Chapter Text
Jean closes his eyes, wondering what kind of endless nightmare an eternity as a mindless titan will be like, grateful and heartbroken in equal measure that his best friend and brother in arms is by his side to the very end.
He opens his eyes and thinks, instead of purgatory, he’s in hell.
Trost.
He recognizes the city immediately, the place he was born and tooks his first steps -- both as a child and as a leader.
He knows these sloping roofs and cobbled streets, knows the city that taught him resilience and grief, and he knows he’s reliving some of his worst memories when he sees the very first titans he’s ever faced.
With a sense of detachment, like a spectator in the cockpit of an airship, he watches smoke rise from destroyed buildings and comrades die brutal deaths. His mouth opens, but it’s not him speaking -- he’s just there, weightless in a void as his body moves without him, unable to feel the grip he has on his blades or the ache in his ribcage where his heart pounds ruthlessly, relentlessly. He’s not really here, he thinks distantly, even in the riot of action surrounding him. He’s not really here because he’s already lived this, so now this is...what is this?
Voices and screams are distant sounds, muffled and foggy, and it reminds him of childhood, pressing his ear to a door to listen in on things he shouldn’t. He thinks he hears his own voice again, reedy and brash, full of conviction and terror as he -- his memory -- raises his blade and calls for the trainees to run while the titans are occupied - to take advantage of their comrades' deaths .
What is this? The words float through his mind again, unsettled and sick, but those too are far away, murky and intangible.
He doesn’t feel the wind on his skin, doesn’t register the meaty grip of a titan on his leg he could have avoided if he’d had any control. There’s no pressure when he slices through its thick, fleshy fingers, and no sense of impact as he lands on his feet again, only a faint sense of grief as he watches another titan pluck a soldier from the air in a shower of blood and cries for help.
He can’t believe how incredibly real it all seems, how clear the details are when for years all he’s ever recalled from this day were giant, bloodstained smears in his mind, mere remnants of the ugly, plum-colored bruises on his psyche that never healed. Even on nights where the sleep terrors were the worst, when he swore he could feel the heat of the sun burn into him with a fierceness that paled in comparison to the hopeful eyes of his peers, even then...the voices and names faded to nothing once he woke to the many different ceilings and treetops hanging over his head. This is what Ymir might’ve meant when she said a Titan's existence was nothing but endless agony, that these images will stay this clear for as long as he’s trapped in this nightmare.
The rooftops blur as he runs over the tiles with swift steps, blades at the ready, and then his head turns without thinking about it and sees-
Kind brown eyes, freckled cheeks, windswept black hair, the surest smile.
“It’s all thanks to you.”
Marco.
Jean thinks he feels his own mouth pull in a smile at those familiar words, chest warm. He thinks, maybe, hell isn’t so bad, if he gets to at least relive this much and see Marco alive again.
He looks so clear like this, so alive and real, like Jean could reach out if he had any control and touch warm skin.
He wants to keep his eyes on Marco, wants to forget that he’s in Trost and running for his life, but against his will his eyes move forward again, and now there’s a tingling sensation buzzing beneath his skin, urgency and adrenaline twisting in his gut that’s startlingly sharp and clear.
He sees it then, headquarters, filled with titans and terrified soldiers, but he doesn’t expect the very real lance of pain that rockets up his leg as he breaks through the windows at an angle. It’s only years of training that allows him to transfer his momentum into a roll, done not in that same trance-like state he’s been experiencing everything so far but as if he’s actually...actually moving on his own. Heart in his throat, blood now loud and pounding in his ears like war drums, his eyes look to the windows for a long, weightless moment…
CRASH!
Instead of deja vu, the heart stopping relief he feels is his.
His throat closes as his eyes find familiar faces framed in a shower glass, shadowed by the sun's rays streaming in behind them, and for a moment the flood of everything short circuits his brain, freezes his body. He wants to be sick, wants to cover his ears and close his eyes because now everything is too real -- the pressure on his chest, lungs trapped in his ribcage, hands shaking and head pounding. It’s too much and too loud and too bright, and he can’t stand the sight of his comrades' young faces.
He tears his eyes away, the echo of horror and grief and how many bodies did I crawl over to get here ringing loudly in his ears.
