Jean stared at his boots. There wasn't much else for him to look at. Not much that he wanted to look at, anyway.

Soldiers were running around doing everything they could to make themselves seem busy. Most of them had jack shit to do, but just sitting around waiting for the order to be sent back out into the hell Trost had become wasn't palatable by most. Jean hated the taste, too, yet had the heart to try and fool himself.

"Hey, Bertholdt," Jean said, lifting his head to stare at the gray canvas overhang shielding them from the afternoon light. "When Commander Pyxis said anyone could back out of this mission with no repercussions … Did you consider it?"

Jean's passive gaze shifted to the tall boy with elongated features sitting on a crate to his left. Said boy was looking back at him with an expression which could have ranged from concern to constipation.

A drop of sweat trailed down the side of Bertholdt Hoover's face as he looked away. "Of course not," he said. He was observed for a moment in anticipation of a follow up statement. None came.

"Right," Jean said, returning his attention to the canvas. "Of course not."

You have more faith in Eren than I do, Jean thought.

"Oh! I know you."

Jean lowered his head, a line forming between his brows. His expression grew more confused as he regarded the girl standing in front of him.

"You're Jean, right?" the girl said, pointing. "From Trost– the one who came up with the retreat formation."

For a heartbeat Jean rejoiced in the revelation that he'd been approached by a member of the opposite sex who was quick to point out his admirable exploits.

"I hear they're sending you back out there," the girl said.

The words were like throwing a bucket of water on a flame and caused Jean's shoulders to slump. He appreciated the girl's concerned tone, although he could've done without the grim reminder of what was to come.

A distraction from the dejected feeling came in the form of Jean taking a closer look at the girl's face. Her delicate features were nice to take in, but there was something else squirming in the back of his mind.

"You were there," he said. "You were in Trost. I think I remember seeing you talk to Marco."

The girl nodded, the braid of blonde hair on her shoulder shifting as she looked down the street. "Have you seen him? I heard the Commander said anyone could take off if they want to, so I'm getting him out of here."

Jean's slouch retreated. "Getting him ou–?"

His eyes widened as the memory resurfaced of Marco standing on the rooftops of Trost with a determined expression.

'I'm going to save my sister!'

"You're Celine," Jean said.

The person before Jean was short enough to initially make him believe she was a fellow cadet around his age. Her height was one of many things leaving her with close to no physical resemblance between her and Marco. The argument could be made that they had the same eyes, but to Jean there was a huge difference between the warmth behind Marco's gaze and the sharp nature of Celine's.

"Right, Celine Bodt," Celine said, offering her hand. It was left outstretched as Jean slowly got to his feet. A frown touched her lips as Jean took a step forward, keeping his own hands lowered.

"You're here …" Jean said, the emotion draining from his voice. "... to make that decision for him? You're here to ask Marco to abandon his duty as a soldier?"

Jean was being regarded as if he was touched in the head. The offered hand was withdrawn.

"He's already done more than enough," Celine said. "So have you, right? It's bullshit they're sending you back out there. The Garrison is made up of plenty of skilled soldiers who have yet to see combat; they can assist Eren Jaeger in his mission. I would say you all have more than earned the right to refuse this order."

The corner of Jean's mouth lifted. "Oh, so you care, now?"

"What?" Celine said, looking every bit lost.

"That's what it took, huh?" Jean said. His hands balled into fists. "It took Marco saving you from getting eaten by Titans for you to finally acknowledge he exists … for you to finally start acting like his sister."

A warning flashed behind Celine's eyes. Jean didn't heed it.

"He almost died," Jean said. He squeezed his eyes closed. Anger and dread swirled in his gut to create a storm he was having trouble navigating. The urge to lash out intertwined with the desire to drop to the ground and curl up in a ball at the thought of what he was about to face on the other side of Wall Rose.

'You're not strong, Jean.'

Jean opened his eyes.

'That's why you understand how the weak feel. That's what makes you a great leader.'

The words had been spoken with enough conviction to make even Jean believe they were true. They had come from the mouth of a genuine leader, someone who was truly inspiring; even if Marco hadn't yet gotten to the point where he could see that quality in himself just yet.

"Marco almost died to save someone who didn't deserve it!" Jean shouted. He stood his ground as Celine took a step forward, all light behind her features having fallen away.

Jean hit the dirt with a thud as a result of his knees receiving a swift kick. He scrambled to sit up, getting pushed back to the ground by a boot on his collarbone. The fearless expression he'd been wearing before slipped as Celine stood over him.

"I don't give a shit about the opinion of some Titan fodder," Celine said.

Celine and Jean were given a wide berth as onlookers spoke in low tones. This didn't appear to bother Celine in the least as her eyes narrowed.

"If anyone's life is insignificant ... it's yours. Someone like you would do better to learn your place and keep your head down if you don't want it getting removed from your shoulders."

Jean's eyes grew wide.

It's like … looking at Eren, he thought.

Just not the way Eren would look at him. There was certainly animosity when Jean and Eren squabbled over one thing or another … Something else entirely overtook Jean's classmate when he went on about wiping out the Titans – a deep seeded hatred that sparked and consumed Eren until all that was left was a single driving force of destruction. That thing was inside Celine, too. Jean may not have known the cause of this fury, but he was well aware he was dangerously close to getting caught up in the collateral damage.

