Jean felt about ready to die by the time he finally managed to find the old barn his mother had mentioned. He couldn't even bring himself to root around for the cart he was hoping to find, barely managing to set Marco down before he collapsed himself.
So, as much as he'd thought he'd carry Marco to the ends of the Earth, he was realizing that he, physically, had limits.
Marco definitely weighed more than him, so it was a miracle he'd managed thus far. And his body was definitely not pleased with all the exertion.
He deemed the barn safe enough, so he let himself lie in misery for a few minutes, just huffing and glaring at the caving ceiling, daring it to cause him any sort of trouble. It, thankfully, didn't, and he was left to wallow in peace.
After a brief moment of respite, though, he forced himself up, dragging himself to Marco's side. The other boy seemed to be asleep, considering how blank his expression was. If he was awake, he'd be grimacing. Jean didn't know if he'd really just dozed off, or if the pain had been enough that he'd lost consciousness, but either way, he was thankful.
For a moment, he just watched, pushing the sweaty bangs from Marco's face as his chest rose and fell steadily. He let it calm him, let it steady his aching, quivering muscles. Because it'd been worth it. Marco was alive. Marco was with him. Marco had been wrong.
He reached for the pack his mother had given him, fishing around until his fingers found a jar, which he pulled out, taking the top off and sniffing to make sure it was, indeed, the salve that she'd mentioned, and not some strange jam.
When the herbal smell met his nose, he set the jar aside, searching again until he found some clothing she'd packed for him. He ripped the shirt without much thought or care, forcing himself to his protesting feet with a creak in his muscles and hobbling out towards the river that trailed behind the barn, soaking the pieces of the shirt as much as he could before returning.
With Marco still asleep, he tried to work quickly, cleaning the burns and scrapes that he found as well as he could with his limited supplies, glad the other wasn't awake to feel the pain.
It reminded him that his exhaustion was nothing compared to what Marco was dealing with. What was some physical exertion and a possibly broken rib in comparison to Marco's battered, burned, broken body? It was nothing.
He dipped his fingers into the salve, feeling the coolness for a moment before applying it to the worst of the damage, mostly Marco's feet. They really were starting to blister, and it made Jean cringe, but he persevered. If Marco could survive receiving the burns, Jean could survive treating them.
Once he'd done all he could think of, he let himself settle back in, pressing himself to Marco's side, curling there but not letting any of his weight truly fall on the other boy, scared to worsen any internal injuries. He'd have to be satisfied with just the faintest of contact.
They'd have to stop somewhere and have Marco's bones set. Get him proper medicine, proper bandages. But he had no money. What doctor would treat a penniless patient?
Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes, pressing his nose into Marco's shirt, inhaling. It smelled like smoke and ash and death. But he found what he was looking for, the cinnamon, the chamomile, the sweat. He found Marco underneath the smell of fear and despair. It was enough, coupled with his physical fatigue, to drag him into sleep, albeit fitful.
It didn't last long, though, for Marco stirred at some point in the afternoon, waking with a groan and a pitiful whine of pain before realizing that Jean was curled against him. The sound roused him, and he blinked blearily in the sunlight that shone through the holes in the roof.
Marco quieted himself down, but he couldn't help some muffled sobs as he was reacquainted with his agony. The sound made Jean want to cry, but he fought it down in favor of brushing his fingers through Marco's bangs again, letting him know he wasn't alone, however small a comfort that might be.
The darker boy managed to silence himself, only a soft whimper escaping if he shifted too much. Jean kissed his forehead, unsure of what he could really do other than be there. If only he could take the pain away. He'd deal with it himself if he could only relieve Marco.
"Mmm, Jean-" Marco murmured, wincing. Jean hushed him, but went ignored. "Jean, where are we?" He asked, voice weak and eyes still closed.
Jean sat back, running a hand through his own hair now.
"Just the next town over." He offered softly, finding Marco's fingers and giving them a small squeeze, grateful that it didn't seem to cause any apparent pain, so perhaps he'd managed without any broken digits.
He watched Marco's brow furrow, confusion flitting over his features.
"W-Why?" He inquired.
Oh. Right. Marco didn't know. Marco hadn't been there to hear the plan. Marco didn't know that he probably wouldn't see his family again for a very long time, if ever.
