I'll Make You Bleed

by thesketchytepe

Attack on Titan AU Inspired by Until Dawn Written by thesketchytepe and blueTshirts. After Zeke is arrested for murdering seven doctors at Trost Hospital, Eren invites the gang to his family's cabin to get their minds off the case. But soon enough blood is spilled and panic ensues. Who is the killer and what do they want? How far are you willing to go to protect the ones you love?

18. Epilogue: If Only (Jean POV)

**TRIGGER WARNING: References to SELF-HARM and SUICIDE are mentioned in this chapter. If you are sensitive to this subject, please read carefully.

We also would like to thank each and every one of you who've been on this crazy adventure. We hope you enjoyed our fic and *winks* we'll see you in the next one. Thank you!

Written by: blueTshirts**

4:52 AM

My eyes have gotten used to the gothic darkness of the night, but they water at the sharp chill in the air. My feet slap against the ground as I continue to run through uneven terrain. Pulsing aches shoot up through my calves with each lunging step, a similar growing ache echoes in my chest as I huff foggy breaths of the October air.

My chest stammers with rhythmic yet frantic heartbeats. I feel my hands shake and my throat choke around thick saliva. I blink the water from my eyes. I wipe harshly at them with the back of my hand and continue to run.

The frantic feeling in my chest starts knocking at my lungs and making my rib cage rattle. My breaths sound more like gasps rather than the contained, even breathing that I've been working so hard on perfecting. I squeeze my hands into fists, hoping to maintain control. I'm not going to let myself fuck this up again.

I curse to myself as I shadows start dancing in front of my vision. I wiz past dying trees and fallen leaves. I keep my eye on the break line of the woods. I squint as I see faces poke out from behind trees and footsteps pounding next to me. I try to shake the ghosts from my eyes and focus on the burning pain in my muscles rather than the burning pain in my head.

Just make it to the end, I tell myself, just make it to the end.

I jolt when I hear a gunshot. I lose my footing and nearly face plant into a tree. But I catch myself and use the tree to push me into continuing down the trail. There's no gunshot, I tell myself. But then there's a scream. The scream has me digging my heels into the mud and whipping my head around. I look through the trees with tears burning my eyes. It's just because of the cold.

I listen to the silence of the woods. No one is there. Everything's fine.

The scream wails through my head again. I squeeze my eyes shut and tense my shoulders against my ears. The bone chilling cry sends a wave of tremors through my body. The blankness behind my eyelids flash with blood.

"Fuck you," I hiss under my breath as I turn back towards the end of the woods and begin running again like I never stopped. I sigh the anxiety out of my lungs and pretend that I don't hear my name being called after me as I exit the woods.

Through the break line of the trees, I bolt up the hill feeling my thighs curse at me as I take each step at full power. I grit my teeth until I've made it over the hill, only then do I finally stop, flopping into the grass and rolling onto my back.

I breathe until it doesn't hurt so bad, staring up at the fading stars as the night turns to morning. The sun won't come up for a few more hours. I hate the moon. I hate the dark. I hate the stars and I hate that night only gets longer towards the end of the year. It's easier to pretend everything is fine when it's light outside. But I can't control the sun or the moon, so I have to try and stop hating the glowing rock in the sky so much.

"Fuck you, moon," I curse between breaths as I glare at the sliver in between dark clouds. I push myself up on my elbows and glare down at the woods at the bottom of the hill. "Fuck you too, woods."

With that, I stand and start jogging back towards the road. The streets are empty, the shops are dark, the traffic light blinks red and yellow at unoccupied intersections. I run under the streetlights that shine down onto the crumbling sidewalk. I avoid the cracks as I pass them, hopping from one tile to the next.

I run along the sidewalk until I turn down a less retail prone street that's lined with a stone wall that reaches up to my chest. I glance over the wall into the cemetery. I sigh the same sigh that I always do at this turn.

I slow down to a lazy walk as I approach the gates of the cemetery. I pull a key from my sweatpant pocket and unlock the steel gate. Don't ask how I got the key.

I stumble among the headstones, most of them are flat plates that sit flush with the ground, other's are little squared stones that have one-liners engraved into them, other's are pretty impressive near-monuments that look more like they're bragging about their money rather than representing the person buried beneath it.

The cemetery is dark, as always, there are no lamps back here but it's not like I need the light to know where I'm going. I trail my fingers over the smooth edge of strangers' headstones as I pass them to get to the one person's I came for. Down the right side of the cemetery behind a few trees, I stop at the stone plaque in the ground.

I sigh, once again, the same sigh, he must be getting tired of it. I plop my tired butt on the ground in front of him, crossing my legs under me and my hands going to lay flat on the grass.

"Hey, babe," I sigh. Stiff grass pokes up between my fingers, I imagine it's his hands holding mine back. "I almost didn't stop today," I say half-proudly, "But, you know, shit happens."

My eyes linger on the name engraved in stone in front of me, then the year, then back to the name. "Bodt," I say to myself, letting it roll off my tongue like it used to. I don't get to say it very much anymore. Only when I'm alone really. "Bodt," I say again.

I prop my chin in my hand as I lean forward on my knee. "Officer Bodt sounds way better than Officer Kirstein. Kirstein is weird, it'll confused people, they'll call me Kirsten, lame."

I smile to myself. "Maybe I still can take your name?" I scrunch my face at myself. "No that's weird, and Erwin would find out that I'm totally lying to him."

I scratch softly at the mud under my pointer finger. "Worth it though."

I look at the date on the dark stone. The plaque itself still looks brand new but the end date has aged by two years. Two years. It's been two years since I've seen you smile, two years since I've held your hand, two years since I've counted your freckles or kissed your forehead. But I've told you I love you every day since then. I haven't missed a day, Marco.

I swallow the rock in my throat and brush the wetness from my eye. It's just cold outside.

"Erwin is getting on my nerves again," I say continuing on my life update with Marco. "But, you know, when isn't he?"

I hear Marco in the back of my mind shaking his head as he smiles softly. He glances up at me with an upward angle to his eyebrows. "Maybe you should stop lying to him, he's not an idiot you know," he would say.

I roll my eyes, looking up at the tree a few feet away. I see him sitting there with his back against the bark, his ankles crossed, and his hands in his lap. "Yeah, yeah, well he's an overprotective parent that thinks I'm an idiot child that lashes out just to make him suffer."

"He's probably just concerned because of last year, you can't really blame him," Marco says lecturing me just like everyone else does. But when Marco says it, he means it. He doesn't see me as the basket case that the rest of the world sees me as. He doesn't see me as a project kid. He doesn't see me as a pity charity. He doesn't see me as the kid that lost his life.

He sees me as me, like he always has, like no one else will ever be able to.

I think back to almost an exact year ago. October once again, I hate October, and I was on the Jaeger estate, in the woods, alone, laying in the dirt until Levi found me a day later dehydrated and suicidal.

I purse my lips. "I'm fine, I'm not doing that shit again, I promise." I look up at Marco's eyes, but he's farther from me that I'd like him to be and I can't see his eyes in the light that I want to. So I close my own and imagine the beach.

I stop. I shouldn't imagine the beach. At least Erwin tells me not to. But it's hard for me to let go of the memories that maintain Marco's immaculate image in my head. I won't forget him. I won't let myself forget the details of his eyes, his skin, his voice, his hands, his smile. But Erwin wants me to stop thinking about it so much, he says I'm limiting myself from progress. I say he's full of shit.

"But we are going to the estate, tomorrow," I say with a shaky sigh. I'm honestly not too excited about it. That place is the literal setting of my nightmares. The nightmares that have me sleeping only about four hours a night. The nightmares that have me screaming and sweating and calling 911 on accident. It's not like I can call Marco and cry to him and tell him how scared I am. I can't call Sasha or Connie either. Nor Reiner, Berthold, Ymir, Historia, Mikasa, or Armin. I glance up at the image of Marco sitting across from me and he's looking at me as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm going with Annie, don't worry."

"Is she okay?" Marco asks like he always does.

I sigh. I sigh a lot now-a-days. I think of Annie back at the apartment right now. She's probably awake if not by a miracle that she somehow is still sleeping. Neither of us sleep very much. She's probably sitting silently staring out at the sky in her wheelchair ignoring the dog that refuses to leave her side even though I take care of the asshole animal.

"Uh, she's alright, I think she's finally starting to come around on the police academy thing. She's been working with Hanji too, which I think is good for her. But I think she kind of hates Hanji, not really, but you know, Hanji can get really pumped about serial killers sometimes and we don't really think the same way."

I entered the police academy 14 months after the massacre. I got my certificate in July, about three months ago, and I've been working with Levi while I work on my criminal justice degree. It's been a lot of fucking work, but the distraction is nice, and I know that Marco would be proud of me.

"Seen Armin lately?" Marco asks with a hint of a grimace on his face. He always asks about Annie and he always asks about Armin. He never asks about Mikasa. It's not because he hates her, he just knows that Mikasa's life is rarely going to change for a while.

I think of Armin. It hurts. So I stop.

"I'm seeing him today," I say softly. I'm not excited to see Armin either. But I should go. Marco would want me to make sure he's okay. Even though it seems like his mental state deteriorates more and more every time I visit him. "And Annie will probably make me go alone again because she's a bitch."

Marco does the smiling while he shakes his head thing again, and it makes my chest ache. Though, anything Marco does makes my chest ache.

"She's not a bitch, Jean-"

"Fuckin' lie smart ass-"

"She's in pain, okay? Plus it might hurt Armin even more to see her."

I look at the ground where my hand is still flat in the grass. I was 100% against Marco having a burial when it came time to decide those things. But no one listened to me. Marco's family wanted a burial because whatever family tradition. Marco's body isn't even in the ground. Only a casket full of some of his favorite things, letters from the people that love him, some of his clothes, and a box of whatever ashes they were able to scramble up from the bones left in the fire. I don't know how they even know that the bones they cremated were Marco's, they could be anyone from Marco to Berthold to Connie to Reiner for all they know. It pisses me off.

I press my fingertips into the earth and remember when I clawed my hands through heavy dirt to exhume Marco from his near death in the Jaeger woods. Little did I know that he'd only die hours later, and that time I wouldn't be able to save him. And still, his family buried him in a grave that he probably wouldn't have wanted.

"I'm in pain too," I mumble to the ground. Too many times over the past years has it felt unfair. Yes, it's been unfair to everyone who had to survive the massacre and it was unfair to those who died in the massacre. I should've died or Marco should've lived. Annie should still be able to walk and Armin shouldn't have gone crazy. Everyone else should be in their homes sleeping soundly without a care in the world. But no, everything has to be for the worse, everyone is fucking dead, and nothing will ever be the same anymore.

But out of all of this, I was the one with the least of the battle scars. My brain is intact, my spine is intact, and my life is intact. So that forced me to be the strong one. I was the one to force Annie out of bed and make her eat, I was the one that stayed with Armin for days when he wouldn't stop pulling his hair out, I was the one that had to talk to everyone's families, I was the one that had to do fucking interviews for the news and stand in front of a court of strangers and tell them in great detail about the worst day of my life. Now look at me, I wake up everyday at four in the morning because I can't sleep over the nightmares and I talk to my dead boyfriend until the sun comes up.

