AN: It's been awhile hasn't it, since I actually uploaded anything here? I just haven't felt the urge to write anything lately. But, I finally got something down, and something new. If you haven't checked my profile, I won't be very active here anymore. I've been slowly switching over to AO3 and you can find the link on the profile. I'll still post here, but that's just about all I'll be doing.

This was inspired by barleytea's jean/marco comic. First SnK fic, so I tried my best with these two.

Jean should have been down there, down in the streets, those streets that had become rivers of blood transporting the bodies of the fallen. He should have been with the remainder of the trainees, helping to pick up the pieces of the town, but he couldn't He couldn't make his legs move, couldn't even turn his head to just look down. He was thankful for the clouds of steam that slowly rose from the bodies of slain titans. Thin as they were, they still provided a veil that hid his mistake from his eyes.

His mistake. His responsibility. His failure. His fault. Again.

He had failed to save Marco.

He had failed. He had failed Marco. Again. Dammit, he had been so close to saving the kid. Jean had finally found the pattern in the attacks of the titan that had gotten the freckled boy ripped to shreds the last three tries and he had chopped the limb off. Marco had been able to complete the arc his 3D gear was propelling him and cut down the monster. Jean had been smiling, mouth wide and cheeks hurting. The relief that had filled his chest had been so painful. He had done it. Jean could stop. He could stop trying, stop going through the same hours, time after time and time.

And then the future had changed. All because of one kill. Because Marco had finally eliminated the titan, the one behind it had been revealed and had snatched him up. Jean had watched, his heart shattering into pieces he was sure were piercing into his lungs because the next thing he knew he was heaving for air. He screamed Marco's name, the word falling from his mouth as fast as the tears from his eyes.

He would have to do it all over again. He would have to watch the Wall break. He would have to watch the horror change from terror to pain on everyone's face. He would have to see the people he had grown with and trained with die. Again.

Jean closed his eyes as he felt the pull of the past suck at his skin. How many more times would he have to see it all.

"Jean?"

The question was expected but his heart still lurched at the familiarity of the tone, of the way the vowel was caressed by a soft tongue and shaped by thin lips.

"Jean, we have to go. We can't just sit around here anymore. You heard the others. Everyone is running out of gas and we need to get to that tower as fast as possible."

Jean could practically whisper the conversation, and he found himself doing so. How many times had he heard this conversation? Five? Ten? Twenty? How many more times would he have to hear it?

"Hey, Marco."

"Jean?"

"Let's just…get out of here."

There was a series of clinks and Jean lifted his eyes from the rooftops to glance at the boy he was trying to save. Marco straightened, put his blades away so he could cross his arms and watch Jean shift uneasily from foot to foot. "That's what we're trying to do."

Jean rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel his eyes burning, feel his throat close and he forced himself to breathe. The pink glow of life in Marco's face was too much. He couldn't see it fade again. He couldn't see the even olive skin pale to a dusty white, stark against blood from another fatal wound. "I mean, leave the walls. We can make it on our own, can't we? If we…if we did that we wouldn't have to die here! We could at least survive the day! We could change it-" Change the future. Change your death… "Marco, Marco, please."

The touch of Marco's hand on his shoulder was heavy. Light fingers pushed the weight of the past and future against his shoulders and Jean couldn't bear it anymore. His back bowed, his legs buckled and he sank to his knees on the roof. He couldn't look up at Marco when he softly called his name, asked his what was wrong. He didn't have the strength to meet his eyes. Didn't have the courage to hold that brown gaze.

"Jean, come on. I know it's hard but if we can at least get to the gas-"

"Just get out of here!"

"Jea-"

"I don't care where! Just go…away from here." Jean hated the way his voice cracked. He hated that Marco wasn't leaving.

There was a soft sigh and then Marco's touch was gone. The blades were out again, and he was walking to the edge of the building. Jean's hand reached out to him, but he was already too far. Too far to save. The brunet gave him a small smile.

"I won't leave until you're ready, Jean. I don't know what's wrong but it's important to you and I trust you. So we'll get through this together. I'm sure someone will try to find us once all of this is over. And then we can talk about what's going on with you."

Jean watched him stand there, not moving, not leaving. Just…standing there. Whole. Alive. Behind him, he could see the titans fall one after the other as Eren finally transformed. In just a few hours the hole in the wall would be blocked. The rest of the titans would be killed. Marco would be safe. Jean could stop. He could rest.

He slumped forward. He couldn't resist the flow of relief that flooded through him, relaxing shaking muscles and uncoiling the pits in his stomach. He allowed his eyes to close, just for a moment, and relish in the feeling of succeeding.

"Jean! To your right!" His eyes snapped open at the warning, his mouth open to stop Marco, but the boy had already jumped, already flying towards the enemy.

Maybe there was no way to change the past, Jean thought as he watch Marco try to loop around the twelve meter titan. Maybe it didn't matter where Marco went or what circumstances surrounded him. The middle didn't matter. Just the ending. And it always ended with blood. As Marco landed on the titan's neck, its hand reached behind its head and Marco flinched. That was all it took. One flinch and he was falling.

Jean couldn't scream. He couldn't cry. He couldn't move. There was no room for any thought. There was no more space in his despair, for anything but the thought of going back and killing this titan. Maybe endings couldn't change. Or maybe it just took a long time to make something happen. Jean would keep trying, because as long as there was a way to go back in time, there was no way to prove that endings were set in stone.