Jean felt like he was swallowing stones.
He couldn't bring himself to reply, not for a long time. He watched as confusion melted into an expression of concern, but still, his lips couldn't form the words he needed to say.
"Jean?" Marco prompted, fighting to get his eyes open.
With a sigh, Jean set about explaining things. Unable to find a way to make it sound better than it was, he just let the words tumble from his lips, as they always did.
Every emotion known to man flitted across Marco's features; shock, fear, grief, regret, relief, hopelessness, hope. Jean read each one, and let himself hurt, knowing he was the one that put them on Marco's face.
He was quiet for a long time, and even when he took a breath to respond, it was delayed as it hitched and he ground his teeth against the pain. Eventually he managed to get his words out, though.
"Are they alright?" He asked. Jean didn't have to ask who he was talking about. No one else was in danger, after all.
"I… I don't know." He admitted, thinking about all the freckled faces they'd left behind. Marco didn't seem comforted. "I can't promise anything, but I don't think my father could get away with going after a whole family what's done no harm." He reasoned.
That did seem to help, and Marco's brows relaxed just a bit as he eased into the general state of not moving as much as possible. Jean just sat with him for a long time, carding through his hair. But they couldn't just waste away in a decrepit barn; He hadn't carried Marco this far just to give up.
He got up, soaking the shirt again and cleaning Marco up as best he could, wiping at the ash that he hadn't paid much mind before going to sleep. He reapplied the salve, too, grimacing through the anguished noises Marco couldn't bite back.
Then he set to searching, rooting through piles of old, stale hay and cobwebs in hopes of finding the old cart. He'd nearly given up when, with a sound of annoyance, he realized that it was tucked right behind the door.
Upon wheeling it around a bit to check for any huge repairs that might be necessary, he found it to be in decent enough condition. It could use a few new parts, sure, and it squeaked something fierce, but it would be indescribably better than carrying Marco on his back.
Once he was sure it could take the weight and was in the best position possible, he got to work helping Marco up onto it. The other boy helped as much as he could, shifting as much as his body would allow to make it a bit easier to get him from the ground to the bed of the cart. Jean almost wished he hadn't, though, considering how much it apparently hurt. He didn't know how many more of Marco's cries he could handle.
After getting Marco situated as comfortably as he could, he sorted out the contents of the packs, shoving anything soft into one and tucking it under Marco's head. Everything else went into the other bag, and was tucked against Marco's side.
To say setting off was much easier this time around would be an understatement.
Though his muscles still ached from too much physical exertion, pulling the cart along was infinitely easier. Once he'd had some rest, and his screaming muscles had time to reconstruct themselves, he'd bet he could walk around the Earth thrice without much complaint.
A horse would be nice, though.
He'd have to make do, though. The poor didn't get a lot of choice, and he considered them lucky to have had the good fortune of transportation at all.
He found the path, since he didn't know the forest around this area, and didn't need to keep to it anymore anyway. With a trail to follow, he could afford to let his mind wander, and it helped to distract him from the way his body protested each step.
They were going to have to stop, at some point. The food they'd managed to bring along wouldn't last them very long. Marco needed medical attention. He had no idea what path he ought to take to get to the town where Marco's cousin lived. He didn't even know the name of it. He was going to have to check the tavern of every town even vaguely to the East.
But where could he get money for food? Where could he get a doctor for Marco? Where could he get directions to an unknown location?
It dawned on him how lost he was, and how scared that made him.
His plan seemed so perfect as he made it, and it had been going smoothly enough thus far. But strategies don't prepare you for the uncertainty of a new life.
Jean felt like a child, and he hadn't felt that way in a long time. So long he'd paraded around, demanding to be treated like an adult, dressing himself up and going to work, hoping to gain enough respect to be good enough for a father that had never loved him at any age anyway. But he thought, maybe, if he could just turn out right, maybe things might change.
But now he just felt like a child. A child that dressed up in adult's clothing, petulantly insisting he was old enough for responsibility, but afraid to take it. He wanted someone to hold him, to hush him, to tell him what to do, and how to fix all of his mistakes. Someone to forgive him, and help him, to guide him.
