenly, almost surprised at him. “Where we are now…it’s a lot better than where we were back then. Better than where we were even two years ago. And if people hadn’t died…then we mightn’t be where we are now.”
The realization sank into him almost catching him by surprise. He usually only allowed himself to focus on the present, not letting himself hope for the future or dwell on the past. But when he took a step back and looked at the bigger picture…
“It’s not going to be easy,” he said quietly. “But we always knew it wouldn’t be. But…maybe it’s not impossible anymore.”
Marco snorted, meeting Jean’s tawny eyes. “That’s a bit rich, coming from you.”
Jean chuckled softly. “I’m not sold,” he admitted. “And…I do think that whatever we achieve, there’s gonna be some heavy losses. I’m not even sure if we’ll manage it,” he continued “We’re still hopelessly outnumbered and overpowered. This time next year we might all be eaten. But the difference is now I think there’s a chance that we might actually get through all of this.”
“Ever the optimist,” Marco said drily.
Jean gave him another soft smile. Marco gave a feeble one back, before sighing.
“I always thought that once I scored in the top ten, I’d be happy,” he said. “I wanted to serve the King, but I thought that once I got to that point…I’d be happy.” He sighed again, dropping his chin onto the palm of his hand. “I just. Want to find happiness somehow. But I’m not going to find it here.”
Jean frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Marco looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question.
Jean bit his lip. It had been something he had been thinking about a lot recently, but he had never shared his thoughts. “I guess I was like that,” he said. “But a more selfish version. I thought that I’d get into the top ten, and it would be plain sailing from there, y’know? Get into the Military Police, work my way up, find a girl to marry—“ (Marco scoffed) “—and find us a nice house somewhere safe in Wall Sina. I thought I’d find a simple, comfortable life, and that once I found it, I’d be happy.”
He paused for a moment. “None of that happened, obviously. And I used to regret that it didn’t. I thought I’d never be happy as a Scout. But…” he paused again, trying to arrange his thoughts into actual words. “But I think that I’ve been looking at happiness the wrong way,” he said. “I mean, I always thought that if I did things properly, I’d end up with like, this big happy picture at the end. But I don’t think anyone has that. Even if I did do things the way I’d planned, I don’t think I’d have it. I think happiness is more…like moments.”
Jean couldn’t say that he was happy with the way things have turned out in his life. He strayed so far off the path he had set out for himself, he put himself in the jaws of the titan when he planned to get as far away from them as possible. But there were moments that made it all worth it.
“I mean,” he continued, “not like, big, life-changing events. But smaller things like…Connie and Sasha doing some ridiculous shit that makes me laugh so much I can’t breathe. Or like, when me and Eren are joking around and Levi yells at us like we’re nine year old brats, not grown men, and we have to keep a straight face while we’re both trying not to start laughing. Seeing some of the newer kids in my squad master a new technique.” He could think of so many more; the first time he and Marco kissed, or said that they loved each other, or whenever they held hands or whenever he was just around Marco and neither of them were covered in someone’s blood.
“Or,” he added, “when we’re able to just sit with some peace and quiet for once, and we’re not doing anything but it’s still…”
Jean trailed off. Marco always listened to him, but he looked like he was really listening to him right now. He was looking at him intently, brows furrowed slightly but a small smile on his lips.
“That was weirdly poetic of you.”
Jean shrugged. “I didn’t mean it to be. I just…I don’t know if there’s going to be a happy ending, so we might as well be happy when we can right?”
Marco smiled again, but this time it seemed genuine. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said again.
Jean gave him a grin. “What’s stopping you?”
“Your messed up ribs.”
“Who cares. Just be careful, I’ll be fine.”
Marco chuckled, his breath warm as he leaned down, hovering over Jean, conscious of his injuries. Jean closed his eyes and sighed, winding his fingers into Marco’s dark hair as he gently pressed their lips together. Like everything it was warm and gentle and Jean felt the fuzzy fluttering feeling that he would never admit to feeling buzz in his gut.
Marco broke away after the kiss, but didn’t pull away. He stayed like that, curled over Jean with their noses almost touching. It probably wasn’t very comfortable, but Marco probably didn’t give a shit.
“Maybe we can have a happy ending,” he murmured.
Jean smiled. “That sounds more like you,” he said.
“When this is all over, we’ll bloody get married. And we’ll find somewhere, a quiet scrap of land in the countryside, and it’ll be the two of us and there’ll be nobody there to try and kill us or eat us, or whatever. And no crazy officers to take orders from. Just you and me.”
Jean’s heart clenched. “That sounds good,” he said. He never liked talking about the future. He was too cautious of getting his hopes up.
Marco’s hand found his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “For now, I’ll guess we’ll have to make do with what we have,” he sighed.
Jean opened his mouth and closed it, swallowing. “I love you,” he said, after a moment.
Marco closed his eyes. “I know. I love you too.”
“I know.”
He did know. The world sometimes felt like it was literally falling to pieces around his ears sometimes, but being around Marco was like being sucked into a vacuum of warmth and love and trust and security, a two way vacuum that Jean never wanted to get out of.
He could feel the tiredness ebb into his system. The events of the expedition had felt like they were pressing down on him, crushing him. They were still there, but the weight felt so much more manageable right now. He pushed Marco away light, scooching over as gently as he could to make room.
“I’m not much good for cuddly shit right now, but you can still stay, if you like. It’s late, after all.”
“Jean—” He started as if to protest, but then stood up, pulling off his boots.
Jean grinned in satisfaction. Marco stripped off his jacket and his harness before sliding into the bed with him. Under the blankets, Jean grasped his hand tightly. “Love you,” Marco said quietly, his voice near Jean’s ear.
“Mm, love you too.” Jean shut his eyes.
In a month one, or both of them could be dead. They probably weren’t going to live to see Marco’s happy ending, despite how much Jean wanted it. But maybe things would be alright. And in case they weren’t – well, they just needed to make the most of the time they still had.
Jean slept peacefully.