A/N: Sooo, when the idea about this fic came in my mind, I was in a dilemma about whether to make it a one-shot or a multi-chapter story. Here's the one-shot, tell me if you like it and if you'd like to see a full story with this plot ;) There are many dark feels in this fic and I'm really sorry for it, seriously, why am I putting my favorite couple through all this?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Attack on Titan universe and characers in any way

The scenery around her is melancholic, morbid, the sky filled with grey clouds, a heavy wind blowing and messing her hair and tiny snowflakes dancing all around. She used to love the snow as a little girl, run out of her house to chase it, try to catch the snowflakes with her hands, accompanied by her parents' laughter. Now, though, her surroundings only cause her anxiety and anger, almost giving her the impression that she's been transferred in one of those worlds in the dystopian novels Connie loved to read.

Not that the hell this world has been turned into isn't somewhat dystopian in the first place, brought to the edge of complete destruction after a series of political crimes, financial scandals, environmental disasters and war that made fifteen-year-old adolescents into soldiers, killing machines, puppets for their superiors to order around.

The dirty paths she's following right now in the muddy and silent graveyard only add to the terrors Sasha has been witnessing for nine years. The Valley of the Fallen, that's how people call it these days, and the twenty-four-year-old woman has to suppress the urge to laugh sarcastically at the name…as if a cemetery for soldiers needs a special name for people to remember all those who fell victims of the countless attacks that occurred ever since she was a mere teenager cadet. She recognizes a name here and there…not the ones she's looking for, but still familiar names…a nurse who treated her when she had her first injury….a girl with whom she shared a tent on their first field mission…a boy with whom she spied on the enemy forces and who fell instantly with a bullet on his forehead.

Not even a single thought can bring some sort of warmth in her. Not anymore. She used to have her humor as a defense mechanism the first years, but the old Sasha died long ago. Not even the fact that she's returned to her hometown can bring a smile on her face. What does home mean anyway when you have seen everything shattering and falling apart in front of you?

Three years of training and then sent to her division to fight for six years, ever since she became eighteen, did this to her.

There's someone else, though, standing over a specific gravestone, a lonely shadow that looks almost black with the cloudy sky as a background. Sasha sighs loudly, for interacting with other people and receiving their pity is the last thing she wants. Still, she has to approach the standing figure anyway; she'll search the whole graveyard if necessary if it means paying her respects to those she has in mind.

When she comes closer, the mourning figure raises their head, startled by the sound her boots make against the small path, and now Sasha can see that it's a man about the same age with her and oddly familiar…painfully familiar as she realizes the closer she gets to him. The old Sasha would turn tail and run away to avoid this meeting…or maybe she'd run into his hug and cry her eyes out, who knows. But there are no tears, there never were any tears and they certainly won't come now.

The man's eyes meet hers, a color of shady amber brown, although Sasha remembers them glistening in excitement and determination, one of the first traits she admired on him. He opens his mouth in a silent gasp upon recognizing her, like he can't believe that she's alive, that she's come back, but, seriously, Sasha couldn't care less about his current surprise.

"Sasha. It's really you."

When Jean lays eyes on her, he needs some seconds to fully realize that the one standing in front of him is Sasha Freaking Blouse, the same girl he met as a trainee cadet, the one who rambled about saving the world and becoming a hero, the one who constantly complained about the food shortage, the one who would encourage their group to sneak in her tent in the dark hours for a game of cards so they could pretend for some time that everything was okay…the same witty and encouraging girl he dared love despite knowing that it would be destructive for both of them, the one with whom he dared steal some moments of tenderness and love to gain courage for the next day. That girl had made him see those moments, those emotions, as something deeper than a mere attempt at some normalcy…see them as something genuinely beautiful blossoming between them. That same girl whom he hasn't seen in six years after leaving with his division for another location of the battles ensuing.