Childhood had to be put behind him, though. He had to be the person that forgave, and helped, and guided. He had to protect, and assure, and hush the quiet sobs that Marco seemed to have little control over as the cart jostled over rocks in the path.
He had to be the shoulder, wet with tears. He had to be the face of stony resolution even in the face of hopelessness. He had to be the comforting hands patting a trembling back as someone that needed him was wracked with uncertainty, fear, and pain.
He kept telling himself he had to be strong. Stronger than his fear, stronger than his father, stronger than the unknown, stronger than Marco's pain. But maybe he didn't. Maybe he just had to strong enough to know them, and overcome them.
Without much to work with, he fed Marco bits of stale bread dipped in a sticky jam that his mother had made. Marco would have to take breaks as he chewed, even his jaw too sore and weak to keep up the motion for too long. Jean was patient though, taking his own bites when Marco couldn't manage it anymore.
Once they'd both had a meager meal, he set back to walking until there was no more light to walk by, and he found a small clearing to rest in for the night. He just hoped there were no wild creatures that would disturb them. He had to rely on their luck alone in that respect.
But it would seem that the powers that be had had their fill of making their lives miserable, for they woke with all their limbs intact. Well, as intact as they'd been upon going to sleep, anyway.
Jean tended Marco's burns again, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore Marco's reluctant protests. As much as it made him wince, it served to keep him moving, no matter how much his legs wanted to give out. He threw together a sorry breakfast of some berries he found and a sliced apple from his bag to curb their appetites
It almost felt like the food had the opposite effect, though. Instead of feeling refreshed, Jean only felt hungrier. He could almost feel his stomach trying to eat itself. But he didn't dare stop to eat more. If he did, they'd run out of what food they had much faster.
But his resilience didn't last long when his stomach started growling loud enough for Marco to hear.
"Jean, eat." The other commanded weakly.
Biting his lip for a moment, Jean sighed. He couldn't exactly claim that he didn't need it. And Marco would only worry if he didn't stop.
He pulled the cart to the side of the path, sitting down next to Marco and pulling out the bread, and some cheese this time, cutting it with the knife his mother had packed him. Again, he fed Marco, taking bites in between. The cheese definitely felt more filling than the jam, so there was that. But it also disappeared a lot faster.
"…We need money." He announced with a grimace. Marco opened his eyes, blinking in the sunlight for a moment before focusing on Jean.
It was ironic. Jean had been around money his whole life. His father was the tax collector, after all. Jean had probably seen more money in one day than most people saw in their lives. It had always been present, but he'd never wanted for it.
Now that it was inaccessible to him, it was the only thing he wanted for. Not out of greed, but out of fear. Fear of starvation. Fear of losing Marco. Fear of having made it so far for naught.
"Sometimes you don't need money." Marco offered softly, his eyes too sincere for it to be a general statement. Jean blinked.
Then he heard stumbling feet, as if answering his curiosity. Before long, a head of blonde hair emerged from the nearby trees, glancing around before blue eyes landed on the two that sat staring back.
The girl left the trees behind, walking fully into view with a broad smile on her lips. She was beautiful, in an ethereal way. Sort of like Marco, Jean decided. She had that same knowing look, as if she was privy to the future.
"Marco?" She guessed.
Jean blinked, looking to Marco quizzically. But Marco didn't meet his gaze, looking instead to the girl, their eyes locked. Jean could see the conversation they were sharing, but he couldn't hear it. He had no idea what was being passed between them, but he calmed when Marco let out a sigh.
"Let's get you put back together." The girl suggested. It seemed to dawn on her that she hadn't acknowledged Jean at all, and she turned her smile on him in turn.
"My name is Historia. I don't know your name, but I know you're looking for Ymir." She offered.
Jean only continued to stare, mind unable to keep up. Historia appeared unfazed though, perhaps used to this sort of reaction. She only smiled a bit softer.
"I came to help you along." She explained. "And to get Marco in working order again." She added.
Jean looked at Marco, as if hoping for some sort of explanation, or even just a reassuring look, but the boy had his eyes closed again. His body looked more relaxed, at least.
