Author's Note: Hello! It's been two years and oh gosh, I'm sorry for anybody waiting for updates. I've noticed my follow count has gone down HAHA. (No really, I'm really sorry.) I swear I'm actually working on an update for my previous fics, but I also recently got into Shingeki no Kyojin and it's kind of ruined my life. I have a lot of feelings and I don't know what to do with them.

Fill from the SnK kink meme: . ?thread=1364748

Armin Arlet, killed in action, August 07, 860.

The sounds of battle fade. The world fades. Jean screams as he forgets everything and makes a beeline for the crumpled body on the ground. He crash lands, tumbling and ripping a splendid hole in his cloak, gets dirt and leaves on everything, scrapes his palms, but it doesn't matter. He holds onto that pale, bloody hand as hard as he can and nothing, not even the titans, can make him let go. He can practically feel the ground vibrating.

"H-hey, hey buddy, hold on. I'm going to get you back," he whispers hoarsely, burying his face into once-golden locks that are now matted in crimson and mud. He's still warm. "Come on, Armin. Stay with me. Please. Baby, please. Armin. Armin."

His voice breaks and he can't do this any more. He gives up on trying to hold back the tears and they fall unchecked on forest green and wings of freedom. Armin isn't moving. Why won't he move? Doesn't he understand that it's dangerous here? The titans are coming. He can see the flare ahead, the one that signals them to move forward. They have orders to follow.

"Jean!" A voice is shouting his name, but he doesn't recognize it. He shakes Armin's shoulder gently. His eyes are closed, like he's sleeping, and Jean ignores the way his leg is splayed out at an unnatural angle.

"This isn't a good place to sleep, you know." His teeth are chattering. He can't breathe. It feels like there's something clawing at him from the inside, tearing him apart. "Armin, we promised, remember? We're going beyond the walls. We're going to see the ocean. We're going to be together. Forever. We're going to have our own house, two cats and a dog."

Somebody is pulling at his arm insistently and he can barely feel it. Why won't they leave him alone? He grips the body before him a little tighter, shakes a little harder, and all of a sudden, he's screaming his name and nothing is okay. He doesn't remember how he gets back to the base, blood that's not his own staining his clothes. He doesn't remember the way Christa and Sasha had fussed over him and helped him out of his gear, or the way Corporal Levi had ignored the way he tracked mud through the halls. He only remembers that it rained, it poured, and he stood outside trying to drown himself.

In the darkness of the barracks, when everyone's trying to sleep, Jean lies awake and battles the lure of sleep and the nightmares that come with it. He can almost feel the familiar warmth of a body curled next to him, the fingers that had intertwined with his. He can hear Reiner snoring softly from the next bunk over and Connie is mumbling to himself, and Armin is whispering sweet nothings in his ears. If he cries at night, the others don't say anything about it.

Jean Kirstein, killed in action, December 19, 861.

Snow falls silently and he trudges through the cold, following the hooded figures in front of him that he can barely make out in the darkness. The sun doesn't rise, not yet, and he prays for warmth. He clutches at his breast pocket, feels the slight stiffness of a folded piece of paper filled with scribbled I love yous that have almost faded from age, and he keeps moving.

Almost exactly a year ago, they had huddled together under a thick blanket, legs tangled, and kissed each other senseless until Eren, stupid Eren, had come in and punched him in the face for defiling his little brother. Armin had cried and apologized over and over again, but it was okay because he was kissing him again and everything was perfect. The blond had run his fingers through his hair, sent shivers up his spine, and whispered his name against his lips.

A high pitched roar shakes him out of his thoughts and suddenly, there's titans everywhere. The land before him is flat and there aren't any trees or buildings, and he wonders briefly if he's going to die before the commander is barking orders and he obeys because after all, he's a soldier. He kills two, assists one, and then the sky goes completely dark. Somebody is screaming, but he doesn't know who, just knows that suddenly everything hurts and he can't move. Someone grabs him around the waist, drags him through the snow, and he knows he's going to die.

"Jean, Jean! Look at me! Jean!"

He opens his eyes slowly, reluctantly, and Armin is looking down at him. He looks like an angel.

"Armin," he breathes and he wants nothing more than to touch him, to pull him closer, but his hands won't listen to him. His whole body won't move. Armin is shaking his head for some reason, and his vision is a little blurry, but he thinks the other is crying.

"Why are you crying?" He croaks, attempting one of his smiles that always made Armin laugh, and he can't help but laugh a little himself, but it hurts like hell. He can't stop coughing, his head is spinning, and going to sleep sounds like a great idea, but Armin won't let him. "Leave me alone, Armin, I'm tired. Let me sleep."

He hasn't slept in so long. It feels so long since he let his eyes close, because when he sleeps, he sees Armin lying broken and bruised on the ground, staring up at him with unseeing blue eyes and his fingers are cold. He inhales deeply. The winter air is bitter and biting, but he doesn't think he minds so much, because Armin is holding him, and he's warm.