Rating: T
Characters: Jean, mentions of Marco
Genre: Angst, 'Character Study', 'Off-screen'


First Kill

It was strange to think about: that two completely different yet significant deaths had happened on the same day. One forever emblazoned in his memory even though he hadn't been there to see it, and the other not recalled for days even though it had been by his blade. How cruel they were as a pairing – his first loss of a person he was close to, and his first personal vanquishing of a creature he hated.

This was maybe their first peaceful night after the Battle of Trost – or at least, the one where the majority of them had been able to sleep for more than a couple of hours. Jean was awake tonight, however. Remembering. Something alien in him even caused a longing for his mother that he quickly quashed as though it could be seen, burning in him.

Burning… Marco had burned. His body…his body had vanished into the night like a Titan dissolving, like the first Titan Jean had felled in the streets of his home…Marco had died in the streets of his home…

Jean rubbed his eyes, sat up. He didn't want to get dragged into that awful mix of images, remembered sensations. He didn't like how they blurred and made it unclear what it was that Jean's blades had sliced through, who it was that had fallen under his hand. He didn't like how both deaths – could killing a Titan be called its death, truly? – had been 'in the course of duty'.

Duty… Jean raised his eyes to where their uniform jackets hung on pegs along the wall by the door. He could see their shadows wearing them, standing on Wall Rose, Wall Sina. He'd originally thought they had been training their bodies, bettering their bodies, but had they actually been turning themselves into shadows? Shadows were dutiful. Shadows couldn't die.

What am I even thinking about? Jean tipped his head right, and then left, cracking his neck. You had your first Titan kill, and Marco died. You need to move on.

It had been a nine-meter class, short dark hair, swollen joints, a ruddy face. He remembered sweeping up its spine, having to veer around its right side to avoid its grip. He remembered the spittle spattering on his jacket as it snarled at him. He had carved into its nape in a sort of desperation rather than proficiency, and felt strangely calm and confident when it fell. How quickly his attitude had changed – how could it do that so easily by itself, but resist his attempts to change it willingly, like now?

Why couldn't my first kill…why couldn't it have been the one that killed Marco? I could have saved him, or at least avenged him. What did the one who killed him look like?

Titan blood evaporated after brief contact with air. He wondered why that was, exactly. It meant there really wasn't anything left for him to destroy in vengeance, no body to continue to mutilate just as it had mutilated his friend. No – Titans were able to escape within minutes, hours at most, into steam and then nothing. Even memories of the individuals would disappear over the course of so many more being felled. Humans took longer. Their bodies had to be destroyed intentionally – collected, burned to ash – and it was up to the wind or the earth to take those ashes away forever. Even then, the memory of them lingered, possibly forever. And what could kill a memory other than time?

Nothing. But part of me wishes I knew how.