"I'm sorry, baby," Marco says with his soft voice. I sigh. He says that a lot. I hate it. We don't get to have any fun conversations anymore. Marco's not really there. Marco isn't actually talking to me. My brain is creating a mirage of my love to supply the support I need to make it through the day. Marco only says the things that I think he would say. It's real enough for the most part. But I will never truly be able to talk to him and his brain again. I will never hear him jab me with a surprising one-liner, or give me a quick witted joke, or give me poetic sentiment. Marco's brain was exploded by a bullet he took for a murderer.

"Me too," I say. "I miss you."

I look up at the imaginary Marco and feel my insides burn. I want to hold him, I want to kiss him, I want to run my thumb over his cheek, I want to feel his heartbeat, I want to hear him breathe. But he never moves from the tree. He always sits there looking at me with sad eyes, saying he's sorry that he died.

"I love you, Marco," I tell him like always.

His smile is soft and sad. He gave me one of those smiles during one of the last moments I spent with him. He gave me that smile while he was confessing to me that he was going to do what he thought was right even if that meant getting himself hurt. I hate that smile.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," I tell him like always. I watch his chest exhale and inhale. I frown. My brain has gotten really good at making Marco look real. Sometimes it's worse to see Marco, just because it reminds me that he's not here anymore.

"Tell everyone I said hi," I say as I lift my hand from the ground to kiss my fingertips and then place them back on the ground. I give Marco one last look. God, Marco, I miss you so much, you really were the best of us.

I stand on shaky legs, sniffing and wiping my eyes again. It's cold.

I smile at the ghost of Marco. "I'll be back tomorrow," I tell him like always, and then turn to leave the cemetery.

I walk back to the apartment, my head hung low and my thoughts lower. I wish Marco was walking next to me. I wish I was holding his hand and making idiotic comments about how cold it is. I wish I could kiss him on the cheek when he said that he thinks everything is lovely.

I let myself swim in the grief, the loss, the pain. I let myself feel so horrible for the whole walk home, because by the time I open the front door, I have to put my strong face on and start pretending again.

I come up on Annie and I's apartment building and sigh. None of the lights are on. Even though I know Annie's awake, she still won't turn on the lights. I let my brain think of how I hate the fact that I live with Annie, that I should be living with Marco, that I should be sleeping at this time in the morning, that I shouldn't be working out this much as a way to deal with grief, that I shouldn't have to do any of this.

I get to our door on the first floor, unlock it and step inside. I peer into the darkness. I sigh and lean back against the wooden door, letting my head knock against the oak and closing my eyes. I listen in the silent air for Marco's humming, for clanging pots and pans, for the plucking of his ukelele, for his mumbling voice as he repeats funny words he hears as he watches a tv show.

But it's silent. Dead silent.

I open my eyes. My heart stutters like it does off and on through the day. I've gotten pretty familiar with my triggers. But they're triggers for a reason, and I can't control how I feel about it no matter how familiar I get with them.

I stumble into the apartment. It's a pretty large spaced area to give Annie and her wheelchair plenty of room to move about, not like she does that very much. I walk past the kitchen to trip towards her bedroom.

My panic brain is telling me she's dead. My brain thinks Annie somehow bit the dust by exhaustion, starvation, a seizure, her slitting her wrists open, or Mikasa breaking out of prison to strangle her herself. My mind gets more and more creative the more it worries.

I bust open Annie's bedroom door not bothering to knock, and my eyes search frantically for any sign of life. Usually this is the part when Annie looks up at me in her usual scowl and intimidates me into leaving her room.

But she's not here. Her blankets are crumpled haphazardly over her bed, the window by her messy desk is left unoccupied by her somber handicapped body, and her wheelchair is missing.

My throat closes up as sweat collects along my forehead.

"Annie!" I call through the apartment, my voice noticeably fragile. I've had enough loss to last a lifetime, I'm not going to let anyone else leave my side. Even Annie.

My breath hitches as tears spring into my eyes. A voice starts laughing in my head. But it's not my voice. It's not Marco's voice. It's no one that I would want to hear or be weirdly comforted by. It's Eren. It's always Eren's voice when I start thinking horrible things.

Look at what you've done, Eren's voice says with psychotic amusement. You can't even take care of someone who's stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of their life. You've failed once again. You'll never be able to save anyone. Just like you couldn't save Marco. You think you can become a detective one day and save people from what you had to go through? Seriously? You're a selfish fuck up, maybe you should just kill yourself.

"Annie?" I call again, my voice cracking and my vision tunneling. I stumble to the bathroom, using the wall to keep me steady as I walk among the apartment. The bathroom is empty, a minor wave of relief eases my shoulders to find that she's not in the tub drowning in her blood.

Blood.

I feel my body heat up and go limp like it does when you're about to throw up. I see blood. Crimson covered walls and puddled hardwood floor. I see my swollen busted knuckles covered with the fluid, and beyond my hands is Mikasa face beaten beyond recognition. I see Annie's soaked clothing when they found her passed out on the gravel driveway and pulled her into the ambulance. I see Eren's head adorned with a small, red bullet hole, but the rest of him intact. I see Marco, of course, I always see Marco.

I hold off on having a panic attack and claw back through the apartment. The only other room that isn't in view is my bedroom. Still feeling like I'm going to burst at the seams with tears, vomit, and blood, I rip my bedroom door open and see a familiar shadow by the window. I shake my head, getting Marco's face out of my mind. Then notice the occupied wheelchair next to the drawers holding my clothes.

In my continued panic, I stumble towards Annie, hoping that she's not dead in the wheelchair, and yank the armrest to spin her towards me.

Annie sits there, her eye fixed on something in her lap, and unmoving and uncaring to my dramatic response to her little hiding place.

I don't care to treat her with tender love and care that the both of our past partners would have treated us with, and grab her chin roughly to lift her cold eyes to mine. Her empty eyes meet me and I blow an exhausted whine.

"The fuck's wrong with you? Didn't you hear me?" I curse at her.

She says nothing as she rips my hand from her face. I let her and then collapse onto the ground by her wheelchair. I lean against my bed that I spend little time in and scrub my hands down my face. I focus on my breathing and try to center myself around the horrible images and hateful words in my head. This is a common occurrence. Just another day in the life of trauma patients.

"I fucking hate you, you know," I say into my hands. I look up at her scowling when she doesn't give me an answer. "Would it kill you to be nice to me when I'm-"

"Being dramatic?" Annie mutters to herself.

I blow a frustrated sigh through my nose. Do not punch someone in a wheelchair. Do not punch someone in a wheelchair.

I mumble something about having her sent to a nursing home under my breath and then squint at what she's holding in her lap. "What the fuck are you even doing in my room, you whack job?"

It's really not that big of a deal. Privacy is not a big thing for us. Especially when Annie was in the hospital for so long after the massacre learning how her new body would work. I was the only one there for her in that time. Armin was occupied with losing his mind and the rest of our friends were dead, so you know. Although I was there with Annie for so long (in her hospital room alone because she refused to let me help her in physical therapy) she was also there for me in her own way. She didn't judge me when the panic attacks wouldn't stop, or when I started cutting again, or when I refused to eat for three months. She let me cry when I needed to and she let me argue with her about how depressed we both were, how angry at the world we both were. Or are, that is.

Annie's a bitch but she's all I have at this point. I know Annie hates me too, but I think she's under the same understanding.

Annie doesn't speak. She just stares at the item in her lap. I squint at the object. It's a book bound in a faded red hardcover and read so many times that it would be falling apart at this point if Annie didn't treat it like glass. A Sylvia Plath book that Armin got her a long time ago, before the shit happened, that is.

I sigh to myself, knowing what it means. There's a reason the book is in my room and not Annie's. There's a drawer in my room dedicated to things of Armins, things that were given to Annie by Armin, things that remind Annie of how much pain she feels every morning she wakes up and she's not next to the blonde kid. I rub my eyes thinking of the same drawer in Annie's room that's full of Marco's stuff.

There's a reasonable amount of things to keep from your dead lover. Both Annie and I seem to know no limits to that idea. For some reason, the two of us like to torture ourselves by reliving the good times over and over until we're on the floor choking on sobs. This happened enough times that we came up with this system. If we kept our sorry things in the other's room, it would be more difficult to wallow over the things, but still we have our weak moments. And with the year anniversary of the worst day of our lives coming tomorrow, it's understandable that the two of us are getting sentimental.

I don't mention the book.

We sit in silence until the stinky dog pads up to me on the floor and starts sticking his wet nose into my salty skin. I lightly shove the dog's nose away, and then he goes to sit by Annie's side like he's proving to me that he likes her better than me. Stupid dog. I can hear Connie now laughing his ass off about how much his dog hates me. Sasha would have insisted that Maximus, their dog, still very much likes me, but she'd be lying. I still would've liked to hear them say those things though.

"You should sleep," I mutter after I feel my body start to sag with exhaustion. It's almost like a constant state I'm in. Feeling like I'm about to fall asleep at any moment and yet my body is still involved with being in survival mode to do rest.

"You too," Annie replies. Neither of us move. Neither of us will sleep. But we continue to tell each other what to do and act like that's what it means to take care of someone. "How's Marco?"

I look up at her, surprised. Annie rarely asks about Marco. She knows that I see him. She knows that I'm not pretending when I tell her that Marco follows me around. That he's always in my bedroom, he's always in the classroom at the police academy or the university, he's always at the cemetery. He's just watching over me. He's only protecting me.

I glance at the hand glowing in the soft light of the moon that filters through my bedroom blinds. His pale arm rests on the other side of the bed, like a reminder, just resting, watching.

I close my eyes. Annie only asks about Marco when she's really in her emotional state. She'll only support my hallucinations when she thinks they're as comforting as I think they are. She's only asking now because her brain won't stop replaying the events that happened two years ago.

She seems to forget that Armin is still alive, and all she has to do is take a car ride with me to see him.

"He's fine," I say. "He asked about you."

Annie meets my eyes with a pitiful sadness that tells me she regrets everything. She looks at me like she's beating herself over the head in the back of her mind. She stares at me like the update on Marco won't make her feel like drowning.

"He's says I should be nicer to you, but I told him you were a bitch and that you're just as mean to me and I am to you," I say lightly like this is completely normal, like I merely ran into Marco on my run and struck up a conversation like good ol' neighbors.

Fuck. I want to die. If only.

Annie looks back down at her book, her thin fingers trace the binding, she treats the thing like it'll turn to dust if anyone breathes too hard. I once tried reading the book. But when Annie saw me with it sprawled out on the couch with my face twisted in confused disgust at how fucking depressing the thing is, she punched me so hard that I had to drive myself to the E.R. to get my nose aligned.

"You know Armin asks about you too," I say trying to catch her cold eyes again. I never paid much attention to Annie before I was forced to. I wonder if her eyes used to be as cold as they are now.

Annie sits silent for a moment and then snaps her line of sight up to the door and starts wheeling herself out of my room.

"Annie," I say leaning over to grab her wheel. "Don't do this, he's not fucking dead, you know."

Annie, in her cold, cold presence, turns her head slowly to look down at me in complete constraint. "Yes, he is."

"Annie-"

"No."

"Ann-ah, fuck," I hiss when Annie clamps her hand round my wrist and twists it off of her wheelchair sending a sharp pain up my forearm. She continues to wheel away as I cradle my hand glaring at her as he goes. "He still fucking loves you, you asshole, he's still breathing."