Then, like before, he finds the absolutely terrified eyes of the soldiers hidden away under the table, just like the first time, and again...betrayal and anger flood his veins. His head spins with disbelief and rage, and he wants to go back to that detached weightlessness instead of experiencing all this again. He wants to scream, wants someone to blame, wants to grab them and shake them and demand why, why, why did they hide here while his friends and comrades, mere trainees , were left to fend for themselves and die meaningless deaths, why am I here again-
But.
He breathes.
But...four years of commiseration and grief bank the worst of his still young temper, and he refocuses between one heartbeat and the next. They’re soldiers, but they’re children, barely scratching adulthood -- and even then, Jean knows he’s seen and done more than men thrice his age, and has failed more times than he can ever make up for. He understands a little better now, how immobilizing fear can be, how it can steal the strength from even the bravest of men, and he doesn’t let his anger take hold.
If this hell is letting him pretend to fix his mistakes…
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, they’re everywhere and people keep dying, how can we-”
He grabs the soldiers with heavy, grounding hands, and from the corner of his eye he sees a shadow flicker as if to step forward, but they stop. He can’t imagine what his face looks like, but the two soldiers -- they’re trainees, too young, too inexperienced -- shut up and look at him, eyes incredibly wide, and he can only see himself. “Get up. Come with us. It’s not safe here, and we need to find the supply room and weapons. We’re almost out of gas and we need to refuel as soon as possible.”
The one on his right starts shaking his head, stark terror taking hold again, “No, no, no, they’re inside, they’re in the building, they’ll-”
“Hey,” Jean interrupts, voice hard but not harsh like he thinks Shadis or maybe even Levi would be in this moment. The Captain wasn’t known for patience, after all...but Jean didn’t take after his Captain in that aspect. Instead, he thinks of Commander Erwin’s unstoppable will, Commander Hange’s incredible perception. He wonders if they’re in hell too. “Hey, I never said you had to fight. We can keep you safe, but you’re soldiers. Help us to the supply room so we can keep fighting. That is your duty.”
They stare at him for a long, fragile moment, before the other one nods once. “Okay...okay, we’ll show you the way.”
Jean’s hands are still on their arms, so he squeezes once, hopefully reassuringly, and stands. The girl helps the other up to his feet but he looks a little less lost, sharing quiet words before they straighten their backs, fear shaking every inch of their frame but standing all the same. The rest of the trainees are still in the room, watching, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.
In fact, he can’t stomach looking at any of them, but he doesn’t have to think about it for long when BOOM-
The far wall crumbles with the faces of two titans crowding the opening, and Jean almost...wants to laugh at the absurdity even as the hall erupts into panicked screaming. He recognizes the human features easily, wonders if they had been turned by Marley decades ago or recently changed by Zeke, but those musings are a backdrop to the pounding footsteps of soldiers trying to take cover. Some are trying for order while others are trying to gather information, but they’re all hopelessly scared and scattered.
“Two titans on the southern side!”
“Run!”
“There are too many people in the building!”
“Where is Mikasa? Have you seen her?!”
“I thought she was dead!”
“Get out of the way!”
There’s so much noise, so much shouting.
I knew I was forgetting something, he thinks, biting back an empty laugh. ‘There’s no way to beat these gigantic monstrosities…’ That’s what I thought before, right?
BAM!
He blinks, and the painfully familiar visage of the Attack Titan comes into view, roaring with the thunderous might of an incensed beast.
Eren. Right.
Eren. Eren. It was always Eren.
He goes dizzy, mind fuzzy and knees weak and limbs numb when the image of that unspeakably monstrous, catastrophic, world ending creature he’d been fighting not even hours ago slams to the forefront of his mind. He tastes blood and metal, the grit of debris ground between his teeth, ears ringing because it’s so loud, make it stop-
“Hey, we need to go!”
Unfamiliar hands grab at his jacket, but before he can shake himself from his stupor, friends he never thought he’d see alive again come barreling through the opening. Glossy black followed by short straw yellow and then a familiar shaved head-
His chest goes tight and he swallows hard.
“It’s Mikasa!”
“Armin, Connie, you’re alright!”
