Author's Note: This idea came from a post on Tumblr I saw in the Jeanmarco tag. I promised a friend I would upload it so here it is in all it angsty feels. Good luck, goodbye I'm done now.

The heels of my boots clicked against the stone walkway that wound their way to Marco's home. His smiling face had burned itself into my mind, gnawing at my confidence as if mocking me. My eyes burned from the sheer amount of tears that had made their way down my face the night before.

"Jean Kirshtein?"

"Yes?"

"We are assigning you to closure duty. Here is your sheet. Just follow the addresses and inform the families of their loss and the benefits the government will supply them with." Her tone was flat with boredom with a hint of anger as if this were

"Ma'am, I don't think it's proper to speak about the families of the dead in that tone." I knew it was a bad idea to say that, but somebody had to tell her that it was offensive to talk about our dead comrades as if their deaths were a nuisance. I clenched my fist waiting for her hand to smack some color onto my face.

Her face moved so that was only inches away from mine. "Kirshtein." She breathed, "Get the fuck out of my office."

I had made especially sure to wait until sunset for this house. I didn't want to do this. Why did I have to go first?

"A-D, Jean. Good Luck."

A-D. A, B, C, and D. Every man who died was organized by last name into lists for those who couldn't handle anymore clean up to deal with. Armin, Sasha and I, being among the few. Nobody wanted to do this job. What man wants to face the crying faces of women and children who have lost someone dear?

I stopped, pulling out the wrinkled wet sheet from my pocket. I stared at the scratched out names on my list, all circling around one name. The name of the family I wanted to see the least.

Bodt, Marco

It felt my stomach lurch as I read the directions one more time. I had been to this house many times before, but never with such a heavy message. I remember running up the steps holding onto Marco's hand, covered from head to toe with mud. His smile brought joy to everyone around him. Everyone.

I looked up to the dark sky and allowed it to drench me. It was almost as if the angels themselves wept for humanity. They knew we were doomed. I was doomed. Without Marco I was nothing.

I walked the empty streets of our hometown. The crumbling buildings my only company as I approached the front steps of the lonely house, I listened to happy cries of his mother and sister. Their happy singing breaking through the walls of loneliness and doubt.

Each creaky step was harder than the last. My heart clenched as I listened to his mother's sing-song like voice echo through the wood. It was the same lullaby she used to sing him to sleep with. One night in the Barracks, when I couldn't sleep, Marco sat with me and sang the same song. I was asleep within minutes.

I took a deep breath as I lightly touched the door, almost caressing it. A tear made its way down my face, but I dared not wipe it, knowing all too well that it wouldn't be the last of them. It made my face almost as cold as my heart.

I knocked in the appropriate method for every soldier and listened as close as possible trying to maintain composure. I raised the same fist to my heart in proper salute, as if this wasn't the house of my now dead best friend. As if this wasn't his family and as if I wasn't dying inside.

"Marco!" An excited shout came from behind the wooden door. I heard frantic steps as all of my composure broke.

The door whipped open. A look of surprise.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Bodt. I couldn't protect him."