"He's still breathing but he's not alive," Annie says with her cop voice, strong and impenetrable. If only we could actually feel that way. "He died just like the rest of us, so don't act like I can just show up to that sick house and life will be back to normal."

"It's still worth a mother fucking try, you idiot!" I call after her, climbing up onto my bed as she continues out my door and across the apartment to her bedroom with her book in her lap. "How can you let him suffer alone like that! He thinks he ruined your life, he hates himself because he thinks he killed Marco, he thinks he killed everyone!"

Annie continues to run away from the conversation like she always does. Usually, I drop it, but I'm feeling like I need to vent so I stomp after her. I close the distance between us in half the time it took her to get to the middle of the living room that's the halfway point between our bedrooms. I turn in front of her and block her way into her room.

"You are letting him lose his mind in there, Annie. You weren't there. You weren't fucking there when I slept in the same room with him every night to hear him screaming his fucking lungs out and ripping his hair out of his head. You weren't there when he tried biting his own finger off. You weren't there when he crawled on top of me in the middle of the night and started strangling me without even knowing-"

"How can you blame me for that? How do you even think that the mere sight of me is going to help heal him, huh?" Annie glares back at me. Her tone is more level than mine, but I don't care.

"You're not fucking broken, Annie, seriously, you think your life ended when you lost your legs but you're acting like a little bitch. You're still alive, aren't you? Why don't you fucking suck it up and appreciate that you're not fucking dead-"

"I'd rather be dead then be treated like a pathetic weakling-"

"Oh, oh, don't even pull the 'I'd rather be dead' shit, we both want to be dead you're not fucking special-"

"You're a-"

"And you're not a pathetic weakling, you only acting like one-JESUS CHRIST-"

I collapse onto the ground as a ricocheting burst of pain erupts from my groin. I hold my balls that feel like they're having a seizure after Annie straight up upper cut them and wheeled away. I groan into the floor as stars buzz in front of my eyes. Can't say I didn't deserve it, but she's still a fucking bitch.

I whine into the ground until the waves of pain start to recede. I let my eyes linger on the open door to my bedroom. Marco's there, he's always there. He sits on the floor at the end of my bed with his legs drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees. He smiles softly, looking at me like I totally deserved a punch in the balls.

"Shut up," I mutter as my eyelids slip closed and I fall asleep while my body is too exhausted to function. Letting the image of Marco linger in my mind and hoping that when I wake up, it'll be to his sleeping face on the pillow next to me.

I wake up maybe minutes or hours later to a familiar solemn sound. I open my eyes to the blackness and hear hiccuping sobs through the dark. A pain clutches in my chest. The painful sound echoes through the apartment and through my head. Annie's cries are the worst, because she only cries when she needs to and she'll never cry in front of anyone.

I wonder if she ever cried in front of Armin.

I wake up again to a crushing pain in my foot and a dying scream. I bolt straight up with Marco's name ghosting at my lips, looking around the room.

I groan. The scream wasn't real, but the pain in my foot was.

Annie wheels past me, purposely running over my foot as she makes her way to the kitchen to make coffee. I glance over my shoulder at the soft morning light coming through the curtains.

I glance at my phone. It's a little after seven in the morning. I raise my eyebrows, impressed. I slept for almost two hours. I glance at Annie stretching to reach the coffee filters from the cabinet above her. I know she didn't get any sleep.

I pull myself onto my feet from my oddly convenient sleeping place on the floor and shuffle over to Annie struggling. I take the stack of coffee filters and set them on the counter for her to take. She would never have asked for help. She still refuses to get one of those extended grabby things that will help her reach things like coffee filters. She also refuses to let me reorganize the shit in the cabinets so that everything is accessible to her.

Sometimes I think she just likes to suffer.

That would explain why she has yet to see Armin in two years.

Annie wordlessly takes the coffee filters and starts a pot of coffee for the two of us. I go to the bathroom to take a shower and scrub off the stiff, dried sweat off my body and rinse away the panic from a few hours ago.

I stand under the cool spray of the roomy shower. A shower meant for people like Annie so they can climb in and out without any help. When we were both finally released from the hospital and allowed to live on our own, Levi and his wife Petra had gone way too far into creating a livable life for us. That included getting every single handicap helper out there. I don't even want to think about the money they spent on us. I don't mind all the odd things in the apartment, but I kind of hate the shower. It's far too big. I can't help my mind drifting towards the thought of Marco joining me in the large shower on sleepy mornings.

I think of my day. Plan my day. Focus on the day. I envision myself getting dressed, grabbing coffee, driving Annie to work, driving to classes, stopping by the police department to talk to Levi - possibly pick up Annie while I'm there although I know it's a far stretch, - go to the inpatient facility, talk to Armin, talk to Erwin, maybe see Marco again, pick up flowers, pick up dinner, go back home, walk the dog, go to bed.

I do this routine everyday. Almost. I at least have to think about my day over and over again. It's a trick Erwin taught me. It's stupid. It's called mindfulness or some stupid shit. It's supposed to keep me focused on the present time rather than dwelling on the past. I'd like to tell Erwin to fuck off and that he has no idea what he's talking about in losing somone or living with PTSD, but then I look at his arm, or lack thereof, and Marco's voice in my head tells me to shut up.

Once my mind drifts to Marco again, I sigh, and get out of the shower.

I get dressed for the day, cursing when I find that another one of my shirts doesn't fit me anymore. This is what I get for working out to get into the police academy. It's stupid expensive to have to keep buying bigger clothes, it's annoying. Plus, it would be so simple just to go into my stash of all of Marco's clothes and take one of his shirts. They would fit me, and they would smell like him, and they'll make me feel at home again.

I sigh, and they'll send me back to square one.

I put on a sweatshirt that's big enough and grumble out into the kitchen to find Annie secluded back into her room. Figures.

I make myself a cup of coffee. I don't use sugar or cream anymore. I drink the shit straight because everytime I go for the cream I think of all the little stupid comments I used to make at Marco at how his coffee was practically caffeinated chocolate milk, and then about how he got me hooked on to it with a smug smile, and then about how we were able to make each other's coffee every morning without question.

I lean forward on the counter with my hands gripping the edge resting my forehead on the cabinet in front of me. My brain seems to be on memory hyperdrive today. I can't get Marco's face out of my head. Not even for a moment to pour my coffee into a damned travel mug. It must be because of the anniversary. At least I can say I'm better than I was last year.

Annie emerges from her room dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans for work. She doesn't wear the stupid hoodie anymore. She looks up at me, then continues grabbing her stuff to leave. She doesn't bother asking me what's wrong. I huff a sigh because I want her to and I want to complain.

"You coming to see Armin today?" I ask knowing the answer.

"No," she says like always.

"Alright," I mumble with my head still pressed on the cabinet. I think about all the shitty things going on in my head and debate venting to Annie. I decide that I don't care what she thinks and start complaining anyway. "I miss Marco," I say to the wood, hoping Annie provides some sort of affirmation.

She doesn't.

I groan and turn around, crossing my arms and watching Annie as she stuffs her laptop into her wheelchair bag. "He would hug me right about now," I say with a wrinkled look on my face.

Annie glances up at me, dismisses me, and continues to act like she's not listening.

"I don't want to live here anymore, you depress me," I say just to try and get a reaction out of her. I start thinking of the fights we had in the hospital. Apparently, one of my coping mechanisms is starting arguments to release my anger. Who knew. Well, Marco did. But he rarely rose his voice the way I did. He'd let me yell and punch things and cuss into my hands until I was blue in the face, and by the time I was exhausted he would hug me and everything would be fine.

Annie doesn't give a shit and will punch me to shut me up and return to her life as programmed.

"Then leave," Annie says like it's a matter of a fact.

I click my tongue. Bitch. She knows I won't leave. Things would definitely be worse if I was alone.

"Why don't you start being nice to me?"

"Why don't you stop being a child?"

I snort, "Speak for yourself."

A child. That's me. That's what I've become. Levi, Erwin, Hanji, Petra, even Armin have all said otherwise. They think I'm becoming a good man, that I'm destined to turn my life around for the better. It doesn't feel like it.

My eyes flick to the figure leaning in the doorway of my bedroom. A whine crumples in the back of my throat. My chest sags with sand. I scrunch my eyebrows together to try and hold back more stupid tears.

Why did the universe do this to us, Marco? Why was this the timeline we were destined for? Did we ever have a chance of making it? What could I have done to prevent this? Was there anything I could've done back in the woods? Could I have knocked the gun out of Reiner's hand before he shot you? Could I have knocked the popcorn over to prevent Connie and Sasha from eating it? Could I have ran down the stairs before you dove into the fight? Could I have talked to Eren before he let Ymir and Historia into the woods? Could I have stopped any of this?

I gasp, realizing that I stopped breathing. My head spins as my chest heaves. My knees wobble until they give out and I collapse onto the kitchen floor. I can still see my bedroom door from my place on the ground. I watch the figure, Marco, staring at me with a worried little expression on his face as I fall apart for the third time this week. It's Tuesday.

"M-Marco," I wheeze feeling tears carve wet streaks down my face. I fail to contain my breathing or my cries as I stare at him, reaching for him, hoping childishly that Marco will walk to me and hold my hand. He doesn't move. "I'm so sorry," I sob. "I'm so, so sorry."

I choke and struggle for oxygen. My lungs malfunction under the misfiring neurons in my brain. My throat burns and ears ring. My vision swirls around Marco in one of my shirts, unmoving, with his sad brown eyes looking at me in the way I hate. Please don't be sad, baby, please don't be sad.

I don't notice the moving figure in front of me or the slamming of something. But then my dreadful vision of Marco is slapped into frigid darkness. I feel my upper body bounce off the ground and a sharp pain thump against the back of my skull.

My breath returns to me in full bursts making me feel like I've just been lifted from deep water after being on the brink of drowning. I lay on the floor with my eyes covered in ice as my fucked up brain crawls back to me in shameful regret.

I lay on the floor with my eyes covered until the frozen ice of the towel melts along my forehead. As the cool water drips into my hair, I lift my hand with a begrudging sigh to find stiff fingers holding the towel to my eyes.

"Leave it," I hear Annie say when I try to take her hand from the cloth.

I let out a shaky sigh and rest my hand back on the floor. I wait until Annie lifts the towel from my face and I'm staring up at her with a miserable look on my face.

She looks at me with those cold eyes and without a hint of emotion. Her face is forever fucked up from the fight she had with Mikasa. She's scarred to hell and it pulls odd angles of skin around her eyes and mouth. One of her eyes even has a permanent droop that they'll never be able to fix. In the hospital, I started to call her 'hobgoblin' for no other reason than the selfish need to use humor as a coping mechanism. I don't say it anymore. I've been punched too many times to make that mistake again.

Her cold, scary gaze stares at me like I'm nothing more than a squashed ant. No concern, no pity, no fear, no judgment. It's better than looking at me with pity. She lays the towel in her lap and she shifts to the sink to run the towel under some water and then stashes it back into the freezer.

I stay on the floor staring at the ceiling feeling the slight twinge of a burn on my face from the icy towel. My head starts to pound with a headache.

"Maybe you shouldn't see Armin today," Annie says finally. I close my eyes. Marco wouldn't want that.

"I'll be fine," I mutter.

