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Jean was certain he had already lived through the worst day of his life. For a while, he said that the worst day of his life was the day he’d had his first conversation with Eren. It was just a joke between friends. (It was mostly a joke.)
And then Trost happened. And Marco disappeared. There was no evidence that he lived, and the day before they were supposed to choose their factions, Bertholdt told him that he’d seen Marco get eaten and didn’t know how to tell him.
So there it was. Marco was dead, there was a witness. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry with Bertholdt for not telling him right away; looking back on the way he had reacted when they couldn’t find Marco after the dust had settled, he wouldn’t have wanted to break it to someone as manic as he was either.
How cruel that fate didn’t even allow him Marco’s body to burn, to finally let himself to grieve. When Bertholdt realized Jean wasn’t able to or wasn’t going to say anything to him, he left. Jean just stared at the fire. He stared at his right hand. He reached out to touch some of the smoldered ashes, like he wanted to pretend Marco was there—
He pulled his hand back, curling it into his chest. He had no right. Those bones and charred remains weren’t Marco, no matter how hard he tried to pretend. He tried to block out the noises, his hands over his ears as he tried to drown out all the fucking voices. Connie was crying, Krista and Ymir whispering in hushed tones in a way that indicated Ymir was trying to stop Krista from crying — just crying. It’s all anyone was doing. Is that all they knew how to do?
Why wasn’t he crying? His best friend, his — well, he didn’t know what Marco was. Ever since they reported Marco as missing in action, he’d been dealing with a lot of conflicting feelings that he hadn’t bothered to recognize before.
He wished he had. He’d give anything for just another day, another night, another conversation with Marco. Maybe they could’ve figured out what they felt, what they wanted, together.
Trying to figure out your possibly platonic (probably romantic) feelings for your best friend was confusing at the simplest times, so trying to do it while fighting giant man-eating humanoids? Jean regards it as a miracle he could think about anything at all.
Jean was slowly realizing that he didn’t know how to grieve. He’d never had to do it before, not until Trost when everything fell apart. He’d seen his comrades killed, eaten, and the lucky one who even came back to life. He wished, he hoped against all hope, that Marco would. That maybe Marco would pull a Jaeger and come back to them — to him.
He stood. Wishing won’t bring Marco back. The time for action is now.
“Have you guys decided which faction you’re joining?” Jean tried to steel his resolve, but he knew it was transparent to everyone around him. “Because I have. I-I’m joining the Survey Corps!”
Trost? Yeah, that was the worst day of his life for sure.
Until the day of the fifty-seventh expedition came and went. Almost dying at least four times, that was pretty high up the list on shitty days. It wasn’t as bad as finding out Marco’s fate though.
And then Annie, someone who wasn’t exactly his friend but was someone he respected and looked up to as a soldier, was the enemy. And they had to prepare to capture her, and if that didn’t work, be ready to kill her. And at the end of the day, she was encased in a crystal and completely useless to them. And they wouldn’t even get to ask her why, why she was after Eren.
And then it was revealed that Reiner and Bertholdt were responsible for breaking down Wall Maria and killing thousands.
And then Armin died, and then Armin came back to life at the price of a former friend.
And then they lost Commander Erwin and over one hundred soldiers, leaving him as one of the few left alive.
And then finding out there were entire civilizations beyond the walls.
And then Eren went rogue, going to Marley on his own and abandoning all of them.
And then, and then, and then. The loss, the grief, never seemed to stop. The list of bad days never lessened.
But this. This was the worst day of his life, the day of the Raid on Libero. By far. Nothing would top it until the day he finally died, he’s sure of it this time.
———
The War Hammer Titan. Inconspicuous enough, certainly not strong enough to hold off Eren. Once Eren figured out that the shifter was located in a pod outside of the body, he dove for it. And then it was in his hand and he was about to smash it, and all they could do was watch as their friend ate someone—
Eren stopped. He stared at the crystallized figure. His titan form looked... confused, almost. Mikasa crouched on a platform close to him, her eyes wide. Jean noticed that Mikasa turned to look at him — well, maybe not him, but the rooftop that he, Connie and Sasha stood on with a few other soldiers. But he couldn’t help but think Mikasa was looking directly at him.
And it seemed it wasn’t just in his head, a schoolboy’s crush resurfacing in a grown man, as Sasha turned to look at him too, following Mikasa’s line of sight.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to see what was so important about what was happening that would have Mikasa looking at him like that.
Eren ripped the cord from the War Hammer Titan and left it as nothing but a crystalized person without a titan to control. Mikasa looked ready to jump in, almost as if she was going to stop him, when Eren lowered his hand with the crystal, instead just throwing a punch at the oncoming Jaw Titan.
For a second, it looked like Eren was going to abandon the War Hammer and go after the Jaw, but his grip simply tightened on the crystal. He bashed the crystal against the rubbled ground a few times, almost as if to... what? Knock it out? Was that even possible?
