Chapter Text
i.
“We haven’t even had a chance to talk this through!” Is Marco’s last words, tears in his eyes as he grapples at the thought that his life had already reached the end, no more bridges to cross. He initially did not care about the titan that was behind him, giving him a predaceous grin as its grimy, disgusting fingers picked him up whilst he cried for help towards the people he had called his friends. He had only realized that his life ended right here when he met the titan’s eyes; it is not full of friendliness, or hostility, or any humane emotion, rather, it was full of thirst for human flesh.
He starts to scream as teeth meet skin, tempted to dig into his flesh to tear him apart. He could not deny it; it was painful, having your skin slowly be bitten in half. He imagines himself being covered in the fire ants that bite his skin, except this time, it is more painful. He knows, he knows that he is coming to an end, just at the tender age of fifteen. He didn’t want to die, he never wanted to die, especially here, in a battlefield. He was supposed to have a safe, happy life within the walls furthest from the titans, as a Military Police, along with Jean.
In his last few moments full of conscious pain, he remembers Jean.
Plenty of questions were in his mind right now— is Jean okay? Is he helping Mikasa, Armin, and the others to fend off titans to get them away from Eren? Is he still alive?
He wishes that he is, unlike the situation that he is in now, his face being eaten in half by this cursed being, whilst his remaining eye locks at the three whom he had thought were his friends, were traitors.
They could’ve just talked it out— and they chose to put an end to him.
Did he deserve this cruel fate?
All he could think of was Jean, how he was going to leave him alone in this world once life escapes from his eyes, a flame that had been dancing, gone at a moment’s notice.
He didn’t want to think of how Jean would react if he had found and recognized his body; he didn’t want him to discover that his best friend was dead.
All Marco Bodt wanted was to help his friends and get into MP, not to be thrust into battle too soon.
He wanted a second chance in life.
That was all he wanted, as his last remaining consciousness was focused on someone, anyone, to give him another chance at his life.
The last thing he sees is Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner, with forlorn looks — even Reiner, the audacity of that man — staring at him as his own blood blots out the sun like ink, feeling all kinds of pain on his right side.
Marco starts to breathe again.
Well, no, technically he is not breathing— he just gasps, sucking in non-existent air as his eyes open once again.
A feeling of confusion spreads through him.
Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?
His right side does not even feel that light like how he had last felt. It felt whole, like it’s supposed to be, before that titan gnawed him to death slowly but surely.
(He’d prefer if his death was more peaceful— safer.
Rather than suffer and die a million times.)
His left hand trembling, he touches the right side of his face.
His face is still whole, once again.
“What…?” He asks to himself, confused. He looks around, mouth agape. There is nothing but black, white, and every other single color turned into a spotlight. Neither was there an entrance or exit, as if there is no such thing as the outside world in the area he had woken up in. “Wasn’t I eaten alive by a titan? Where am I?”
No one responds to him, the neon lights of blue, green, purple and pink circling around this ever-shifting black-and-white room. Honestly, the colors dancing around him like cadets in aerial battle are making him feel dizzy.
With a sigh, he sits back down, wondering why he was in this place. Was this the purgatory his mother had warned him he’ll end up in when he was a child?
Marco looks around, only to find nothing but those stupid moving lights. It is already grinding on his gears, and he wishes it would stop.
Then, he feels a kick into his brain, and his once-sluggish mind, still in shock from the horrific death he had suffered from, was forced to fully wake up.
Memories, memories of when he was young, up until his death, circling around him like an endless cycle of agony. He avoids looking at his final memories — of Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie staring at his beaten and broken body — preferring to gawk at the fragments of his life that he has made all by himself. With a small gleam of remembrance in his eyes, he stares at these memories like they are all portraits; fully detailed portraits. But why are they showing him these? Did his memories not flash before his life comes to an end like his mothers said?
Why is he now seeing them?
What could it be?
His gray eyes linger upon the first time he had rebelled against his parents— staying up late at night just to read a book that he can’t just wait until the morning to finish. Of course, he was caught by one of his mothers, Cammi, who immediately punished him by taking away his book, leaving him to weep for the night.
Marco smiles a little, his eyes glinting with care and fondness for his mother. “I miss you so much, mother, Mia. I’m sorry that I had to leave so soon.” He sniffles a little, before moving to the next memory that had caught his eye.