Annie doesn't bother trying to convince me, she's well aware that I'm just as stubborn as she is. I sit up after staying on the ground for a few more minutes, promising myself that I'm not going to start crying again when I look back at my doorway. I sit up feeling like my body is a bag of rocks and lean against the wooden drawer under the counters and look back at Marco. He's still there. He's always there.

"Let's go," Annie says, having wheeled back towards the front door. How unfortunate that my little panic attack might make her late for work.

I sigh, standing like a newborn deer and shuffle past Annie and to the garage across the strip of parking lot outside our apartment. I drive a van now. Another addition that Levi and Petra gave us. I unlock the car and drop into the driver's seat waiting for Annie to wheel up the ramp that unfolds out the side door of the van.

She manages to get into the car and lock herself into the empty passenger seat next to me. She fastens her seatbelt and waits for me to start driving. I don't put music on. I don't listen to music anymore. It only makes me upset like half the shit I used to like does.

I drive to the police station. The drive is silent as it always is. Once we arrive at the station, I take a moment contemplating if I even want to go to classes today. I decide that I'm not going to, and then follow Annie inside.

The two of us navigate through the station in the early morning. Everyone is sleepy as they nod their morning salutes at the two of us, I nod back, Annie ignores them. Down a hallway dimly lit by sour yellow lighting, I count my breaths in correlation with my footsteps. Inhale for four steps, exhale for six steps.

Annie turns off into a room that is bursting with loud speaking and a clacking keyboard. Detective Hanji's office. I glance inside the room as Annie pushes open the door without knocking. Hanji is standing at her computer one hand flying across the keyboard as the other hand holds a phone to her ear that she's yelling into. She's not angry or anything, Hanji just talks that way. She perks her head up when Annie enters, gives a wink, and continues to look back at her computer screen.

"Don't see Armin today, Jean," Annie says before I can walk too far.

I glance over my shoulder, almost amused with the shred of concern she's shown me today. Maybe she's feeling a little sentimental. She can hide it better than I can.

"I'll be fine," I say for the second time. "I'll pick you up later."

Her chest lowers with a sigh as she then closes the office door behind her. I continue down the hall past officers that are nameless to me until I get to Levi's office. I knock twice before I enter. He's sitting at his desk flipping through a thick stack of papers that must be a case profile.

He raises his eyes to me and drops them back to the file. "Thought you had classes today," he says like a statement rather than a question.

I shrug, helping myself to the coffee machine in the corner since I kind of fucked that up this morning. "Don't feel like going," I answer.

I hear the flip of a page in the silent room. "You said the same thing yesterday."

"Yeah, well," I mutter as I harshly punch the buttons on the shit coffee maker.

"You're graduating in two years, no excuses," Levi states. I softly knock the coffee maker with the side of my fist to get it to start pulling hot water. It finally starts gurgling with functioning sound and I turn to face Levi as coffee drips into the pitcher.

"I know, I'm doing fine, great actually. My grades are fucking phenomenal if you haven't noticed," I say crossing my arms.

"Are they 'fucking phenomenal' because Annie does all the work for you?"

I glare at the grumpy man. "Such faith, Detective."

He gives me a flat look and flips another page of the case file. I sigh to myself, hoping the smell of coffee eases the headache that's brewing faster than the caffeinated liquid.

"You look like shit, you know," Levi says without looking at me.

"Thank you."

He sends me another blank look. This man has mastered the 'I'm judging you so hard right now' look like he could win the Olympics with it. "Sleeping?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," I say without the respect that the other officers and I are supposed to use.

"Eating?"

"Yep."

"Seeing him?"

I swallow, ignoring the lingering presence. "No, sir."

Levi raises his eyebrows mirthlessly. He flips more pages through the case file as I pour myself a mug of thin coffee.

"Maybe you should see Erwin before tomorrow," Levi says.

"I'm seeing Armin today, Erwin will be there," I say taking a seat in front of his desk with the wrank coffee in hand.

"That's not seeing Erwin, is it."

"Close enough."

"No," Levi says, setting a pen in the crease of the thick file and letting the pages close. "I don't think you should go to the estate tomorrow."

I stare at him as I take a sip of the coffee that burns my tongue. "Well, I'm going, so."

Levi stares at me, a tactic he uses to make people feel so squeamish that they'll confess all of their deepest darkest secrets without Levi saying so much as a word. Although I'm immune to it at this point. And besides, there isn't anything that he doesn't know already.

I remember the first time I met Levi. Two years ago, the same day my life changed forever. He screamed at me in his cop voice and pointed at me with a gun forcing me to drop the same weapon I had in my hand. I remember the look he gave me in that moment. When I was standing over the body of a serial murderer, or in Levi's case, a fucked up kid that he was trying to help turn his life around. I killed him, and with Eren's life, Levi lost a part of himself too.

Anyone who was on that land that night lost a part of themselves.

I swear I thought he was going to shoot me right then. I could see it in his eyes that it would be so easy for him to put a bullet between my eyes and have my body collapse right next to Eren's.

But he didn't, unfortunately. Instead, he arrested me. I was taken to the hospital along with Annie, Armin, and Mikasa. Everyone else was dead, they were a part of a crime scene at that point. And after a few interviews, I was no longer arrested, but I was kept in the hospital for psych evaluation that lasted months.

Through that time, the only people allowed to see me were my doctors, including my new psychiatrist Erwin, Detective Levi Ackerman, Detective Hanji Zoe, and my parents. But after a while, I told my parents to stop coming, so the crime fighting trio became the backup parental guidance that I needed.

I don't know why Levi does what he does. I don't know how he juggles his detective work with Hanji and his social work with Erwin. But he's dedicated his life to it. And it almost makes me feel bad sometimes for killing one of his most wholehearted cases. Almost. But everytime I think about Eren it only makes me feel like grabbing a gun and shooting at his grave. So, still no guilt there, not for him.

And before you start to question my position at the police department, I'm not a cop. Yes, I've trained to be a cop, but I'm not allowed to be one. Not yet. Not until I can pass my psych exam. And that's going to be a while if ever.

Levi has taken me on, if not to be able to watch me easier, then as an intern of sorts to learn more about the homicide department and social work that I've been interested in. No, I've never thought about this career path ever in my life until it dawned on me that I had no other purpose in my life other than being Marco's husband. So I had to rewire my goals because one was shot to death. I figured, Marco wanted to save people, and I can't become a doctor, so I went into law enforcement instead.

Levi blinks away and grabs his phone, punching a text out to someone. "You're not going to make me come out there, are you?"

"Not for me, no," I say, telling the truth.

"And Annie?"

I shrug, that also being the truth.

Levi doesn't lift his gaze from his phone. "You're a pain in my ass."

I continue to sip on my coffee until Levi has me organizing some of his shit. Which ultimately ends up being Levi organizing his shit himself and making me watch because the old man can't give up control on anything.

I spend the first half of the day trailing behind Levi as I always do. Sometimes we meet with Hanji and Annie, other times we make house calls, other times we read our eyeballs out on case files and paperwork. Today Hanji was on a roll with some odd happenings around the city lately. Things like stolen fish, people walking naked and barely conscious through public parks, and a burnt down hardware store. She thinks these things are connected somehow but I have a hard time discerning what Hanji thinks is reality and what the rest of the world thinks is reality. But it takes up time. It takes my attention. It helps the days go by.

After I've stayed at the department past my class time and into my designated station time, I tell Levi that I'm leaving to see Armin.

"Take this," Levi says pulling on one of his drawers and handing me the item. I look down at the object. A phone. At least some version of a phone. A long lived relic that should belong in a museum at this point.

"Uh, why?" I ask looking up at the detective.

"It gets signal out there," Levi states. I look back down at the phone, flipping it open and grimacing at the plastic screen. I remember two years ago, once again, when we were fighting for our lives and the dooming fact that none of our phones had reception. Except Eren's burner phone, of course.

I look up at Levi. He's gone back to flipping through emails on his computer acting like he's not concerned. I slip the phone into my back pocket.

"Thanks," I mutter. Even though I'm not worried that Eren is going to rise from the dead to meet Annie and I and finish the job. And even though I think about it occasionally, I don't think Mikasa is going to break out of prison to do the same deed. But the phone still gives me some sort of sense of security.

"Talk to Erwin, privately," Levi adds as I've turned to start heading out the door. Levi looks up at me with a knowing stare. "Tell him you're still seeing him."

My stomach flips. I glance around the room, purposefully avoiding the figure that stands by the coffee maker. I look back at Levi with a pained expression.

"How do you know?" I ask him. The only person that knows that I still see Marco - like really see Marco, I'm not making it up, although I do like to divulge in the hallucinations sometimes - is Annie. Yes, I've been seeing Marco ever since he died, so everyone knew then, but they thought I got better. I've been lying to Erwin and Levi and Hanji. They all think that Marco's presence has fizzled from the corners of my eyes. But it's not true. Marco is still very much by my side all day long.

Levi tilts his chin, looking at me like I'm an idiot. "I've been working with kids with compromised psychies for years, Kirstein."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not a kid."

"No, but you are lying to your psychiatrist, and that's limiting your recovery."

I glare at Levi, practicing the same penetrating look that he uses on everyone else. Rage boils from my anxious stomach. My hands curl into fists and my jaw clenches.

How can he sit there and tell me about the limitations of my recovery when he's the one that let this shit happen in the first place? If he didn't brush Armin off when he told Levi about his suspicions of Eren, then I wouldn't have to be lying to my psychiatrist and limiting my stupid fucking recovery. If he wouldn't have been an ignorant ass then I would never have to be in this office, I would never have to run a the bizarre hours of the morning, I would never have to help Annie grab the coffee filters from high shelves, I would never have to remind Armin that I don't hate him, I would never have to rely on my roommate to save me from losing my mind.

If only he'd done his job then everyone would still be alive. Marco would still be alive and we wouldn't need to be having this conversation.

"Fuck you, Levi," I spit. I purposefully look to my left where Marco is standing, his face contorted into dissatisfaction as I cuss out one of the only people that find me worth saving.

I then turn and exit the room, walking through the police station ignoring anyone that tries to talk to me, and then out to the van.

I drive to the inpatient house, fuming, gripping the steering wheel like I'm trying to choke someone out. My eyes flick between the road and Marco's reflection in my rearview mirror. Everytime I see him it sends a sickly mix of rage and grief through my stomach.

Finally I arrive at the house having texted Erwin an hour ago that I would be showing up soon. I sit parked on the street in front of the house that seems no more spectacular than any other suburban home. But as I stare at it, floods of memories come to me that remind me that, no, this house is not like any other suburban home.

I walk up the driveway with anxiety bubbling in my gut. I absentmindedly fidget with the necklace of Marco's that I wear 100% of the time. The modern crazy house. The people that live here are young people that have nearly lost their minds. Erwin makes them his projects, sticks them in this house to train them to recenter themselves with reality while working on their healing.

The thought is nice, but I hated it. I never belonged here.

I knock on the front door and it takes no more than three seconds for someone to answer the door. Petra opens the door with a bright smile, it almost eases some of my anxiety.

Petra works here as a nurse during the day, while there are other nurses that live here 24/7 like caregivers. Petra lets me inside and locks the door behind me with a key. And no, it's not like she's just locking the door so no one can break in, she locks it with a deadbolt so that no one can get out.