But Eren seemed determined to make it possible, to knock the War Hammer out instead of eating it. Which... okay. Jean wasn’t going to argue against fewer lives lost, even if it was the enemy. But that was out of character for Eren, with how much he’d changed since their training days and especially since the day of Historia’s coronation.
Reiner was still nowhere to be seen, Zeke had just shown up and was volleying them with rocks, Levi on standby for the opportunity to fake the Beast’s death and grab the man inside, just as they’d all planned to do since making contact with Zeke. The Cart and Jaw Titans were still fighting, and the Cart was starting to take out a few of their soldiers with artillery.
Fuck. No more waiting and watching, they’re sitting ducks. Sasha took her aim, Connie covering her. An explosion signaled Armin’s arrival, and the bright orange fire lighting up the skyline in the blackness of the night.
The fight continued, and Jean’s mind kept racing back to the War Hammer. He couldn’t figure out why Mikasa and Eren reacted like that. He shoved the thoughts from his mind every time they appeared, trying to stay focused on the mission.
Levi saw his opportunity, leaping at Zeke, cutting him down and “killing” him quickly. It looked too easy, but hopefully the Marleyans right by the Beast Titan’s body wouldn’t look too far into it.
He had a shot at the Cart Titan when she went down, but a kid leapt in front of the way. He hesitated, then fired, but the steam blew the thunderspear out of the way. Shit.
He went back to the roof just as the Jaw Titan ran in, grabbing the girl inside the Cart who barely seemed to be holding on, and for good measure, grabbed the two kids, who gripped onto the mane as the titan escaped through some spaces of rubble that Eren’s titan wouldn’t be able to follow.
Where the fuck was Reiner? He wanted to see that son of a bitch, but it looked like he wasn’t going to make an appearance.
The Jaw Titan had grabbed the Cart and ran. Strange, but if protecting his young or injured comrades took precedence to taking on Eren, all the better for them.
Eren was still smashing the crystal against the ground. So now Jean wasn’t so sure that Eren was trying to take the War Hammer alive.
He heard the war balloon’s familiar hum and looked up. They’re out of time. Whatever Eren’s trying to do, he better finish it up.
“Stop standing around! Go, go!” Jean shouted at the soldiers standing on the rooftops, urging them all to get to the ship. He waited for a moment—
Then the crystal cracked, seemingly of its own volition. Had the person inside died, or just decided to give in? Maybe they fell unconscious. Jean can’t tell which option would be better for them, frankly.
Eren’s titan grabbed the limp body —looking still in one piece, so probably not dead, Jean concludes— and held it in an outstretched palm. Mikasa’s voice shouted for Sasha, who was quick to land on Eren’s hand just as Mikasa did. Eren’s titan body started to steam, and Jean couldn’t make the figures out anymore.
If everything had gone according to plan, Captain Levi already had Zeke up in the airship. He could trust Mikasa to get Eren up there, and she would make sure Sasha and their prisoner made it as well. They would do their job, he needed to do his. He made sure that everyone he saw was up and in before he was, so when Sasha and Mikasa reached the war balloon, carrying two bodies, he finally left the rooftop. Connie grabbed his forearm to help pull him in, and Jean looked around.
“Is everyone up? How many did we lose?” He asked.
“Everyone’s in,” Connie said hesitantly. “We didn’t lose many — look, there’s something you gotta know first—”
“Hold on,” Jean said, looking to make sure no wires were hanging off the side, signalling someone still wasn’t in. When he saw nothing and wasn’t able to spot any of their soldiers on the ground, he sighed and closed the heavy door to the airship. He turned back to Connie. “What is it?”
“It’s about the War Hammer Titan—”
“Ah, right. That guy’s still alive then?”
“...Yeah,” Connie answered slowly, like he had to think about the answer.
“Good.” Jean stood and started walking towards the cockpit where he knew Eren and the prisoner must be. “I wanna see what’s so special that Eren decided to go to all that effort capturing them—”
“Jean, stop,” Connie demanded, holding Jean back by the shoulders right as they were nearing the door. “You need to listen to me, I saw him when Sasha flew in with him—”
Sasha opened the cockpit door, looking surprised at how close they were. “Did you tell him?” Sasha asked Connie, ignoring Jean all together.
“Fuck’s sake, move outta the way, Potato Girl,” Jean barked as he pushed his two closest friends apart so he could get through.
Eren and Zeke were loosely chained on one side of the ship, sitting on a bench and looking like they had no intention of transforming, but were locked up as a punishment. But the third figure, the person who could only be the War Hammer Titan, was completely bound and chained on the other side of the room. The War Hammer lifted his head and—
Jean felt like he’d been punched straight through the chest. He’d know that face anywhere. He used to look at it before bed during their training days when they’d talk about what they would do once they joined the Military Police. He used to count the freckles on his face whenever he would scrunch up his nose and laugh at whatever ridiculous thing that Jean had said that probably wasn’t even meant to be a joke.