Well, if Marco had no complaints, then Jean couldn't really argue. Help was help. And she seemed to know what she was talking about. Maybe he was just losing his sanity with his energy. Regardless, she seemed like a beacon of hope after days that had done their best to stamp his hope out entirely.
"U-Um-" He stuttered, standing up. "I'm Jean." He offered. He wasn't sure if he ought to shake her hand, maybe kiss it? But she simply nodded, walking up to his side.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. And, seeing as we'll be traveling together, we'll surely get to know each other better. But for now, I'd like to set Marco's bones before they heal wrong. Please follow me." She requested, looking at him pointedly until he scrambled to his feet, putting everything away and then getting into position to pull the cart again.
He had no idea who this Historia girl was, how she knew Marco, or Ymir, or how she'd found them. But for now, he'd have to trust her.
Historia proved to be good company. She led them to a nearby town where she'd stopped in at a shop to buy some bandages and food. When she returned, after making sure that Marco was asleep, she immediately got to work on correcting the positions of his bones and splinting them. Jean tried his best not to cringe at the noises and offer his assistance where he could.
After his bones were set, she helped him to discard the bandages made of the torn shirt, reapply the salve, and redress them with the fresh bandages. Marco didn't even stir.
With him taken care of, her next task was preparing something of a dinner, the smell of which had Jean's mouth watering and stomach growling. Marco finally roused from his slumber just as she was finishing up, letting Jean sit him up a bit so he could have some of the soup she'd made.
He already looked a million times better, his eyes not having to fight to stay open, and he managed to get through a whole bowl of soup without having to take a break to rest. It was improvement, and that was all that mattered.
Once she'd cleaned up from their supper, Historia suggested that they rest for the day, since they'd be walking for a while on the way to Ymir. And, seeing as she'd done them nothing but good thus far, Jean agreed, sidling up next to Marco and somehow finding the one position that allowed them to press together painlessly. Historia pulled a bedroll out of the large bag she had slung over her shoulders, settling down a few feet away and wishing them a good night. She was asleep only a few minutes later, the softest snores filtering their way under the sounds of the outdoors.
They'd been silent, but now that they had some privacy, Jean couldn't help but utilize it.
"Hey." He prompted. He knew Marco was awake, but he wanted to give him the option to feign sleep if he wasn't up to talking.
"Hello." The brunette replied, opening his eyes and finding it in him to offer a small smile. Jean mirrored it, but much larger, a bit elated to see the familiar expression after days of only grimacing.
"How are you feeling?" He inquired, looping an arm under his companion's neck carefully and rubbing his shoulder gently.
"Generally, like death." Marco replied, eyes falling shut again, though his lips were still quirked up in the shadow of a grin. Jean huffed at the morbid humor. "But definitely better than before." He added, tilting his head up as if he knew instinctually that Jean was leaning down to kiss him. Maybe he did. He probably did.
"Historia definitely did you some good." He agreed, glancing in the blonde's direction. She didn't stir. "Um… Do you know her?" He wondered. "Because she seems to know you."
Marco opened his eyes again, letting them blink a few times before offering an answer.
"We hadn't met previously, per se." He began after his pause. "But she's on a similar plane as me, but she's definitely higher. She's very open to experiences, and she can see the things I do, probably more. We've never met, but she probably sensed that she was needed, thanks to our shared ties with Ymir. Though we don't know each other, we feel a familiarity by proxy."
Jean couldn't really think of a way to respond, mostly because he couldn't really understand what Marco meant. He'd have to chalk it up to being one of Marco's weirdly magical talents and trust that they'd end up in a good place. And honestly, what had he to lose?
"…Did you know this whole time that I was going to save you?" Jean inquired, changing the subject. That might explain his relative calm, despite the situation he'd been in. Marco swallowed, thickly enough that Jean could see his throat bob.
"I knew you'd try." The taller boy finally offered after a pause that spanned what felt much too long a time. Maybe spending so much time with Marco had made him more perceptive, because Jean didn't miss what the pause implied. Marco clarified for him anyway. "I didn't think you would succeed."
Jean looked up at the stars that made their best attempt to shine through the leaves of the trees, taking in this revelation.
"You weren't supposed to succeed. I was supposed to die." Marco continued, chest heaving with a soft sigh. Jean's heart felt like it was being constricted at the mere thought. "To tell you the truth, I don't know exactly how you managed all this, Jean."