I look out into the main room, finding no one milling about, which I think is a good sign. There's also no screaming, no fighting, no running. All good signs. I take a deep breath, the familiar scent makes me wrinkle my nose. I'd put a lot of work in getting that smell out of my clothes.

"How are you doing, Jean?" Petra asks, putting a light hand on my shoulder. I force a small smile to my face, just for Petra, she's only ever been good to me.

"I'm fine, how are you?" I ask trying to flip the question back onto her. It's that awkward type of greeting that's hard to dance around. Petra was technically a therapist of mine at one point while I lived here. I'm not supposed to ask her how she's doing. But also I've seen her level Levi with a remark that sent him nearly running away with his tail between his legs, so I really just don't know how to act around her.

She nods with that soft smile, it reminds me of Marco a little. My chest hurts. I divert my eyes to the floor.

"I'm good," she says, "I was excited to hear that you were coming today, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

I wipe my hands on my jeans in an awkward fidget. "Uh, yeah, guess so." The last three invitations Petra has sent me on doing dinner with her, Levi, and Annie I've ignored. I swallow around the guilt.

"Anyway let me go get Erwin, I'll be right back," she says as she walks with a brisk pace down the hall to Erwin's office.

I stand uncomfortably in the entryway, waiting for Petra and Erwin to come back. I feel completely vulnerable and exposed in this house. Cameras everywhere. Crazies everywhere. Memories everywhere.

I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep myself from anxiously scratching at my arms. Just when I'm about to step into the living room to sit and wait, someone hobbles down the steps.

A kid an inch or two shorter than me with wavy red hair stops on the landing and stares at me. I press my lips into a tight line. Floch.

"Hey," Floch says, his hand dropping from where he was scratching his stomach under his shirt.

"Hey," I reply.

He squints, loosely pointing at me. "You coming back?"

"Just visiting."

"Ah," he says, nodding, and then turns down the hall.

I exhale. He asks me that every time. I'm not sure if he wants me to move back or if he dreads the sight of me. The kid and I were not friends in any fashion. We were constantly trying to kill each other. I wonder if he remembers when he snuck into my room one night to wave a lighter in my face trying to set my bangs on fire. I wince at the memory. I just want to know where he got the lighter.

"Jean," I hear a bulky voice say from down the hall. Erwin. He emerges with Petra following closely behind. I've gathered that the two are friends.

"Hey," I say to my psychiatrist who I'm working very hard to convince that I'm fine. "What's up?"

Erwin quirks a small smile. "Only good days," he says. He always says that. Fuckin' liar.

"That's good," I say, rocking back on my heel and then my toes, uncomfortable with the height of this man. Usually I only talk to him when I'm sitting. "Is he alright?"

"Before that," Erwin says with a little wave of his hand. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got some time if you want to talk for a-"

"No thanks," I say before he can finish. "Just kinda want to do a quick check-in is all."

Erwin purses his lips together. I notice the worried look Petra gives me from his side. "Alright, whatever you think is best."

Whatever you think is best, I groan in my head. This guy.

"Let's go, then," Erwin says, leading the way upstairs to the bedrooms on the second floor. I pass the doorless rooms as my eyes land on a few of my old roommates. Immaculate rooms that are required a cleaning check-in every day before curfew, kids sit on their beds or on the floor as they draw with earned pencils or read approved books. I try not to think of what these people have said in group therapy, some of their stories still haunt me to this day.

Towards the end of the hall, we pass what used to be my room that I shared with a guy named Nac who I had the least issues with. Well, that is after I got kicked out of the room that I had been sharing with Armin after he'd tried to strangle me in a feverish lucid dream one night.

Armin's been left alone since then.

We step up to Armin's door. And yes Armin's room is one of the only one's that's allowed a door. But it's not like he earned a door, Erwin hooked up his door along with some noise barriers and external locks. Even though one kid tried to light me on fire and another used to tell me that he imagined me without skin, Armin is still the most problematic of the group.

I take a deep breath, my chest tight with a shaky heart. I smell Clorox and bleach. It reiterates the headache that rests behind my eyes.

Erwin knocks on the door with the back of his knuckles just to be polite. No voice answers the call.

Erwin and Petra exchange glances. I squint between the two of them. Fucking therapists.

Erwin lets himself in as I follow begrudgingly behind him. Bright light fills the room. Sunshine from the kind autumn day filters through the plexiglass windows reinforced with white painted steel bars to make Armin's room feel less like a prison, but also keep him from plummeting to the lawn a story below. Armin's room is adorned with a bed, a desk and chair, and...well that's it. All the other furniture that used to be in the room was too tempting for Armin to hurt himself with.

My eyes land on the first figure in the room. A tall man, broad shouldered, with soft dark hair standing against the wall facing another hunched person on the ground. I blink away as soon as I recognize Marco, highly aware that Erwin will most definitely pick on any of my weird mannerisms if I lose focus.

But of course Marco is here. He's always here. And this time he's turned his attention to Armin rather than me. Armin was his friend also, and even with how fucked up I've become, I'm doing a lot better than Armin.

Marco stands there watching the small form on the floor, like he's protecting him, making sure that he won't do anything to hurt himself, and possibly sending him some comfort that Armin is still loved.

I look over Erwin's enormous shoulder at Armin on the ground. He hasn't noticed that the three of us have entered his room. He continues to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting against the wall to where he can stare aimlessly out the window.

He reminds me of Annie on the hard nights. The two of them seem to search the soft life outside the windows for solitude in their succumbing times.

The longer I've been away from the place, the farther apart my visits get, and the more Armin seems to change. Although, perhaps he hasn't changed. Maybe I just forget the way he looks now. My memory likes to think of him in the times when he looked healthy, when he looked human.

Armin sits there like the fetal form he's become. His blonde hair is buzzed off to a fine layer over his round head. They have to maintain the hair cut or he'll start pulling the hair out of his head as soon as he can muster a grip of the short strands. His white t-shirt and gray sweatpants hang on him like a cloth over wooden chairs, sagging over the contours of his protruding bones and hanging in the hollows of his body. Half of his weight loss could be caused by the laundry list of medications he has to take, the other half is because of his refusal to eat.

Armin's hands that wrap loosely around his thin legs are strapped in boxer-like gloves. Not the big, bulky, inflated kind that look like they should be in a cartoon. Armin wears gloves that are padded softly around his knuckles and fingers with velcro straps around his wrists. The gloves serve the purpose to limit Armin's harming himself with scratching nails, biting off his fingers, and hitting himself without causing too much damage.

I wore those gloves for a short period of time. But they gave up and had to strap me to a bed for hours in a day when my brain felt nothing but the need to harm myself. I'd already had a history with the feeling, so I was already thinking of ways around their preventions. I was also lucid enough that I knew what I was doing and trying with everything I had to do what I wanted. The gloves work better for Armin because most of the time, he doesn't even know he's hurting himself.

"Armin, you have a visitor," Erwin says, coming to stand a safe three foot distance away from my friend on the floor. I've seen Armin come at Erwin with a kitchen fork before, Armin won't get far but he's gotten close. Erwin is a hard egg to crack.

Armin doesn't move. He continues to look out the window with his blue eyes looking dull even in the light.

An awkward silence tenses the room. I can feel Marco tugging in the back of my brain telling me to say something.

"Armin, it's-"

"Don't say my name," I tell Erwin before he can spoil my test I have for my friend.

Erwin glances at me with a thick eyebrow raised in question, but then he remembers my little game and lets me proceed.

I swallow wiggling my toes in my shoes with nerves. "September 2016," I say rolling slightly on my heels.

I watch Armin as his brain slowly rumbles to life like a junkyard transformer covered in rust and grime. Armin blinks once, then twice. His lips part slightly, but he says nothing.

I sigh, squatting down to try and meet his eyes. "What happened in September 2016, Armin?"

His lips twitch as he speaks like he's a robot unaware of how to make facial expressions. "September 8th," he says in a croak. "Four different species of giraffe were revealed from a previously known single species."

I frown. "What else?"

"September 9th," he continues, his eyes maintaining his lifeless gaze out the window. "North Korea conducts fifth nuclear test at the Punggye-ri Nuclear Test Site."

"What about-"

"September 17th," he says, unaware that I'm even here, "Terrorist bomb in Chelsea, New York injures 29 people."

"Armin-"

"September 26th. First US Presidential debate: Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton vs Republican Donald Trump at Hofstra University," he says like a human computer. "September 28th. Hurricane Matthew forms near the Windward Islands and goes on to kill over 1000 in Haiti, the Caribbean, and the US. September 30th-"

"Armin, stop," I say, restraining myself from reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. "What happened to you in September of 2016? Who did you meet in September 2016?"

Armin's babbling stops. His eyes rest into a shutting down mode like the orange glowing power button on a desktop monitor. My eyebrows scrunch together.

"April," I say, trying a different route. "What about April? Who has a birthday in April?"

"Charlie Chaplin born April 16th, 1889. Washington Irving born April 3rd, 1783. Maya Angelou-"

"April 7th, Armin. Do you know anyone who was born on April 7th?" My hands curl into fists as rage mixed with loss tangle into my throat.

Armin blinks once. Rebooting. "Billie Holiday born April 7th-"

"No, Armin," I growl. A soft hand gently lays down on my shoulder. I almost jump thinking Marco has finally broken through the other side. But with a jerky glance over my shoulder I realize that it's Petra. She gives me a hesitative look. I sigh. It's never taken this much before. "April 7th, 1998," I say, lowering my voice into a fake calm. "You have a friend that was born that day, what is his name?"

Armin closes his pale lips. His head turns towards me like a porcelain doll with a hairline fracture through its eye. He looks at me like he's still looking through a window. When his face is turned to me, it makes my heart stutter a couple of beats. His blue eyes sit in his head like pennies in the bottom of a fountain. His once round cheeks are carved out in high cheekbones and a jutting jawbone. The pink scars on his face are starting to fade to a light flesh tone, making him look more distorted than scarred. I think of the slash on my arm that is fading to the same color.

Armin's eyes finally focus coming to hone in on my fearful gaze, waiting for him to give me the answer I want.

"Jean," he says eventually.

My shoulders release some tension. I was worried for a moment there that Armin had officially replaced the storage space used in his mind for the memories of me and his other friends with dumb facts about the world. I know one day it will happen, I just hope I can put it off for as long as possible.

"Hey, man," I say with a sigh of relief.

His eyebrows twist together slightly. "You're alive?"

I press my lips together. "Yeah, I'm alive," I say hating how I've had to tell him I'm alive every time I've visited for the past six months.

"Oh," he mutters, his eyes drifting towards his knees. There's no smile of comfort or sense of security. Armin sees me being alive as another thing to feel guilty for. Whether I'm alive or dead to him, it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure Armin sees me on his long list of sins to suffer for.

I glance over my shoulder at Erwin and Petra. I give them a look that's meant to be the most polite "fuck off," as I can muster. Petra nods, turning and leaving without another question. Erwin gives me a long stare and then follows after her.

I watch them leave and close the door behind them. I'm not alone in here with Armin. I know Erwin is kicking his ass into high gear to jog down to his office and watch Armin and I on the camera's he's hooked up all over the house. They'll be watching, and they'll be listening. They always are. I feel like my entire life has been swallowed by Big Brother.

