Chapter Text
Marco blinked his eyes open, grunting as the dawn’s morning light strained his sight.
He could hear songbirds outside, and the sound of water as it dripped down from the leaves of the trees surrounding the Shire.
He scanned the dim room while his eyes were still adjusting, and noticed the shape of Jean in the corner. The guy was already up and sitting the beanbag, another sketch in hand.
The tan haired teen looked up from the sketchpad, smiling meekly at Marco.
“Good morning, Freckles.”
Marco yawned, but smiled back at him.
“Morning, Jean. What time is it...?”
Marco's morning voice was scratchy. The freckled boy tended to his bedhead, smoothing down the strands of dark hair that stuck out sorely.
Jean shrugged, shaking his head.
“I don’t have my phone or a watch, so I never really know what time it is.” He chuckled.
Marco nodded, remembering his own watch was tucked up in his backpack. He crawled out of the makeshift bed to find it, the face of the clock read an hour and a half till noon.
While checking the time, Marco's ears went pink with the realization of what him and Jean had done together the night before.
Marco turned to face Jean, who was still sketching. His eyes were busy as they scanned the page, critiquing each and every stroke of the pencil no doubt.
Marco rose to his feet and tied the watch over his wrist, winding his way around the back of the beanbag to investigate.
It was yet another illustration of a current-day Marco, this time he was sleeping peacefully in the sketch. Jean had etched his skin smooth as velvet, and in the pose his fingers were curled up near his mouth. His eyelashes were full, and bold, heavy with sleep.
Jean was an amazing artist.
“You know, I am not the only option to draw.” Marco smiled, ruffling Jean’s hair and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.
If it was all out in the air now, Marco was less afraid to be forward about his affections.
Jean went completely red, his lips pressed together tight.
“Are you upset that I draw you so much?” The tan haired boy asked, setting his pencil down and looking up at Marco.
Jean was awake, alert, and Marco wondered if the guy had been sleeping much at all since he started staying in the Shire.
He hadn't noticed Jean get out of bed that morning, so he also considered how long the boy had been awake already.
Marco held up his hands. “No no, not at all. I actually love that you choose me, I just wonder why me of all things.”
Marco pulled up a cushion to sit beside him, studying the details on the page.
Jean shrugged, watching him observe shyly.
“You are the first thing I think about drawing when I pull out my sketchpad, I don’t really know why. But I love drawing your freckles, it always makes the picture look so... textured.” He answered, leaning into Marco and resting his head on the other boy's shoulder.
Marco hummed humorously, nudging Jean.
“So… are we gonna talk about last night?”
Jean hadn't left any inch on Marco's face un-kissed. The freckled teen reminisced on how desperately Jean had been touching him, how careful his hands had searched places that never saw the sun.
Jean coughed, his body going rigid.
“Yeah, what about last night?” He repeated, his voice pitched up higher.
Marco grinned.
“I didn’t realize you swung that way.”
His heart was hammering behind his ribcage, begging to be freed. Even though the hard part of the confession was out of the way, they still had to hammer out the details.
“Yeah… I guess I just didn’t think you’d reciprocate.” Jean agreed, fidgeting with the edge of the paper he sketched on.
Marco took it from him gently, waiting for Jean to face him.
And he did, eventually.
“I have reciprocated for a long, long time. I thought you were off limits, that you weren't even in my realm of possibilities.” Marco answered.
Jean then allowed himself to smile, too.
“Yeah... well I think finally understand how I feel now.” He whispered.
Jean picked a piece of lint off of Marco’s shoulder, rubbing the shirt gently with his thumb and pointer finger.
The motion tickled, and Marco tried not to twitch. He watched Jean's fingers work, tidying the sleeve with care. Even if he was barely touching Marco, there was a sharp zap of electricity every time his best friend's fingers grazed up against him.
“Took you long enough.” Marco teased.
He leaned into Jean’s space experimentally, eyeing him with flirtatious thirst.
Jean gulped, licking his own lips.
“Well, I just… I know you’ve been stressed about this case, and me obviously, so I didn’t want to push any boundaries. Plus, I never realized that guys were an option before this. Before you.” He explained.