Like before, the three try to explain their plan of using the reckless idiot to protect HQ while they regrouped, unaware still that it’s Eren Jaeger’s stupid ass running around, but Jean tunes it all out because he’s heard it all before and then some. Instead, he drinks in the sight of his last living teammates, reels a little because god they’re so fucking young . He can’t help but stare at the back of Connie’s head, wondering if his Connie is with Sasha now and if they’re waiting for him, but then Armin is looking at him...warily, but expectantly. Right.
“You mean...use that thing? Like fighting fire with fire?” someone mutters from the crowd forming behind him.
Jean nearly jumps when he realizes the two soldiers he’d talked to just moments before are crowded at his back, one of them still gripping the fringe of his jacket, but he doesn’t give them much thought, focusing on the future holder of the Colossal Titan. He can’t stand the edge of insecurity underscoring Armin’s grim expression despite Mikasa’s support and Connie’s enthusiasm, and he sighs roughly, gathering himself. “Fine, use the idiot. In the meantime, we need to refuel -- some soldiers are leading us down there now and we have to clear out the titans.”
Mikasa looks at him impassively, but he easily recognizes the way her shoulders lose some tension at the lack of fight. Armin looks surprised but quickly switches gears to move forward and form a new plan, and Connie...Connie stares at him in abject shock, as if he never expected that kind of agreement from him.
Jean can’t stand to watch Eren stomp around or look at his too-young comrades for much longer, can feel the panic clawing at the back of his throat, and so he distracts himself by directing the mess of bodies still crowding around.
Time marches forward as everything happens the way he vaguely remembers it.
Armin and Marco put their heads together to form a plan, maximizing each individual's abilities for the best outcome and utilizing the Military Police gear found in the same dusty spot as last time. The two soldiers he spoke to -- Katrin and William -- even managed to dig up special rounds from a commanding officers’ private stores that supposedly expanded upon impact, leaving a larger damage radius than even regular buckshot, and Armin is quick to fold that into his strategy.
Adrenaline sings in his veins, but even then Jean is able to concentrate on the map in front of him instead of the dead men and women around him, not reacting when he’s one of the seven individuals selected to take out a titan during the diversion.
As the seven prepare their blades with the rest loading their weapons in the background, Jean eyes how much Sasha is shaking and thinks things can go a bit smoother this time around.
A tap on the shoulder and she jumps with a squeak, so scared and different from the fearless woman he’s fought alongside for years. It’s another punch to the gut, but he sucks it up because this is important . “Hey, quit freaking out. You’ll do fine.” He puts as much derision in his words as possible, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You’re in the top ten, aren’t you? So act like it.”
She’s trembling like a cornered animal even as she weakly smiles. “R-Right…”
Well, she’s always been motivated by at least one thing...“Look, if you kill your titan without a problem, I’ll give you all my meat rations for the next month. How’s that sound?”
She blinks at him. “What?”
She never got her welcome home meal. He tries for an unaffected shrug and probably misses by a mile. “You heard me, we can’t have anyone missing their shot or messing up, and by the way you’re shaking you’ll probably drop your blades before you kill the damn thing. So, deal?”
He doesn’t know how transparent he is, but he thinks she shouldn’t be looking at him with gratitude when he’s being a complete ass.
“Okay, deal,” she says, steadier than before.
They shake on it, and her grip is strong.
You owe me, Niccolo.
They’re in place.
Jean focuses on his target and swallows down the bile creeping up his throat. This...this wasn’t a person anymore. They would want to be put to rest, right? To finally know peace after all this endless suffering, meet their loved ones in whatever afterlife there might be. Right? I’m sorry.
Using the blades again instead of Thunder Spears is a novel experience, but he takes to it like breathing, and in one effortless stroke, on Marco’s signal, he takes down his titan.
Sasha, Connie, are they-? Oh fuck, Connie! He’s not-
He looks up in time to see both their titans fall to their blades. Sasha looks shell-shocked and tearfully relieved, and Jean can’t help the surge of pride that roars through him nor the overwhelming relief when he sees Connie confidently land. “Fuck yeah, Sasha!”
Those special rounds must’ve been more effective than the buckshot this time, thank fuck.