It was him and Jean’s first meeting; during dinnertime, before he had made a scene with Eren. Marco had given him a smile in greeting, which Jean reciprocated by arrogantly rolling his eyes and walking away from his table. He didn’t think that he would gain that haughty man’s attention, but he did, and he basked in the attention that Jean kept on giving him, wanting him by his side, always and forever.
He was ripped apart from Jean’s side too soon— ripped apart from everyone else’s lives, like the cadets.
Damn it, they were children.
He just… wanted to have a safe and peaceful life, is that all so much to ask for?
Marco sighs; is this the curse of accidentally having eavesdropped on Reiner and Bertholdt’s conversation?
He just wanted to live.
He wants a second chance.
To be with everyone else, alive and well, visit Cammi and Mia, befriend the rest of the Military Police and reform its system.
He wants to be with Jean.
Marco can’t get over that man, for some reason. For all his faults — his temper, his bluntness, and his lack of restraint — Jean Kirstein managed to captivate him enough to the point his heart will keep beating faster when they are of the same room as each other, or whenever his chocolate eyes make contact with his stormy gray ones. He is taken aback at these sorts of feelings— does he… like Jean?
He grits his teeth; all the more reason why he wants to have a second chance, to have another chance of being by Jean’s side, this time permanently.
(Well, as permanent as he needs to be.)
“Just give me a second chance!” He screams into the void, but he hears nothing echoing right back at him. Good, he did not want the feeling of being alone to intensify. “I want to be with Jean! Please, whoever is back there, help me get back to him!”
The lights only blink from a distance, and nothing more.
Then, another memory pops up.
Wait, no.
It was not a memory.
He had never gone into Trost District until the recent battle.
This Trost looks… newer, not a single speck of debris or blood marking its walls.
Marco didn’t know why… but he is running towards this image.
His legs were moving, but his mind stayed in the same spot, numb and broken.
He is running, one of his arms reaching out to the scene ahead of him, his gray eyes gleaming with… what? Hope, joy, or happiness?
He feels a blinding flash of light and the feeling of time and space changing him; his body is changing in so many ways that he can’t help but feel overwhelmed, and—
Marco Bodt, a newly changed man, has face planted on the grounds of Trost District.
“Hey! Watch it!” The sound of a disgruntled old man wakes him up from that embarrassing reentry to Trost.
Marco flashes the man he had almost tripped a guilty frown, “Ah, I am so sorry!” He stops for a moment, his voice sounding different; there is something wrong with his voice. It is deeper, but it still retains its considerably gentle and kind tone.
Well, if he was being honest, something is wrong with his own body— his legs seem to be too long, half of his face is intact, and his hair is…
The young man puts a hand to his hair— huh, someone must have trimmed it shorter (but who was that certain someone?).
Gulping, he tries to look at his reflection on one of the windows— certainly enough, he has aged. He seems to be four years older, his freckled face full of maturity and sturdiness, his gray eyes gleaming with shattered naivety. He also has teeth marks and scars of when that titan had… ate him, and it seems they will not be going away. He takes a deep breath, trying not to feel self conscious about all this.
Why did that void age him up? Time could not have possibly passed unless he was there for a long time or—
He looks at his surroundings; back where he had died, all civilians have evacuated, leaving this district abandoned, but now, Trost looked good as new, like it had before the Colossal Titan — Bertholdt — showed up to create a hole to let the titans in. He had vaguely remembered Eren carrying a large boulder to seal the hole in the wall, but…
“Huh?” He reaches the gate that had been full of cracks, full of titans sprawling around, only to find a newer gate awaiting his gaze.
Now, everything clicks into place: the way he looks older, the way the houses are repaired, the way everyone is acting like nothing has happened, the way there is a gate rather than a boulder pressed on it to keep the titans out. His eyes widen in shock and horror, as he realizes why he feels like nothing has changed at all.
This is in the future ; how many years had passed since the Battle of Trost District, he couldn’t tell.
Marco snaps himself out of his frenzy with a memory; Cammi and Mia sitting on their respective chairs back home, in Utopia District, in Wall Rose.
He bites his lower lip, tears streaming down his face at the thought of seeing his mothers again.