Jean didn't bother moving away from Marco, because why would he? The freckled teen was inches from his face; he could feel the other’s breath fogging against his skin.
“I appreciate that, and I understand. Liking guys is confusing, and can be ridiculously complicated." Marco chuckled.
He leaned forward, knocking his forehead against his Jean's.
"I think… I can 99% guarantee that you aren’t behind the murders. But that would be quite the realization," Marco sung.
"Marco Bodt, in love with a serial killer.”
He caught Jean's lips. A crisp sound echoed off the walls from the brief kiss.
Jean shut his eyes and fell forward, but Marco pulled back, still playing with him. He winked and clicked his tongue, causing Jean to whine when he didn’t get more from the kiss.
“Wait," Jean asked, eyes widening. "You're in love with me?”
The tan haired boy pointed to his chest pridefully.
That time, it was Marco's turn to feel flustered. He sat up straight and cleared his throat.
“Did I say that?” Marco asked, his eyes searching the ground.
He grappled for anything to change the subject, as he hadn’t meant to be so open about his feelings. Everything was moving so fast.
“Anyways, I… I’m just glad to be with you now. This week has been really hard without you at school, and listening to everyone try to point the finger at you…” Marco trailed off.
Jean’s eyes softened. He cupped Marco’s face, rubbing his thumb over the freckles that decorated his cheeks.
“You’re still this loyal to me, even after all of Trost is telling you that I… I killed them?” he asked.
There was something new in his tone. Marco had never unlocked this sweet and tender side of Jean, and the sudden change in his behavior was doing crazy things to his brain.
Marco furrowed his brows. “Of course… I might’ve been little nervous at first, but we’ve been best friends since we were kids, Jean. They couldn’t turn me against you that easily.”
Jean searched his expression, before pecking Marco right back, earning a smirk from the freckled teen.
“You’re so brave, so smart. I don’t believe I’ve met a soul that's quite as exquisite as yours, and if anyone can solve this case, it's you.”
Jean hugged Marco tight. He had grip that made Marco want to believe every word he spoke.
Every. Damn. Word.
Marco squeezed him back, thinking back on the events of the week.
Jean was right, Marco had surprised himself with how much information he had gathered, and how much initiative he had taken in light of the murders. He had never done anything like that before; he would never disobey his parents, let alone talk to them like he had mere hours ago. He would never lie to cops, sneak out, and he surely hadn't ever tried to piece together clues in a homicide before.
Marco pulled back.
“I just… need you back in my life. As much fun as I have been having, spending time here in our old place, I really want things to go back to being normal. Like, I don’t have to worry about either getting killed, or you getting arrested.”
Jean considered his words, nodding as he processed them.
“I know. I would also like to go back to having a regular diet, I’m going to have a heart attack if I have to keep eating oreos and cheese doodles. And, I miss coffee.” He complained, falling into Marco's lap with a hmmph and a grin.
Marco scoffed playfully, looking down at him.
“Are you not grateful for my cheese doodles?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jean groaned and pushed him back, gagging dramatically. “Yuck, don’t ask me like that.” He chastised.
Marco stuck his tongue out in response.
The tan haired boy then stole the sketch back from Marco, walking it over to where the other piece of paper flapped on the cork board. He pinned the new copy in with a look of satisfaction, right beside the old one.
Marco's cheeks reddened, staring at the effort Jean had woven into the drawings. He realized that they were all of one subject in particular, with only slight differentials between them.
Damn.
“Your collection is growing.” Marco commented, leaning over to grab his backpack.
He pulled the other sketch out of the computer compartment of his bag, and unfolded it for Jean, who shined upon its reveal.
“You brought this one too?” He asked, again shocked.
Marco nodded, chuckling.
“I didn’t want to risk my dad destroying it. It's precious to me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, their moods dramatically shifted. Marco regret speaking instantly, as the mere mention of his father always made Jean fume.
“Why did he think coming back with a half baked story like that would work?” Jean asked.
He angrily stamped the paper into the wall and plopped back into the bean bag with an audible thud.