But the old squad stopped existing long ago, with some of them passing away in the field, some of them turning traitors and bringing more death upon them and some of them leaving to go and live with their parents. Only he, Armin, Krista and Ymir have returned to Trost, living together in Jean's old home, trying to rebuild whatever they can make from their lives in a town that will either get buried under the ashes forever or will rise again stronger. They make quite the odd team the four of them: the cynical one, the caring one, the smart one and the one who tries to keep everyone on their toes ever since they returned, after the announcement that their division would be dispersed and the young soldiers were dismissed from the frontlines with only some shady explanations.

But since he has long accepted the fact that the four of them have changed, why is it impossible for him to believe the changes he sees in Sasha?

Instead of the fifteen-year-old sweet and smiling girl he met his first day of training, a tall and serious woman is standing in front of him, dressed in her military clothes and in a leather jacket that surely isn't keeping her warm right now. Her face is pale and without the usual lines of laughter it had previously and her eyes…God, her eyes. They're not shining anymore, they're sharp, calculating, as if assessing the situation at hand. Instead of the warm encouragement he remembers, now Sasha is surrounded by a cloud of mystery, anger, loss, death.

He wonders if she can feel the blood of the enemies on her hands like he does.

But hell, who on earth ever decided who their enemies actually were? As Jean learned three years ago, enemies can exist even amongst those who fight by your side.

Marco's grave in front of him is the most tangible proof.

And he knows exactly the reason behind Sasha's return, he doesn't need the small bandage on her forehead and her slight limp to guess; he knows exactly why she was given permission to leave.

"Fitting to see you here, Jean. Here we are, meeting at the end of the world. Not that I was expecting a normal reunion, anyway. After all, I stopped using the word normal to describe my life long ago." Sasha replies coldly and Jean almost flinches by the dark tone of her voice, which isn't trembling due to unshed tears; it's steady, composed and void of any emotion, as if she's talking about the weather. "So, back to Trost, eh? We learned the news about the scattering of your division and that you guys could return home. Lucky you."

"I'd use many words for my return, Sasha, but lucky isn't one of them," Jean comments, using her form of talking, trying to match his voice to hers, although he can't stop the bitterness of his words. He wants to scream right now, to cry, to hug her, to kiss her like there's no tomorrow, to do something in order to evoke some feelings in her, because this woman isn't Sasha, it can't be!

Sasha would never talk about his return like that, especially when she knows that the main reason behind it, the main reason behind his division abandoning the battlefield, is the grave in front of them.

"And you're still alive, I see," he tells her and, thank God, the bitterness gives its way to anger; anger is good, anger is motivating him, keeps him in control…a control that almost slips from his grasp at the sound of Sasha's laughing. It isn't the laughter that made him feel hope for tomorrow, that made him smile…it's not even sad, he'd understand that…but, no, it's a laughter ironic, sardonic even…the laughter of someone who has been deprived of everything good she believed in.

"Excellent observation, Jean, congratulations, it's a wonder how you guys didn't defeat the enemy forces with such a good observer in your group. Yes, as you so accurately pointed, I'm alive. I know, I know," the young woman sighs, as if she's dealing with a child that doesn't understand a thing, "you'll tell me I should be grateful, right? That being alive after all this is more than enough."

"Well, sorry, but I'll disappoint you. No, it sure as hell isn't enough!" Jean yells, having reached his limits, bursting out everything he's been bottling up since he returned a year ago. His despair, his grief, his creeping feeling of weakness, Armin's constant questions about their squad mates, Krista's silent crying at nights, Ymir's silence…and now Sasha's return in such a way… "Judging from how you are, it's not enough and you know it, it isn't enough for anyone and the proof is you because you certainly aren't the Sasha who gave us hope, you're not the Sasha who would dance after a mission went well…you're not my Sasha," he concludes quietly and has to suppress the tears because he didn't realize how much this hurts until he said it aloud. How much he misses those quiet moments when it was just the two of them snuggled under the blankets, narrating funny stories of their childhood, talking about nothing and everything, assuring each other with gentle kisses that everything would be alright despite both of them knowing that nothing was alright.

Sasha's hazel eyes widen at that last statement and for a moment she allows her mind to return to the past. Jean can see it in her momentarily shocked expression that she recalls everything they went through together as well, although it doesn't last long, the nostalgia disappears from her face and is once again replaced by this cold and dangerous woman.