I turn back to Armin, his gaze is trained to the carpet. I sigh to myself and sit crossing my legs under me. I look at him for a moment. Why am I even here at this point? I'm visiting him because the anniversary of the day he went crazy is tomorrow. Why would I even want to remind him of that?

"Is Marco here?" Armin asks his eyes shifting for a split moment making them look momentarily human.

I bite my tongue. Yes. Armin knew about my hallucinations of Marco when we were living together. He posed the idea that maybe Marco wasn't in my head and that maybe he really is looking after me in his afterlife. Erwin likes to squash that idea.

"No," I say with a strained voice. I don't look to my right. "He's dead, Armin."

"Killed," Armin says immediately almost like he's trying to rub salt in the wound. I can't blame him for anything he does. He's only in control of about half his actions and words. "By me."

"No, Mikasa killed him." The frown on my face grows, I hold my eyes closed for a moment to maintain my composure.

"I killed Mikasa too," Armin says, his eyes having gone blank at the carpet. I watch his fingers twitch.

"Let's just not talk about it, man," I sigh looking around the room for something to talk about. We used to be able to distract each other by chatting about things that don't matter, but I think Armin's brain is incapable of that anymore.

"You painted anything lately?" I ask him, feeling like I'm talking to one of my nieces who hate me.

"No," he answers, "They took my paint."

I purse my lips, thinking of the only reason they would have to confiscate something as innocent as paint. Boy, he's getting creative.

I glance at my watch. I've been in the house for a total of seven minutes. I barely think I can make it to ten.

Armin drags his empty eyes up to the stupid fucking window again. I glare at him while he's not looking at me. I feel the need to send an annoyed look at Marco as well but I refrain.

"Did you see that Roger's Hardware burnt down?" he asks the window.

I narrow my eyes. Rogers…?

The hardware store. The one down the road from the science building at Trost Uni. The one Hanji was talking about today. She thinks the hardware store arson, naked people, and missing grocery store fish are all a mass scheme of some bored whack. I don't know why she's concerning herself with the crap.

But I thought that only happened last night? And Armin's not allowed to see the news.

"Uh, yeah, nobody was hurt so that's good," I mutter scratching the back of my head.

Armin gives a tight nod. "Yeah."

I don't bother asking him how he knows about the hardware store. If I asked Armin how he knew half the crap he's stored in his memory it would be agonizing lecturing from him. Well, he would've done that years ago.

I sigh to myself. I came here for a reason. And even after two years and what seems like decades of watching Armin succumb to near-insanity, I still feel the need to make him pay sometimes.

"Do you know what tomorrow is?" I ask him. I watch the back of his shaved head. Parts of his scalp are patched with ugly scars that he can't grow hair from anymore.

"Yes," he says.

I wait. If only, Armin. If only you just told someone. If only you told me. If only you told Levi. If only.

"Are you going to kill yourself?" he asks suddenly and without sympathy. I blink at him, almost shocked at his blunt question.

I scowl at him. "Fuck yourself, Armin," I say quietly so he can hear but hopefully the cameras can't. "And no, I don't plan on it."

"You were going to last year, you told me."

"I know, but that was a year ago, dickhead, a lot's changed."

Armin looks back at me, his dead eyes making him look like that creepy possessed doll again. "Has it?"

I squint at him. "Has what?"

"Do you really not want to kill yourself anymore?" Armin asks.

I stare at him, my mouth falling slightly open in awe at his demented persistance. I don't know if he's asking in concern or if he thinks that I'm lying. Whatever the reason, this is a fucked up conversation.

"Not-not necessarily but I'm fine, man. Can we, like, not talk about-?"

"Maybe you should."

I stare at him again, my chest rattling with that stupid beating heart in my chest. "Maybe I should fucking what, Armin?" My voice raises. I don't care if Erwin hears. I just hope he can get up here fast enough before I punch this sick kid in the face.

"Maybe you should kill yourself, Jean," Armin says almost politely. "It's what you want, right?"

I stare at him. Then look at the ground between us. Then look at Marco to my right. Erwin can suck my dick.

Marco looks back at me like he's a deer in headlights. His wide brown eyes filled with just as much confusion, panic, and offense as I feel.

I look back at Armin. "Fuck is wrong with you?"

Pro tip: never ask someone dealing with mental health issues that question.

As Armin continues to look at me, a smile spreads across his face like his lips are being pulled by fish hooks. A dried spilt on his lip shines with the slightest bit of blood. He smiles for a moment before a flat laugh rumbles from inside his throat.

Armin laughs like he did when all of us hid out on Reiner's mom's back porch, high off our asses and trying to get rid of the smell on our clothes by diving through the flower bushes. Reiner got in so much fucking trouble. Connie ended up butt ass naked.

My hands curl into fists as I begin to to raise a threatening blow at the whack job. Fuck this. Fuck him. Maybe he does deserve this.

"Time to go, Jean," Erwin's baritone voice booms into the room as the door swings open.

I crack a small laugh myself. Amusing Erwin, amusing. I'm not leaving until Armin gets a taste of my newly learned self defense moves.

"Like hell-" Before I can send my knuckles into the bridge of Armin's nose, a giant hand clamps around my comparatively small fist and wrenches me backwards without much worry for my health.

As I land on my back, my hand still vise-gripped in Erwin's, I hear Armin's laughter grow louder.

Marco, don't look.

I twist my hand out of Erwin's grip, jerking myself forward to lunge after Armin. My intent is to murder him but I'm sure I won't get that far. I can try though.

Armin's laughter burns oil in my blood making me feel like a race car barreling down an open highway. His face triggers memories in my head. I think of Eren.

"How 'bout you try killing yourself you-" my shouting voice is silent by a slapping hand over my face. I scream into the massive palm, clawing at the thick fingers that damn near wrap around the whole front of my head.

Erwin lifts me with his one handed grip until my head is locked onto his body. He stands, pulling me up with him, and backs out of the room. I watch Petra run to guard the space between Erwin lugging me out and Armin cackling on the floor. I continue to try and belt insults at the blond asshole even with my mouth trapped.

Armin laughs and laughs like some sort of Batman villain until he jumps to his feet in a swift movement and nearly knocks Petra over. She manages to grab him before he can leap onto me.

He looks up at me with wide, violence filled eyes and that twisted smile. My voice chokes in my throat as panic starts to take over my instincts. That face. Eren. That's Eren's face.

Eren. Eren's alive. Eren's here. Eren. Eren. Eren. Eren.

"See you soon, Horse Face!" Armin cackles at me right as Erwin uses his foot to slam the door closed.

My previous murderous attacks turn for survival instincts. My body wiggles out of Erwin's grip like water bursting out of a damn. I make no hesitation in bolting down the hall back towards the stairs. I run like I run every morning, like I ran that night when fighting for my life.

I'm burning. My brain is on fire, my legs ignite in licks of flame, my chest rumbles with molten lava, and my skin hisses with a burn that feels like ice. What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck is Armin like that? Was that even Armin?

I nearly collapse down the stairs in the thundering slide, but I manage to catch myself before I go plummeting onto Floch who's standing at the foot of the steps, wondering what the ruckus is about.

In my hesitence, that fucking massive hand slaps over my shoulder again and holds me still.

"You're okay, you're safe-"

"You're fucking out of your mind!" I scream as I turn to Erwin's face. "You are absolutely out of your mother fucking mind! What the-what the fuck, Erwin? What the fuck are you doing? He looked-he was going to kill me! That-that-that-" I grit my teeth when my brain won't slow down to spit the words out fast enough. I stare at the hand I have pointed down the hall. "Eren," is all I can muster in a final whimper.

Erwin looks at me, his hand still on my shoulder. He looks at me the same way Levi looked at me when I came into work this morning. Although Levi looks entirely expressionless, the two share the same "I don't think this kid is doing as well as I thought he was" expression.

"My office," he says.

"No," I say, shrugging his hand off my shoulder then turning straight for the front door. "I'm leaving, and ain't no way I'm coming back."

"We didn't know he'd say something-"

I spit a sharp laugh at Erwin's start of an excuse. "You didn't know he'd tell me to kill myself? That he would look at me that he was going to eat me?" I spin around to hiss in Erwin's face. "Your stupid little recovery house is holding a murderer and you're waiting for him to crack and kill all of you."

Erwin looks at me, unimpressed, having already heard shit like this before. I don't care. "He's not Eren, Jean."

I laugh again. "You're going to die here, you and all of your crackpots."

"My office, Jean."

"Absolutely not, I'm done with this shit. I'm done with him, I'm done with you. I'm out of here." I turn, shoulder checking Floch in the process and stomp towards the front door. "Let's go, Marco."

I freeze. My gaze lifting to Marco's who's standing in the entrance of the living room with a grimace on his face. I curse to myself.

"Jean," Erwin says with the same warning dominance as an angry mother. "Know what is good for you."

I drag my jaw forward with a wicked eye roll. Why does he say things like that? Why does he think I'm going to succumb to his petty mind games and try to play me by plucking the torn strings of my conscience? It's not going to work, it never has, stop trying Erwin.

I glance at Erwin over my shoulder, defiance ridden over my expression, and then continue to burst my way out of the house.

I drive for hours. Literally hours. I yell at Armin or Eren or whomever in fake arguments over the steering wheel. I punch at the horn and knock against the passenger seat. I cry and scream and sit in silence. I do whatever I need to to blow off steam so I don't go home and have another panic attack in front of Annie. I doubt she'll help me this time. Especially when she told me not to go.

Finally, I pull back into the police department's parking lot to pick up Annie. I don't bother walking inside, I wait for her while I let my eyes rest on the rearview mirror to look at Marco as he gives me a soft smile of encouragement.

The first person to bother me in the van is not Annie.

Levi stands outside my window with his arms crossed over his chest. I roll my head towards him with a sour look on my face. I roll the window down an inch.

"What," I say, totally unwilling to have a conversation without anyone but my dead boyfriend.

"Erwin called," Levi says.

I sigh, rolling the window back up and completely ignoring his presence. To Levi's credit, he doesn't push it. Perhaps I underestimated him, maybe he does know what he's doing. Pushing me any farther at this point will send me into some sort of violence.

Levi walks back into the building, his arms crossed and his head probably buzzing with another plan to get through to me. Moments later, Annie rolls out into the parking lot and lets herself in.

I wait for her to get situated and then begin driving again. I burnt half the gas out the car while on my rage drive.

"Levi said you're going to do something stupid," Annie says without concern.

"Probably," I say with the same amount of carelessness.

"So things with Armin didn't go well," she states.

I drive in silence for a while, momentarily missing the distraction of music that I used to love, then sigh. "You were right about him," I pause, remembering Armin's twisted grin and wild eyes. "I don't think Armin's alive anymore."

The rest of the night weighed heavy with silent tension. Annie didn't ask about what happened at the crazy house and I didn't feel like talking about it. Annie ate a handful of carrots for dinner and I stared at the fridge for twenty minutes then gave up. Eventually the two of us are sitting in the living room, Max resting his head on Annie's lap as she scratches at his ears absentmindedly.

I scroll through the news on my phone. Just like last year, they do revamp stories on the current status of the Jaeger Massacre. Just to torture myself, I read the casualty list off one artice. Historia Reiss, 19. Ymir Mularczyk, 21. Sasha Braus, 20. Cornelious Springer, 19. Reiner Braun, 21. Berthold Hoover, 21. Marco Bodt, 20. Eren Jaeger, 19.