Marco shook his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Mom called him about me exhibiting some 'concerning behavior' recently. He implied that she was really worried about me.” He started, clenching his fist in his lap.
“I think she was afraid she couldn't control me. My dad used to rein me in and shut me up, but if she thought I would ever let him control me again, then she is sourly mistaken. I don’t know why she would even call him in the first place, why she wouldn’t just talk to me about her concerns…”
“She should know by now, Hodge only thinks for himself. Even if he came close to meeting the real 'Titan Killer', he’d just turn tail and flee." Jean's eyes flared, and he crossed his arms.
"He isn’t here to protect you. He’s here to fuck up everyone’s perception of Trost while manipulating your mom into trusting him again.”
Jean kicked the duck stuffy at his feet, sending it flying into the wall. It was a prize that him and Marco had won that at the fair years ago. Back when they were still innocent kids.
Marco sighed, pressing his hand against Jean’s arm in attempt to calm him down.
“It's whatever, he’ll be gone when I get back anyhow. And I won’t be going back until we’ve figured this out. When Trost isn't my dad's latest scoop anymore.”
Jean’s angry expression remained clear on his face, but his body untensed.
“I hope so. He’s a leech, sucking the life out of everyone around him.” Jean spit, crossing his legs.
Marco needed a change in the topic again. He didn't enjoy talking about his father more than he had to.
“So… do you want to go over case evidence one more time? Maybe I can help.” Jean asked, noticing Marco’s distaste for the subject.
Marco nodded, grabbing the notebook out of his bag with Connie’s new evidence written in it.
“Yeah, good idea. I have to go get batteries for the lantern soon, and find us some food.”
Jean glanced towards Marco, a new sense of worry in his eyes.
“Do you really think going back out is a good idea...? What if you get caught?”
Marco knocked against his shoulder gently.
“What’s the worst that could happen? It’s the weekend, my disappearance couldn’t make headlines that fast. Besides, the convenience store guy wouldn’t know who I am.” He reassured.
Jean seemed as if he wanted to argue more, but he nodded reluctantly.
Jean's face was plastered on every wanted poster in Trost, and townspeople had his name signed in the dirt with their torches and pitchforks. It wouldn't be safe for him to leave the Shire, so it was either Marco ventured out or bust.
“Well, I can’t go. So I guess it’s either you, or we starve.” Jean agreed.
Marco pinched Jean's hand and unfolded the notebook, holding it out to him.
Jean took the red binder, scanning the pages feverishly. He hesitated when reading over Sasha’s murder details, and his hands shook violently.
Marco rested his fingers under Jean’s to steady him. The tan haired teen stole a deep breath, kissing his hand in thanks before continuing.
The copy of 'Kill Your Darlings' sat atop a table only a few feet away. It’s aura had a lasting effect on Marco.
The two of them began to file their evidence into three categories, labeled Eren, Armin or Sasha.
Three of their closest friends, never to be seen or heard from ever again.
“Well... laying it all out really doesn’t look like much, does it.” Marco sighed, frowning.
They were still miles away from any helpful hints, and Marco realized he would just have to dig even deeper for more clues.
“This is a lot more evidence than the police have come up with, I'm absolutely sure of it.” Jean soothed him, rubbing his shoulder. “You’ve accomplished a lot for someone who hasn’t even graduated yet. Look at you, showing those bastards with degrees and formal training who's boss.”
Marco chuckled, shaking his head and downplaying the compliment.
“I think it’s just… knowing everyone so personally gives us an advantage in this case.” He rationalized.
The statement paled him soon after hearing himself. They had known all of the victims personally, a painful reminder.
Jean shared his expression, glancing back down at the evidence piles.
“Maybe it’s another Trost High student, one we know but nobody else had considered them because of me.” Jean said, slightly sarcastically.
It had to be hard to be public enemy number one. Marco didn’t blame him for being a little bitter.
“Well, nobody we know would want Eren dead, at least not for any reason we can discern. I think it’s probably safe to assume that Armin and Sasha were collateral damage, they must have known too much.” Marco said, a lump forming in his throat.
They were dancing hand in hand with death right now.