“Jean!” she blubbers as she throws herself at him, latching onto his arm with a deceptively powerful grip, fingers digging in like talons, “Thank you! Thank you, thank you!” She looks up at him with that still pathetic look on her face, lip wobbling, “Were you serious about giving me your meat rations?”
He rolls his eyes and can’t quite bite back the fondness welling up in his chest. “Yeah, yeah you big baby. A deal’s a deal.”
He shakes her off and ignores the looks some of the others are giving him -- mostly puzzled and a couple appraising, but they’re swallowed up by a short celebration before they all go off to refill their tanks in different corners. He’s wholly unsurprised when Marco takes a seat beside him, beaming from the success of their little operation..
They fill their tanks quietly -- Jean can vaguely hear Sasha’s tearful exclamations a few pillars away, this time of pride instead of despair -- before Marco breaks the silence. “You know, you’re pretty amazing Jean,” he says, easy as breathing and unembarrassed. “I mean, I’ve known it for a long time but...the way you got us to headquarters and talked to those trainees, even the way you encouraged Sasha...I’ll admit, I was a little surprised myself, but you-”
I think you’re a good leader because you know what it is to be weak.
No. No, he can’t do this again- he can’t listen to this and not lose his fucking mind, he can’t-
Jean keeps his eyes on his gear, “Marco-”
“Hey Marco, sorry to butt in but can I talk to Jean for a minute?” a voice interrupts.
Jean blinks up in surprise to see Connie of all people standing in front of them. He looks agitated, arms crossed but every inch of him buzzing with energy. He always got like that when he was antsy and it was scattering his concentration, but Jean shouldn’t know that even after three years of training together, so he maintains his frown and tries not to give away the wave of melancholy that suddenly sweeps over him.
Marco looks just as surprised, but an easy if puzzled smile crosses his expression and he nods once. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll go ask Armin more about that abnormal titan.”
As soon as he, and any other soldiers, are out of earshot, Connie pins him with an unscruitable look. “Why did you do that?”
Jean frowns harder. “What?”
Connie's next breath leaves in a rush of frustration and impatience, and it throws him from how uncharacteristic it is. “Offering Sasha your rations. Why? How did you know she’d have trouble with her titan in the first place?”
“It-” -happened before- “doesn’t matter, does it? She was scared and we couldn’t afford to mess this up.” He can’t stand the feeling of those accusing eyes boring into him and stands when his tank is full, bewildered at the sudden questioning, and mutters as he walks away, “She nearly bit my damn hand off for some meat before, so why wouldn’t that be a good motivator now?”
He’s not prepared for the iron grip that clamps down on his arm or the wide-eyed, almost haunted look Connie pins him with. “How did you know that?”
Jean jerks his arm ineffectively, mostly on instinct, heart pounding, “What?”
“That didn’t happen yet,” Connie says, intent and hushed and almost hopeful now. “She never bit you when we were in training.”
“It was after we joined the scouts,” Jean confirms faintly, realization slowly washing over him in an overwhelming wave of disbelief and quiet desperation. “We were celebrating-”
“Holy shit, Jean, ” Connie says, eyes shining with a relieved grin spreading over his face as his grip tightens. The suspicion melts from his face and he looks years younger and brighter. “You-”
“Ready people? Let’s do this!”
There’s a sudden surge of movement as everyone refits their gear and they both look up to see one of the other trainees raising a blade and leading a warcry filled with the voices of the other soldiers.
Jean blinks the wetness from his eyes. “We can talk later.”
Connie’s grin wavers in relief and elation, trying to suppress it all and contain it. “Right. Stay close, yeah? We have a moron to go save and a wall to seal.”
“Just another day for us, huh?” he replies, smirking. The gravity of the situation soon returns`, but he and Connie have been on the same mental track for years now and he’s both humbled and gratified when Connie falls into step beside him. “Eren’s going to be revealed soon, and I don’t know how Armin convinced the Garrison not to kill the dumbass the first time around, but I’m not staying out of it this time. But-”
“We still need to watch them, right?” Connie continues without missing a beat, gray eyes going sharp and immediately finding the three Warriors further up ahead. “I’ve got it. And I’ll keep Marco safe. I swear.”
Jean doesn’t know how to say thank you without choking on it, so instead he grips his friend's arm tightly before they separate.
He’ll say his thanks when they all make it out of this alive.