Title: Wish Me Luck
Summary: Marco is dead, and never coming back. Jean understands this; he takes this as a lesson learnt- he's going to become a good leader. But what does he really feel about his closest friend, just disappearing on him?
Pairing: None, but Jean/Marco if you must.
Warning: Character death, coarse language.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Shingeki no Kyojin.
Rating: T for language.
"Marco..."
His name barely just slipped out of Jean's mouth. He was more than shocked. Horrified, somewhat hurt, but the jumbled mix of feelings was clear as he mumbled his best friend's name, eyes glazing over as his gaze rested on the poor boy's corpse.
Marco was covered in some clear, purple-looking muck. His eyes were fogged, huge and wide open. Fear was imprinted on his stiff dead face, the freckles on his cheeks frozen still. Flecks of blood littered his dead body, splashes of it on one side.
"Marco...?" Jean's voice was slightly louder this time, his voice cracked as the name left his lips. He felt something hitch in his throat and he felt the strongest urge to vomit and cry at the same time. He couldn't bear to look at Marco's body, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Marco...!" Jean croaked yet again, choking on the name.
Tears prickled behind his eyes, and Jean turned away as Annie walked briskly over to him.
Whatever she'd said, he'd replied coolly and sharply, on an edge.
All he could remember was the good times. The old times.
"You're not strong, Jean."
Heck, he was going insane, now. Hearing his dead best friend's voice.
Stop playing with me, Jean thought angrily, this isn't fucking funny! He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat just wouldn't go away.
"You're a good leader, but you're not strong, Jean. And that's what makes you a good leader. Because you can understand what we, your squad-mates, are feeling. You can understand weakness."
Jean stepped back at watched the flames flare and dance in the darkening skies. Ashes flew about, floating like the lost souls finding their way up or down, to wherever they were going. He reached out and caught a spot of ash, flinching a little at the heat.
Marco... Goddammit! Man, I can't even tell which bones are yours, I can't even tell which ashes belong to you...
The sharp, jabbing pain in his chest was real. And Marco was gone.
~*~
Jean felt anxiety build up inside him, knowing that this female Titan wasn't the same as the others. She possessed intelligence; he could see it as she held a hand to protect the nape of her neck, and the way she held a strong grasp of hand-to-hand combat.
What if he failed? What if he got injured? What if Armin's plan didn't suceed? What he died, like Marco did?
Marco... This is to avenge you.
Jean took a deep breath. He watched the Titan's movements carefully.
The archilles tendon.
Jean lifted his blade to his lips, pressing them gently to his mouth. He muttered a short prayer.
Wish me luck, Marco.
He readied himself, poised to jump off his horse.
Wish me luck.