“Yeah… who all have you personally spoken to from the group? Besides Connie.” Jean asked, pointing to the evidence Connie’s had provided.
Marco hummed in thought.
He really hadn't spoken to any of his friends in a one on one, besides Connie.
“Nobody, maybe Mikasa. I didn’t really talk to her, she was just needing a friend.” Marco said, his heart sinking at the memory.
Mikasa had now lost three best friends. Sasha was one of the only girls she really got on with, but then again everyone loved Sasha.
“How is she?” Jean asked sadly.
Marco turned to face his friend, his eyes flashing enviously. Jean had a chance with Mikasa, now that Eren was gone.
Marco prayed selfishly that Jean would never forget about the kisses they shared the other night, even after the case was done and solved. Jean couldn't be that sick, manipulating Marco into bed like that.
“She’s not well.” Marco answered, in a semi-bitter tone.
Jean noticed the sudden spite. He grabbed Marco's hand with a meek expression, nudging the boy until he was staring him down.
“…I like you, Marco. I really like you. I might have felt something for Mikasa once upon a while ago, but now I’m just her concerned friend.” Jean gestured to the sketches that hung on the clothesline above them. “You’re the only one I have eyes for.”
Marco studied the illustrations, and his eyes cleared again. He had been stupid to believe that Jean would ditch him for Mikasa.
Why did Marco even think Mikasa would return Jean's feelings anyway? She was too hung up on Eren to feel anything.
“Right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be acting jealous. She isn’t okay right now, and frankly neither are you." Marco apologized shamefully, his eyes ducking.
Jean smiled, squeezing Marco's hand one more time.
"I could try to talk to Mikasa, about the case.” Marco offered, kissing Jean’s yellowish knuckles.
The bruising from the fight appeared to be subsiding, now the marks could only be seen if you were purposely checking.
Jean agreed with him. “Okay.”
”And, Marco? You don’t have to be sorry. S’good to know you like me enough to be a little possessive.” He teased, flicking Marco’s ear playfully.
Marco flinched, muttering ow but he was laughing.
Marco pulled himself to his feet. He stretched out and dug through his backpack for clean clothes to wear, holding up a t-shirt or two for Jean to pick.
He changed quick, exposing his body only temporarily. But he still made it easy for Jean to catch a peak.
Jean pretended not to notice, but Marco’s skin burned wherever Jean’s eyes wandered, even with his back turned.
Woof.
It was a thrilling idea, to believe they might survive this hell and live happily ever after.
Marco was stranded in waves of dopamine as they crashed down on him, then sucker punched back into reality by sobering case evidence.
After changing back into day clothes, Marco returned to Jean and faked a brave face.
“I suppose I better get a move on, before they put my picture on a milk carton.” He joked.
“I still can’t believe you stuck it to your fucking father, just to help me with this case." Jean said, shaking his head. "That's so gay."
The tan haired teen extended his arms till they rest upon Marco’s hips.
Marco quirked a brow at him, causing Jean to smirk.
“What? I can say that, I’m a little gay myself after all.”
Marco leaned in to silence Jean. He kissed him once more, without separating from him as quick as last time. He allowed Jean the permission to lead the embrace, to dictate their motives.
Jean pulled Marco closer by his belt loops, taking the dominance gratefully. He was kissing up against Marco's lips with messy rhythm, since he had a height disadvantage.
Marco let him be as possessive as he wished, leaning ever so desperately into his tender touches. He expelled lustful little noises whenever Jean did something that surprised him, whining himself senseless.
Jean eventually moved away from his lips to kiss the freckles along his Marco's cheek, and down to his jaw.
He nipped his friend's skin with greedy desire.
Were they technically even friends any more? Friends didn't make-out with each other. Not with that kind of passion.
“Jean,” Marco whispered breathlessly.
If the other boy kept going, Marco was going to change his mind about getting food.
Jean was good enough to eat.
His lover kissed him down to the base of his neck, but hesitated when his lips grazed the scab along Marco’s throat.
Jean hovered over the rough patch, breathing warmth against Marco's skin.
“I’m so sorry for scaring you like that…” He whispered, before leaning in to graze his tongue along the healing wound.