Marco shifted a bit, face drawn up in a pained scowl until he found a comfortable position and settled back down.
"If I'm being honest, I'm sort of lost right now. I didn't anticipate being alive this long, so my foresight… Well, I suppose we'll just call this an adventure. It'll be interesting to see what the world is going to bring us." He suggested, letting another smile pull at the corners of his lips.
Jean kept his eyes trained on Marco's smile, watching it naturally fade into neutrality, and eventually part as he fell asleep.
He felt a bit shaken knowing that Marco wasn't meant to be alive. But then, if that was true, then why had he survived? It was both confusing and empowering, to think he'd bettered fate itself. To think he'd pulled Marco straight out of fate's hands without apology.
It made him appreciate each of Marco's soft breaths just a little bit more.
Historia woke him in the morning with a bowl of porridge. Where she'd gotten milk, he had no idea, but he wasn't about to complain as he kissed Marco into consciousness and helped him through his portion. They didn't linger long, heading back to the path and continuing along it, through a couple towns.
Not much was said, aside from Historia's quiet chattering. She spoke nearly endlessly, the topics mostly unrelated. It was likely just for some noise to pass the time, which was later confirmed when she gave up on talking, and switched to a gentle singing voice, which waned into humming, and then silence as the day passed and became night. By the time they decided to rest for the day, it'd been a good two hours since anyone had uttered a word.
"We're getting close." Historia offered with a bright smile as she carefully cut a carrot into the soup that Jean was stirring for her. "If we keep good pace, we could make it into town by tomorrow night."
That was good news. Despite the tough façade he was putting up, Jean's legs had been wobbly at best lately. Forcing himself up that morning had been a true struggle, only bested by his desire to get Marco somewhere safe that he could properly recover.
If it was just one more day, he could do it. Having a timeline made the difference. One more day before he could heft Marco into a bed, and have a doctor look at him, and then curl up against his side, and sleep in the next morning, and not worry about whether they'd get attacked by animals or caught by persistent pursuers from town.
One more day.
Marco seemed to like the sound of that, too. He offered them both a generous smile from where he sat against a tree. Historia again took it upon herself to cook something for them. Jean offered what little was left in their packs, then tended the fire while she worked. It was another stew of some sort, but after nearly starving, he wasn't much picky.
After briefly attempting to feed himself in vain, Marco nudged his bowl into Jean's hand and they resumed the new usual of Jean eating in between Marco's bites.
"Sorry I'm so helpless, right now." He sighed, eyes perusing the grass beneath him. Jean rolled his eyes, dipping out another helping, since Marco had already finished his first.
"Hush. You don't need to apologize." He scolded, quirking a brow to dare the other boy to argue. "You're doing so much, already. You're alive." He reminded, voice softer.
Marco looked a little surprised when he lifted his head to look at Jean's face. Maybe he wasn't used to Jean saying things so sincerely. It sounded sort of grown-up.
He smiled, eventually, and nuzzled into the careful embrace Jean wrapped him in. Historia ate quietly, facing into the forest, watching birds and squirrels frolic and hiding a small smile. They went to bed with hearts lighter than they'd felt in days.
If only Jean's legs had felt half as light the next day. Instead, they felt like they were made of lead, with boulders as shoes. It was all he could do to drag them across the dirt of the path, dragging Marco behind him at a painstakingly brisk pace that Historia set. He probably would have keeled over if not for the promise of a real destination so near.
They were nearly there.
Historia pointed between two small mountains they'd been walking towards, downwards, and Jean spotted it; A town nestled in a valley, faint but real, and so close he could see it.
"That's it. Just a bit more." Historia urged, smiling encouragingly. Jean nodded, setting his jaw with his determination.
The sun had just hit the horizon when they found themselves at the edge of town. Maybe he was just hysterical from exhaustion, but the orange light that washed over the buildings and cast long shadows that obscured shapes in the pavement took his breath away.
It was an unfamiliar place, but it already felt more like home than where he'd come. People greeted Historia as they trudged through the streets, asked after Marco's wellbeing, even stopped them to insist they have a drink of water.