He’d know that face anywhere. No matter how many years had passed. It was a face that both blessed his dreams and haunted his nightmares.
“Marco?” He breathed out, his voice cracking beside himself.
He took another step forward, his mind uncontrolling of the action, his body desperately following the will of his subconscious to get closer to him, to see if it’s really him—
Marco, sans one arm that was steaming at the shoulder, glared up at him. He spit out some blood. “Fuck you, Eldian scum! Get any closer and I’ll transform and kill all of us, I’ll—”
“Have fun trying to transform when you’re still regenerating and you have no way to draw blood,” Levi scoffed, looking and sounding just as unbothered as he usually did when facing a new foe.
Mikasa was looking at Jean nervously, not that he noticed. She exchanged a worried look with Sasha and Connie, still by the door.
“Marco,” Jean whispered again thickly, like it was the only word he knew.
“Stop calling me that!” Marco shouted. “That’s not my name!”
“Yes, it is!” Jean roared back, finally regaining his voice as Marco’s anger turned towards him once more. “You’re Marco Bodt, ranked seventh in the one-hundred-and-fourth training corps. You know me, it’s Jean!”
“I don’t know this Marco guy,” Marco said slowly in a voice full of condescension, as if trying to explain something to a child. “But I’m not him. And I definitely don’t know you.”
The words hit Jean like a poisoned arrow. He didn’t even know Marco could sound like that. Marco would never... but his Marco was supposed to be dead... this wasn’t his Marco.
Jean whirled back to lean against the wall adjacent to the one Marco was chained to. He put his hands on either side of his head. The pounding of the blood in his ears was becoming too much. He felt like crying. He felt like yelling. He felt like fighting. He felt... like he needed to be next to Marco immediately.
But this Marco wasn’t his. This Marco hated him.
Fate was so cruel. How heartless, to deliver Marco to him again, just to make him the enemy. It felt like a joke, an inhumane fucking joke. He looked at Marco once more, but seeing the savage look of anger that marred his face — a face that had always made him feel safe, a face that comforted him, that made him feel seen, and needed, and important to his peers as a leader and a friend. Seeing his Marco’s face so full of hatred, hatred directed at his friends, his comrades —hatred directed at Jean himself— made him feel like throwing up. He clamped his hands tighter over his ears as an attempt to stop the pounding pain that threatened to destroy him.
“Then who are you?” Levi asked. His eyes flickered dangerously to Zeke, who obviously knew what had happened with Marco and was probably going to get his ass beat by Levi until he got the information he wanted as soon as they landed in Paradis.
But it was clear he wanted Marco to answer first — to try and validate who Marco thinks he is.
“Why should I tell you, Island Devil?” Marco sneered, the look foreign on his face to everyone else in the room. Jean choked as he held back a scream. Or a sob. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
“I’m deciding if you’re worth keeping alive, Not-Marco,” Levi replied coldly.
Jean looked at the Captain with wide eyes. Levi gave him a firm look; he could practically hear his voice telling Jean to follow orders. But there was a slight fondness, as if he was telling Jean that he wasn’t going to kill Marco without reason — he just hoped against hope that Marco wouldn’t provoke him. He didn’t like Marco’s odds against Captain Levi.
Even if this Marco isn’t the one he knew... no matter if Marley had ruined him beyond repair... or even if he had been on their side the whole time and been fooling them just like Reiner and Bertholdt. Even if his Marco was gone forever, he didn’t want to lose any Marco. He wouldn’t —he couldn’t— grieve like that again.
Not-his-Marco grit his teeth, his eyes meeting Zeke’s across the room. Zeke nodded at him, almost imperceptibly. It made Jean want to tear his hair out, seeing Marco follow orders from the monkey instead of the Scouts.
“My name is Henry Tybur,” Marco began. “From the noble line of Tybur, who inherited the War Hammer from my sister.”
“You’re not.” Jean hissed. He pulled his head up from between his knees to look at Marco. His voice only continued to grow, his hands shaking. “You are Marco Bodt. You were missing in action after the Battle of Trost, and I looked for you for days even though everyone told me you were probably dead because you’re my best friend.”
Jean couldn’t feel anything but rage. He’d moved past shock, he was done being surprised by everything in this stupid war. He was now consumed by anger. (Sina, was this how Eren felt constantly? He couldn’t imagine feeling this white hot ire all hours of the day, the fire would engulf him entirely.)
He felt anger at whatever had happened for Marco not to remember him, anger at Marco for daring to not remember him—
Marco laughed. It was a cruel thing, unlike any sound he’d ever heard Marco make in all their years of knowing each other. Marco’s dark eyes looked at Jean with indifference at best, outright contempt at worst.
Marco stopped laughing for just a moment. “Why would I ever be friends with a devil like you?”
Jean knew now, without a doubt.
This was the worst day of his life.