Marco’s knees buckled. He was grateful for how tight Jean was holding onto him, for how sweetly he was kissing him. The freckled boy groaned, shivering at Jean’s touch and panting as his wet tongue dragged across his skin.
He didn't want to leave the Shire at all. Maybe they could survive without food, for just a few more hours.
“You were just defending yourself, Jean. I’m sorry for scaring you first.” Marco responded.
His eyes were closed, cherishing the actions of Jean’s affections.
Jean leaned up on his tip toes to kiss Marco one more time, but he set the pace slower. And after they parted, Jean seemed disappointed that he had to let Marco leave.
“I’d keep you here with me forever if I could.” He said, running his through Marco’s scalp.
Marco leaned into the hand.
I'd let you take me anywhere you want to go.
“Who says we have to stop coming to the Shire when this is all over?” He asked.
“I guess you’re right, but you know what I meant.”
Marco rolled his eyes, moving towards the entrance to the treehouse.
“That sounds a little gay, Jean.”
Jean crossed his arms, shaking his head in disappointment.
“No, you can’t steal my joke. Get your own.”
Marco smirked, shrugging. “But I quite enjoy pushing your buttons! Besides, you can’t trademark gay.”
After Marco climbed down the ladder, he unhooked the parking stand to his bike, and blew a kiss to Jean before running off into the woods.
The convenience store was on the very edge of town, on the northern side by Armin's place.
Marco had to cycle for a nerve wracking thirty minutes to get there. The distance had been quite tiresome, but totally necessary. He wanted to be absolutely sure that there wasn’t a statewide manhunt already in effect, so he stuck to the outskirts.
His mother was certainly worried enough to get the police involved, but his dad would use the story to further push his narrative, as far as he could. What could be more interesting for a broadcast than a search for another missing teenager!
Marco pulled his hood up over his head after leaving the treehouse. It was his best attempt at not drawing unnecessary attention to himself, and there really wasn't much else he could do to make himself appear less suspicious. He wished he had sunglasses, or a bandana, or something.
Before he entered the store, he parked his bike against the side. He prayed nobody would steal the rusted thing while he bought his snacks, it was all he had for transportation. He didn't feel like being late to get home.
Home, heh. The Shire had really felt like one lately.
Marco made his trip quick, grabbing two packets of beef jerky, chips, some soda and water bottles from the wall of the shelves. Marco also unhooked a pack of batteries, tossing it into the basket with a small clatter. The groceries weren't exactly the best haul in his opinion, but he hadn't brought a ton of cash with him, so those items would have to do. Batteries were surprisingly expensive in today's economy.
He avoided eye contact with the cashier throughout the checkout process, voting instead to flip through a magazine on the rack by the register. The first page he flipped to had a picture of Eren’s memorial, so he quickly closed to magazine up and put it back, his heart twinging regretfully.
There wasn't anywhere Marco could look to get away from the case. He would be stuck with it until it ended, for better or worse.
the cashier managed to fit everything into one bag, and Marco was pleased to find his bike was still waiting for him outside. It wasn’t raining anymore like it had been the day before, but the ground was still wet, and the sky remained overcast. Marco held his free hand up to his neck, lingering on the memory of Jean kissing him there.
It was wild, for Marco to not have the solved the case yet but to have somehow mustered the courage to confess to Jean.
Marco was less horrified of the prospect that Jean could be the murderer, because it was a nonexistent scenario in his head anymore. But he was well acquainted with the fear that he might not survive this investigation.
The teen removed his hand from his scab to search amongst his belongings. He found what he was looking for: the polaroid he had taken from Armin’s room.
Marco glanced at it again, looking first at Eren, then Mikasa. He tucked the paper and ink into his pocket afterwards and tried to remember how to get to Eren’s place from the edge of town.
Mikasa had lived with the Jaeger family ever since she had been orphaned, around age eleven. She stayed there now, taking care of Carla Jaeger. The only living Jaeger family member left. Grisha, Eren’s father, had disappeared long ago. Nobody knew if he was alive or dead, he hadn’t reached out in years. Perhaps he was living another life entirely, but there was no trace of him left anywhere in the world.