Jean tilted his head at the sound of shoes scraping.

Bertholdt was at his side, crouching in the dirt and keeping his eyes locked on Celine. The object of his attention didn't offer him so much as a glance until he made a move to help Jean up. The look Celine shot him as a warning enough for him to freeze.

"I know my life is insignificant," Jean said. He smiled despite himself when Celine looked back at him. "There's a lot of people just within my own class I don't stack up to. One of those people is Marco, who's wanted nothing more than to join the Military Police for the entire time I've known him. And you … you have no right to threaten that. He's already voiced to his superiors his decision to stay; there's no backing out now. Desertion would crush everything he's been working toward … You're not allowed to barge into Marco's life and act like you have the right to make any decisions for him."

Celine clenched her fist. "I don't give a shit! I'm getting him out! Who even are you, huh?! You're just some no-name asshole kid who doesn't even know what the hell he's talking about!"

"I do know!" Jean countered, raising his voice. "I actually know Marco! I've trained and fought beside him for the past three years! We've watched each other's backs and vowed we're going to make it to graduation together. You should know all this from his letters."

Jean grimaced. "You have no idea. You have no idea how much he wanted you to write him back. Every damn month we were in the Cadets, he would send you a letter. Even if he was exhausted, or sick, or sore enough he could barely hold a pencil, he'd write to you. For nearly three years … and he got nothing in return."

"Don't paint me like I'm some sort of heartless bitch!"

Jean recoiled from Celine's voice breaking into a high-pitched shriek. The sound caught the attention of more onlookers. The crowd surrounding the altercation grew at a steady rate. A distraction that had nothing to do with Titans was a welcomed relief, no matter the context.

"I never asked that idiot to write to me!" Celine said. The hair around her face shook loose from her braid, giving her a disheveled appearance. "I never asked him to rescue me, or to say things about me being brave! Marco did all those things on his own; I had nothing to do with it! None of what happened to him was my fault!"

"You're wrong!" Jean said. He did his best to sit up and fight the weight against his windpipe. "You played a huge role in his life – you were the biggest grievance."

Celine's resolve wavered. The opportunity was seized as Bertholdt grabbed Jean's arm and slid him from under Celine's boot. The two boys got to their feet as they regarded Celine in apprehension. They tensed as Celine took a quick step forward with her fist raised.

The crowd murmuring caused Celine to pause. She looked around as if only now noticing the throng of people. Teeth were bared when she brought her attention back to Jean.

"I never asked for this!" Celine said.

"Inaction is its own form of action!" Jean countered. "You could've written back, just once. I can't even fathom how you would've gone about your life reading all his letters and not having the heart to send a return message even one time."

Celine looked away; it wasn't fast enough. There was something Jean could sense she wanted to hide.

"You never read them," Jean said, speaking the words as if hoping he may be wrong. He appeared in absolute awe as Celine stared off into space while her mouth drew into a thin line.

Jean laughed despite the action bringing him no joy. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "You never read a single one. I just … I don't understand. Marco will defend you … he'll defend you no matter what, and you did nothing to deserve it. He was willing to die for you … and you did nothing to deserve it. But that's the kind of person he is. I wish there weren't people like you around to take advantage of that."

Celine's gaze snapped back to Jean's. "I'm trying to help him, now! I'm trying to make it so he doesn't have to put himself in danger again! Don't stand there like you're a fucking saint and tell me I'm not looking out for him, when you're the one telling me I should do nothing!"

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Bystanders immediately began to disperse and make themselves look busy as a voice within the crowd barked over their chatter.

"What the hell is going on?!" the voice said.

It was now Jean's turn to block out everything around him as he ignored Bertholdt's tug on his shoulder.

"You want him around so you can use him," Jean said. "You want him for protection, or maybe so you can pat yourself on the back and feel better about how you treated Marco like an insect for so long. You're not helping Marco; you're helping yourself."

Bertholdt gave Jean's arm a less gentle pull. The barking voice, likely a captain, was getting closer as the crowd moved away. Jean turned, pausing before taking a step.

"I won't tell you to stay away from Marco," Jean said. "I know you wouldn't listen to me about that. Just know you put him in jeopardy; Marco's life is worse off because you're in it."

Jean walked away. He stared ahead with a grim expression. The look on his face was mirrored by Bertholdt, but not his restraint; Bertholdt turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened.

"Is she coming after us?" Jean asked. His desire to appear collected in front of onlookers was the only thing keeping him from scrambling away like a child ascending the stairs of a dark basement. His hands formed into fists during the pause it took Bertholdt to respond.

"No," Bertholdt said. He turned forward. "She seems different now. Sort of like she's looking at us, but not seeing anything."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Jean said, the tension leaving his shoulders.

"I don't know," Bertholdt said, uncertain. "It only makes me feel sorry for her."

"That bitch doesn't deserve your pity," Jean said. He gave Bertholdt a pat on the shoulder, his companion seemingly taken aback by the friendly gesture. "Come on - let's go meet up with the others."