Finally, Historia pushed open the door to a wide-set building near what must have been the center of town. A bell rang above the door as she disappeared inside, then again as it closed behind her. Jean took the opportunity to rest his aching body, and he hopped up into the cart with Marco, sitting with his legs stretched out.
Marco smiled up at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand for a fleeting moment.
Historia returned with another woman in tow. She was much taller, and definitely shared the Bodt resemblance, dark complexion but freckles dotted along the parts of her skin that saw the most sunlight. The similarities ended there, though. Her look was sour, at best, and it was obvious in the quirk of her brow that she had a persistently bad attitude. Jean knew, because his brow quirked similarly.
She managed to crack a smile, though, when she finally located Marco, squinting against the sun with a hand up to provide her eyes shade.
"Wow, Marco." She breathed, traipsing over. "You look like you died and came back." She crooned, making Jean jump as she cackled. Marco chuckled along weakly.
"I might as well have." He agreed. "It's good to see you, Ymir."
The woman, Ymir, grinned.
"I'm sure it is. Come on, let's get you inside. Historia said to have a doctor ready, so I'm going to get him. But let's get you upstairs first." She suggested, nodding towards the building she'd come from.
Jean took that as his cue to get up and be useful, so he slithered out of the cart and onto his feet, wincing as he put his weight on his legs again.
Ymir seemed to notice him for the first time, and he watched her look him up and down, then take several seconds to pass a judgment. It didn't seem to be favorable, based on the face she pulled, but she didn't argue when he moved to help her get Marco inside.
Together, they managed to haul him inside what turned out to be a tavern, up the stairs and into one of the rooms. Jean didn't miss the way Marco's expression melted a bit as he finally got to sink into a bed, a real bed, with a pillow and blankets.
He smiled, petting Marco's hair when no one was paying attention.
We made it.
Marco didn't say it, but Jean could see it in his eyes. They were glowing like they hadn't in too long.
Ymir excused herself to fetch the doctor. Historia went to help the kitchen get dinner ready, promising to bring some up when it was done. The door shut behind her, and Jean turned back to Marco.
Wordlessly, he shifted onto the bed, squeezing himself into the space left along Marco's ribs and hip. He took his hand to squeeze again, but not too hard. Marco was still hurt. He would be for a while.
Jean still had to get a new job, to provide for them.
They still had to find a proper place to live.
Marco's family was still in unknown condition.
Their love still was taboo.
But for just a moment, Jean decided not to let himself care. They were alive, they were safe for the time being, and Marco was going to get the treatment he needed. Joan was far away and forgotten. Life was starting anew.
Marco's eyes caught the waning sunlight and sparkled like rum, and Jean let himself get drunk.
They were going to make it.
They were going to survive. Together.
Fate be damned.
A/N: Yikes. Yup. That three month wait sure did happen. I really struggled at the end here, especially since I wasn't sure how I wanted things to conclude. I've been floundering over this for literally months, and I just can't anymore. This is what I managed.
Sorry if it's not the ending you wanted/expected. To be honest, I went back and forth between Marco surviving and dying pretty much up until the chapter before this one. I rather solidly planned to have him die in the beginning, but the more that I talked it over with people, the more that seemed to be a cop out.
I then strongly considered having Marco pull a Houdini, escaping in a poof inexplicable to even Jean. But then the message would have been entirely lost.
So here we are. How did they defeat fate? THE POWER OF LOVE. And fire. The two most powerful things in the world.
If you can't tell, I'm winding down to the final conclusion. Gotta advertise before I go. You know how it is.
I've not been working on anything SnK related lately, to be honest. What I have posted right now is all I have planned at the moment. I'm sure I'll have a revival when I start up the anime again. I still have to see the movie too! And I'm really behind in the manga now…
Of late, I've been keeping up with Steven Universe and having my life altered by Life is Strange, so if you're in either of those fandoms then my profile might still be of some interest to you.
Alright, I'm rambling. I tend to draw out endings, and here I am, perpetuating my own sterotype. Thank you, to all of those resilient readers out there who had the patience to wait for all of these updates. I'm impressed, because I don't know if I could. You've all been great to me, and I've loved reading your feedback and talking with you when I could. It's been real guys.
KuroRiya
九六りや