And Eren, well….Eren was murdered less than a week ago.
Marco gulped. He didn’t enjoy the thought of being in the vicinity of were Eren had been murdered. He also didn’t know if Mikasa would be inclined to help him, especially so recently after Sasha’s murder.
Mikasa had been seemingly hopeful that Marco would be able to solve the case at Armin’s locker, but now he didn’t know what her mental state would be in.
Biking with his head down on the farthest edge of town, he travelled another forty-five minutes over to Eren’s place. He crept with his bike under his arm along the cracked sidewalk, picking up a couple small rocks to toss as he went. He had to reach Mikasa somehow, without raising alarm.
Marco loomed around the back of the property, peering through the windows in search of Mikasa’s room. Her's was directly across the floor plan from Eren’s room, which had its blackout curtains drawn and the shudders sealed.
Marco felt another lump beginning form in his throat, as he thought about how haunting that must be for the women living in the Jaeger household.
A son, a brother, gone in an instant. His life completely halted before it could truly be lived.
Marco had somehow managed to look through Armin’s things yesterday without breaking apart, but even that was hard for him to do. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Carla and Mikasa were going through, organizing all his things and tidying up his room.
He noticed movement through Mikasa’s room, and decided to shake off any hesitation, casting one of the stones at the window.
the stone bounced off the pane with a sharp pop, and fell into the backyard. The movement inside stilled for a moment, before Marco noticed Mikasa’s outline looking down at him through her window.
Marco removed his hood, dropping the other stones that he had collected and gesturing for her to meet him outside.
She bit her lip, staying right where she was.
Marco knew it was an ask she might not be comfortable with, but he had to try. If she didn’t come down, he was have to bolt.
Marco's friends would be aware of his disappearance by that point, and he didn't know if any of them would call the cops on him if they saw him lurking outside like he was right now.
Mikasa signaled ok with her thumb finally, backing away from the window. She had agreed to talk.
Marco breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against his bike where he stood under a tree. The other houses were quiet, which was surprising for a Saturday afternoon. He expected to at least see a dog walker or two, but the overcast sky might’ve scared everyone off.
That, or the serial killer.
Mikasa slipped out through the back door quietly, closing it behind her and walking over to meet Marco under the tree. She approached him with heavy hesitation, eyeing him up and down.
Marco tried to come off casual, and as non-threatening as he could.
If it could even be possible, her eyes somehow looked darker than they had been yesterday, which confirmed she wasn’t handling Sasha’s death well either.
“What are you doing here Marco?” She asked him, her tone unreadable.
She had her scarf wound tightly around her mouth, a thing she did when she felt anxious.
Marco cleared his throat.
“I just needed a favor, about the case. I know you’re probably not interested in helping me right now, after... but I promise if it wasn’t important I wouldn’t be asking.” He pleaded, giving her his most sincere expression and pledging with a hand over his heart.
Marco then held out the photo from Armin’s room to her, as his peace offering.
Mikasa studied him again, taking the offering with narrowed eyes. She let herself admire the photograph for a long minute, her fingers running over the ink fondly. She slipped the photo into her pocket.
“You do know that you’ve been declared missing, right? There’s like a million amber alerts going off for you right now.” She held up her phone for Marco to see, which included headlines about his disappearance, and a detailed description of his bike, face and body type.
Marco felt goosebumps crawl all over his skin.
“Well shit, I knew it would only be a matter of time but… I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
The sentence, out of context, was weirdly incriminating. He quickly followed up: “I ran away from my parents; my dad and I have a rough relationship. Anyways, its complicated, I just need to ask you about a few case details. I can’t stay.”
Marco did his best to convey his urgency. He was desperate to get back to Jean, and put this whole case to rest already.
Maybe, if Marco solved it first, the police would pardon him and Jean for every crime they had committed that week.
Mikasa’s brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms. She glanced around at her empty neighborhood, and shook her head in annoyance.
Marco would have to move soon if he didn’t want to be seen.
“What are your questions?” She asked.
She still sounded unsure of if she actually wanted to help.
Marco wondered where to begin, there was so much to ask.