Jean could wait a little longer.
He is coming back to the village he abandoned first.
The Utopia District on the north of Wall Rose looks the same as it used to, back when things were simple and there was no such thing as titan-shifting humans. Marco had escaped through the gates discreetly without gaining the people’s unwarranted attention, running and tripping on roots and streams just to get back to the family he had left. People seem to be adjusting quickly (of course, they’ve had how many years to cope with the sudden attacks of the titans) to the lives they had once led before, and he thinks whether or not that was a good thing.
He wonders if his mothers are still there, Cammi knitting clothes for her, her wife, and her son, Mia watering the small but sufficient garden that they own. His eyes water just at the memory of Cammi giving him a new winter coat for the snowy season, whilst Mia serves him hot vegetable soup she had taken from the garden. He misses their smiles, the way they love him just as much as they love each other.
He wants them to be okay— he needs them to be okay.
After a few more hours trying to navigate the way he is supposed to go, he arrives at the edge of Utopia District; the edge where his own village stands. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, before opening them. The village he had grown up in looked the same, except it had more buildings and farmlands and gardens than before.
But that was okay, as long as his parents were still here, somewhere that he can still reach and remember.
The newly reborn man starts to run around the village, surprising people — familiar faces — with how fast and athletic he was. Despite his training with his fellow cadets and Keith Shadis, he can feel his legs starting to tire, already fatigued with how many miles he had to run in just a span of a few hours. The sun is setting in the horizon already, always and forever will be blocked by the walls that protect and shield them from the titans, so he continues his plight.
Marco’s gray eyes shine with hope, stopping at a quaint little house at the end of the street.
It was the Bodt home— his old home.
There were some differences with the stone home he had once grew up on — some stone bricks covered with moss and vines — such as the ageing of the stone bricks, overgrown vine plants, a roof that is now full of rust. Needless to say, it is neglected.
He wonders whether or not they were still at home, or if they have left home to try and overcome their grief, but his eyes see someone lighting up the entire house with a new light source that was not fire. He raises a brow, tilting his head; do people not use fire anymore in this year?
He shakes his head; he can ask his questions once he has a reunion with his parents.
If they believe that he is their long lost son, that is.
“Seriously, why did I have to grow as old as this world?” Marco asks himself, scratching at his neatly-trimmed hair. He sighs, “Well, here goes nothing.” With a shaking body, he knocks on the door, hoping whoever answers is either Cammi, Mia, or perhaps both.
He wishes that they can recognize their boy still.
However, his expectations were subverted when a young boy, who was his age when he joined the cadet corps, at the age of thirteen. He has dark hair, a tanner skin tone, and a green set of eyes. Understandably, there is a look of confusion and apprehension in his eyes. He hides behind the door, suspicious of this unknown visitor. “Who are you?”
Marco stares at this child— was he adopted by his parents after he…? He swallows down the feelings of hurt hiding deep within himself— he was the one who had abandoned his own family to chase his dreams, after all. “I’m… an old friend of your mothers’, Cammi and Mia Bodt. Say, are they home right now?”
The young boy stares at him, still hiding, his eyes and hair only visible. “They are here...”
“Good! Can you call your parents for me? I really need to talk to them.”
“Why?”
“I just… I just want to talk to your parents, that’s all.”
“Callan, who’s at the door?” A sweet and gentle voice calls from the inside, and Marco gasps— it was his mother, still as sweet and soft spoken as ever.
The young boy — Callan, it seems — takes a peek back from the inside. “There’s a man here asking for you two!”
“... Alright, we’ll take care of it, Callan.” Mia’s grimmer and quieter voice answers, and he can’t believe that he is hearing Cammi and Mia’s voices again; he never thought he would get to hear it three years after he left his home. His lips tremble as he fights back the tears in his eyes, as he is face-to-face with his mothers, the people whom he had left to chase after his ambition of becoming a MP.
Cammi has Marco’s onset of freckles and his gray eyes, but her hair is a golden blonde one, like Armin’s or Christa’s. He had inherited his father’s ebony dark hair, which he had abhorred when he was a child— he did not like the way his father would hit mother, would hit him when he was bored and drunk. That was why he loved Mia more; a woman with neon-blue eyes and snow-white hair, who taught him how to be confident and to have a sense of himself.