"8 Killed and 4 Injured College Students Murdered by Childhood Friend and Trost's Dr. Posion's Younger Brother."

I swipe through the pictures on the article. Of course, Zeke is the first one they're worried about and the only person that has nothing to do with any of this. It shows one of his most infamous pictures of him sitting in court in a powder blue prison uniform staring blankly at a family member of one of his victims. Then there's a family picture with Eren clinging closely to Zeke's side with a cheery smile on his face. If I stare at the picture for too long, the smile cracks into the psychotic smile he looked at me with. And then I start thinking about Armin again.

My gut boils with a subtle rage thinking about where Zeke is right now. Well, not so much where he is, more so why he's still here. For Zeke's original trial, he was found guilty on seven counts of 1st degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Everyone in Trost fully disagreed with the decision to keep the motherfucker alive but he withheld information long enough to get himself a plea bargain. A real fleabag if you ask me.

But after Eren's personal experiment with killing people (by murdering all my friends and my soulmate) Zeke was brought up for a retrial for possibly having a connection to the Jaeger Massacre. Inevitably, there was enough reasonable doubt that Zeke wasn't a part of Eren's plot. I think it's bullshit. I'm pretty sure Eren was too much of an idiot to work out something that detailed. But still, Zeke was acquitted of the new charges and merely moved to a maximum security prison. It makes me sick thinking someone of Eren's bloodline is still alive and lurking in the world. Don't even get me started on Mikasa.

I scroll past the killers' photos then grimace at a picture of me. I'm sitting in the witness stand looking absolutely horrible, and I was the healthiest of the four left to survive. I close my eyes remembering what it felt like to sit up on that podium.

I couldn't get over the scent of the place. A subtle lemon smell that must've been from wood polish. The courthouse was immaculate. Just like the hospital was. The two places that kept my residence for a solid two months were both so clean to the point that the chemical smell constantly reminded you that you were sitting in a once bacteria infested chair, and it nearly drove me crazy. I wanted to smell the faint propane from Marco and I's gas oven, the stench of a forgotten pile of dirty clothes in the corner, the familiar woodsy scent of Marco's shampoo. I wanted to smell leftover candles, old food, and aged carpet. But I was surrounded by bleach and antibacterials and soon enough, the clothes that I brought from my house, that smelled like the things I loved, also faded away to the cleaning solution scent.

During the time of the trial, I was in a similar mental state to Armin's currently. I was either screaming, throwing things, desperately trying to harm myself with whatever sharp or toxic object I could get my hands on, or I was silent, catatonic, and stoic. I was almost deemed unfit for trial because everytime Hanji mentioned the case I started succumbing to hyperventilating panic attacks. But of course, who cared about my mental state when the world wanted the gory details?

After a lot of fucking therapy with Erwin, I sat on that podium and stared at Mikasa for the first time since that night. Unsurprisingly, Mikasa looked fine. She didn't seemed bothered that she could possibly be facing a lifetime in prison for accessory to a crime and attempted murder. Just like me, I'm sure the only thing she was worried about is the fact the Eren wouldn't be there to save her anymore. And she no longer had Eren to save. Her purpose was lost.

I wanted her to die though. I swore to the court that she killed Marco, but after they were able to uncover the recordings of the cabin and woods that night, it was disproved. It made me sick everytime they said the phrase, "Reiner Braun accidentally shot and killed Marco Bodt." Even the moment Marco was shot dead I hadn't blamed Reiner for it. Because he didn't. Reiner was only to try and save his friend just like Marco was.

Even though I'd already been released on my murder charge of Eren, they still questioned me about it in court. I sat there empty like my friends' caskets in their graves and stared holes of hate into the defenders face.

She quirked an eyebrow at me, her glasses hung low on her nose making her look like a trashy substitute teacher. "Tell me, Mr. Kirstein, what happened after you, Mr. Arlert, Ms. Leonhart, and Ms. Ackerman escaped the burning cabin?"

I waited, staring at her. Millions of people were watching me. There were almost three hundred people in the room, they stood up in the back because there weren't enough seats for the fucked up humans that wanted to see this trial in person, the rest of the people were watching on tv, waiting to hear more about the lasting legacy of their favorite modern serial killer. All of those people, including the families of my friends, my own parents, Marco's parents and sisters, and I stared right back at that sick defender, hoping that she could see the look in my eyes that was her dead client's last image before I shot him in the head.

"I carried Annie towards the trees," I said staring, unblinking. "Then I saw Eren in the woods running towards the garage, and I started shooting at him."

"Was Mr. Jaeger using a firearm at you or your friends at the time, or was he merely escaping?"

I paused, staring. "He was escaping."

"Did you know, before you started firing, that Mr. Jaeger was unarmed at that moment?"

"He had a knife."

"Yes, but he had no firepower, no guns, no distance weapons." She waited for me to say something. I didn't amuse her, I lowered my gaze until I was glaring at her through my eyebrows. "Can you approximate how far you were from Mr. Jaeger when you started shooting at him?"

"Forty feet."

"Forty feet," she repeats glancing back at the jury next to her. "Do you think it's possible to be harmed by a knife at a forty foot distance?"

Oh. My chest burned hot fire into my limbs. My weak body was charging with a rage that could only be tamed with the bloody image of that lady's face. I could feel the violence building inside of me, I was ready to leap over the podium and grab the woman's throat in front of millions of people. I would've done it. It's not like I had anything left to live for at that point. My life could've ended with a rain of bullets in that courtroom for all I cared. But I stayed in my seat with my hands gripping the wooden edges as I let my eyes linger on Marco that stood at the prosectures table next to my lawyer, Levi, and Hanji. Marco's eyes told me to remain calm, to remember that his family and my family were watching, that I would only be hurting him if I did something so destructive.

I then looked at Levi and Hanji. The two of them looked more pissed than I'd ever seen them. I could see Levi physically restraining Hanji with his hand around her shoulder. She was talking under her breath with a twisted scowl on her face. She kept trying to tell my lawyer to do something, but I don't think I could've been saved at that moment.

I looked at Marco, asking him for some wisdom, intelligence, restraint. I needed him to tell me what to say or I could be locked up just like Mikasa was.

Then I looked back at the defender and her trashy face. "The woods around the cabin had been booby trapped the whole night, he could've been leading me to another trap, I was protecting my friends." I don't know how I kept my calm. I don't know how I even came up with some crap like that. Maybe it was partly the truth, but I know for damn sure that I really just wanted to kill Eren.

"Perhaps," she said. I wished I had a gun. "But you chased after him never-the-less, correct?"

I gave a small nod.

"And were any traps set off?"

I shook my head slowly.

"And then when happened, Mr. Kirstein?"

I looked away from Marco, away from Levi and Hanji, away from the defender, and stared right at Mikasa. Her head was down but I knew she was watching, I waited for her to meet my eyes. I wanted this to hurt her.

"I shot him in the knee," I said when Mikasa's brown eyes locked onto mine. I remember looking at the devil itself that night, and now she's playing an innocent little girl. Tears burned in my eyes, I didn't know if it was from the memory, the rage, or the fact that I hadn't stopped crying for months. I let tears slip over my cheeks as I spoke. "He fell. Armin and I reached him and he was on the ground wounded and unarmed. He told Armin that he'd killed everyone just to make him go crazy. Eren blamed Armin for everything that happened that night. Armin had started to lose himself, so I shot Eren in the head so he'd stop talking."

I felt the stuttering light of flashing cameras and the heat of tension rise in the room, but I didn't take my eyes off of Mikasa. I wanted her to know that I killed Eren, that he deserved it, and that I'd motherfucking do it again.

Slips of misery poked through Mikasa's stone exterior. Her lips wavered, her shoulders tensed, her gaze narrowed. No camera could have caught her near invisible emotion, but I did. And that's all I needed.

I looked back at the defender with tears still streaming down my face. Hanji's face was in her hands and Levi still looked like he was trying not to pull out his gun and shoot me in the head to shut me up just like I did to Eren. Who fucking cares? I dared them to tell me I was wrong.

The defense tried to charge me with, at the very least, manslaughter. The jury talked about it for twenty minutes before coming to the educated conclusion that I was not guilty because "they would've done the same thing." Legally, I got off on self-defense, thankfully. And then was sentenced to a shit ton of time in Erwin's Rehabilitation Home for Young Adults.

The case quickly wrapped up after that. Neither Armin nor Annie could come to the hearings due to health reasons. But I'm sure they watched as Mikasa was led off the property in a reinforced van to take her to prison for the next twelve years. I wished it was more.

I remember leaving the courthouse that day. Well, actually, I don't, but I do remember walking out of the courtroom and blacking out. The next moment I remember was Hanji and Levi's arguing voice in my hospital room.

And that's what justice is supposed to look like, I guess.

I open my eyes to find my phone screen having faded to black and the light outside along with it. I glance over at Annie.

"Do you think there's a reason that the three of us survived?" I ask her, having no idea where I'm going with the question. I glance at the time, it's eleven at night, about the same time we found Historia dead.

Annie doesn't bother to look at me. She blinks at the window. I wonder if Armin is looking out his window the same way right now.

"I'm not sure if any of this was supposed to happen," she says finally. "Maybe we survived because we're being punished."

"Why would we be being punished?"

She shakes her head slightly. "I don't know. But I know that surviving hasn't been a blessing."

I blink at the dog that loves to ignore me even though it would die without me. Sasha and Connie's dog. This stupid animal should be with Sasha and Connie in their home laying across their tangled bodies as they loudly sleep. Marco loved this stupid dog. It would take him twenty minutes to say goodbye to the pet when we went over to Sash and Connie's to hang out. I always figured Marco and I would get a dog one day.

I know what should've been. I've played everyday thinking about what it would've been like if we hadn't gone to the cabin. Everyday would be so normal, so boring, so average, but it's all I wanted.

So now I have the rest of my lonely life to live with someone who hates me and a lingering memory of what I could've had. I just want to know why. Why did this happen? Why is this the universe that I was put in? Couldn't I have been put in the universe where Marco and I lived a long, boring life together until we died of heart problems? Or couldn't I have been put in the universe that killed the two of us that night?

All these possibilities. Some parallel universe that is controlled by a different god would've made Marco and I live opposite lives. I know there's some universe out there that has me dying at the hands of Mikasa instead of Marco, and he's the one that left laying on the floor of his apartment wondering why. There's an infinite amount of universes and an infinite amount of lives, there's always going to be a different decision that could've been made in that split moment that defined the rest of our lives.

I just want to know why this life is the one I've been forced to live.

I spend the rest of the night on the floor. Annie escapes to her room, probably just to leave me alone in my self pity. I let my mind be distracted by Marco's long body stretched across the couch. He looks like he's drifting in and out of sleep. It makes me question if Marco is a spirit or hallucination. Do ghosts sleep?

"Hey," I say, my mouth dry after not speaking for hours. Marco's eyes blink open slowly. As he catches my eyes, a soft smile spreads over his lips. I think of all the places I see Marco. Damn near everywhere. But he's only ever watching. "Why do you only talk to me at the cemetery?"

His smile fades away as his teeth worry at his bottom lip. He's hiding something, obviously, but I can't force him to do anything anymore so we'll see if he's feeling honest tonight.

