Warnings: Character death
I don't own SNK or it's characters. Please forgive the crappy ending and any typos.
Jean walked down the empty streets, past bodies of soldiers he didn't know, soldiers he couldn't identify. He was mad, to say the least. One more day and he would have been off to the military police. Now, he didn't know what his future would bring.
A body made him stop in his tracks. He recognized this cadet. He recognized the black hair, and the pale skin, and the hundreds of small freckles. He recognized his friend. It was Marco.
Kneeling by Marco's side, he tried to evaluate the wounds. A large portion of the right side of Marco's body was missing, and blood was pooling on the street. He didn't have long, and Jean knew it.
"Jean? Is that you?" Marco's quiet, gentle, innocent voice brought Jean's full attention to his friend. His left hand reached out and grabbed Jean's hand, shaking slightly.
"Yeah Marco, it's me," Jean replied in a broken voice as he struggled to hold back tears. "Hang on, I'm going to... uh... I'm going to find you some help..." Jean looked around quickly to see if anyone was approaching them, anyone who could help. But the street was empty. They were alone.
"It's too late for that," Marco said calmly. "I'm losing too much blood. No one can fix me now."
"No! No, I won't accept that," Jean said quickly before the truth of Marco's words could fully settle in his mind. "Help! We need a doctor!" He shouted, but no one was there to listen. A part of him told him to run, to drag the first person he could find to Marco and demand he be fixed. But that part was childish, foolish, and Jean knew it. No, he would listen to the soldier in him, the soldier who told him to stay with Marco, to comfort him, to not turn his back to a fallen friend. He sat next to Marco on Marco's left side, the side he could still move slightly. Jean was careful to never drop Marco's hand as he made himself comfortable against the wall. He didn't know how long he'd have to sit there, but he would stay until the end.
"Remember when we first signed up," Marco asked, struggling to talk through the blood in his mouth and throat. "We... We stood next to each other... During the introductions..."
"I remember," Jean replied. "We had such high dreams then, wanting to join the Military Police."
"You can still have your dream, Jean. We made the top ten. We stood in line next to each other then too..." Marco's voice trailed off.
"That's not my dream anymore," Jean stated simply. "I'm joining the Scout Regiment. No one else is going to die, not my family, not my friends. I'll always fight for you, Marco."
"I was right when I said you weren't strong," Marco interrupted. "You aren't strong Jean. And I admire you for your will to keep going. I'll keep going, as long as I can..."
"I'm sure you will." Jean shifted as Marco leaned more against his shoulder. Marco was losing blood fast. "I'm sorry it has to be like this Marco. You deserved a longer life." He looked over when Marco didn't reply. Tears were forming in Marco's left eye.
"I'm scared Jean... I don't want to die... How do you do it? How are you so brave?" Marco was leaning entirely on Jean, unable to even support his own weight.
"I'm not brave," Jean replied. "I'm a fake, just living in the shadow of others. I act tough, but that's all it is, an act. You were the first person to see through it all, to make me see myself, and for that, I'm always going to be grateful."
"Jean? Will you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Find my family. Don't tell them what really happened. Tell them I died saving people, helping humanity. Tell them I died a hero, not a loser."
"You are a hero," Jean nearly shouted. "You are Marco Bodt, the greatest cadet I've ever known and in the top ten of the 104th graduating Cadet class. You'll be fine, and we'll go to the military police, and live out the rest of our days together."
"That's a nice dream Jean... Maybe I'll dream something just as nice... But I'm tired now... And I just want to... To close my eyes now..."
"I love you, Marco Bodt." And as Jean sat there, waiting for a response that wouldn't come, afternoon changed into evening, and evening changed into night. Jean didn't move. He sat as motionless as the corpse propped against him. Eventually, a group of soldiers with a clean up team found him, and he heard himself tell them what had happened, and he remembered giving them Marco's name, but he felt like a different person. He had a purpose now, a reason to fight. As he made his way back to headquarters, he ignored the stares of the other soldiers and brushed off the questions from Sasha, and Connie, and Mikasa, and so many of the others. Walking outside, he looked up to the stars, and couldn't help but compare them to Marco's freckles.
"You're not as impressive," he whispered to the stars. "I'm not as impressive either." He looked down at the ground. "But I'll make him proud," he promised himself. "Anything for Marco."