"He's not waking up— we cannot continue to cart him around—"
"He's not dead either—"
"Eren, don't argue with me."
Jean felt the dim light of a candle wedge his eyes into slivers. Shapes swam in and out of focus. The stench of urine and mud and gore and infection seeped in a wave of thick humidity.
It was too much. He clenched his fist a little, but the effort ignited a fresh wave of pain and an overwhelming sense of brokenness—like his ribs would fall away from his chest with the racking coughs that shook him like a rag doll.
"If it was any of your original squad then—"
"Don't you ever—"
A groan splintered from Jean's throat, past a tongue that felt like leather.
The argument halted. The pair hardly dared breathe, but Jean could feel them shift closer.
Eren and Levi.
Marco. Just the one word, and agony seethed into something deeper than just physical injury.
"Jean?" Eren, again. A quivering breath lighted warm across Jean's face.
Jean's eyes cracked just slightly wider.
No no, this was the right reality, but now it was the wrong reality. Marco was in the reality he wanted—Marco was on the rooftop with him, safe and alive and kissing him-
Levi lunged to the bed and snapped in Jean's face. The motion disoriented Jean and he screwed his eyes shut and groaned louder. He would have turned his neck if not for the spasms of pain that seized his spine.
"Stay with me, Kirschstein," Levi barked.
"Fuck off…" Jean managed.
A sharp pain pricked his shoulder; Levi had pinched him and was now glowering down into his face, brows sharp with disapproval.
"Want Marco…s'in danger…" Jean's hand slithered down into his pocket and tightened around something smooth. The shard of bone he'd kept. "Marco…"
"You're delirious," Levi said, retreating a few inches. He shot a look at Eren. "Speak sense into him."
"ME? " Eren sighed but hovered over Jean, tentative hand wiping beads of sweat from an overheated forehead. "Look, it's not like we don't want to leave you to be titan bait while you fucking slack off, but that's not an option—we're in a serious predicament and we fucking need you—"
Jean grimaced. "The hell are you talking about…"
"Just listen to him," Mikasa said from somewhere far away. Her tone was clipped. Jean craned his neck a little to glance her direction—big mistake, pain spat bullets through his back—and groaned. She hovered near the door, wringing her hands as eyes darted out the exit. With every crackle of flame and rustle of wind, her shoulders grew tense. Gashes sank deeper than the shadows in the hollows of her face.
"The hell happened to you?" he managed.
"Maybe you should explain, Mikasa…" Eren said, stepping back.
She shook her head. "You know more about it."
"But he'll listen to you, that stubborn shithead—"
"Eren." Her voice dripped danger.
His breath left him with a harsh sigh, but he sank down into the chair. "Don't see why I have to be the one…" Scratching his head, he swallowed but began to speak. "We've been separated from the rest of our group, Jean—the titans hav—"
He felt himself fading again, and even the harshness and desperation of Eren's words were sucked into the vortex of static crackling in his ear. Numbness replaced pain.
"Jean? Jean?"
Jean heard the patter of palms on his cheeks before he felt it. His eyes slipped open, but when he tried to move his body gave easily and allowed him to sit—nearly knocking heads with Marco again. "Huh what?"
"You…you fainted," Marco said. He peered back over the top of the roof with a little sigh. By then the procession of military personnel and elected officials had waned, cut off with the resounding thud of the heavy courthouse doors. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I-I did? Well shit. Must be having an off day…" Jean said, though his voice fell into quiet distance. He joined Marco on the ledge with a hint of uneasiness. What had Eren been trying to tell him? With a grimace he shook his head, fist tightening against his own leg. It wasn't really his business anyway—what could Jean do that Eren or Levi could not?
"You're zoning out again…" Marco said, waving his hand in front of Jean's face.
Blinking wildly, Jean snapped to reality. "Huh? Oh…"
"What do you think is going on down there?" Marco asked, taking him by the elbow but craning over the ledge for a better look. Only a few military police officials patrolled the courtyard. "Did Eren do something…?"
"Look," Jean snapped, "You wouldn't believe it if you knew—" He bit his tongue with a harsh scoff, but his expression softened when Marco only stared. He shook his head.
"There's something you're not telling me," Marco said quietly, drawing away. Climbing to his feet, he adjusted his gear and turned away with a little sigh. "But I'm here for when you're ready to spill. I hope you know that. Just…just don't think you have to hide stuff from me." With a squeal, a line shot from his 3DMG, the edge clattering but gripping the stone of a nearby building. He shot down into the alleyway on light feet and transitioned into a walk as the line withdrew with a hiss.
Jean watched him leave with a long sigh. "You wouldn't understand, that's the thing…Hell, I don't even understand it." But, though with a heavy heart, he climbed to his feet with fresh resolve, lips set into a frown. "But regardless of what Eren said, it's not like I'm here without a purpose. Major shit is about to go down…This time I'll be able to save you, Marco."
