A/N: I actually wrote this ages ago but only now decided to upload it. I know there are probably 100000 of these already but I wanted to try my hand at it. This is my first fanfic for this fandom so that's probably why it sucks ;_;

"Marco…is it…really you?" Jean asked, staring at the freckled boy who stood before him. This couldn't be possible…Marco had died during the battle of Trost, long ago. Right where they were standing now actually. Jean had seen his wrecked body himself, up close. Marco chuckled a bit. "Of course, who else would I be?" Jean just looked at him, still not believing what he was seeing. His mind had to be playing tricks on him, how cruel of it. Then, Marco smiled at him and even if this wasn't real, Jean was overwhelmed with emotion, having spent the past few months wishing he could see him again.

He couldn't stand there any longer. He didn't care if this was a dream or whatever, the only thing that mattered what that he was getting to see him again. He soon found himself rushing towards Marco, flinging his arms around him as he pulled him into a tight embrace, tears streaming down his face. "I've…missed you…so much", he said, choking between sobs. "Now I'll always be by your side" Marco said, hugging him back. Jean kept crying into Marco's shoulder, having no intention of moving away anytime soon.

"Please…don't leave me again", he whispered. Marco said nothing. All of a sudden, something didn't seem quite right to Jean. He pulled away and saw to his horror that half of Marco's face had crumbled away, pieces of his flesh still falling to the ground. Jean stepped back, watching in terror as his friend slowly fell apart, not his left side, but most of his right. "Marco!" Jean screamed, at a loss of what to do to help his friend.

Marco fell to the ground, his body completely limp. Jean collapsed onto his knees, staring at the disfigured body that had not even a minute ago been Marco. It felt like deja vu. He had wanted to banish the image of Marco sitting there lifelessly, but no, it was back to haunt him again. "No…please…no…" he wept. Why? Why did this have to happen? He had already had Marco taken away once, why did his mind force him to relive it all again? He buried his face in his hands, not wanting to look at the site before him. "How much longer until this is all over?" he thought to himself.

Jean opened his eyes with a start. He was lying in his bed at the Quarters of the Recon Corps. His face was wet with the tears he had shed whilst he was sleeping. He was about to wipe them away but realised it wouldn't do any good because as that moment, new tears began to form in his eyes and before long they were spilling down his cheeks again. Not wanting anyone to notice him like this, he rolled over into a position so that he was crying silently into his pillow. "Marco", he whispered quietly to himself.