When their eyes meet Marco’s, they widen in recognition.
He refuses to cry, relieved that they could still recognize the son that they have lost years ago.
“Mar— Marco…?” Cammi asks, a hand to her face, as she takes a step forward with a hand extended, followed by Mia. “You’re here? W-With us? Alive?”
Marco smiles, holding his mother’s hand. “I guess I am.”
It was proof enough for the elder woman to wrap her arms around her long lost son, crying, tears streaming down her face. Mia joins in the embrace (because she is easily overwhelmed), also crying tears of joy and longing that the boy she grew up with is back, aged and matured.
Marco is glad to be back as well, back in the village he had left. Tears start to escape his eyes, as he hugs both his mothers.
“I miss you, too.”
“You don’t use fire as a source of light anymore?” Marco asks, staring at the light glowing from above them with such a bright glow.
“We still do, especially when we go down to the basement”, Mia replies, busily cooking dinner for four.
“Where did you get such a unique light from?”
Cammi smiles, back in her rocking chair as she starts to knit. “It is an ore that the scouts have found four years ago when they took down a very, very large titan.”
He raises a brow, “Four years ago? How many years has it been since I was… gone?”
Mia looks forlorn. “Four years.”
Marco sighs, “It seems that there have been a lot of technological advances in the span of years I was away.”
Callan stares at him with curious eyes. “You’re the ‘Mar-Mar’ that Cammi and Mia keep talking about, aren’t you?”
He blushes, remembering that old nickname. “H-How did you know that nickname?!”
Cammi laughs, “I apologize, Marco, you were and will still be our little Mar-Mar.”
Marco groans, but there is no malice in it. “Mother—!”
“Come on, we know that you love that name”, Mia replies, continuing to stir the pot with a ladle. “You just have to admit it.”
He laughs, “Never!” He focuses back on Callan, who is still staring at him with fascination. “So… were you taken in by my parents?”
He fiddles with his fingers subconsciously. “Y-yeah...”
“Where… are your parents, then?”
“They were— they were killed in an ambush in the Underground City a few years back”, he replies, “I was nine at the time.”
Marco gives him a look of pity. “Ah… I am sorry.”
“The Queen’s program helped orphan kids like us find a home and a place to stay”, Callan explains, “and your parents just… happened to take me in.”
“Eh? Queen? What about the King?”
“It turns out he was fake, as the news said.”
“Then… who is the Queen now?”
“A young girl named Historia Reiss; she is just about your age.” Cammi replies, continuously knitting.
Historia Reiss, huh? He thinks to himself, saving that name for later.
He wants to gather more information to satiate his curious mind— he is in the year 854, and it seems a lot has changed during the course of years. “So… Trost District seems to be safely guarded.”
“Yes, the gate was repaired three years ago, along with Wall Maria and Shiganshina District.”
His eyes widened. “They already took back Wall Maria?”
“Yes...” Cammi’s face is grim. “But at the cost of 199 soldiers.”
His blood runs cold as fear and panic settle into his skin, remembering a few bittersweet memories where Eren declared that he will join the scouts, with Mikasa and Armin following him in his stead. “Mother, Mia, do you know someone named ‘Eren Jaeger’?”
“Hm? Yeah, he’s really famous amongst the people of Paradis”, Mia replies, dousing out the flames, deeming her cooking done. “He’s the titan shifter everyone praises about.”
He sighs in relief; that suicidal maniac is still alive. Then Marco blinks, Paradis? Is this what they call this place now? To be honest, with titans, traitors, and a corrupt government, he would never classify a place like this as a paradise. “Paradis?”
“That is what people from outside the walls call us”, Mia replies with a frown, pouring her newly cooked vegetable soup into four bowls.
“People outside of the walls?” He has never heard anything like it; people outside the walls, a civilization outside of these cramped and concrete walls. It was unheard of.
Then he remembers what Reiner told Annie to make her take off his ODM gear.
How they were an evil race.
Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie came from outside the walls.
To be honest, he was not surprised by that revelation.
“Yes, we don’t have much details, but the Survey Corps have uncovered the real reason why we were trapped in the walls, from the titans.”
“So… it seems we’re in an era of peace.”