"Don't make me laugh with that sentimental nonsense, Jean! We both know that I was never yours…that all those nights were nothing more than a dream. A lie two idiotic and scared teenagers built to fool themselves that they can have a normal life."

"Shut up! Shut. Up!" now Jean yells from the top of his lungs, her last comment being like a punch in the stomach for him, even though Sasha doesn't flinch at the volume of his voice. "You have no right to talk about my feelings! You have no right to talk as if you know my thoughts! And if everything was a lie for you, it wasn't for me!"

"Well, it should be. It hurts way less when you start believing this. You can't get fooled so easily that way. And everything was a lie, a lie we thought it could help us in this storm, just like everything else proved to be a lie…including my dream when I was little, my dream to become a teacher and make my students better people. And instead of standing in a classroom with a book and a chalk, I stood in a battlefield with guns and bow and arrows…so everything is a lie, Jean, even the military's alliances were a big fat lie."

And if Jean agrees with anything of what Sasha has said until now, it's this. God, the circumstances of Marco's death prove that…he wasn't there when it happened, he only received the news from Commander Smith afterwards...he had thought that Marco had simply fallen victim during one of the countless battles…and then everything went to hell when he found out that it was an inside job. He wasn't supposed to learn that, but he had been entrusted with this information by Commander Smith, who told him the truth before he left the frontlines because he knew the friendship that connected him with Marco.

The hurt intensifies, he can't handle it, seeing Sasha like that, deprived of everything that once gave her hope and helped her sleep at nights. He doesn't even know what hurts most…seeing her like this or not knowing if she means it or if she's intentionally acting like that to prevent herself from breaking down?

Sasha doesn't react to his silence, she simply lets him look at her while taking an arrow from her quiver and placing it in front of Marco's death. She has the impression that Marco himself would prefer it that way instead of having flowers and stuff…after all, she knows exactly what it means dying the way Marco did…having people trapping you to silence you forever, to stop you from telling your superiors about the breaking discovery you made.

"Do you know that Connie's death was a set-up and that they wanted me dead too?"

Connie's grave isn't very far from Marco's and Sasha spends some moments looking at it silently before repeating the previous gesture and placing an arrow in front of it. Jean observes her silently and he can't believe how her façade doesn't break; she remains emotionless, with that sharp gaze and the calm stance and he wants to cry for the woman she's become, for the woman she was forced to become…he misses his little girl, the one who would kiss his forehead after he had a nightmare and who would whisper gentle promises to lull him back to sleep. And he knows that she isn't like that only because of Connie's death…he suspects that their friend's demise and the set-up behind it was the last straw for her.

"We had found out about Marco and how he died." Sasha starts, still talking blankly, calmly, because she knows that Jean deserves to know everything, even if everything is over for the two of them. "Connie had overheard Lieutenant Zeke when he spied on the enemy…saying what an excellent job had been done with the 'naïve freckled fool'. He told only me and Squad Leader Hanji and we started researching…going on more spying missions…sneaking in tents to read reports and documents."

"You found out about Reiner, Annie and Bert?" even now, mentioning the names of the three traitors who led Marco to his death is like a thorn for Jean; and an even bigger thorn is the revelation that Connie's passing occurred because of this. "You three were the ones who gave us the message about how the three of them and Zeke actually worked for Marley a year ago?"

"Yeah. We discovered a message sent to Zeke by Annie…she told him that Marco suspected something about their role in the war and had offered to help them get out of this messy situation." Sasha leaves another ironic laughter…same old Marco, wanting to help everyone even though he suspected them of treachery. Why try to bring out the good side of someone, since it's more likely for you to pay the price? "So we concluded that they caused Marco's death to silence him."

"And that's why they went after you and Connie in that bomb explosion four months ago? Because they suspected you knew the truth?"

"That's what Hanji thinks, yes. They made sure we'd have directions towards this specific field, they knew that Connie and I would be there and they timed the explosion perfectly. I barely made it, was unconscious for two weeks, in the infirmary for three more. Connie…" the young woman points towards the grave in front of her with a shrug, remembering that day clearly, like it had happened yesterday.

