Weak By: Lady-Cynic
Summary: /"What do you see when you see me Jean!? Because all I see is just some useless, weak civilian!" Hot tears threatened to spill over; Jean took a step closer and Marco stiffened minutely, watering eye averted and cheeks red with shame and embarrassment. "When I look at you I see a man who saw hell and came back. I see a man with so much determination to live, that civilian or not, will keep on going despite missing an arm and an eye. You are not weak and you are not useless. If that was true then you would have died back there instead of standing here with me!"/
Marco didn't die in the battle in Trost. But he lost his right arm and eye and is forced to live the rest of his life as a civilian. Jean's just glad he's alive. Jean/Marco fic; contains spoilers.
A/N: I'm not crying over Jean and Marco. I'M FUCKING SOBBING OVER THEM. THIS ANIME HURTS SO MUCH UGUUU! *Falls into a puddle of her own tears and drowns.* To fans of my other fics, sorry they're taking so long. Something called crushing, debilitating poverty seemed to have popped up and having the time to write nonetheless do anything else is hard. (This only slipped out because it's so short, but trust me; this has been in the making for about a month now.)
Disclaimer: I am, in no way, shape, or form, sadistic enough to be the creator and owner of SnK.
Warning: Contains spoilers, eventual slash/yaoi (meaning there shall be smut), my weird little headcanons, and some angst. Also Jean tends to curse a lot when he's angry, so there's that too.
On with the story:
Chapter One: Reunion
The ash fell downwards, thick and heavy enough that one may naively think it snow. The cloth that covered Jean's face did little to protect him from the strong stench that decaying Titans left. He walked aimlessly, his eyes roving over the fallen, but not really absorbing what he saw. Sometimes he would see what may very well be a friend of his, but he always looked away before he could truly see their face. That way, he could convince himself it really wasn't them; not really, it's just someone that looks a bit like them. He continued to convince himself like this for maybe an hour or so—that is, until he saw him. Half of his body was eaten; exactly half. Jean felt the acidic bile rise up and managed not to puke all over the cobblestone road. Lying in front of him, not just 6 feet away, was the decimated body of Marco Bodt. Something akin to tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as his feet somehow managed to shuffle closer.
"M-Marco?" he stuttered out unconsciously. He swallowed whatever words that would've followed, his eyes wide as he took in every single detail in front of him. When he was less than a foot away, he could see the ashen, pale face of what looked like Marco, but what Jean desperately wished wasn't. He noticed a surprising lack of freckles, and his hand seemed to reach out on its' own. Before he could touch that broken face, a voice shouted throughout the streets that caught his attention.
"JEAN? JEAN KIRSCHTEIN?! IS THERE A JEAN KIRSCHTEIN?!" He looked around for the voice but couldn't pinpoint it exactly. Before he could respond though, another voice, much weaker than the first, warbled out into the hot evening air.
"Jean?! J-Jean are you here?"
The sound of that wavering voice seemed to enter his body like a shockwave and soon he was running in its' direction, shouting as loudly as possible, "MARCO! MARCO IS THAT YOU?!"
"Jean!" The relief that flooded through that voice gave Jean renewed energy and he found himself running as fast as if a Titan was upon him—no, even faster that, because instead of running for his life, he was running to his life. But when he neared the two figures that waved at him, signaling their location, he found himself faltering.
Because just up ahead, he noticed Marco was leaning against another man, both his arm and right eye missing. That acid taste of bile was climbing up his throat again, and once more he pushed it back down. He noticed Marco double over in what he assumed pain and he renewed his steps until he was mere inches away from him. Jean took hold of him from the other guy, and turned his head to thank him. The man just nodded and walked off to do what he assumed to be more important tasks. He turned back to Marco and found himself pulling him tightly as possible into his arms, breathing in his scent, assuring him that, yes, Marco was alive. Maybe not complete, but Goddammit he's alive.
"You stupid idiot," he muttered into his neck, not letting him go for a second. Marco whimpered and Jean found himself clutching him tighter in response.
"Come on; let's take you to the medical bay."
A/N: WHY DO I ALWAYS FALL IN LOVE WITH NON-MAIN-MAIN CHARACTERS LIKE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THEY'RE ONLY BABIES. PRECIOUS FUCKING BABIES UUUUUUUUURRRGHH. *Continues to make gurgling while falling into fetal position.* On a complete side note, the next chapter should hopefully be longer. Hopefully… Also, this chapter title was NOT based on a song. But there's always next time. Hoped y'all liked the fic.