"I wouldn't mind you talking to me, you know. I miss the sound of your voice."

He remains silent, looking at me with those sad eyes. I sigh, letting my hand drift up towards the couch just close enough to be an inch away from where Marco's hand is resting.

"Levi and Erwin know now," I say, watching the small space between our hands and hoping that he can close the distance. "Erwin might make me go back to the house. He'll try to take you away."

Honestly though, I'd like to see Erwin try and drag my stubborn ass back to that place. It's a voluntary thing anyway, but him, Levi, Hanji, and Petra will all gang up on me to go. And then I'll be in the house stuck with Eren-Armin.

I glance at the digital clock on the microwave in the kitchen. Just after 1AM. A rock rolls into my gut. I look back at Marco.

He continues to look at me the way he did in the courthouse. I stretch my fingers to close the space between our hands but Marco shifts away from my touch. I frown. So does he.

"It's been two whole years now," I say softly like I don't want to even hear it myself. "I miss you so much."

Eventually, my eyes fall heavier and heavier the longer I look at Marco. I finally fall asleep listening to Annie's soft sobs in the other room.

One year is far too short to be coming back to this place. Even as I take the exit that leads us towards the country roads that eventually wind their way to the Jaeger estate, I feel anxiety vibrating in my bones.

Halloween decorations litter the front lawns of rural homes we pass. I scowl at them. Annie says nothing as she looks out her passenger window with a box in her lap. The long drive seems to take an eternity without music and conversation.

Eventually, and with great trepidation, I turn left onto the great long gravel driveway that leads to the Jaeger cabin. As I pull onto the driveway, my instinct is to stop the car. Annie looks over at me with a question hanging in the air.

"I…" I start feeling my chest tighten around the lack of proper oxygen. "I just need a moment."

I stare down the long driveway as memories flood my mind. It looks different in the light. I promised Levi that we'd leave here before it got dark.

"Okay," Annie says softly. I swallow. Annie hasn't been here since that day. I was here a year ago to kill myself. And every news channel has paraded images of this place around the internet for the past two years. We're never going to be able to leave this behind.

If only a car had worked. If only a phone had cell service. If only someone flipped a lightswitch on. If only the microwave didn't work. If only Marco and I didn't split up in the woods. If only I carried the gun. If only Historia and Ymir didn't leave the group. If only Reiner wasn't depressed. If only Annie had gone to help Reiner and Bert. If only we'd stayed in the house. If only. If only. If only.

The damn woods. I train myself every morning by taking my run through the woods so that I don't have such a pathetic fear of them anymore. I've trained for such a long time and I still see my friends face behind trees and their screams in the distance. I still feel like Eren is watching me, taunting me, just like he did Armin.

I feel a hand rest softly over my forearms that's flexed with the force I'm holding the steering wheel at. I nearly jump thinking that it's Marco. I blink at Annie, surprised by her physical support. Usually the only physical support I got from her was a kick in the ass.

"Let's just get it over with," she states, looking down the driveway.

I sigh. Yeah, alright.

I drive incredibly slow towards the cabin, letting the car roll at whatever speed it wants and then tapping the brakes when I think we're going too fast. And all too soon, although it will always be too soon, the cabin appears into view. Well, what used to be the cabin.

The burnt down shell of the wooden structure sits abandoned on overgrown grass. Stray stands of yellow crime scene tape waves uselessly from a wooden beam that's somehow still standing. This place hasn't been visited in probably months, unless idiot kids have been poking around here. I hope Connie's spirit scares the shit out of them.

Annie and I look out at the land, neither of us making an effort to get out of the car just quite yet. My eyes hone in on the picture frames that sit in front of the burnt remains. My stomach sags.

"Let's go," Annie says as she starts getting out of the car. I sigh, letting her do her thing in getting out of the car because it takes her twice as long to do so. I wait until her wheels have hit the ground and then I slide out of the car with a groan.

"Jean."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," I mutter to Annie as I round the back of the car. Her wheelchair won't move nicely around this terrain, I'll have to push her even though she hates it.

"What?" Annie says looking up at me with a stupid expression on her face.

I give her a stupid look back, my temper already shortening at her imaptience. "I said I'm coming, jeez."

"I didn't say anything," she says, her expression flattening out.

I squint at her. "You said my name," I say, feeling my chest hump loudly. "You…"

I jerk around me, my eyes searching wildly for whatever the fuck just said my name. Someone definitely said my name. What the fuck is happening?

"Then who the-" I freeze when my turn meets the worried eyes of my dead boyfriend. I yelp and stumble back nearly collapsing on top of Annie into her wheelchair. I clutch at my chest trying to catch my breath. "You asshole, you can't do that to me."

"Jean," he says again, uncaring for the scare he gave me. The sound of his voice riddles goosebumps over my skin, it really sounds like him, not like he's just in my head. His gaze is parted from mine and looking anxiously into the trees. He holds his hands in front of him as he fidgets while popping his knuckles.

I blink at him. Then look over my shoulder at Annie who looks just as scared as me. "Do you…?" I ask her softly, not wanting to offend Marco if he hears.

She shakes her head giving me a level look that reminds me of Levi. I turn back to Marco.

"Marco?" I ask tentatively.

He rolls his lips together and blinks at the woods. He looks at me for a moment before he returns his look at the trees. "Something's wrong."

"What's wrong?" My protective instinct for my boyfriend kicks in whether he's dead or not.

"Someone's here," he says, his voice strained. I can see him physically swallow. God, this is unlike any hallucination I've had. "Someone I don't know. I-I don't know why they're here."

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

"The barn," he says looking back at me. My thundering heart stops. I wait for him to explain, but he doesn't. He just gives me that worried look as if the devil's about to walk through the trees.

I turn to Annie.

"Jean, I don't-"

"Hear me out," I stay stopping her before she can destroy the image of Marco just like everyone else tries to. "This is different from usual. He's saying that something is wrong and we should probably check the barn out."

She stares at me for a long time. She holds the box protectively in her lap. I can't imagine that there's any mental health book out there that tells you it's okay to fall into your hallucinations. But I really need to do this just to see if there's any validity or not.

"He usually doesn't speak to me, not for real. He speaks to me at the cemetery because, I don't know, I'm pretty sure I imagine most of the conversation. But he's really talking to me right now, and he's worried, and I really want to do this for him," I ramble, feeling like I'm pleading for my mother to let me go play with my friends. "Please, Annie."

"Jean," she says almost like a warning. "Marco is dead."

"I fucking know Marco is dead, okay? I just, you won't get it, just please, please let me do this one thing." Do I need Annie's permission to go investigate Marco's concern? No. But if I leave here alone here while I stumble into the woods that I tried to kill myself in, she will not hesitate to call Levi instantly. Levi who is probably waiting in his cop car now ready to break all speeding laws in getting here. I just don't want that. "Just five minutes, please."

Her hard gaze travels beyond me looking at the void behind me. No Marco. She sighs.

"Five minutes," she agrees, "And I'm going with you."

"Alright, fine, good, thank you," I mumble as I give a look at Marco over my shoulder with a thumbs up. He doesn't seem amused by it. He still seems inherently worried.

I shuffle behind Annie and start pushing her around the wreckage of the burnt house towards the thick of the woods where the barn is. It'll be easier to find in the woods. Especially with the remnants of police tape leading us along.

My chest thunders as my hands shake. I should not be doing this. This is literally the worst thing to do when coming here. The barn is the last place I should go. The barn where Ymir died. The barn where Sasha died. But Marco's concerned, and I'm still going to do what I can to protect him.

Annie's wheelchair rumbles and bounces jerkily over the unkempt land. I hear her curse to herself as we move along. Marco trails beside me until we're deeper in the woods, then he starts to lead us towards his sickly feeling.

I try not to pay attention to the nature around us. I try not to envision the trees in the dark with blood pumping through my veins like rockets through the sky. I try not to think about the way I held Marco's hand as we ran, how scared we felt even talking too loud or using a flashlight. I try not to think of the moment I heard the gunshot fire.

A mess of tangled police tape catches my eye. I stop looking over the squared off area.

The grave.

They dug up the dirt that had collapsed in on Marco. Part of the netting is still overgrown with weeds and grass that had made the hole look less intimidating. All I can hear is Marco's cries, the look on his face, the desperate grasp of his hands. Marco. Marco. Marco.

I shake my head, my eyes flicking back to the figure that's leading us on as he starts to disappear into the trees. "M-Marco!" I call after him hoping that this all wasn't a sick game my brain is playing on me.

Marco pauses, looking back at us, and waits.

"What's he doing?" Annie asks lowly.

"He's leading us," I say keeping my eyes on Marco like he might disappear at any moment.

It doesn't take long until we're back at the barn. Marco stops feet away from it looking up at the defaced paint of the wooden structure. It looks like kids have been here. Graffiti decorates the barn in loud, viscous words and hopeful prayers. Some tags condemn the demon that has possessed the Jaeger family, other's wish mercy on the victims' souls.

"You good?" I ask Marco beside me. If I were alone, or if it was just Annie and I, I would've lost my shit already. But with Marco here needing me, a survival instinct has kicked in and kept any crippling thoughts from torturing me.

He glances at me with a twitch at his frown. "Yeah," he says, "Let's go."

We step towards the barn, I leave Annie to the side just in case something really is wrong. Marco lets me approach the door first, giving a second glance before nodding. I wrap my fingers around the rusted lever of the barn and pull the creaky door open.

It takes me two moments of squinting into the dusty darkness to recoil back. The stench hits me first. Rotten meat and excreted feces flood my senses and have me gagging in a bush. Annie's asking me questions already but I need a moment to process the panic that fires up in my head.

This can't be happening. This isn't real. Marco isn't real. The scent isn't real. Everything is just a response to visiting a place that was such a traumatic experience for me. My brain merely can't handle this place anymore. It's trying to ward me off and get me to safety by scaring the hell out of me. Yeah, it's just my brain. It's just my brain.

"Jean," Annie says. I look at her. She's got her hand covering her mouth and nose, her eyes water.

Fuck. She can smell it too. It's real.

"What's going on?" she asks from behind her hand.

My body loses its brain as it decides that going back towards the barn is a good idea. Marco watches me, just as horrified as I feel. I stumble to the barn with my arms feeling like logs hanging from my sides. My brain repeats the same mantra.

This can't be happening.

I peer into the dark again. My eyes burn along with my throat. Marco stays close to my side.

My eyes decipher the barn with the slotted light coming through the roof. Once my eyes dilate properly, I squint at the figure that lays among the shadows.

Another rush of sickness has me falling to my knees outside the door of the barn.

"Jean," Annie calls again. I hear her wheels scraping along the ground getting closer inch by inch. "What the hell is-"

"Tell me that isn't real," I say into the darkness. Annie pauses behind me close enough to look inside the barn along with me. She's silent. The three of us are silent. Praying that the universe isn't telling us that perhaps everything that happened does have purpose. "Annie!" I choke, feeling the fear turn my bones into jelly.

"Jean, it looks like-" Marco starts. I cut him off.

"Don't Marco, I fucking know, just don't say it. Don't." I whimper as I look at the only hint of bright color in the barn.

Long blonde hair tangled and ragged in dried blood.

"Jean," Annie says, her voice calm and even. "Call Levi."