The loud explosion.

Seeing her best friend being blown up in the air.

Getting thrown several feet away and waking up two weeks later.

"Hanji told me she'd make sure to reveal the whole truth to Commander Smith, but she didn't want me around out of fear for another attempt against my life. So she told everyone that I was too injured and weak to continue fighting so I'd get permission to leave the battlefield…and then she sneaked me out of the camp a week ago. And…here I am." Sasha's hazel eyes meet Jean's amber ones, seeing the shock in them, the surprise, the scared hope. "Yes, yes, it's exactly what you think. This revelation will probably be enough to end everything."

It's over.

Everything is over.

The end of the war is a matter of time.

Nine years of harsh training, fighting, killing enemies, spying, losing comrades every day, facing death and destruction, and it took Marco's passing and the stubbornness of two soldiers and a squad leader to put an end to everything.

So why the hell isn't Jean happy?

Because the aftermath and the losses are way too heavy. What does it matter, that the end of the war is near, when countries have been burned literally and figuratively, when the population of the world has received such terrible blows, when societies have fallen apart, when families and friends have to deal with nightmares and mourning for the rest of their lives, when the woman he never stopped thinking about is nothing more than a shell, hardened by the conspiracies and everything she has been through?

"I know what you're thinking. No need to thank me for finding out the truth or for being brave…no need to say how sorry you are for me and all that stuff. We both are in the same situation, you and I…ironic, right?"

"Ironic…I wasn't there when my best friend died." Jean sighs loudly. "I couldn't do anything to save him. And that's gonna haunt me forever."

"I was there when my best friend died. I couldn't do anything to save him. And that's gonna haunt me forever." Sasha nods and it might be Jean's idea, but he thinks he sees her eyes getting suspiciously wet. "Believe me, a part of me wishes I had died with him. It would be easier, but then, when did anything come easy for me? I only wanted to go as long as there was something of me left, the small part of dignity these bastards had left me! But not even that was given to me."

"Shut up! I swear, Sasha, stop talking about yourself like this!" now a few tears make their way down Jean's cheeks and at this moment the urge to scream in despair is more intense than ever because he truly realizes how lost Sasha truly is to have such thoughts. He could have lost her in that bomb attack together with Connie and now that he has her back, alive and home, it's like he has lost her anyway.

"Why? Am I destroying the impression you had of me? Look at me, Jean, look at what I have become! The war took everything from me, everything!" Sasha yells back. "My best friend, my hopes, my principles, my childhood dream…it even took you away and don't you dare—"

The rest of her sentence, though, it cut off by Jean, who engulfs her in such a tight embrace that she leaves a startled gasp. She resists violently at the beginning, pushing his chest with her small fists, but he doesn't break his grip, on the contrary, his arms tighten even more around her; and now he truly senses the cold she reflected ever since he saw her: he can feel it in the way her body trembles and in the way she stops pushing him away, her tensed shoulders relaxing in his hug and her knees turning weak. He guesses what comes next and so he doesn't let her go; because for someone who hasn't burst out anything in nine years, everything has come back tenfold for her. And so he holds her tightly as she starts shaking in loud sobs, her breathing coming out shallow and panicked as she finally gives in to the tears she hasn't shed all this time.

"E-Everyone has left me, Jean, everything, I have nothing anymore, my parents died from the illnesses, my friends were brutally murdered, Connie, Marco, Mina and so many others, I-I was forced to kill people, Jean, innocent soldiers like me, only because they happened to fight for the enemies a-and I barely escaped a murder attempt against me, I-I can see them all in my nightmares, Jean, I-I miss everyone so much…"

"Shhh…I know, Sasha, I know, trust me. It's okay." Jean soothes her while running a hand up and down her back. "You've been in control all these years…let it all out, it's long overdue, burst everything out…But I want you to know one thing," his voice turns determined as he slightly pulls away to look her in her bloodshot eyes, the deathly pale face; she's a mess right now, unable to control her breathing, finally mourning for everything; and yet to her she's every bit as strong and beautiful as she was in the three years they spent together in training before war separated them.