“Okay... first off, did Armin ever tell you he felt like he was being… stalked? Y’know, before…” Marco started.
Mikasa picked at the scarf around her neck.
“He said he wanted to get to the bottom of things, for Eren. He was… very secretive after that. I think he was trying to protect me.” She answered, voice wavering.
Marco felt horrible for bringing up touchy subjects for her, but it was for their own safety.
“So, he didn’t tell you anything?”
Her expression changed.
“Well... he did say that I shouldn’t trust everyone. But that comment was very cryptic, he could’ve been unstable mentally at the time.”
Marco documented her evidence, frowning in thought.
What could Armin have meant by that?
“Ok, and did Eren maybe have any personal debts with anyone? Debts that might not have been known information to our friend group?” He asked.
He was nervous to drift over into Eren territory. Eren was closest with Mikasa at out all of the other Trost High students, and although it might have been almost a week since his murder, but the pain was just as fresh as it was yesterday.
Mikasa faltered a little, blinking the daze out of her eyes.
“Not that he told me about, no. Eren was… he was a do first think second kind of guy. Armin and I we-“
She teared up. “We usually had to get him out of trouble after the fact.”
“I see…” Marco said.
He debated reaching out to her, but he did not want to push her boundaries. The freckled boy was really starting to feel paranoid, that someone had seen him and phoned the police.
He had to finish this up.
“A-any more questions?” Mikasa squeaked.
She was ready to be done too, Marco had no idea why she continued to help him as much as she did with the case but he was thankful regardless.
“Just one. Did anyone pick Eren up from the hospital, or did he come home himself? I’m just missing some timeline there.”
Mikasa was confused by the question. She shook her head slowly.
“Eren didn’t ever… go to the hospital. He came home from the fair when Carla and I were both asleep, we-“
Suddenly, she was back there, on that grim day.
Marco wanted to punch himself for making her relive Eren's death. How did investigators do this shit?
“We didn’t hear a thing.” She finished.
Reports say he didn't fight.
Marco was stumped.
“Connie said Reiner took Eren to the hospital though? He said that Eren and Jean…” Marco fumbled, confused.
There was a discrepancy in the story? What did that mean, was somebody lying?
“Eren never went to the hospital? How can you be sure?” Marco asked, panicked.
Mikasa was ready to split. Marco didn’t want to pry further, but had to dig a little deeper.
“He didn’t have a hospital wristband on his- Marco I don’t think I can do this. I’m sorry.” Mikasa cried softly, turning around to head back inside.
Marco followed behind her for a minute, calling out to her.
“Thank you! Really, I mean it. And… I’m sorry. About everything.”
She didn’t turn to acknowledge that she had heard Marco. Instead, she locked the door behind her, and Marco was left alone in the Jaeger's backyard.
He heard a siren in the distance, which was enough to get him moving, despite his swarming thoughts.
What had happened to Eren, between being at the fair and him getting home? Was Connie lying to Marco about what he knew that night?
Jean didn’t seem to disagree with his evidence, and both of them were apart of the group that had visited the fair. Were the two somehow misinformed by Bertolt? What happened to Eren between the fight and him going home?
Why did the night end with Eren getting stabbed in the back?
Marco couldn’t breathe, his inhaler was tucked deep inside of his jean pockets. He wrestled with the fabric, and finally freed the device before he could pass out.
He just kept pedaling, despite the fire burning a hole in his lungs. He flipped up the hood of his jacket, sticking to the shadows as he traveled back to the Shire.
It was late afternoon, pushing six pm. Cicadas sang loudly in his ears, matching the alarm he felt inside over the unanswered questions.
Marco didn’t know how long he had driven for when he finally made it back to the woods by the treehouse. He was grateful he had run errands without being recognized, and he had completed his mission of gathering more evidence for the case.
But as he trampled through the underbrush haphazardly, he was itching to ask Jean what the discrepancy might mean.
He made it to the base of the treehouse and parked his bike.
“Jean, I’m back!” Marco called out, climbing up the rungs of the ladder.
When he flung open the treehouse door, there was nobody there.
“Marco?” a voice called out.
But it wasn't Jean's.