Finding Annie was not an easy task; whoever he asked only shrugged and shook their heads, some scoffing about how lazy she must be to shirk her duties with the Military Police. One kid entertained the idea that she'd soon be demoted and used as titan fodder—a joke which made the group around the cafeteria table shake with laughter.
Jean only shuddered, teeth tightening into a little grimace. He felt the phantom stab of broken ribs, hand shooting to that region only to find it intact. Lips thin, he glanced toward the table in the back where Marco sat alone. Their eyes met, but Marco looked away with a sullen frown.
You're really fucking stubborn, Jean thought. Then, standing so abruptly that his chair skidded backwards behind him, he slammed his hands on the table. Silverware clattered. Cups sloshed. All eyes were on him. "Whatever," he muttered at them. "Go ahead and live in your weird little bubble. See if I care. You somehow think that all this is a game. Reality has a way of bitch-slapping you in the face, remember that."
He left to a cacophony of confused chatter.
The Military Police barracks were separated by that of rank and then gender. Despite this, there were no real rules to who could go where—and nothing stopping Jean from picking up and moving to a whole new barrack altogether—and he considered it, just to stop finding himself staring longingly at the swell of moonlight glancing over Marco's face as he slept.
Too much guilt.
He rolled over in his bed with an angry snort, sheets wrapping tightly around his arms and legs until he felt as if he were being strangled. Then, biting back a curse, he thrashed against their hold, balled them up, and flung them out onto the floor. He kicked through them to the door, pausing only to struggle back into his 3DMG—not caring how the buckles clattered against the metal consoles or the harsh pull of air in and out of his nose.
By some miracle, his roommates did not even stir.
Annie had to sleep at some point, Jean thought as he stepped out into the night. Though muggy, a slight breeze lifted away the perspiration on his brow and soothed his nerves. The stars blinked through a dense fog.
He found what must have been Annie's barracks, tiptoeing in between the light snores and quiet breaths of girls curled into their bunkbeds. Hyperaware of the tap of his shoes on the floor and the creak of his 3DMG, Jean barely dared breathe as he wandered down the aisles, pausing long enough to peer in each of their faces but recognizing none.
Maybe he'd chosen the wrong building. Were there others? Finally, he halted at an empty bunk toward the back and nearly overlooked it, but paused at the crease of wrinkles across a blanket hastily thrown over the mattress and the corner of paper peaking from beneath a dented pillow. Not an unclaimed bunk—just a temporarily abandoned one. Tugging the paper free, he could discern a crude likeness of Reiner and Bertoldt.
The ceiling shifted with a slow creak. Jean tensed, accidentally balling his fist around the paper and crushing it. With a pang of guilt, he stuffed it back under the pillow and exited, lifting his head to stare up at the roof where he saw a lone figure crouched on one end like a gargoyle.
Watching him.
Rolling his eyes, Jean shot up onto the roof and stood with his arms crossed. "You spend all your nights sitting on some roof? Or do you also moonlight as a traitorous bitch in this world too?"
Annie whirled around, fists raising at level with her temples, shoulders lifted as her stance widened. Then, processing his words, she fell lax, fingers uncurling at her sides. "What…did you say?"
The tension hung from Jean like shackles, and he watched, his own body coiling with unease, eyes piercing the darkness lest Annie made one wrong move.
But her words weren't laced with anything but resignation—no danger in her thick accent or in the way her eyes faded into something dull, even in the moonlight.
"I know how this will play out," Jean said. "And don't ask me about my sources, I just know. You're the female titan, and you're going to fuck shit up real soon, aren't you. You know about Eren, and you're going to try to kidnap him—I mean, you've already betrayed humanity once, so it's up to you to just keep fucking shit up, just when we start to figure shit out. You get a real kick out of stuff like that, don't you."
She clicked her tongue with a little scoff, but her head hung as she stared at her feet. "You said 'in this world'," she said slowly, "What's happened since my capture?"
"I—what—" Jean stumbled back a little with a pensive frown. His face drained. "You…you…"
"This world isn't real," Annie said with a little shrug. "So I don't know why you're getting worked up about it."
"I—bullshit—"
"Hmph."
"You're lying," Jean said, "Because it sure feels real to me. A-and even if it wasn't real—what's the point with going through with your lameass plan to betray humanity?"
"Don't know what else to do," Annie said simply. "Don't get in my way."
"If you lay one finger on Marco—"
Annie, who had been turning to leave, glanced back at him. "Who do you think created this world? You've entered my dream. And you think it's coincidence that Marco is magically alive in this one. No." Her feet nestled in the grass with a muffled tap as she leapt down from the building. The door creaked open and shut again.
Jean was left to stare at the space she'd been standing, mind reeling. "Your dream? Why would Marco be alive in your dream…"
When he reached into his pocket, his fingers curled around a familiar worn fragment of bone.
And his heart froze.
"I won't let it happen again," he vowed silently.