The kiss between them comes abruptly and isn't perfect; it's cold, soft, barely there; a confession from Jean's side, an assurance from Sasha's, a silent, mutual promise that this isn't a cruel dream. Sasha tries to delay it for as much as possible, tries to hold onto it now that her emotionless control has slipped from her grasp: she wraps her arms around Jean's neck, kisses him further when he pulls away, wanting to forget everything for a few more seconds. Jean understands her, he really does, but the circumstances aren't helping her, she's in no shape to think clearly right now, she needs to take her time and they definitely need to take this slow; and so he wraps his arms around her again, caresses her hair, tries to comfort her just like she used to do.

"No, Sasha. The war didn't take everything and it certainly didn't take me from you. We're both here now. We're alive. And it's not enough, I know it's not, we have so much baggage, both of us, but we're alive and we can start anew." Jean whispers in her ear, feeling her tearful nod against his neck. "Now, let's head back, shall we? You need to get warm and Ymir, Krista and Armin will be thrilled to see you."

"B-But…But Ymir hates me!" Sasha exclaims pouting…and this sight of her, this playful pout makes Jean burst in loud laughter…this is it, this is exactly what he's been looking for, a sign that he hasn't lost the old, witty Sasha completely, that she's only buried in her and needs to come back to surface.

"Really? Then why does she constantly ask me whether you're alive or not?"

Krista's ecstatic screams when she sees her friend entering the house, Armin's comforting smile, Ymir's unexpected and yet welcome embrace, the warm shower which is like a balsam for her physical and mental wounds, work wonders on her troubled mind. It's like being surrounded by the four of them helps her realize that she has returned, that she has somehow contributed in the end of the war.

Later that night, when Krista and Ymir are asleep and Armin has once more locked himself in the house's library, which he uses as a study and research room, Jean wants to check on Sasha, knowing that bursting out isn't the end of her troubles, that she'll be still haunted by nightmares, maybe forever.

He finds her curled on the couch in the living room, her soft brown blanket creating a cocoon around her. She isn't spinning around in her sleep, neither is she having a panic attack—Jean knows firsthand how sneaky said panic attacks can be, so he's relieved that Sasha isn't going through one of them. Still, silent tears are running down her face, accompanied by small sniffs and shaky sighs, and his hand travels to the top of her head, caressing the brunet hair gently. No matter her state, Jean can't help but observing her, the gentle glow cast on her face by the fire in the fireplace, the way her hand is balled on the pillow like she's holding on it to keep herself grounded, her softened features that make her look like a cute and sweet fifteen-year-old.

He doesn't think about it and simply acts, lying down behind her and slipping under the blanket, carefully wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close to his chest, doing anything he can to soothe her sleep and anything he can to assure himself that she's truly here with him.

Surrounded by warmth she hasn't felt in a long time, Sasha calms down immediately.

"I think I was wrong yesterday," she says the next morning as she stands in front of the kitchen window, looking at the half-filled main street of Trost outside while the other four sit around the table. Trost certainly isn't the town she remembers, most of the buildings are ruined, only half of its residents live here, the networks and infrastructure have decayed and the number of the homeless has increased immensely. Still, Sasha manages to see beyond the ruins right now; she can see a town that struggles to survive, that does its best to survive and heal its wounds…just like her.

"Only yesterday?" Ymir jests her and receives an elbow in the ribs, courtesy of Krista, although Sasha chuckles quietly and Jean throws his cynical roommate a look of gratitude; apparently Ymir and her comments are still able to cause some sort of reaction for Sasha.

"Wrong about what?" he wants to know now, approaching her next to the window and pressing gentle, lingering kisses on her forehead.

"Maybe we didn't meet at the end of the world…but at its beginning."

A/N: Seriously, guys, if anyone finds out what the hell's wrong with my Muse and I have inspiration about such dark fics, please be so kind and let me know :P Anyway, hoped you liked it nonetheless and please tell me if you'd like a multi-chapter story around this one-shot.