Callan was the one who corrects him with his inference. “Not really.”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“Callan, have you been reading adults’ newspapers again?” Cammi scolds him.
He looks guilty, “I’m sorry, Cammi, but I can’t just stay ignorant! The man who helped me find my way is in the frontlines!”
Marco stares at him, “Frontlines?”
“Callan”, Mia gives the younger boy a warning glare, and he immediately closes his mouth.
“Wait, what did he mean by frontlines? What’s happening?”
“It is best if you do not know what is coming to this world”, Cammi replies with a sad stare.
“What is happening? I need to know!”
“Stay here for a few more days, Mar-Mar”, Mia says with a pleading look, as she serves dinner for the newly formed and unified Bodt family. “We miss you, and we don’t know how you came back to us.”
Marco looks down at his hands; his right hands are full of teething scars, while his left looks clean, like it is untouched by titan hands. “To be honest, me neither.” He turns back to Callan. “Who was the man who saved you? What does he have to do with being in the ‘frontlines’? Are you saying that he is currently battling with titans outside the wall?”
“Titans are all but gone”, Cammi replies, halting with her knitting so she could eat with her wife and children. “The Scout and Garrison Regiments wiped them all out.”
“There are no more titans?”
“We may never know. Now eat your food, I don’t want anyone to be talking about the grim events that had happened since you were… gone, Mar-Mar.”
Gone, not dead.
But he was sure that he was dead.
Yet why is he here with his family, his body comparable to a nineteen year old entering adulthood, eating his favorite kind of vegetable soup today?
Why does he have the scars of the past, not fading from his skin?
“So… Callan, you never told me who helped you find your way to the Queen’s program.”
“One of the scouts, a guy with brown hair and eyes. He always has this resting arrogant smirk on his face whenever I see him with the others.”
Marco’s eyes widened; the traits were quite familiar to a certain someone he wants to get back with. “... And his name?”
“Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”
His gray eyes shine with realization. “Jean… he joined the scouts?”
“You knew him?”
“Yes, he was my… he was my best friend, back when I was a cadet.”
“Oh, so you’re the person he kept mentioning.”
“Hm?”
“Mister Kirschtein usually visits us, just to see how little Callan is doing”, Mia replies with a soft smile. “He keeps telling him stories about you, about how selfless and inspiring you were, and how you were the reason why Jean gave up his old dreams to become an MP and became part of the Survey Corps instead.”
“He… gave up becoming an MP?” Marco repeats, confused— why would Jean do that? He had strived to become part of the Top 10 to get into the MP’s, and the both of them have always dreamt of a world where they are having a safe, quiet life in Wall Sina. “But… he is safe, right? When was the last time he visited this household?”
“A few months ago, before he left”, Cammi recounts, “but before I tell you, start eating your dinner; I do not want you dying on me again.”
He smiles, “Of course, mother.” He takes a few minutes to eat, trying to calm his thoughts.
Jean Kirschtein, a boy who has always wanted a safe life inside of the furthest wall, signed up on the most dangerous regiment to be in? Why did he do that? Did he truly do it to honor Marco’s death? Or was it because of something else?
He chews his food, avoiding making his right side do anything for the time being. He didn’t know why, but now he has an aversion to people or anything hitting his right side. He is still afraid.
Marco turns to look at his mother, his eyes betraying the slightest hint of worry he is feeling for his friend right now. “Mother, did Jean Kirschtein say anything to you before he left?”
“Well, he said that he will be gone for quite a while, and Callan should not worry about him.”
“So… why did he leave? Where did he leave?”
“We do not know why he left… but he and the other scouts left for Marley.”
“Marley?”
“It is a long story, and another of the secrets that the scouts have uncovered with the help of Eren Jaeger.” Cammi replies.
That settles it; in a few days, he will leave the safe haven of his home and Utopia District to go back to the place where he had met Jean. He will have to meet with Keith Shadis, the man that has trained him for two years, and ask him how have the others, his comrades, been in these past few years, and ask him all about Marley. Perhaps he can request that he be trained once again; he thinks that he is rusty with his ODM gear and combat, especially in this newer and heavier body.
“I… see.” Marco looks back at Callan, eating vegetable soup enthusiastically. “What was Jean like to you?”
Callan thinks for a moment, before giving him a vague reply. “He is like an older brother to me.”